#wtf are his macros looking like

[gutsygremlin]

Y’all don’t understand I have such a fascination with enormous men. Miguel being 6’9 with that muscle mass??? How much does he weigh???? Wtf does he eat? He’s literally built like a fucking Ox I need him so bad

[red-wing-22]

Devil May Cry <- Title makes no sense for the series

⚠️ SPOILERS for the entire season of Devil May Cry⚠️

I need to do some catharsis, so fair warning, I have few positive things to say about the DMC adaptation, this is my personal opinion, no bad feelings with anyone that enjoyed it.

I don't even know where to start, I guess with the only positive:

The animation was, honestly, solid. I had some gripes with the 3D, but the fights looked good against the humans, the style was nice, and the music choices were good. If only the writing had matched the visuals, we could have had something truly memorable. Instead, we got… whatever this was.

Everything Else Alternate Universe… sure, but make it good. I don’t mind AU. Done right, It's AMAZING. Unfortunately, this doesn't even get close. I went in with normal to low expectations but I got out feeling everything was wrong. I'm still processing just how bad it is. Exposition & Quantum Nonsense How many times do I need to hear quantum anything? The exposition felt like someone was reading Wikipedia entries at gunpoint. It wasn’t organic, it wasn’t natural, and it definitely wasn’t engaging. World-building through lectures is just lazy, and it breaks immersion. You don't have to info dump every five minutes for us to "get" the world. I felt they did this because they only had 8 episodes and were trying to teach new people about the world, you can do that without doing this, I assure you. "Activate your devil trigger"… I felt as if I was watching Spiderman Ultimate. Fourth wall breaking that makes no sense. Since when do full demons have devil triggers? WHY WOULD THEY KNOW DANTE HAS ONE? Isn’t it explicitly a hybrid thing? Why not just say they need Dante’s blood? Keep it simple—and consistent. Also, using Nero’s song during that moment? ....

While not overjoyed with his form, I don't mind it, I've seen many complain about the trigger's design, but that's young dante, I'm good with it.

I'm more angry at the fact that the trigger happened in such a cheap way, hell I might have been even happier just not having it at all in the entire season! Specially when getting it doesn't really give him anything apart from... flying. Dante deserved better Where is Dante? Not the guy who’s tied up and sidelined for half the show. There’s a line where someone says “we all know Dante is too arrogant,” and I nearly screamed. NO, we don’t know. This show hasn’t shown us anything about him yet, so how can we possibly know which such certainty that he is arrogant? We have only known him so far as cocky.

He is so nerfed is not funny, he is also very inconsistant, at first he is the flash and then Lady's the one killing all the high tier demons? wtf.

Lady May Cry This show could’ve been called Lady May Cry and it would’ve made more sense. She’s everywhere. She’s invincible. She’s edgy for the sake of being edgy. And her character arc? Inconsistent, confusing, and so far removed from the Lady we know that it feels like an OC someone shoved into the script at the last second. It’s not even that she’s getting screen time—it’s that it comes at the cost of Dante and the actual emotional heart of the series. She got massacred as a character and I think her story lost a lot in the translation to the screen.

Vergil

..... Vergil is with Mundus, willingly or at least it appears that way, I have so many bad things to say about that. Also please stop with the bad writing, do you want to use his song? SURE. Don't make him say he is the storm good lord.

Worldbuilding: When the show opened with worldbuilding and politics, I was interested. DMC usually focuses on personal conflicts, family, love, power, the tension between humanity and demonic nature, it never really goes deep into what their world is like, but I was excited to see how they’d expand that as I LOVE that kind of stories. I was not against exploring what exactly is happening in a world like that on a more macro view. I loled when they mentioned Racoon city.

DMC essence got lost somewhere... who knows where

Demons in DMC are power seekers, dangerous, blood drinking beings :). We do know that some might choose love and be similar in that way to humanity. Humans who seek power in DMC almost always veer into becoming something , well, demon.

Dante is compelling, first, because we are playing a game on how to kill demons in the most stylish way (lets be real here, this is the point of the game). If you make a good part of the demons good and refugies I'll give you a penny on how much that affects that part of what entertained us about Dante fighting them.

The title Devil May cry is not there just because they like the sound of it. It's because demons may feel empathy if they choose love, but it's an exeption not the rule and it relates to Dante's struggles with himself, something completely missing from this serie, I hate the complete disconection I feel with his character in this series.

Turning demons into refugee stand-ins who look like cosplay elves doesn’t hit emotionally, it feels really really cheap. Especially when it’s trying to push messages that have an agenda. Do you want to interest me, PLEASE HUMANIZE AND TRY TO MAKE ME FEEL EMPHATY FOR AN EMPUSA OR FURY, I dare you.

And let’s talk about Sparda being reduced from savior figure to... oligarch trash? ..... DMC spirit got decimated.

[the-twst-cast-needs-therapy]

I'm binging the Diasomnia chapters. Holy fucking shit-

I am keeping you updated!!!

Spoilers ahead!!!

UPDATES:

-THE HUMMING WITH THE TITLE SRCREEN OMG!!! (18:33, 12.9)

-16YO ORTHO?! OH I'M SO PROUD OF HIM! EVEN IF HE ISN'T REAL (18:33, 12.9)

-Well I'm officially stuck with the "Sus goop" let's hope I can level up high enough. Idk how this will be possible tho. My chances look rather slim (12.9).

-HAHA, I DID IT!! (Barely). Waaaa Ortho is such a clever boy. Also mama and papa Shroud?! So cute!! I love mama Shrouds voice and I love how she immediately sprung into action. (14.9, 12:23)

-i'm sensing that I will see Ortho in his Cerberus gear soon (14.9. 12:30)

-WAAAAA IT'S SO COOL. Also wtf do you mean "password protected folders"

-"You're one of our beloved sons too, Or" WHAT IF I DIED. OH MY GOD THEY ARE SO SWEET. AND THE SHROUDS LOOKING OUT FOR ORTHOS WELLBEING AJDHRHDHHDHDJDJDJDJDJJDHDHDHS

-struggling a bit with sebek. I hope we'll be fine and I can get through this quickly (14.9 12:51)

-HAHA I DID IT. (14.9, 12:57) I also like how all battles with malleus so far have been unwinnable. Anyways I think the next chapter will be Lilia themed!! (55)

-GUESS WHO WAS RIGHT! WAAA THE THEME AS WE ENTERED THE FOREST IS SO PRETTY. (14.9, 13:02)

-Lilia is beating my ass due to my lack of floral characters :( I'm stuck, currently training his son (Mal) to Beat him (15.9. 8:23)

-gave in and payed the damm 10 diamond fee. It's all good because Baur and (general) Lilia face reveal!!! AND SILVER FINALLY SAID THE "F" WORD TO DREAM LILIA (father) (22:45, 15.9)

-A NEW BATTLE MECHANIC?! OH GOD (22:48, 15.9)

-Really loving the Macro aggression of Baur towards his grandson (23:21. 15.9 )

-"HIS EGG LIKE VISAGE" SEBEK, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE!!! SHDHDHDHHSJS (23:21; 15.9)

-I'm scared of the new battle mechanic....

-not Lilia usin his own child as BAIT

-why do the iron clads have tanks... (16.9. 21:50)

-LILIA PROTECTING SILVER, RAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! THE FATHERLY INSTINCT IS KICKING IN!!!! Apparently I ate up all the ENG Version had to offer so far. That means some resting time for me until the next chapters come out. (17.9. 9:01)

-"Even in a dream you're still my-" OH WHAT IF I DIED ON THE SPOT????

-okay I just decided to look at some fan translations to continue, here are my thoughts:

-MELEANOR IS SO FUCKING HOT SHHDHDHDHDJ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (her voice is so stunning)

-Her and Lilia bickering is so funny, my god she is ruthless

-"Dragons can only hatch with the magic and love of their parents and only with true love" OH FUCK OFF I KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING AND I DONT LIKE IT

-"I DONT UNDERSTAND THE LOVE KF PARENTS. I HAVE NEVER LOVED SOMEONE EITHER...." oh my god OH MY GODNDHDHDHDGDHHDHSBS

-PROPOSAL?!

