#it's been days that I haven't played fes a live but when I open the app for the first time in a while this is what was presented for ME

[koralcove]

APT.

prompt: what the current lads men's reaction would be when they find out you've been obsessed and bopping to this song (and how they would handle lss when it hits them).

a/n: this song has been bouncing in my mind as i was taking a shower, and then bam! brainrot was born.

he was headed to your place, coming back from the bakery as his nose directed him to a delicious scent and decided to purchase a seasonal pastry. his first thought when he purchased the tasty treat was to share it with you.

he's standing in front of your door. a few minutes have already passed, and you still haven't come to answer. on his last knock, he decides that he'll just invite himself in. opening the door, he's greeted by the sound of a beat coming from your kitchen.

as he nears your kitchen, the song comes in full blast from your speaker, the catchy rhythm reverberating around the room and into your bones, evident from the jolly wiggle of your shoulders and hips as your body moves to the beat.

you're currently washing your dishes right now, and you seem to be a bit sidetracked and spellbound by the music, occasionally stopping to soap a dish but mainly getting carried away by music as your body bops to it.

the song is apparently on loop, probably an intentional decision given from the never-ending delight of your body and expression as it keeps playing in the background, with you still unaware of his presence.

halfway through the third loop of the song, you do a little turn and scream as you finally notice xavier's presence by the threshold, soapy hand clutching on the spoon in your hand. judging from the subtle smugness and amusement in his eyes, he's been here for a while, spying quietly on your little display.

"xavier! what the fu... how long have you been there?!"

"long enough to find out that you put the song on loop. this has been the third time it's played."

your ears burn at the horrifying knowledge that he's seen enough of the little 'concert' you had.

you shoo him away from the kitchen, asking why he's there in the first place. he tells you of his little detour before going home and has picked up a pastry to share with you. you tell him to wait by the living room as you finish up the dishes, though you take your time in the kitchen to cool down, speaker now turned off and ears still burning in mortification.

once you're done, you avoid meeting his gaze as you sit down, taking the pastry he offered you. you sit stiffly, body language evidently awkward, and it doesn't help that xavier's eyes bore into you, pressuring your form.

"what?" you mumble, still not meeting his eyes.

"nothing. just visualising your dancing again."

you stop chewing, mouth agape as your eyes snap to his. you groan, lightly kicking his leg. "you weren't even suppose to see that! and isn't it a violation for someone to just walk into someone else's home while they're vulnerable? and talk about you spying too..."

"well, someone couldn't hear me knocking because their music was on blast and they were busy dancing, so i decided to let myself in." amusement dances on his gaze as he sees your face cringe.

from that day on, you made sure to always be alert with the door, especially when it came to xavier. you're suddenly doubting the decision of letting himself feel welcomed into your place...

he didn't let that slide for a few days, and though his teasings were subtle, it always manages to hit the nail in the coffin with his implications.

"your swordsmanship is getting better, although i'd say i'd prefer to see you doing your little dances right now instead."

"you want to do the dishes? am i going to see another concert from you?"

"i'll help you with that. you wouldn't want to get sidetracked with how lively the music is."

he finds himself humming the tune sometimes, but it was never within your vicinity. he was holding consideration for you, because although the blush creeping up on you and the scrunch of your face from the memory was adorable, he wouldn't want you to feel as if he was mocking you and making you uncomfortable around him.

one thing he'd never let you know, though, was the video of you that he secretly recorded. it never fails to bring a smile on his face and light his heart up with the way you were so lost into the music, your expression one of concentrated joy as you feel through the song, along with your adorable dancing too.

on a particular day, he had noticed you humming the same tune and repeating the same lyrics.

at first, he thought it was some form of incantation and wondered if you'd had any encounters with a wanderer that had anything to affect your functioning.

"apt, apt, apt, apt..."

zayne had to give you a quick check up to see if anything else has affected you. his suspicions were abated when he heard the following tune of your chanting. turns out, it was only a case of last song syndrome.

he found your little hummings endearing, especially when it's paired with the slight bop of your head, probably recreating the beat in your mind.

he doesn't mind it much, but a few days later as he's shopping, he hears a familiar chant and melody playing in the background. it turns out, it's a popular song, and as he listens to it intently, he can understand how the catchy rhythm seems to worm its way into your head.

at this point, with his knowledge of the song and your repeated hums and soft singing of the chorus, zayne has become somehow familiar with it. the music has eventually wormed its way into his head as well, but it was mostly because of how it reminded him of your cheerful tune.

unknowingly to him, he's been quietly humming the melody. greyson has noticed this when he was about to deliver a report to zayne, catching up with him until he hears a soft vibrating sound coming from the surgeon.

he's surprised to hear the familiar, catchy tune coming from their ever stoic doctor, but when you arrive at the hospital and greet greyson, asking about the doctor and waving at him with a skip in your step and the lyrics flying softly out of you as you leave, he puts two in two together.

you also eventually catch zayne humming the tune while you're both preparing dinner at his place, ears quirking as you hear the familiar melody in the form of his light, baritone cadence through the sound of him chopping.

