#I feel y'all because honestly...

[beautifulpersonpeach]

OMG BPP! I just heard (and counted) that there are 13 'set me free's when the song concludes!! I'm,,, what?! I mean, it must not be a coincidence, right? I'm so delulu right now, can't think straight. Oh,,,, Jimin,,,,,,,😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 P.S. Thanks for sharing your reaction with us. It's always a delight to hear your thoughts (and know that someone is definitely freaking out with me, barely alive)

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Ask 2:

From magnum ice cream to universal music Brazil... everyone be tweeting about his solo.

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Ask 3: I think the dichotomy between the autotune and his regular voice and the "fuck all your opps" being in quotes (its one of the two lines quoted in the lyrics) is meant to convey Jimin having a conversation with himself that's how I understood it and tbh that's highkey the only way to interpret it in a way that makes sense cus we not bout to switch up the meaning of an actual word just cus the internet people don't understand something

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Hi Anon(s),

Anon in ask 2, when I copy-pasted your ask the link pasted like that, I'm not sure if that works but I've linked it here too.

I went to count the "set me free" myself (because I usually check for myself whatever y'all tell me here) and by golly, you're right. There are nine 'set me free's in the chorus, four in the outro, and 13 in the final chorus + outro.

...

Hate to be the party-pooper here, but I feel it's coincidence Anon. Then again, Jimin is the same person who sings "All this is not coincidence." So who knows?

Anon in ask 3, thanks for sending in your thoughts too. I agree with you and have said more or less the same thing in previous posts. Frankly I think it's obvious how autotune is used as a narrative device and stylistic choice in the song. The only people missing it are those with an interest in 'missing' it. Or people who cannot tolerate autotune in any way, shape, or form. Sucks for them though because Jimin just dropped the song of the year.

Take breaks, stay moisturized and hydrated, treat yourself to something sweet, and stream Set Me Free Pt 2.

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Aside, I feel the need to say this: I'm getting that rush again. That orgasmic, euphoric high when the tannies drop music designed to be perfectly wired to my wavelength. In terms of solo work, D2, JITB, Indigo, and On The Street all stimulated that rush in my head. I expected that from the rapline but to be honest, while I've liked a lot of Jimin's material (Black Swan, Dis-ease, Friends, Promise, Vibe, and you won't find a stronger defender of Christmas Love than my sobok sobok-loving ass), I've not experienced that rush with his music and I didn't expect to feel that rush with his material.

The minute I heard the autotune in Jimin's voice at the start of the song though, how it was used, the fact that right from the jump they make it impossible to miss or ignore, it's like something in my brain shifted. Jimin has blown out every doubt I ever had about him. He's exactly what I suspected is.

A freak.

And I feel a bit ashamed I had dimmer expectations to begin with. Don't get me wrong, I expected Jimin to bring the roof down and dominate, but I expected him to do that differently. Instead, Jimin has not just brought the roof down, he's obliterated the very ground the house was built on. He has quite literally ended k-pop in 2023. It is ended. We're all existing in the post-mortem universe of k-pop. Our dates now read B.J. and A.J. - Before Jimin and After Jimin. He has served all there is to serve by any man, woman, creature to ever exist in k-pop.

But thing is, I feel this way about Hobi most recently with his Vlive & OTS, Joon most recently in his El Pais interview & ig pics, and Yoongi most recently three minutes ago when my friend sent me this picture:

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So I've been reflecting on BTS, on the fact that it is BTS who is at the very top of this unforgiving and cruel system, a status paid for by their blood, sweat, and tears, and that to have gotten to the top all seven of them were forged through fire in the process. It's comical when people comment about how BTS lacks in this or that area, because most times, it's simply not true. All seven members are extremely remarkable people. To be in a group like BTS requires nothing less. Jimin could only shine in a group like BTS, where there are members with similar intensity but distinct and dissimilar colours. And their solo projects fully highlight the value and magic they each bring to BTS.

It hit me today that I might not survive Jungkook's solo debut.

That's what I'm really saying here.

Taehyung too is going to do something very interesting, after all he is a BTS member, so I'm expecting him to shock and awe. But today I realized that Jungkook could also debut this year, and I really had to sit down and think about if I could handle it. We know Joon and Hobi are back in the studio so we might get even more music before they enlist. And then there's Yoongi's tour right after Jimin's promotions, and what if they tour together...

Just... there's so much going on. And I'm loving it.

Chapter 2 is incredible!

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

nearly, nearly, nearly: dovquez [t]

@dovquezdecember + near

“Dovi!” Marc says clumsily, flashes him a grin—sun-bright, shameless.