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAZEHEHHDHDBSVDHSHHS OH MY GDODJJDHDHDHDBDNDN

Okay but same tho she's very pretty

-wooow silver is related to the knight if dawn who belongs to the SILVER owls. What a shocker.

-I love that the knight of dawn is just silvers facial render with longer hair and some blonde pigment slapped on to it. A for Effort

-Bro (Silver) is about to create a new ocean with the tears he's shedding. MF found out who he was related to and just decided to die on the spot.

-A CRYING BABY IS BABDHHDHDHDHDGSGSGSH BABY SILVER TIME!!!!????

-Omg silver is technically hundreds of years old??? Slay

-LILIA TRIED TO KILL LITTLE SILVER?! Or at least thought about it for a brief second, you know..

-"is it possible for someone like me to love a human?" OH WHEN I GET YOU WRITING TEAM, WHEN I FUCKING GET YOU SZSGEHHDJSHSJSJDJSJ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT IS THIS GAME?!

-"please don't, father. I don't deserve to be loved by you"

i'm going to fucking explode what the fuck.

-Genuinely shut the fuck up Silver. I know you're going through an identity crisis but you are so worthy of love.

-The fucking acorn necklace. When I tell you I JUMPED FROM MY SEAT!

-"papa please stay healthy and we will stay together forever" SHUT UP AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

-"with this bracelet i fell like I could live another 1000 years" PLEASE STOP OH MY GOD

-NOT SILVER SEEING HIMSELF AS HIS BIO FATHER AND BEING FORCED TO FIGHT WITH LILIA WHO DOESN'T RECOGNIZE YOU. IM GOING TO HURL

-SILVER STOP TRYING TO DIE OH MY GOD

[infinitelibrary]

K!!!!!!!! oh my GODDDDDDD

I needed a day or two to process and really soak this all in before I provide you with my analytical dissertation / dissection of your work of art. And I DO mean WORK. OF. ART. The details and the way you set the scene for us is truly a thing of beauty. For those of us that have been to this incredible destination, you’ve transported us back to that magical place.  And for those of us that HAVEN’T been - you’ve painted SUCH a vivid picture of what it’s like that we can practically smell the ocean and feel that warm breeze caressing our skin. - we FEEL like we are there with MC.  There were moments where I had to stop and sit back and just be like "wtf did I just read"..."no way she captured that the way she did"...just...

BUT...let me go in order...

The “you know BTS?” line cracked me up

That comment about the boat moving with the waves, but MC's ability to remain rooted to the ground.  That one little detail spoke volumes about MC’s expertise and skill at her craft and is a true testament to how long she’s been working there.  Even if Yoongi hadn’t asked…we would’ve known she’d been doing this a long long time.

Yassss to the Bond girl reference…I love it!!

Also why can I absolutely hear him saying “you know this fish” in his adorable English lilt.  Kinda like the “You like these chains?” moment from his early days.😂 

MC being totally oblivious to the fact that she asked for his number / to exchange contacts so that he could send her the fish pic is TOTALLY something I would do.  I can be a bit obtuse like that (I’ve had friends point it out to me AFTER the fact) so to have this happen to her and the realization dawn on her was just hilarious and very very relatable! I loved that moment

That whole first watermelon scene.  Min Yoongi you SLY DOG you.  But MC is not innocent in all this either…both of them basically eyefucking each other at that point. 

The way his foot slipped when he was jumping in….SUCH a yoongi thing to do.  I can practically hear his little yelp.  

Her rambling when she gets nervous was ADORABLE

The "macro details" when Yoongi leans in for that first kiss got me because - the visuals??? Oh my GOD when I tell you, I had to go back and re-read that paragraph like three times because my mind just couldn’t comprehend how vividly you managed to capture every fucking detail of that moment.  The smell, the taste, the TEXTURE…good GOD. It’s like I was THERE.  It’s like I was living that moment, seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, tasting ALL those things. That was the moment I was like 'wtf did I just read'. I literally had to sit back and look around me to essentially pinch myself back into my reality.

Like oh my GOD you guys just LOOK at this paragraph and tell me you can't picture yourself RIGHT THERE in her place.

that detail??? I mean come ON!!!

“We bout to break protocol” DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE you HORNY BASTARD (also please add ladder sex to the list of things I would like to do with Mr. Min Yoongi)🤐

Seriously tho - your words are like POETRY. The little touches on the boat after that first time, once everyone else had gotten back on board.  But also - the mentions of the food - again, a lovely little detail that made us feel like we were right there. 

The domesticity of that first visit to her place.  Cooking together (that would be the actual DREAM) and then just talking.  Like, I know on first glance it may seem like just lust and unbridled physical attraction and while that’s part of it, I love that they had conversations together as well.  About anything and everything and the most random of things.  

I love that even after that first real night at her place, MC still refused to give him her number.  Part of me wonders what if.  But I think it’s also so that she could be sure that it was in fact really real.  She basically said as much.  And they both feel it’s real in the moment - especially Yoongi, no doubt, is convinced it’s real but she also knows the gravity and weight of everything that his career and life path have in store for him…and that things are not at all certain.  She’s in a whole other country, he has professional and patriotic obligations he has to fulfill and who knows what could happen in that time.  This gives them both time to live their lives, get back to reality and then decide if this is something they really wanted to come back to. And I think he realized that too.

Her missing him while he’s gone, sure…but also moving forward and living her life through all of its ups and downs.  Finding strength in his memory, his music, and his lyrics.  All of that was so relatable. 

The “I tried to forget you…turns out I can’t”  Are you KIDDING ME with that line????  OMG I COULD SOB.  The ending was so perfect.  So soft, so romantic, so gentle, and just so damn PERFECT. 

Kudos, K!  HUGE fan.  Have been, am now, and always will be. 😘😘😘

Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea. 

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva? 

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence. 

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding. 

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts. 

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent. 

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off. 

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time. 

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just... 

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse. 

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it. 

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue. 

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug. 

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you. 

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp. 

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive. 

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step. 

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest. 

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?” 

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…” 

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can. 

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all. 

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low. 

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on. 

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest. 

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed. 

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it. 

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does. 

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound. 

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak. 

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you. 

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind. 

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down. 

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts. 

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you. 

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms. 

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses. 

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined.  Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile. 

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to. 

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again. 

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet. 

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly. 

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him. 

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

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@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

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@angellekookie

[snowseasonmademe]

so, he responded to my apology and said

"Thank you and don't worry about it, l'm happy we can move on from that"

so we're cool now, l guess (???), but I still feel so weird about it. Like I can't look at him the same way, if that makes sense? It's like he's shown me who he really is and how he really feels about political issues (he's given some slight trump supporting statements before as well and especially yesterday even though he's a white Mexican that lives in Mexico and only comes to the US for vacay because his dad owns timeshares and holiday resorts) and I'm glad he did because now I know that he's not a safe person.

But that's just it, I feel odd because now I know that he's not a safe person. And this is the way l've been made to feel with all of my friends who just so happen to be white or nonblack. They either are racist themselves or surround themselves with racist people, making them racist adjacent (???).

Like I can never be comfortable in a friendship like that.

for example, this is the type of shit he says (bold = copied and pasted texts).

YOU chose to offend yourself because that word has a shit ton of meanings therefore YOU picked the meaning you wanted to take

(this is like when white people say the n word or some other micro/macro aggression and say that it's our fault for being offended)

And being black doesn't open a window of grief that other people can't possibly fathom

... okay.