"i never knew you liked that song too, doctor zayne. i didn't think it would be your style."

the hand on the knife stills at your comment, making zayne suddenly aware of his action. he blinks slowly, before proceeding to chop again. "i suppose it's grown on me. admittedly, the song is quite catchy itself, but i was more influenced by someone's constant singing of it."

a bashful smile reaches your face. "ah, my bad. it got stuck in my head for the whole day, and that was all i could hear in my mind."

"your condition sounds serious. i'm afraid it's contagious. the only cure for this now would be for you to sing it to me until my brain gets tired of it."

your hand shoots to grab the can of paint that you almost tripped over, sighing in relief from the lack of spill on the floor. you're wondering where in heaven's name rafayel is already.

he's invited you over spontaneously with the alibi of suddenly having the urge to have a painting session together. you figured it would be fun, considering you had nothing to do at the moment.

he also mentioned that he was out to grab a few supplies and that you should help yourself in his studio, but it's already been around forty minutes, and he still hasn't appeared yet. you're getting bored from just sitting out and waiting for him, so you decide to start on something.

once you've prepped everything you needed, you scroll through your phone and look through your playlist to find an appropriate song to get into the mood before starting. a cheery tune comes in and you nod in approval, grabbing the brush and just going off with whatever you feel.

minutes pass by, and you've made some progress with your work. the upbeat songs on your playlist drive the mood of your art as well as yourself, but when it reaches to that particular song, you're suddenly all over the place, the paintbrush now a makeshift microphone in your hand.

"don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now?~"

"oh, i definitely need a camera for this."

you trip over the same paint again, its contents spilling out. a slew of curses leave your mouth, grabbing the can before the whole liquid could escape. you look up to see rafayel, with a grin plastered on his face.

"i... you... how..." you sputter over your words, too stunned to even utter a full sentence to him. how long has he been standing there? and how much did he see?

"i came back ten minutes ago and heard the loud music from upstairs. sooo, i saw your performance for about... seven minutes, i'd say."

he walks over to you, taking the paintbrush from your hand and replacing it with a paper bag you haven't noticed on him.

"here, i bought some food for you on the way. i figured you might be hungry from all the wait. it was really busy outside. but don't worry, i always compensate my bodyguard. especially after they'd just had that dance number."

you groan, putting a hand on your face but forgetting about the paint on them, so now you're covered with... a vermillion red, as it says on the can from earlier. the colour is probably matching with your face from how hot it feels.

"hah, looks like you've been caught red-handed–"

"ugh, don't."

after that embarrassing fiasco and things have calmed down, you and rafayel work on your paintings. he eventually tries to warm you up with playing your songs again, persistently telling you to continue playing them to give the background a more lively vibe. you agreed when you made him promise not to make fun of you from earlier.

when the song plays again, you fumble for you phone to change it to the next queue, but rafayel stops you with a snap of his paintbrush on you knuckles, making you glare at him, and he in turn gives a pointed look at you, making you leave the song on play. you can't stop the small taps and head bops from the catchy beat.

much to rafayel's chagrin, that song has been stuck in his head for the following days. he can't deny how catchy it is, and there's a certain melody that's easily recognisable and playful to it. eventually, he's singing it in his studio now, and blasting it away into the coastal air. yet, no matter how many times he's played it, the tune still rings in his head.

unfortunately for him, it's blocking his creativity, and he can't think of anything but the song. he blames it on you for exposing it to him... until a lightbulb in his brain lights up. it's you! the moment you blared up that music and danced around his studio with your paintbrush mic in hand as if it was your personal stage, the memory of that song and moment locked it in his brain.

his hands eventually get to work, and canvases are filled of you in that moment – the riveting expression on your face as you belt out to the song, the paints scattered on your hands and arms, some unknowingly on your hair, the way your body is thrown back in carefree ecstasy as the music courses through you... he makes that memory come alive again.

he's noticed that luke has been playing this one song in constant repeat on his phone, to the point that the catchy chorus of the song is practically shoved into the forefront of his brain, playing it every now and then.

it got worse when kieran got into it as well, much to luke's delight.