Andrea is thinking. He was nearly a champion this season. Nearly, nearly, nearly. But it wasn’t so close at the end, -37 points, and the entire ocean between Marc making a miraculous save and him screaming on the gravel trap.

His fingers spasm around his empty glass, just once. Andrea is acutely aware of the camera glares, of way, way, way too many people around. Too soon to get another one, and the one after that. The frizz of alcohol is heavy in his stomach, leaden.

Marc makes a noise—impossible to make sense of. Andrea blinks, remembers he should answer him any time now. His tongue is stuck on the roof of his mouth, but it isn’t Marc’s fault that everything had to go right today and nothing did.

He drops whatever he was planning on saying. Marc brandishes his own champagne flute, takes Andrea’s empty one for himself. It’s full—lukewarm prosecco, sure, but it’s full.

Andrea—against his own will, let it be said—laughs.

Marc’s eyes go round, shiny. His hand comes down to cling to the sleeve of his suit, where it falls half an inch too long. And he sways towards him, chest brushing against the side of his arm. Andrea cups the small of his back, raises his eyebrows.

“The drinks aren’t good enough for you to be drunk already.” He prods—harmlessly, his voice pitched low.

He could be drunk on everything else, though. His podium, his sixth championship in—God—eight years, Honda delirious over their golden boy.

Marc bats his lashes coyly, pretends to think. “It was a good dinner, don’t be mean.”

It was, is the thing. He stopped counting after the fourth course, the tenth FIM/Dorna exec with a polished smile that congratulated him on a clean, sportsmanlike dispute—probably having the time of their times that it didn’t end in death threats and a sports court.

Andrea snorts. “Drinks are still shit.”

For all that Marc says don’t be mean, the corners of his lips are trying to quirk up again. Just as cruel.

And when he catches Andrea looking, Marc ducks his head away. Tries to hide it.

He’s so—he’s a sharp, shameless little thing. Hurts to cradle him close, cuts his palms to gory ribbons. Andrea clings, anyway. The party has dulled to a trickle of I wish it was me that barely registers. He fancies he can spot the place where Marc kissed the tower on his mouth, his teeth—like Raphael’s blessing.

His stomach rolls with champagne, too little food he wasn’t feeling up for. Sizzles.

“It was a good season, too.” Marc speaks abruptly but quietly. The cut of his jaw turned bullish, stubborn.

He can feel the tension pressed on his side. It’s not even like gearing up for a risky overtake—Marc throws himself into those with wild joy, again and again and again. This is measured, strained. Marc’s spine grows rigid where he’s touching.

Andrea hums. “Are you going to say you’re sorry?”

Marc’s expression slackens, softens with confusion. “What?”

“You look like you might.”

“For winning?” Andrea nods, stares at him expectantly—wills his face to stay flat and unamused and is only mostly sure he succeeds. Marc purses his mouth, lets him catch a hint of teeth and the downturned curve of his lips. “No way.”

And listen—

Andrea shakes his head. He feels that gold-tinted lightness filling the insides of his chest. Maybe he’s drunk, four glasses catching up like outbreaking himself into a highside, but it’s easier now than it was a couple minutes ago, when the champagne tasted stolen, tasted like trackside dust and a mocking round of applause in his garage.

“You are horrible.”

He watches it happen in real time, how Marc pulls a face, how his eyes flutter to look at him and then away.

People call him brutish, impulsive—it’s not true. Just because he was born without a sense of self-preservation doesn’t mean he doesn’t think. Marc is a shrewd thing. Calculating. He wonders what he was trying to find with that look.

But he’s probably a little drunk himself too, or Andrea wouldn’t have caught that minute flinch in his expression. Marc is too opaque for acting mistakes these days.

It is the thing about Marc. Andrea doesn’t know if he’s bracing for a slap or it never coming despite how much he wants it to.

“I don’t think you mean that,” he says—petulantly, imperiously.

Very, very deliberately.

Andrea smiles, squeezes his back. “I do, I do!”

“No, you don’t.”

He does. But Marc is horrible like a tricky corner, or a bull charging in a bullfight. Predictable only in how it scares you shitless no matter how many times you try it. Horrible in that clammy fear you’re going to be swept along. Fucking fantastic when you conquer it—if you do.

It’s there anyway, of course, red-hot, that frustration—the shame in the gravel, in the garage. But Andrea tries to get angry only about things he can control.

Marc winning isn’t personal, is it.