So what you are saying is that because you are of a certain skin color you are more capable of understanding something, this then makes other races inferior because of their lack of understandability of the subject

WHEN DID I SAY THAT OTHER RACES ARE FUCKING INFERIOR LIKE WTF (this was in reference to me stating that different races have different experiences)

Yeah. My goal this year is to simply make friends with more black and LGBTQ+ people. Because I can't do this anymore. I can't go into adulthood experiencing the same shit I did in my predominantly white high school, absolutely not.

all i’m going to say about him is he needs to grow up. that whole choosing the meaning of a word that means different things is stupid. and YES black people understand more perspectives than anyone else. that’s a fact. yes, everyone else understands less because on one else goes through what we do. him saying everyone else is inferior sounds like him projecting a little bit. and there are certain things that black people will never understand about white people. the difference is that we are always willing to learn and understand more.

i would absolutely recommend having a more diverse group of friends if you can. it’s such a beautiful experience to have different poc and LGBT friends. i’m someone who has only had maybe 5 white friends in my whole life and i have also had a lot of LGBT friend as well. even when i lived around and went to school with A LOT of white people. it’s been great for the most part. of course there will always be colorism and racism but poc and LGBT people are a lot more welcoming and respectful than straight white people are!

[cheemken]

I can only imagine what the public and media are thinking. People recording the whole battle from the sky and broadcasting it, just like the Kalos incident

If this was a tournament that took place before the battle erupted then there’s probably trainers, elite fours, and gym leaders trying to get to the battlefield to help the champions. But Diantha is smart enough to get gardevoir to put up a magic room/psychic barrier so no one can interfere

When the battle was won and Cynthia, Steven, Leon, Iris, Hau, all with various stages of injury, and their Pokémon are all defeated, they have to come to terms with the fact that three people they trusted for years just betrayed them and tried killing them

Diantha is still standing on her ”pedestal” watching the three “worthless” champions try to get Iris and Hau behind them so they can protect the younger ones. All five of them having a thousand thoughts going though their heads, questioning if Diantha is going to spare them or kill them where they’re standing.

This part could be different in your AU, but I love “villain kills hero(s) and takes in their orphaned child(ren)” plots just as much as “hero is actually the villain” plots.

Diantha is smart enough to know that Cynthia, Leon, and Steven wouldn’t listen to her command without a lot of emotional and mental abuse as they’re fully grown adults with a strong sense of identity for themselves

Iris and Hau on the other hand…, they’re still teenagers and figuring themselves out about who they truly are as people. Are they Trainers? Are they good people with good intentions by fighting Diantha, the person they look up to as their mother?

Or is Diantha right and they’re

Champions.

People who are above the rest, the strongest people on earth, who have the right to decide who lives and who dies. That they should dictate the world to get rid of the worthless and make it perfect

Diantha knows that they’ll listen to her, it’ll just take a little bit of work to destroy their small sense of identity, but after that they will flourish as Champions

HOLY SHIT????? YO THATS SO FUCKING DOPE WTF CNMDBCMD

It's like five am here man I just woke up but this really woke up my soul fr hahaha

Anyways

HDMSHMSNS YES

God but y'know the way it went in my au is that Diantha does know it's being broadcasted one way or another, so w that she tried exposing the Galar League herself, since in my hcs/au the Galar League is corrupt as shit bc of Macro Cosmos'/Rose's influence

And before she actually did start to battle them, she went on about how Rose threatened each champion that if they don't lose to Leon, he'd get them killed

And it actually made a lot of people stop and rethink abt everything abt the Galar League, especially the Gym Leaders who just know how corrupt it really was, and especially Raihan who was so close to actually beating Leon a few times. Cause if the Gym Leaders were caught off guard and was too stunned to speak to other trainers when asked, then Diantha was right, that they too were threatened w death by Rose if they don't lose to Leon

It made a lot of people think differently abt the Galar League too. And idt Diantha would really initiate the first punch, rather she'd wait if someone would try to fight her first, and someone did, Rose did (he's still in my aus ofc for that buildup hahah)

But Rose didn't have Eternatus anymore, neither he nor Leon does, but Diantha? Well, Diantha has Yveltal at her command

I wanna say that Dia did kill Rose in this w Yveltal, or maybe just got him down to the point he's heavily injured but still alive and she's going on how if they try to protect him then they also follow his views that Leon shouldn't be defeated by anyone else, and he could still get away w his threats

But gjmdnfmd god yeah Dia w Iris and Hau just chmdbdkdndmddmd

Imagine the other three champions are knocked out or at least at different points at the Stadium, and then the only ones left face to face w Diantha are Iris and Hau, w Iris stretching her other arm to protect Hau

But God for Dia, it flashes back to that lil memory she has of doing the same thing w Augustine, protecting him from their father, protecting him from the "ugliness" of this world.

And she smiled at them, so genuinely soft, and so welcoming, and so sad, and so... So much like home. She opened her arms and crouched down just a bit, "my children... You needn't worry, we can all go home soon after they realize their errors."

But man they were also kinda scared, this was the same person who looked so coldy towards the other champions, the one who has no problems killing someone for their own version of justice to prevail, but just,,, it's Diantha, y'know. It's also the same person who taught them a lot of things, who was there for them when they needed her the most, gave them a home in Kalos w her

Iris and Hau hesitated for a bit, then Diantha cups Iris's face, smiling at her. "My darling, I just don't want you to become like Leon's brother. Do you know what happened to him?"

"n..no..."

"like the rest of us, he was shunned, treated so poorly, after he couldn't meet their standards. Having a champion for a siblings is hard, and my poor Augustine knows that feeling as well..."

"..."

"but he didn't do anything for him, didn't he? Instead of helping his brother pursue his dreams of becoming a champion, he ended up giving up on that. Do you want that, Iris?"

"no..."

"neither do I, my darling. I already know how much people are looking down on you, on both of you, just because you're young Champions, not knowing that the person they hail as a monarch was once your age when he became champion too."

And just ncmdnd Diantha holding Hau's hand, rubbing circles on it, and then she pulled them close, hugging the two, giving them the comfort that they needed at the moment

During that tho I wanna imagine like maybe Leon did get to stand, and called out Charizard, and tried to attack Diantha while she's still distracted, but Iris saw him, called out her Haxorus and knocked out Leon's Charizard

Diantha finally realizes what happened, looked down on Leon trying to help Charizard up, and she smirked, a low chuckle left her lips and she looked back at Iris, "very good, my darling."

[stormblessed95]

There are many LGBTQ armies on here. I am one. You are part of the community yourself, I believe. I know you probably don't want this anywhere near your blog because what this person is doing smells like a pile of burning rat guts. I know this person is sick and they are are probably loving the attention they are getting from us (hypocritical of me to say that I know). I know that this is just one troubled person. But they represent many more who think the same way. Today they are in the Jikook tag accusing Jm of SA and violence against Jk (and others) because of the hickey. THE 'EVIDENCE' IS THE HICKEY. When SA and violence are brought into the hickey conversation it is time for everyone aligned with this person to take a good look at themselves.

At what point is 'free speech' and 'being against cancel culture' a deflection against being held accountable for doing something dangerous? At what point is something a homophobic attack?

This is a violent and dangerous level of homophobia this person is putting on the table. It presents something that Jk was speaking about affectionately (his hickey) as him being SAed by an evil sexual predator. This is not the first time this kind of language has been used on their blog. The words they used today were 'sexual assault' 'violence' 'dirty' and 'disgusting'.

This is the kind of homophobia that gets people killed. I am dead serious. Don't sleep on this one. It is framing intimate contact between consenting adults of the same gender as sexual violence when it obviously is not.

Gay people don't need to be out here getting told we are dangerous if we show affection.

Gay people don't need to be out here being called abusers for doing close and intimate things with the people we love.

If anyone thinks it's cute to defend what this asshole is saying as 'freedom of speech', then you are contributing to a broader system of hate and homophobia that makes the world unsafe for people like us. I am old enough to remember Mathew Shepherd. Please look him up anyone who doesn't know.