"i thought you'd hate this song and say it's stupid."

"what? no! it's so good that i can't even stop playing it."

"me too!"

now the manor echoes with that song. surprisingly, sylus doesn't mind it. it is quite catchy, annoyingly so that he willingly listens to it on his own as well (but he doesn't let the twins know that).

of course, you also loved that song, and as soon as luke found out, he pulled you along with kieran for a sing-along loop until you all got sick of the lyrics and each other's voices.

unbeknownst to all of you, mephisto is recording everything, and sylus smirks in delight when he sees the three of you belt out to the song non-stop, capturing the way you passionately sing out to it and let your body get lost into the rhythm.

also unbeknownst to the onychinus leader is that luke and kieran had managed to get an audio recording of sylus humming and singing to the song with his infamous tone deafness.

"kissy face, kissy face, sent to your phone... i'm trying to kiss your lips for real–" you and the twins burst out laughing at the audio, clutching on your stomach at how out of sync he is. kieran plays the audio in repeat again, and it never fails to make you all burst into tears of laughter.

"please... i can't breathe..." you wheeze out, grabbing onto luke's arm.

"what seems to be all the commotion around here?" the low baritone voice makes you all freeze, luke and kieran especially. kieran fumbles with the phone, turning it off before addressing to sylus.

"b-boss! w-we were just..."

"they... they..." you fight your words in between giggles, clearing your throat and trying to compose yourself, but ultimately ended up failing as you burst into laughter again.

sylus waits out your fits of chuckles, raising a brow expectantly at you. "what's so funny that's gotten you this breathless, sweetie?"

"hah... it's just... luke and kieran showed me something really funny, is all," you say with a dismissive wave, a grin still etched on your face, eyes sparkling with delight.

"really? and what is this 'funny thing' that they showed you?"

the twins sweat, already trying to fumble with an excuse until you chime in. "nothing, it's nothing. you wouldn't get it, sorry."

before he can make a remark, you stand up to take his hand, leading him away from the twins before he could question them further.

"c'mon, you said we'd go out tonight! what place did you want us to go to?"

an amused chuckle leaves sylus. "you'll see."

turns out, he brought you out for karaoke, which was probably the worst and best thing tonight.

you scream into the microphone with as much feeling and power as you can until your voice is so hoarse that it couldn't even detect your voice anymore.

and sylus... well, he was singing with as much tune as he can, which is... really out of this world, but you still cheer on him, recording him with your phone as he attempts to follow the melody of the song.

after that, you think you need to get your hearing checked.

and as promised, kieran sent you the audio of sylus' singing. now you both have an audio and video to file in your 'crow screeches' album.

[bl-inkstone]

a short blurb about meitham inspired by @zhongrin's ebg + afterparty events! this isn't super long or detailed or anything since it's already been a few days since the idea first came to me, but i hope you enjoy it anyway <3

"haitham, do you think other worlds exist?"

alhaitham blinks once, twice, before lifting his eyes from the book he had been reading to look at you. you're a dream lying on his chaise, with your hair loose and freshly washed, slowly drying in the evening light. he notes the subtle droop in your eyes and the heavy tilt of your head, the way you seem to melt into the scrolled arm of the sofa. you're tired, but it's barely a quarter past seven. neither of you have even eaten yet. did you overwork yourself again?

"well," he begins with a card of his fingers through your hair, gently detangling the strands as he works to gather his thoughts. "given the nature of the world we live in, ignoring the possibility of such an existence would be foolish. i'm hard pressed to say yes to something i haven't seen with my own eyes, but the idea isn't something i'd completely disregard. does that answer your question, mei?"

in lieu of a coherent response, you give him an affirmative hum and close your eyes to the soothing motions of his fingers running through your hair. unease settles in alhaitham's gut the longer the silence between you, something normally so comforting, goes on and he feels compelled to continue the conversation. as loathe as he is to disturb your rest, something in the back of his mind urges him to keep you talking, to keep you awake.