He takes a breath, lets that awkward silence wash over him, over them, releasing that aimless frustration knot by knot. Marc fidgets against him, rehearsing taking a small step to the side, away from him. Andrea considers for a moment, half of one—doesn’t let go of his grip on him, on the fabric of the back of Marc’s suit.

There are cameras, still. Too many people. It’s none of their business—

This is, Andrea reasons, nothing worth hiding.

“It was a good season,” he says, gently—either an agreement or a concession.

Marc relaxes a fraction, does his best to tuck himself against him no matter that he’s a couple of centimeters taller. Finally, finally, he looks at Andrea straight on, with his usual hungry shamelessness, eyes huge and liquid on his face.

“You looked like you were having fun.”

“Here and there,” Andrea shrugs, isn’t even a bit surprised when he feels Marc’s fingers slip under his shirt to hold the jut of his wrist. “I had this pest bothering me.”

He is surprised at how hot those tiny points of pressure feel. His pulse drums against the thin skin of his wrist.

Marc bristles, indignant. “You ambushed me this whole year!”

Here and there, when he could, when he managed to make it work. In Austria, Japan. Andrea made himself steady as a metronome, harmless until he wasn’t—he wasn’t going to outcrazy Marc anyway, might as well try something unorthodox.

“You weren’t very angry about that from what I remember,” Andrea replies mildly. Mock-dry.

Marc nudges him with his shoulder, tries to scowl but melts into a loud, honking chuckle. It’s evidently, incredibly disarming. “Fuck off, I was! You always knew what I was going to try next. I thought you were going to drive me crazy.”

“Not even you can win them all.”

Marc grins—shiv-quick, self-satisfied. He looks like he’s winning this one, whatever this one is. “I can try.”

Andrea is thinking—it isn’t self-pity this time. Feels about just as dangerous. Marc’s touch is insistent, makes him fidgety all the way to the bone. He isn’t even the slightest bit innocent himself either—hand splayed on Marc’s back, the tip of his little finger reaching suspiciously lower than it was a moment ago.

He swallows. Marc tracks the jerky move of his throat, stares at him through his lashes. It is as shameless as it is—unfortunately—effective.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I enjoyed myself?” There’re nails biting into his forearm lightly. A smirk—broad, pink-lipped.

Cocky little bastard, isn’t he?

“You still are.”

Marc preens, forgets—for a slip of a second—to keep his cards close to his chest. Everything about him becomes bright enough to blind, to cast spots in his vision like he’s staring into the sun. He is horribly easy to like, to forgive.

Even through the stab of the annoyance, the tangle of thorns wrapped around his throat that Andrea has to name envy. Even when he wants to shake Marc by the shoulders—don’t you know? Don’t you see what you are? It never sticks. Marc is that dangerous in close proximity.

Looks eager to prove that he is, too. He shifts his head from one side to the other, gauges the crowd. There’s this focused frown on his forehead. Andrea knows him well enough to brace himself. Realizes—too late—that there’s no bracing for an inspired Marc.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” He pauses, bludgeons on when Andrea doesn’t immediately reply. “I want to.”

Christ.

Christ on the bloody cross.

He doesn’t know why he expected Marc to be subtle or careful, but still.

Andrea sputters out a cough, laughs. He can hear the strain in his voice—the complete fucking disbelief. “What? Here?”

It is a yes by any other name. Marc shrugs, chuckles—he’s an insolent thing, fingers straying playfully over his arm, looking so very sure of himself. Of getting what he wants, always.

Smug.

“Why not?” He asks, eyebrows wagging. It is ridiculous. So is the rush of fondness in his chest. The fishhook tug of Marc’s tongue flashing over his teeth.

Andrea isn’t—usually, he amends—so reckless.

“You’re insane.”

Marc stares at him, shark-eyed, unblinking. It slices through him cleanly like a hot knife, like Marc on a left-hander circuit. “You keep saying that.”

And yet goes unsaid.

He breathes in, a little funny, constricted. His fingers spasm on Marc’s back, cling to the smooth downiness of his pressed shirt. Want jolts through him like touching a live wire—he isn’t thinking. It’s the easiest thing in the world to move his hand, eyes on the party that feels like his burial.

Marc chokes on a noise when Andrea untucks his clothes to reach the skin of his back, when his thumb digs into one of his Venus dimples.

“Alright,” he mutters, soft.

The room melts to nothing around him, a kaleidoscopic blur of color and people he doesn’t care about. Marc’s head is bent, tucked close to his own—an inch closer, and they’ll be inside each other’s skin, breathing the same air. Andrea can only think about the pinkness of his mouth—how near it is.