Us getting mad about it is what this person wants. But I think it could also be a good example for people to take away about how dog whistling works and how it escalates. This individual's blog and that idiotic twt thread they posted is full of homophobic and mysogystic dog whistle attacks. And sometimes it is just plain accusations. And yeah, it would be good if we just starved them out of attention because clearly they have no conscience and are very disturbed. But it is important to know this is bigger than 'anti' behavior. Accusing a public figure of SA when we all saw the footage and can clearly read the tone and context, is an example of how lies and hysterical language can be used to put forth falsehoods. And if society wasn't already brimming with homophobia, both on micro and macro levels, EVERYONE would be able to see how wrong it is. All I can say is these trolls must have a very sad existence.

And that's that on that as far as I am concerned.

I'm assuming this is in regards to this blog sent from this ask:

I TRULY hope no one took this as me saying pretend it doesn't exist. When I say don't give them attention I mean, don't send them asks even to try to prove them wrong or to tell them off. They don't care. Don't comment on their stuff. Don't call them names, even though it is deserved. They don't care and they thrive off that attention and "angering" people.

What I mean is absolutely cancel the fvck out of them. Report them daily. Report them to Bighit and Hybe for slander and defamation. They deserve to be blacklisted and sued. This website has a tutorial up for step by step instructions on how to report an account or a person to BHM/Hybe:

I agree with absolutely everything you have said here. This is an ignore and not give what them the satisfaction of seeing you pissed off, but don't ignore what they are saying and please take action against it type of thing. People like this are vile.

Freedom of speech does not mean freedom from consequence. There is a difference.

[imakeficrequestsandthendisappear]

The post where I try to fix Klaus’ arc in TUA season 2

(((I guess I just am an umbrella academy blogger now)))

OKAY, so we all can agree that Klaus’s arc in season 2 (mostly with dave) was....not great. the intentions i think were good, but misguided. It started pretty good, the acting was great, but it didn’t have the lasting power. Here’s 10 things the writers should have done differently, or should do in the future (as told by me, a nobody). Yes most of this is a long Klaus x Dave shitpost 

1. Learn Basic Math:   Idk why this is so hard to fucking grasp, but Dave’s baby-faced teenager age doesn’t make any fucking sense. according to the wiki, he was born in 1939, so in 1963 he is 24 years old. the actor who played young Dave is currently 20, so was probably 19 when they filmed. 

Why? why. *instert why vine*

like yeah he’s younger, but he doesn’t need to look like a infant. The baby-est gay that ever did baby gay. it puts a weird dynamic into the whole season with Klaus. and it’s not like there isn’t someone else who can play dave....

2. Hire Cody Ray Thompson again:  ....like, I’m baffled. they’ve baffled me. This guy had one(1) job, fall in love with Klaus, and he did it with so much charm and chemistry that the whole fanbase is still quaking. he had like 2 lines. like less 3 total minutes of screen time. And we all fell in love with him cause he did so good. ((he’s also a klave stan check out his twitter))

Whyyyy couldn’t they just get him in for season? “hE’d LoOk ToO OlD” well the other kid looked too damn young. do his hair different, have him lose some bulk in the arms and shoulders, get him a k-pop skin care routine, I don’t care.

Imagine if he got to have multiple scenes with Robert Sheehan, when they had so much chemistry in just a short montage in season 1.

3. Knock it off with the homophobia: i’m not gonna talk about when Dave punches klaus it’s literally the worst part of the season. it’s not what i came here for. I want a refund. (see point 7 for notes)

4. Actually make the cult a useful part of the season: like we have hundreds of adoring klaus fans ready to do anything he tells them… could that have served a plot purpose at any point? Could that have been useful in a conflict, or some character development? No?

5. Establish the Ben possessions much earlier: probably one of the most interesting plot points from season 2 is that ben had more agency. And then 5 minutes later he didn’t. I know we have 7 main characters but did we need this many scenes with the Handler while Ben got diddly fuck until the last 2 episodes? 

6: Why Doesn’t Klaus see ghosts anymore?: like, he sees Ben. but, what about all the other ones? He got sober, does he just ignore them now? ((guys what if he conjured the spirit of JFK)) 

7: (this one’s long) Make Klaus’s arc about internal conflict, not an external conflict between him and Dave:  

Klaus is established in season 1 to be selfish, but in like a fun way. he thinks of self satisfaction before literally anything else. this comes to a head when he comes back from Vietnam and says “He was the only person I’ve ever loved more than myself” 

After this Klaus’ growth is kind of put on the back-burner for the apocalypse stuff. We never really get to see him put someone else first after that. Even when he gets sober to see Dave, it’s to fulfill his own desires. 

By season 2 his world view has shifted, he gets sober, but we need more actions toward change. he gets bored of the cult and ditches them, and he barely does anything for Ben.

(selfish but lovable)

Enter tall hunky texas boy Dave, (((who is an adult man))) who is in the closet from his homophobic family, but it’s not spelled out for us. It could be as subtle as a look, or saying a coded phrase. The audience isn’t interested in the macro-drama of 1960’s homophobia, we are interested in the micro-drama between these two characters.

Anyway, Klaus is excited to see Dave, and they like meet and have a normal conversation, where it is eventually revealed that Dave is already planning on joining the marines soon. Klaus wants to stop him but then he realizes (or Ben tells him) that if Klaus says the wrong thing (like telling Dave not to go to war) it would change the timeline and they would never meet in 1968. And for the next couple EPISODES i want Klaus to have to think about this, like it’s an actual hard decision to make. He’s a creature of habit, his instincts are selfish because he’s always been selfish, but he loves this guy so much. 

Maybe he tries bargaining, like maybe he can subtly tell Dave just enough to keep him alive, but not stop him from going to Vietnam. And Dave is rightfully confused that this person knows a lot about him, but also like… he’s kinda cute. I want weird coffee shop dates and long walks through the texas fields in the setting sun.  

But right at the deadline of “we gotta stop the apocalypse again” Klaus realizes that he can’t let Dave go to Vietnam, even if it means they never meet. Cause he loves dave like way too much to even risk it, even if it means putting his own happiness second. It’s the first truly selfless act of love Klaus does for someone. So he tells him everything, but it sounds fucking bat-shit insane and Klaus has to leave right then and there. Leaving Dave standing there like “Wtf”

Later on after the Kennedy assassination, klaus and all the hargreeves’ are named as suspects, so Dave wonders if he’s just been duped by a cult leader this whole time (but also is kinda sad about it). He enlists in the marines anyway, and this is where we stay on the season one timeline.

But speaking of time-lines…….

8. Use season 3 to retcon timeline issues: like obviously they are going to fuck around with the timeline, because of the fucking bird school and emo ben. So take this opportunity, dear writers, to figure out how Klaus’s (and everyone else’s) lives make any sense, and cut some stuff from the season 1 and season 2 timelines. (and no, Klaus and Dave never falling in love in Vietnam is not a valid choice. It’s a garbage way to make me cry.)

9: Set a whole (or most of an) episode in 1968 Vietnam: maybe this is when they are trying to fix the timeline. Idk it’s just for fanservice. They have a whole 10 episodes and they can’t give just one to klaus? bullshit.

10. (Fan Theory) Reveal that Dave was killed by the commission: the true tragedy of this romance is that if Dave lived Klaus probably wouldn’t have gone back to 2019. They might have actually lived a happy life together. But the timeline needs Klaus in 2019, to be part of and die in the apocalypse, so the commission sends someone (.....maybe not Five) out to kill his boyfriend. 

Anyway it took me so many braincells to write this post and i do not accept criticism for free, so dm for my paypal if you want to tell me this was stupid.