"love," he calls right as he stops playing with your hair. he sits up properly and plants both feet on the ground to pull you up from your rest on the chaise's arm, settling you into an upright position at his side. his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you closer to him, like a subconscious effort at seeking comfort at the uncomfortable feelings rising from the base of his spine, and he leans down to nudge you awake. when your eyes flutter open and you grumble in soft protest, the muted worry subsides just a little.

"mei, it's too early for you to sleep. our dinner hasn't even finished cooking yet. it's not good to rest on an empty stomach," he explains with some force behind his voice in an effort to keep you awake. he considers pinching you a little before completely ignoring the idea in favor of something else. "do you want some coffee? maintaining a healthy work-life balance is essential to a comfortable life, love. if your work is proving to be too much, i am more than willing to—"

"i think... i think i want to travel. to those other worlds, i mean. i think it will be fun."

alhaitham's jaw snaps shut.

once again, that damned silence returns and he finds himself at war with worry and fear. why are you talking like this? what do you mean you want to travel to another world? is this one not enough? is he not enough? wasn't your question just a hypothetical, just one of the many you like to throw his way?

where is this all coming from, and why does he feel so cold?

"mei," and it's all he can say, all he can do, to hold you and beg in a way that's not begging. "mei, my love, i don't... i don't mind if you want to travel."

the words taste like poison in his mouth, thick and bitter and so so unpleasant that he can't help the displeased twitch of his lips once he grinds the last syllable out.

"i'd never cage or chain you down," he soothes when your brows furrow at his words, "if you wish to see new sights and learn new things, then by all means, go ahead. i'll arrange for any preparations you need, and you know my mora is yours to use. all i ask is that you take me with you."

don't go where i cannot follow, alhaitham pleads with words unsaid, orange-teal eyes blurring at the edges with strange black lines. don't leave me without your warmth.

you don't reply, and a numbing cold trickles down the acting grand sage's spine when he realizes that you've fallen asleep. he feels the beginnings of a headache coming on, quiet whispers and flashes of colors he can't decipher slowly growing in volume past the deafening beat of his heart. he's only ever felt this a handful of times before in his life, but never to this degree.

you're sleeping. just sleeping, as you do every night in the comfort of his arms.

so why does he feel like his heart has turned to sand slipping through your loose fingers?

[myumons]

ERM... FELLAS?

(Is it gay to have a desktop wallpaper of your ex-bf while sleeping on White Day)

[captainmalewriter]

Family Vacation Pt. 2

Winning the majority of the votes, here's the sequel to Family Vacation! I linked the first part in case you haven't read it yet. Please enjoy the sequel, and thank you once again for 1k followers! - Captain M.W.

Today was our last day in Cancún. Tomorrow we would be flying back to the states after a long family vacation. All things considered, I've honestly had such a great time in Cancún. Though, of course, using my uncle Aaron's body definitely played a major role in my enjoyment. Even on our last day here I just had to take my uncle's body out for another spin. Today we're going sailing across the water in boats. I'm sure it would've been fun in just my own body too, but there's just this rush of adrenaline and endorphins I get whenever I go out as my uncle Aaron.

I really don't know how else to explain it, I just have way more fun living as Aaron!

Even though I love using Aaron's body, I have to admit that I've had to put in a lot of work in keeping my little activities a secret. I've been following a pretty strict schedule during this past week. I make sure not to overstep my limits, meaning I can't be Aaron all the time. My parents would murder me! I have to space out my fun, and after so many days, I've gotten the process down to a T.

First, I can only enter my uncle's body when he sleeping. He's a heavy sleeper, and that's also the only time his mouth is open wide enough due to his snoring for me to slip inside of him. Then, I have to excuse myself from the rest of the family and then I'm free to enjoy the nightlife however I see fit!

It's maddening to me how easily Aaron can just leave and do his own thing without anyone questioning him. If I even think about doing that, I get badgered by everyone on how I need to be a responsible young adult and take care of my little cousins. It's frustrating, but whatever. None of that matters once I become Aaron again.

Sailing on the water was fun! The clear blue waters of Cancún never fail to impress me. There were some moments where I really wanted to just jump out of the boat and go for a swim with the fishes. But unfortunately, even Aaron's body had it's own limits on what it can and can't do. I learned that the hard way when I blacked out drunk the other day. Luckily my uncle was known for drinking too much, that and I was unaffected because it wasn't my own body that took any of the alcohol. It was Aaron's, and his alone.

I felt bad for the guy, I pushed it too far and he took all consequences for me. I've laid off the heavy drinking for now, and I switched to smoking cigars instead. Not gonna lie, smoking while walking along the shoreline has been my favorite pastime lately. It's my own moment of zen, away from all the family drama and over the top partying.