[khaire-traveler]

I reiterate that if you're going to ask people for donations, you will come across as extremely suspicious if you spam their inbox. People are likely to report and/or block you, thinking you're a bot. If you need donations, I do not recommend going about like this. I really, REALLY do not recommend it.

[schneiderenjoyer]

This part has provided and honestly confirmed an insight that's been implied occasionally, but never openly stated as much as this moment.

Arcanists are less durable.

It's mentioned a handful of times how it's important for combat between arcanists to be quick and efficient. While they can be physically strong even beyond human standards, their limits are far shorter in comparison. They're far more prone to taking physical and mental damage quicker with their quick healing/recovery to make up for it, but not change just how fragile they are.

This is very insightful too as to why arcanists would be more inclined to fight using arcanum instead of physically as much as possible. Their arcanum gives them an upper hand where their physical stamina is lacking.

[priceofreedom]

funny how everyone seemed to adore Zack until he started having more screentime...

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

_____ used Destiny Bond! _____ is hoping to take his attacker down with him!

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(Belatedly) celebrating the one-year anniversary of the 'Destiny Bond' comic with a rare, fully-illustrated piece. A bit of extra context and rambly thoughts under the cut 🫶💖💕

A little over a year ago, I posted the first part of the Destiny Bond comic, originally intended to be a one-off doodle exploring the consequences of Morty's prophetic abilities on his relationship with Eusine.

That sketchy doodle of mine ended up being a whole narrative project spanning across a few months, before I eventually took a pause on it to focus on my mental health (having reached a low earlier in the year).

It was a daring enough project in and of itself, especially with how I had spontaneously taken it on when I was still recovering from a years-long burnout with 2D art. Though (temporarily) stopping sooner than I had hoped, I can confidently say that this little comic project of mine had helped to rekindle my love for drawing as a whole, and had further lead me to meeting some of the most wonderful people and friends in this small corner of the Pokémon fandom (whom also happen to be obsessed with these two silly guys from the GSC/HGSS games). It's a project I hold dearly to my heart, and one that I hope to revisit and continue once I feel ready to do so; as the story has yet to truly kick off (I'm not even joking we're still in the prologue technically I'm yelling /lh).

I hope to be able to share the rest of this story with you all one day, in whatever new form it'll take as. For now, I want to say thank you, from the deepest parts of my heart, for supporting this passion project of mine - and to assure you to tune in for the future of this title. 👀✨

[bitchthefuck1]

People who hate Shiv or think she was wrong for what she did in the finale are so unserious to me. "How could she screw over Kendall and stop them from keeping the company???" oh you mean the guy who promised they'd run it together and then immediately double crossed her? And then spent the rest of the season trying to cut Roman out of the company too?? How could she betray that guy??? real mystery.

[atwas-gaming]

"Amy's just an obsessive fangirl," then explain her reaction to Sonic in Unleashed? Most fans and paparazzi and whatnot ditch their favorite for a new favorite the second their favorite turns weird or ugly. But Amy still loves werehog Sonic as much as daytime Sonic. Once she understands, she's like, "Oh, this is who you are now. Cool. I hope you're all right. Now when can we have a date?"

Granted, she doesn't necessarily have her priorities in order there, but she still cares about him. She just got confused when she first saw him. I saw a translation of her Japanese dialogue one time, and she said something like, "But I know I felt Sonic's presence." As soon as Amy finds out it really is Sonic, she's by his side again. As far as any of them knows, Sonic could be like this the rest of his life, and she doesn't care, as long as she can be with him.

[pardonmydelays]

also, just so you know, the eras tour was my final moment as a swiftie

[stinkiesdraws]

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[whitestopper]

What if bi Jayce and gay Viktor are canon but it's also canon that it's platonic, like they just aren't into each other like that

[mad-hunts]

this post might be a little controversial, but i feel like if DC just listened to its fans once in a while... they would've come up with something much better than joker: folie à deux 🤷‍♀️ just sayin' — like, i will never not be amazed that they passed up the opportunity to make a batman beyond movie drawn in the same style as the spiderverse movies!! but they DID

[crescentfool]

ezekiel moon for @darknicjen!

[dragonsasastronauts]

Side note, if you have read only one of the books, just select the "has read" option. It's honestly not a big deal, though. I just included reading/not reading the books because I thought it would be interesting to see if that impacts anything at all.

Also also, for those of you who have Alistair marry Anora, but also have your Warden become his mistress, please just pick the mistress Warden choice. I only get to put 12 answers here, I am so sorry 😞

[shallowseeker]

The thing is...I don't hate Sam.