[natural-hazard]

Language games and "why do you care?"

epistemic status: wailing and gnashing of teeth The sexual tension between the terms "pragmatic" and "meaningful". We've leaned towards using pragmatic more, I believe because Spendo and Crispith love them some William James. The thing that underlies both of them is this sense of hooking in to what matters to you. I could do without the word "pragmatic"s association with a particular narrow view of what can matter ("his head was in the clouds, he had all these big ideas but no pragmatic inclinations"). I bemoan "meaningful" and "meaning"s rumored (big if true!) association with, well.... "meaningless shit that doesn't connect to real humans, and is something that people play act at". Pragmatic evokes imagery of my "no-nonsense" grandpa who worked at a glass manufacturing plant his whole life and always focused on providing for his family. Meaningful evokes my artsy-fartsy sister who's desperately trying to escape the capitalist machine by trying to become a shaman in Ecuador. Take David Chapman's post (but give it back when you're done, the internet runs out after a while) Meaningful Perception. From our point of view it could just as easily be called "Pragmatic Perception". The structure of how you perceive is shaped by the structure of how you care. When we talk about pragmatic classification systems, though I defs expect lumber-jacks to be more like my grandpa than my sister, we're tapping into the sense in which classification systems are made by people who care about stuff, and are using the classification systems to get more hooks into interacting with what they care about. As it has been, and as it shall be, talking about care can spawn plenty of strife. Because I'm not referencing the things that your self-concept or your Narrative Self (explanation needed, not forthcoming, life's cruel ain't it?) say that you care about. I don't care about what other people think of me... except, of course for all the ways that I do. Having a self-image defined via negative traits (I'm not this, I'm not that) involves paying just as much attention to how others asses you as for positive ones.

"How can you not care?!"

Sometimes it's shouted in a tone of self-righteous indignation. Sometimes it's blurted out in a confused state of reality-shock. Sometimes it comes out as barely more than a whisper, a quiet spell soaked in sadness trying to magik reality into being other than it is. Hypothetical: you and your friends have a little group where y'all get together and talk about movies. Old and new, low brow and high brow, anything that's been on a screen. You gain a reputation in your broader social network as The Movie Folk, ones who are wise in the ways of film, those of nuanced takes and discerning gaze. One day, you find out your friend Ihsmael (it's always an Ihsmael isn't it?), who by the way is one of the more respected and venerated critics in your group, has never watched any of the films you all talk about. He watched a few movies growing up, but decided he doesn't actually enjoy watching films that much and hasn't seen any since he was 8. I can image one who has righteous indignation. WTF Ishmael? The rest of us have been putting in the work for years, and you've just been reading the plot on wikipedia and mashing up takes you found on the obscure and weirdly high quality forum that no one else happened to know? You've cheated! You're a sham! You don't deserve all the adoration you get for your hot takes, I demand you immediately refund everyone who ever gave you social capital! I can imagine one who's brain momentarily glitches as they try to understand how the fuck this is even possible. Why... have you been hanging out in our explicitly movie centric friend crew for multiple years when you don't watch films? The reality-shock alternates between "this makes so little sense I most be missing something" and the existential horror of realizing another human can look at the art you prize most and only care about a minuscule superficial aspect of it (critiquing with friends). Maybe you don't see them as committing status fraud, but you can't help but think that they live in a small sad world, content with only shadows of the real. ---------------------------- Variation in what people care about is fine. Not everyone needs to love A Serious Man as much as me. What's tragic is when I see systematic forces attempting to destroy ways of caring. In one of my favorite blog posts on the internet, Ben Hoffman talks about such an experience when trying to share with a friend a new technique he learned called Goal Factoring (pick some goal you have, see if it's actually you trying to get a few different things which are actually separable as in you could satisfy each of them better by trying to achieve them in different ways)

Naturally, I wanted to share this with others. When I got back home to DC, I tried to teach goal factoring to the Less Wrong meetup there. One participant told me that they'd had a hard time engaging, because their experience with any exercise around explicitly describing goals pattern-matched to things they'd been forced to do in school. For instance, they described an exercise they'd been forced to do at the beginning of the school year. The first step was to list a goal for the year (usually for that particular class), and the next steps were about figuring out how they'd accomplish that goal. They didn't really have specific goals in mind, so they had to make something up. Usually something that they imagined the teacher might approve of. They had effectively been trained to think of reasoning explicitly about goals as something where you have to follow someone else's rules, and has little to do with getting what you actually want. It should be easy to see how this might poison the whole thing. If someone's had enough experiences like that, where something that sort of looks like explicitly reasoning about goals is forced on them in nonsense ways, they might be ruined for goal factoring – and for many other things.

This breaks my heart. The particular connection to the particular technique that is goal factoring isn't important. But the fact that a person's interaction with the school system has effectively poisoned their ability to apply the entirety of their mind the timeless question "what do I see as the good life, and how shall I pursue it?" Many moons ago, in highschool, I suggested to a group that we get gyros, which I pronounced "j-eye-rows". Some nasally voiced twerp "ummmmm AKTUALLY it's pronounced 'year-ohs'". "Great", I thought to myself, "I will now never in my life ever pronounce it the way this fucko just suggested." Many. Such. ✨Cases✨. Schools at their worst (and also at their medium) act as 12 year programs who's end result is smashing one's ability to genuinely care about huge swathes of reality. ----------------------------- Which takes us back to language games (what, you don't remember us ever being at language games? Pal, we've always been at language games). I need to go to work now, so you figure out the connection. It's something like: language games fight each other. Language games have macro-structure (The Situation you are in and it's logic) and micro-structure (how do words actually combine to mean anything?). When people care about vastly different things, it changes the relationship between macro and micro structure of a language game. Two apsie nerds discussing trains is a language game that has a macro-structure, but it's less salient than the specific details they're conveying to each other via highly systematic micro-structure. Two dudes hurling insults at each other in a bar, The Situation screens off other details. The macro screens off the micro. The point of an insult is that it peforms the Insult Move in A Situation. It doesn't matter to much if I call your dad an ass-hat or your mom a cuck. The meaning of the micro is used to understand the move in the macro, and is then unimportant (except via contributing to a certain aesthetic quality and intensity to the macro move). Some macro-structures want to destroy micro-structures that I care a lot about. I aim to do something about this.

[metametonymy]

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[magaprima]

Part 2 Episode 5 Thoughts (2 out of ?)

When Adam comes in asking who that was earlier, Lilith is grading papers. Actual papers, they’re essays. And she’s actively doing it. I just love whenever we see Lilith doing actual work-work, like teacher/principal work. She actually had to read things written by mortal children and grade them, and she had to read forms written by mortal parents and mortal teachers and approve them. And they look like long-ass essays. But notice, how she only has the red pen in her hand. Lilith is a tough marker. 

Also, cute that Adam brings her her tea while she works, and just happily sits with her. This is a very contented man and he looks so proud of her and in love when she says she was helping one of her students. But when he says ‘It’s one of the many, many things I love about you’, Lilith looks so exhausted by this, that she actually stops working, and looks so tense and even mildly irritated. How often has Adam been saying ‘I love you, Mary’ for Lilith to be like ‘Again???’. As I said in my other posts and in my other episode analysis posts, I genuinely think Adam thought Mary had had an affair, or considering her virginity, at least fell in love with someone else. And that’s why she’s changed the way she looks, that’s why she’s being stand-offish with him, and I think that’s why he’s always saying how much he loves her, he’s trying to win her back. And that’s also why he suddenly says about setting a date for marriage; it’s pushing something to a conclusion. Either she’ll say yes or he’ll find out she’s in love with someone else, and either way it means the worry and second-guessing is over. 

But my God, the way Lilith looks at him like ‘wtf no’ and she immediately starts thinking about how she’s now got to deal with this. She’s been living with Adam for two weeks now, and we can see that a routine has developed; that he brings her tea and sits with her while she works (Lilith doesn’t even look up when he sits down showing that she expects it) and I think it’s very telling and very sweet how settled they’ve become in this routine, and Lilith obviously feels safe in the dynamic as she’s learned he doesn’t expect anything from her (as we now have confirmation he hadn’t consummated his relationship with Mary so would not have pushed for it from Lilith) but suddenly there’s a proposal shaped spanner in the works.