I spent the rest of the day relaxing on the sand of the beach. It was a mellow moment. Different than all the fun I had been having lately, but as pleasant a memory as the rest.

The last day had come and gone. I made my way back to the hotel way before anyone else in the family did. This was the next part of the routine for me. Getting in and out of Aaron's body was as easy as changing my socks, but I knew I needed time to make it more convincing. Me suddenly popping up out of nowhere seemed too suspicious to take risks on. It worked the last few times, and it worked this last time too. Sure, my parents chewed me out again for being MIA, but I don't care anymore. Honestly, when haven't they yelled at me? It'd be easier to count that than the other way around.

***

Our family trip to Cancún had officially ended. We got up early the next morning, drove to the airport, and after a long flight, we were back in our hometown. I was riding in the backseat with Aaron in the seat next to me. My parents occupied the driver's and passenger's seat. It was quiet in the car. Not much was said during that final car ride back home. I'm glad it was quiet, I honestly didn't have the energy to keep up conversation after all the festivities and traveling.

I turned to my uncle, who was looking out the window as we drove. He kept his gaze focused on the road, not moving much if at all.

"Tío, are you feeling okay?" I asked him.

"Hm?" he turned to me. "It's nothing, Carlos. I'm just tired from all the fun, you feel me?"

He gave me a forced smile. I returned the gesture, but the conversation ended there. I couldn't think of anything else to say! Now I just felt awkward sitting there.

"You really went all out, huh," my Dad said. "You're too old for all this shit, Aaron, you gotta settle down sometime."

"Man, fuck off. I really don't need some lecture right now, and especially not from my own younger brother."

Much to my surprise, my Dad didn't say anything back. He was known for getting on anyone and everyone's case, with me being his go-to target because I live with him. I could tell Aaron was getting ready for a heated fight too, as his breathing was getting quicker. His future life plans had always been something of a sore spot for him, but he had calmed back down after seeing my Dad shut up.

Now the rest of the car ride was really tense, but it was over soon enough. Some of the extended family had drove back to their own homes, but some who lived closer stopped by my house for a bit before leaving too. Aaron was one of them.

I hid in my room while the family talked in the backyard. It didn't last long, as I'm sure everyone was still tired. That worked in my favor though, as it kept my next plan moving along with little wait time. I had lots of fun living it up as Aaron, but during my free time, I was also very busy with planning my next course of action. I knew Uncle Aaron had parked his car in our driveway before we left for Cancún. I also knew that he left his car key behind, so I swiped it to unlock his car and then returned it where I found it.

Then, once I heard everyone was beginning to leave, I hid myself in the back of his car. Nobody would suspect a thing, as everyone knew me as the hermit who never left his room whenever family came over. Nobody ever bothered to interact with me. I hated that reputation, but tonight it served me well. Aaron drove away from my house with me in tow, and nobody even noticed I wasn't in my room. Aaron, the man whose body I had been taking over for the past week, had just unwittingly carried out the next step of my plan.

We got to his apartment, and then I played the waiting game. I waited until everything came together like dominoes falling in a row. I hid in his car and waited until I saw him leave to dump the trash or something similar, and then hurried inside. I hid in his closet and waited until it was lights out, and then it was time for the final strike. He was fast asleep within minutes, snoozing and snoring as loud as ever.

I crept out of the closet and walked up to my uncle's sleeping body. I admired his features from a 3rd person point of view one last; his jawline, his beard, his skin, his muscles, his dick bulge and more. The more I looked the more I craved being back inside his body. I licked my lips from the temptation, and then dove right into Aaron's gaping mouth. I could hear him gag from me entering him. You'd think after so many entries and blowjobs I've given as him, I would've gotten rid of his gag reflex by now but I guess not.

No matter, the body takeover was just as seamless as every other time as before. My legs filled into his, my chest into his, my dick slipped into his much larger dick, and everything else filled in like a dream. I took a moment to let everything adjust, and once I felt myself occupying a heavier, hairier body, I woke up and smirked.

This is it. This is my new body now. Aaron couldn't do anything so long as I was in control. Meaning, I don't have to leave ever again. I'm Aaron now, and he was powerless to stop it.

I rose up, figuratively and literally. I stood there in Aaron's bedroom fully erect. I guess I was already feeling the adrenaline rush, and it went straight to my dick. I flexed my new muscles, muscles I never had before in my old body. I was gonna have to take care of them if I wanted to keep em, but I was ready.

I threw on one of Aaron's tank tops so I could go for a jog around the block. Nothing crazy, but enough to get me started in maintaining my new body. I took a picture in his bathroom to commemorate this new chapter in my life.

While I was busy admiring myself, I got a text from my now former mother. Something about Carlos running away from home.

They finally found the little post-it I left on my bed. I smirked, and then ignored the text. I'll have to fulfill my duties and play the role of "Concerned Uncle Worried About His Nephew," but that can wait. Right now, I had other problems to worry about. Like how big of a dick I can take with my new body. I could feel myself getting excited just thinking about all the fun I'm gonna have. Now this is one vacation that will never end.

[themelancholyhill]

Thank you for sharing such a personal story regarding your illness. I think almost everyone could relate, regardless if our depression actually gives us physical symptoms. I know that for me, when I am in a depressive state, my entire body feels it. It doesn't feel numb, but it feels like all of my life source has been sucked out of me, and I am unable to do minor day to day tasks. Even without the advice of a healthcare professional, it is always a good idea to step away from something that causes you so much stress. I am saying all this to show solidarity, not to invalidate how you feel. I know we've only been talking like this for a while, but I do care about how you're doing. I hope you take good care of yourself, knowing what your triggers are is half the battle. There are definitely people that are only meant to be in our lives for a little while. I've come to terms with the fact that people come and go, and that as attached as I am with some of them, it doesn't mean the outcome would change. And that what's important is the enjoyment of knowing them when they still know you. I agree with your friend, that not everything in life can be explained. I also believe that not everything has a word complex enough to explain it. Just because you can't explain it doesn't disprove how you feel, or the fact that something happened, and in your case, a deep connection. I think I am a lot like you with friendships, us water signs feel things very intensely, and not everyone can meet us at our emotional level. I can imagine how you must be feeling right now, and I am aching right alongside you. I carry you in my thoughts, always.

Is your friend Aries too? So is mine. What is with these Aries men? Today, he wanted me to do a drawing for him for his social media account. I told him drawing is not my strong suit and that I'm much better with words and asked if he would like a poem instead. He said that the last time I wrote a poem for him I told him I never wanted to do it again. I explained that last time was a commission and that I don't consider this time to be a commission. He then said, jokingly, that he won't talk to me until I draw him a picture. My gut reaction was that two can play this game, but I am 100% serious. I do not like playing mind games with people, I consider it a waste of my time. Mind games are for people who want to mess around with other people, like how a cat messes with a mouse before it kills it. I do not play around and I do not like to be played. And even though he said it as a joke, and I am reacting to it as a joke too, a part of me is frustrated and annoyed. I replied to him after what he said with a joke and all he sent back was 🤫. I feel like we just patched things up recently, I really don't want to deal with more headaches with him. He knows I am not a good graphic artist, and him withholding friendship in order to gain something for his social media account leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I will actually enjoy this break from him. I don't like playing mind games, because I always win. ✖️

"My life source has been sucked out of me," I chose to open this reply by what you said because I can 100% relate to it. I've been feeling downright terrible these past couple of weeks and it feels like my body is about to collapse at any given moment. I haven't had a relapse in years, but I know that it'll pass as I stay away from what triggers my anxiety and stress. I'm not saying that he's causing me stress, but it's best to just let him go, and he's helping me with this by being this distant—I swear, he never stops to amaze me in a way.

Temporary people are part of life, but it hits hard when you meet wonderful people whom you think they'll stay for the long run, but they'll end up being just temporary. I just have to get used to his absence the same way I got used to having him around. It'll will take time, but part of healing is admitting that you need to move on, right?

As of now, I feel empty due to the feeling that something is missing, but it'll lessen with time. I guess this is what it takes to be a water sign—we feel things too much and too deeply.

Let's open a bracket for a sec. I have a friend, let's call her Ava to make it easier. Ava got dumped by her boyfriend because she told him that she suffers from chronic depression. But what baffles me is the way he went around to dump her. He went to Ava's friend and told her that he's dumping Ava just because he didn't want to hurt her! She's also a water sign btw. All that to say that some guys nowadays are not mature enough to face certain relationship situations��be it romantic or platonic. I sense that this is what happened with my friend, but I'm not sure and I don't wanna jump to conclusions.