Which leads us to The Dinner Scene (Yes, it gets capitalised because it’s a significant scene ha) which I think is going to get a post all of it’s own because I might end up adding screencaps or GIFs because it is a veritable buffet of macro and microexpressions. 

[pikachu78109]

After Thoughts on Pokémon SwSh ((SPOILER HEAVY! TREAD CAREFULLY))

Okay, wow. So, I played and finished the main story in two days (I had so much free time after college classes) and I managed to power through the game in no time at all. Right now, I am doing post game, but I’ll save that for another time. For now, I want to address my overall thoughts on the main story and some of the pros and cons that this Gen has brought. Spoiler heavy content incoming!

Pros

1) The region is f*cking gorgeous!

When the Pokémon team really puts their mind to it, they create Galar to look really beautiful. From past generations, most of the town weren’t really towns, they looked like villages. And though the cities looked big like in Gen 5, 6, and 7, Gen 8 really pushed itself with its graphics and made the design of the towns and cities looks massive and eye catching. The colors pop and the things that stand out really stood out, such as MotoStoke, Wyndon, Hulbury, and Hammerlocke. These games are just so gorgeous to look at!

2) The Wild Area

Grinding as never been as fun when you’re in the Wild Area. Not only can you Dynamax your Pokémon when approaching as Power Spot, you can encounter rare Pokémon and Camp and do some serious training before the next Gym Match. I used this area a lot when playing through this game, and I have collected so many Berries and items and even battled some Pokémon to level up my team. This area has a functional use and something worth mentioning because I found this area to be extremely helpful whenever I need a bit of grinding. There are a few Trainers, heck there’s even a nursery if you want to drop off a couple of your Pokémon there, and they do sometimes give you items in exchange for Watt power. It depends on how much though, but you could get some rare items from them, if possible. Overall, a really great addition!

3) A Good Cast of Characters

Galar has so many characters and the majority of them are pretty good! While there are a few that I felt could’ve been stronger or competent even, most of the characters have different personalities and each one displays vast characteristics that make them stand out. Marnie, Bede, and Hop were great rivals and each one had a personal goal and under went character growth (Bede especially) as the story continued. Other characters like Sonia were present in the story and offered more to the plot, like telling about the legends in Galar or assisting you on your way. Leon was a character who was present most of the time and was a great Champion. Most of the Gym Leaders were unique in their own way (some more than others) and gave Gym Missions that could either frustrate you or not. It’s definitely not like Gen 7 where the cast gets involved one way or another, but in Gen 8, the cast never felt forgettable and had something to offer.

4) The Soundtrack Is Good

If I can pull a Trugreen 7 here, the music in this generation was pretty good. It brought a lot of life to the region and gave it atmospheric energy. My favorites include the Slumbering Weald, the Gym Leader theme, Chairman Rose’s theme, and Hop’s Battle theme to name a few. The Wild Area gets hit with a blast of bagpipes, giving it a distinct identity apart from the routes, cities, and towns. When the OST for this game comes out on iTunes, I’m definitely going to download some of these tracks!

5) Very Immersive

The attention to detail on the games bring out the immersion was pretty good. There’s definitely some humanity to the main character and there are a few things that accompany that. The Pokémon Camp mechanic was a great way to play with your Pokémon, make curry, and even invite other players to join your Camp. Not only that, but you could visit any nearby Pokémon Camps and interact with the Trainer’s Pokémon if you so wished. There’s a lot of upgrades to the character customization where you have a lot of options to choose from, from clothes to hair, so you could give your player character some identity that’s unique to you or look like you. The Power Up Spots found in the Wild Area invites players to join in a battle against a Dynamaxed Pokémon, so the use of teamwork and connecting with other players helps bring out more usage to the Dynamax mechanic. The region can get pretty easy to get sucked into and it shows.

Cons

So, now that I covered some of my personal favorite pros, I will now discuss some my personal cons that I have with this game. Keep in mind that these cons are of my personal opinion and maybe you might disagree, which is perfectly fine! Anyway, here they are!

1) The Story was Lackluster

As a new game on the Switch, the build to the story was something that I was looking forward to. I mean, there have been leaks about the story that were more like rumors, but they sounded really interesting and it got me hyped for the games. After playing through the story, it wasn’t much. The story, for the most part, was hardly a story. You’re just going around Galar, competing in the Gym Challenge and stopping whatever obstacles that come your way, such as Team Yell. Plot wise, there’s nothing. And when I mean ‘nothing’, I mean that the plot didn’t attribute to anything spectacular. The ending to the story felt very anti-climatic with the whole Eternatus situation and could’ve been handled better with the proper timing or with a better build up. Eternatus does not get mention much throughout the entire story and we are led to assume that Eternatus is the cause of The Darkest Day. That detail felt super unclear to me and I couldn’t tell what the f*ck was going on until the very last half of the game. I will get into more of that later, but for now all I can say is that I liked the leaked rumors more than the actual story we were given.

2) Chairman Rose Is A Weak Antagonist

Why? WHY?! As much as I like his battle theme, Chairman Rose is such a dumb antagonist! Listen, I know that villains in Pokémon can either be weak or great, but it all boils down to their motivation. Their motivations have to at least make some sort of sense, even if it is mediocre or half assed. Chairman Rose’s motive is all based around semi good intentions that can be similar to Lusamine’s from USUM. However, Chairman Rose doesn’t seem entirely aware of what he is doing and jumps into whatever scheme that he thinks might work and help all of Galar. Instead, his plans come off as lazy and last minute. We don’t get any occurrences to his antagonistic intentions because we are devoted to our Gym Challenge while Rose hides behind the shadows. To his credit, he would have to be the most sane antagonist in all of Pokémon and does turn himself in afterwards, so clearly he knew that he f-ed up. That being said, he would have to be the weakest Pokémon villain in my book and I would’ve preferred his secretary Oleana to be the villain instead.

2) Oleana Should Have Been the Main Antagonist

Like I said, Oleana should have been the main antagonist in these games. From the get go, she gave off so many red flags for being a character with less than good intentions but was actually a supposed Admin instead. I mean, she gives off so many bad vibes that I almost believed that she was the antagonist, not Rose. This was just a missed opportunity to me, because in the final stretch of the games, you get a bunch of Macro Officers who supposedly started a fan club surrounding Oleana. Like, wtf?! If you’re lackeys are going to making a fan club dedicated to you, then that has to say something. Oleana has always been a character that just had a cold expression on her face, but she’s left in a position that should’ve been rectified. Once again, this was a missed opportunity.

3) The Champion Battle Could’ve Been Better

As much as I adore Leon, the Champion battle against him didn’t feel as challenging as I hoped it would be. Instead, it almost felt like Gen 6 all over again with me almost knocking out his team completely with little to no effort involved. And he’s supposed to be the ‘undefeated’ Champ in Galar! Shouldn’t he be challenging? Shouldn’t he give me a hard time by providing moves that could put my team in a bind? There’s not much I can say about this other than the fact that this battle could’ve been better. I don’t know about other players, but from this experience, the Champion battle didn’t feel, well, Champion enough.

Final Thoughts

Okay, final thoughts. Obviously, I do have a lot more to say about Pokémon SWSH, but I didn’t want this post to become a lengthy essay. There were definitely some step ups and it’s clear to see where the steps were made to creating this game. Despite the controversy surrounding this Gen, I hope that this generation gets recognized beyond that. There are good things about this game that I pointed out, but there were also some things that felt rushed or didn’t make much sense.

I can’t say that I regret buying these games, because I am glad that I went to Galar and experienced many things from that region. Still, the things that stood out poorly really did show, which is a bummer because these were missed opportunities that could’ve made the games a lot stronger. I don’t think that Gen 8 is a bad game (heck I place that title onto USUM) but it’s definitely in a mixed bag with me.

If I were to rate this game on a scale of 1-10, I would give a 6/10, mainly because of weak story but accompanied with beautiful visuals and a decent cast of characters. The game does have some replay value but I believe that I might restart my game and play through everything all over again. That’s how I usually roll.

Recommending this game to other players would be difficult given the reputation this game has, but as a Switch game, it does an okay job. I just hope that the next games will have more effort and something to look forward to without any unnecessary drama to blacklist it. I can only dream.

[doubleddenden]

So I beat some more gyms. I think today I beat the 6th, 7th, and 8th gym, as well as the league and all that stuff. Saving post game story for tomorrow.

Some thoughts

[[MORE]]

Gordie is kinda forgettable other than his shades. I really want those. Other than that I beat him okayishly easy.

Team Yell ended up being just as bad as I thought. It's interesting how Piers, the first dark type gym leader, was the leader, but I don't feel like it was proper build up at all. Also, Spikemuth is just a hallway. Wtf??? I do like Piers tho, and Marnie is pretty likeable too. Both are reasonable people among weirdos in the pokemon world.

Plot starts getting weird here. Pokemon are suddenly dynamaxing- sure would love to see it! Why does Leon have to take care of it all? I get lore wise but from a gameplay perspective it just kinda feels insulting.

Raihan's gym battle was actually pretty damn cool. A double that makes use of weather, mixedish typings, and overall challenges. To beat his 4 pokemon, I needed 5/6 of mine, if that says anything. This was SUCH an anime fight. Duraludon gmax vs my Dmax Corviknight and my Rillaboom felt like such a ditch effort anime fight. Rillaboom goes down and Toxtricity claims victory. I really enjoyed this fight!

The semi finals were... meh. I feel bad for Marnie because I like her so much more than Hop. I beat both with the same two Graploct, Centiskorch, and for Hop I needed Rillaboom. I was vastly over leveled here and one shot so many pokemon after they both Swaggered Centiskorch.

The finals was an interesting idea executed strangely, bud Bede showing up when he did was unexpectedly cool. He looks even more like my grandma, but I do love how his character ended up. He was actually a decent challenge since most if not all of his team are both psychic AND fairy. He's strong.

Nessa, unfortunately, fell from grace. It was an amazing full circle though, since Dynamax Toxel couldn't even scratch her, but Dynamax Toxtricity totally one shot her gmax Drednaw.

Now Bea was a bit more interesting. I think I had a bit more of a challenge with her this time.

But Raihan? Boi delivered! Such a great fight! Such amazing team building around weather. In the end it was Rillaboom vs Duraludon, both d/gmaxed. I think I barely won.

However the whole Macro Cosmos thing felt like it came from nowhere. Why are they suddenly evil? Olivia was a bit of a challenge at the least. The Rose Tower was a really cool spot for a battle, but the grunts felt really tedious, especially with Hop tagging along.

The entire sequence leading up to the fight with Chairman Rose just feels so weird. Visually everything is spot on, but story and sound wise it feels so off. Very forced.

The Eternatus, Zamazenta and Zacian part, though? I have to say, that was really fucking cool. Eternatus, even though he came from nowhere, was a powerful foe and the visuals for the wolves was just breath taking. I do hate that you're forced to catch Eternatus, but overall a very cinematic fight.

Now, I was so scared that because almost every other league fight was a cake walk, that Leon would be too. Oh. Oh no. I was SEVERELY UNDERLEVELED. ABD I LOVED IT. It was such a difficult fight I had to bust out REVIVES. Sure his team is poorly balanced with two ghosts and two fire types, but the raw power makes up for it. In the end, even our dynamaxes ran out, and my Corviknight just barely survived to beat his Charizard. Such an incredible fight.

The ending credits needs some working on though, ngl. Btw, I spotted the mouse cursor. It's real. I laughed so hard. What a fail after winning me over.

I also tried to get my own gmax pokemon, but they are hard to find. I found a gmax Drednaw, but jesus christ, he's so difficult to beat when you're barely able to get 1 human player to help. He kept winning by knocking out the stupid weak ass npc's the game didn't bother scaling for the fight. God I wish I had better internet and a GMax Corviknight. That's all I really want. I still think it's so stupid you can't do something to make your hand raised pokemon like Corviknight able to gmax.

I accidentally started a bit of post game story and Hop is just. Idk. I hate how annoying he is and always EVERYWHERE. But I kinda feel bad for crushing his dreams. Fuck Sordward and Shielbert's jiggly ass hair though.

I think I can give a fair assessment of Sword. Ready?

If these were stand alone games, not at all connected to past games via transfers and the like, or if they just had the national dex built in, they would easily be pretty great. The games have AMAZING leaps for the series when it does things right. But then when it does things wrong, it does things WRONG. Like why am I seeing a huge distracting scanline in Wyndon? Why do we have poop trees in the wild area? Why is Spikemuth a hallway? Why is Hop so annoying and Team Yell so utterly pointless? Why does the mushroom forest and fairy city look so great? Why are some fights pathetically XY tier easy or amazing BW2 /HGSS tier challenging? Why are some points of the story so bland compared to others? Or forced?

It's so weird. Everything done right is 10 tier, but everything done wrong is 1 tier. It's both incredible and awful at the same time. I don't understand how. Like by being really amazing and really trash, it somehow makes this polished diamond in a cow pile average at best. Everything is either a 1, 5, or 10, and there's no in between.

I feel very conflicted here. I feel like ultimately this was purposely made controversial among fans to keep its name relevant. Because again, just slap the national dex in and it's a perfectly average pokemon game.

70 feels about right, yet not. I enjoyed it more than Let's Go, but I feel like I should rate it lower. As a 20 year pokemon veteran, I feel so confused, amazed and terrified. It's not as bad as initially thought, dare I say way better, but also far worse. Like imagine winning billions the lottery and then getting beat up by clowns after finding out you can't see your pets and friends again when you move into your huge mansion with hot service people, along with a really annoying neighbor that will not leave you alone, but a really cool one that gives you cheese cake. The best and worst day.

I am human and need sleep, so I'll finish the rest tomorrow. My e4 team is as follows

Corviknight- the fav and now in my top 5 favorite pokemon

Graploct- the baby

Toxtricity- the cool uncle

Centiskorch- the big bug I've always wanted

Drednaw- the reliable friend

Rillaboom- the drummer that's okay

I'll post more pics tomorrow

[finessepro]

hi! this is my first lifting haul (that i’ve posted) i used to lift almost every day in summer of 2018 but slowed down when school started. i also was really dumb and literally went to the same places every day with the same people lol. so i’m not sure if they knew what was going on (probably did) or they just didn’t care? anyways, here’s my haul that i got in the last few days! i stopped lifting for a while and just recently got back into it so it’s a little small but i’m proud!!

5 below/ 2 freeman’s face mask $5 each. basically the 5b by my house has no cameras and only like one worker so it’s a gold mine if it has the things you want. they carry a bunch of freeman’s shit and that’s my fav face mask brand so it’s so fun going in there.

family $/ clean n clear makeup wipes 3$ freeman’s face scrub 2$ eyebrow shavers 3$ beauty sponge 3$ basically this store is super easy if you know what your doing. mine has some cameras but no LP and barely any SAs. they also recently re arranged the whole store (i literally have no clue how ?? like every shelf was moved and new cameras were put up) so it was a new layout over all easy.