Which brings me, he's Taurus and so an earth sign. I don't know much about it, but from what I gathered, based on our interactions, he's rather confusing and complicated. He seems like an introvert because he's shy and sensitive, but he also likes to hang out with his friends. His reactions are unpredictable and they never failed to confuse me.

As for your friend, I see that he's not that mature himself as least when it comes to his approach to certain situations. Distancing yourself is a good idea, and I think that this is what I had to do with my friend. But again, I guess we have to take things with a grain of salt, including people we deal with, while making sure that we're not taking advantage of. Sounds sad, but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️

I can't thank you enough for all the support; it makes me feel less lonely.

[bijackkellys]

thunderstruck ; part three

safe haven.

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types) Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer Word Count: 4,352 Dedications: a huge huge shoutout to my beta and gf @mistyw273 without whom this fic would not exist! tag list (if you’d like to be added to this list just send me an ask or dm!): @dimenovelcowboy​ @santa-fe-maniac @pulitzers-world @yo-let-me-get-a-milkyway @verified-dumbass @jewishdavidjacobs @agentsnickers @thetruthabouttheboy @the-games-changing Author’s Note: yes i know what i said and i'm aware that it's been WEEKS since i posted and i have absolutely nothing to say for myself. except that i'm the worst. and also that i'm going to stop making promises and tell you guys straight out that i'm probably not going to be any better at updating from this point forward, especially considering i'm working on college apps and sat prep right now. but it's fine! i hope the fact that this chapter is only like 10 words less than all the other chapters so far put together sort of makes up for it? but i kind of hate this part; i have a ton of exposition to get through so i'm really really sorry if it sucks and you've waited this long for like 4.3k of bullshit. i'm also sorry that i still haven't introduced kath—she will get here in the next chapter and she will play no small role in this fic, i promise!! we've just got a lot to get through leading up to that. anyway, thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far, and if you're still here despite my questionable reliability (or lack thereof) i love you, personally. tws for this chapter includes a minor panic attack, mentions of vomiting but it's pretty brief, and that's about it.

read it on ao3

MEDDA IS SINGING when they get to her apartment. 

Even through the closed door, Jack can hear her voice lilting down the corridor, a bittersweet melody that he can’t quite remember but loves all the same. It makes him falter, makes his throat close up as warmth and the ache of missing her spread through his chest in time with each other. He doesn’t know what she’ll say when she sees him, and the thought of her viewing him as a killer nearly makes his knees buckle. Distantly he thinks that it doesn’t matter what the world has been told as long as she believes him.

“Is this it?” the older boy says behind him, gesturing to the door that Jack is staring at. He’d mostly been quiet the whole walk here, but now he’s looking at Jack expectantly.

Jack nods and pushes back the tide of emotions swelling in his chest. If he waits any longer he might never be able to do this. He knocks twice on the door, and her singing cuts off abruptly; he hears her voice saying “Coming!” and then the lock clicking as the door swings open.

“Hi, Miss Medda,” Jack says hoarsely. 

She stares at him. For this brief, terrible moment, he thinks she’s going to turn him away, and then she’s crying and oh, she pulls him into a hug. Something he’s been trying to hold back since he found himself running in the streets hours ago spills forth. In her arms he can’t stop the tears; he feels suddenly twelve years old again, scared and small but not alone, not anymore.

“You’re alive,” she’s saying, over and over, like a mantra. “Oh, baby, you’re really here.”

Jack clings to her tightly. “I didn’t do it,” he breathes, desperate for her to know as she runs a hand through his hair. “The fire—that wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t believe them for one second.” Medda pulls him back at arm’s length. “But where have you been?”

He winces, looks away. “The Refuge. I just escaped.” Her mouth opens again but he shakes his head slightly and she nods, understanding immediately. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll talk later,” she says, and cups his cheek with a gentle hand. He leans into it, starved of positive contact like this for so long. “Jack Kelly,” she says warmly, her eyes shining—he’s gotten so used to hearing his name spit at him like a curse—“I thought I’d never see you again.” She huffs a laugh and smiles at him, wiping at his eyes with her thumb. “Don’t you ever disappear on me like that again, you understand?”

He gives a watery chuckle, maybe his first in months. “I’ll do my best, Miss Medda.”

She pulls him into another hug, squeezing his shoulders tightly, before her eyes come to rest on the two boys still standing awkwardly in the hallway. “And who are your new friends?” she asks.

“Oh, this is—” Jack breaks off, realizing abruptly that they had never gotten to introductions. The younger of the two steps forward and puffs his chest out.  