C V S/ 3 pack of hair elastics 9$ (way to over priced like wtf) scandalous mascara by rimmel 9$ the creme shop macro brow 13$ the creme shop eye brow pompom 16$ the creme shop blemish control primer 16$. i was super happy to get all of that because i haven’t bought or lifted makeup in a while. the cvs near me is kinda a shit show lol. really old security cameras (99% sure they don’t even work) and one cashier who does literally everything (stocks, cleans, runs photos, literally everything) and one person in the pharmacy who’s always playing on their phone. i almost got caught because i was in a blind spot about to shove shit in my bag and something told me not to and i looked up and the cashier was right there.

torrid/ 1st pair $16.90 2nd pair last 3 pairs were all 18.90. literally torrid is my favorite place to lift from by far because all their leggings bras and panties are untagged. some of their clothes are cute but i don’t own a magnet so i never can get anything. but their bras panties and leggings fit me so well and make me feel so confident. it’s sometimes hard to lift from there because every SA is literally up your ass but there’s no cameras and if they are busy it’s a gold mine. i did notices tho that they started tagging their braletts? i’m not sure when they started doing that because i haven’t been there in almost 8 months. but i have over 30 braletts from there (all lifted!!!) so i’m good with those.

GRAND TOTAL!! $157.60

i honestly don’t think it would of been that much if it wasn’t for those torrid panties. literally so overpriced for no fucking reason.

[princessofthedarkrealm]

Stroke of Midnight- Chapter 17 ~part 2~ (Pennywise x reader)

((I included links for chapters 16 and 17 (part 1) since they all tie in together. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all so much for the continued support! I appreciate all of you!!))

Chapter 16

Chapter 17 (part 1)

You breathed a sigh of relief when Roman walked through the door. You and your mom had been having a long overdue heartfelt mother-daughter talk. You had told her that you and Roman had been seeing each other and that you loved him. And of course she had congratulated you and gave you her blessing, which had made you tear up.

Your mom told the two of you that she was going to get coffee. Then she patted Roman on the arm. “Oh, happy Fourth of July, Roman. And welcome to the family.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Kenvyn,” he said.

Your mom left. Roman could tell right off the bat that something was upsetting you.

He sat on your bed. “What’s wrong, kitten? What do you need to talk about?”

You decided to cut to the chase. “I have things that I need to tell you and ask you, and… Penny, please don’t be upset.”

Roman sat on the edge of the bed. He put his hand on your arm. “This is serious. I can tell. You never call me that unless it is. What’s wrong, kitten?”

You took a deep breath and told him of your dream. Or as you had come now come to realize it was, your out of body experience. The only parts you left out was the little girl at the end and where you had talked about Pennywise’s questionable habits.

Now it was Roman’s turn to take a deep breath. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I should have known he would try to get to you like this. That he would try to recruit you and turn you away from me.”

“Who is he?”

“Maturin is an ancient being, just like me. He guards the Dark Tower. The place where you were at.”

“And what is the Dark Tower?”

“The Dark Tower is…” Roman idly waved his hand about. “It’s the center of the universe. Or the macro-verse as it’s also known. Maturin is one of its guardians.”

“And why would he be interested in me?”

Roman grabbed your hand and held it. “What do you think interested me in you? You’re strong willed. And you’re willing to believe in more than what you’re used to. Just that right there is enough to attract any supernatural being to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just what I need. Another supernatural admirer.”

Roman snorted. “I doubt that’s what he’s after you for. Of course you know I wouldn’t share you.” He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it, a sly grin on his face.

Your stomach gave a lurch. Now it was time for the questions you really dreaded.

“Penny, why did you bring Chris below the Neibolt house?”

Roman lowered your hand, but he still held on to it. “I am a jealous being, Y/N. When you told me you were going to see Chris, I panicked. Just the idea of the two of you speaking together infuriated me.”

“But you told me you were fine with my going to see him.”

Roman sighed. “I thought I was. I was wrong. I am sorry.”

“And what about the floating children? Are they dead? Did you have anything to do with that?” Your voice was starting to become frantic now. Roman started rubbing your arm. “Hey, hey. Shh. Most of them are dead. And yes, I put them all there. I find...missing children... dead missing children and put them in that state.” You stared at him in horror. “But... why? Why would you do something like that?” “To spare their families. To make sure the children are at peace.”

“But their families need to know. Oh my God.” You put your hand on your forehead. You were starting to get a severe headache. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this.” You blew out a loud breath. Roman was still rubbing your arm. “Lot to process again?” You let out a shaky laugh. “Oh you don’t know the half of it. Every time I think I get used to this, it’s just... bam! My mind gets blown all over again and, oh God, Roman why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to up our relationship?” You put your head in your hands. “I mean, you made me drink your blood.” You put your hands in front of his face. “Who the hell does that shit, Roman?”

“You asked me to do it, Y/N.”

You stared at him in shock. “What? Whoa. I think I would remember telling you that, and I most certainly do not.”

“Well, maybe not in those exact words. But you at least said you wanted to be with me for however long you could have me.”

You started racking your brain. And then you remembered. The night of the play.

“Behind the Neibolt house,” you said.

“Yes. I asked if you wanted to be with me forever and you said for as long as you could have me.”

“But you should have asked me, Roman. You should have asked me if I wanted to be bound to you even more further and we already were.”

Roman bobbed his head in agreement. “I know, kitten, I know. I messed up so bad. I just…” He grabbed your shoulders. “You don’t know how desperate I am not to lose you. When I saw you on that floor tonight, bleeding and unconscious… I wanted to take it back so badly. You have no fucking idea. I hate myself for what I did to you. I betrayed your trust in the worst way possible. And I swear to you, if I have to…” He placed his hands on either side of your face. “I will spend an eternity making it up to you, but please, say you forgive me for this. For everything.”

You sighed deeply. “So what does this mean for us now? What are we?”

Roman dropped his hands. He turned away from you. “You and I are imprinted on each other. No matter where we are, we’ll be able to tell what each other is thinking and feeling. Or at least you’ll be able to do it with me now anyway. I’ve always been able to do it with you.”

“So what is our relationship status? What would you call the human version of it?”

Roman placed his hand back over yours. “Well, I don’t know how to say this, Y/N. Your blood is inside me now. And vice versa. If I were human, you and I would be-”

There was a knock on the door. You and Roman both glanced up. A young blonde nurse walked in.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’m here to take your blood now.”

You turned your head away. “At least you warned me beforehand,” you muttered under your breath.

Roman gave you a weak smile and squeezed your hand. “I’ll be outside.”

He got up and left. The nurse took your blood.

“There is a lab here in the hospital. We should have the results back in no later than two days,” she said. She started to leave.

“Hey, wait,” you said. She stopped. “Can you look for other things besides infections?”

“Sure. What else would you like us to check for?”

You took a deep breath. “Pregnancy. I need to see if I’m pregnant.”

That night you lay in your hospital bed asleep. The doctors had decided to keep you overnight for observation. You had been given a clean hospital gown and were allowed to take a shower and clean off the rest of the dried blood.

As you slept, someone entered your room. You didn’t see who it was. Or that he had come up to your bed and placed his hand over your midsection. You didn’t see him close his yellow eyes in concentration or when his eyes popped back open. You certainly didn’t see the look of shock and horror on his painted face.

Or hear him growl in hunger.

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[ravenruns]

Yesterday I met all my goals. Yay!

On Friday I ignore the step goal because of weekend running. But there is yoga and strength training. So far I've also had my water, meditated and kept my calories and macros right. I've been dealing with some very minor back pain today so yoga is going to be an easy yin flow.

Since it looks like the storm, now Nate, isn't going to be as much of an issue, I'll be doing my running outside tomorrow and Sunday. The treadmill has been great this summer and has allowed me to both get my miles done and sleep in, but for long runs it is painfully, horrifically B O R I N G. I mean, dodging traffic and fending off dogs isn't great but neither is staring at the side of the garage for hours at a time.

I've so far only had one traffic incident, and that was some jerk swerving onto the shoulder on purpose to force me to jump a ditch. I thought at first he just wasn't paying attention, but it was deliberate. 🖕 It could be worse, some poor bicyclist in Jax got shot in the ass while he was out riding. WTF is wrong with people?

Ok, I guess technically it was his upper thigh, but upper thigh might as well be lower butt cheek.

I'm not sure what Mister plans to do this weekend, but I think we may go out to at least get some marine plywood for a boat restoration he's working on, and maybe stop somewhere to ease his sushi craving.