“I’m Les, and this is my brother, David,” he says brightly. He’s been solemn since Jack met him, no doubt jarred by his experience with the Snatchers, but Medda’s warmth is notoriously infectious. Even the kid’s older brother—Davey—cracks a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says politely, and Medda beams and waves a hand.

“None of that. It’s Miss Medda to you, darling. Come on in,” She steps out of the doorway and gestures inside, placing a gentle hand on the small of Jack’s back as she ushers him in. He’s grateful for it, a grounding presence that reminds him he’s really here in front of her. “Stay as long as you like, boys.”

In the last few hours alone, Jack has felt like he’s been thrust into an entirely different world. Entering Medda’s apartment is a burst of shining familiarity; there’s the elegant wooden piano in the corner, the blooming plants lining the windowsills, the photos of the theater and the paintings Jack has done over the years hanging on the walls. The faint smell of cinnamon in the air. He may never have lived here, but it feels like coming home all the same.

“I’ve still got the clothes you’ve left here, if you want to change,” Medda tells him. “I’ll get something going for us to eat—how does Sancocho sound? I don’t have any plantains, and now I know it’s not quite the same without them—”

“That sounds incredible, Miss Medda,” Jack says, his mouth already watering. For as long as he’s known her, Medda has always made it a point to give him and the other boys a taste of home however she can manage. She’d tested recipes for Sancocho for months until she’d perfected the warm, rich stew that always drew up distant memories of Jack’s mother. 

Medda smiles at him and bustles into the kitchen, pulling vegetables from the fridge. “David, Les, is there anything you two don’t eat?” she calls to them.

“Oh, we keep Kosher, so no pork, shellfish, or meat and dairy together? And Les can’t have peanuts. Sorry,” Davey responds quickly.

“No worries, darling, this recipe doesn’t call for any of that anyway. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours—Jack, why don’t you go clean up and get some rest? You look exhausted, baby.”

It’s one of those things he doesn’t fully realize until she points out, and then it hits him full-force; he thinks his legs will give with the impact of it. He’s tired and starved and wants absolutely nothing more than to take a hot shower and eat and sleep through the next day—and in truth the only thing holding him back is the still-stinging bite of the cuffs around his wrists. 

“Uh, Miss Medda—you got a screwdriver somewhere around here?” he asks tentatively, rubbing at the skin underneath them.

Her gaze drifts to his hands and she winces in sympathy. “In the office down the hall. There’s a toolkit on the shelf—you need some help, Jack?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve got it,” he says as he heads into the room.

It turns out to be harder than he expected. He spends a good ten minutes hacking at the cuffs with a screwdriver, but all he really succeeds in doing is scraping his wrists raw. He’s getting desperate, though—the longer he’s stripped of his powers, the less he feels like himself, and the silver steel is nothing but a jolting reminder of everything that’s happened. He needs to find a way to get these stupid things off. 

“It doesn’t look like you’ve got it.”

Jack’s head snaps up to see Davey standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. His expression is hard to read, half-concerned but laced with something else, and he’s sort of tentative as he steps into the room and kneels down beside Jack. “Here, let me.” He holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

Jack gives it to him and splays his hands out in between them. Davey switches out the head of the tool for a tiny flathead and gets to work on the right cuff, astonishingly careful. His slender, practiced fingers pry open a tiny panel on the side of the cuff, exposing the circuit board underneath.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Jack notes.

Davey pauses his movement for a split second and then continues without looking up. “I was captain of my high school robotics team for two years,” he responds. “And I’m an engineering major.”

Jack clings to this small piece of information; it’s the first thing he’s learned about Davey since they met, and he’s already desperate for more. “Where do you go?” he asks. At this, Davey tenses up, and Jack bites back a wince. “I’m not trying to interrogate you,” he says flatly, after a moment. “Guess I just...thought you’d changed your mind about me.”

Davey’s dark eyes latch on to Jack’s for just a moment before darting away. “I don’t know yet,” he answers finally. He prods at the wires of the cuff; there’s this crinkle in his brow that Jack can’t help but think is sort of endearing. “Miss Medda seems like a really good person,” he continues, still barely looking at Jack. “And she clearly loves you a lot. It’s possible you could be lying to her, too, but the way you were when you saw her—no one’s that good of an actor.”

“So what’s your holdup?”

“I’m not sure what to believe.” Davey twists the screwdriver and bites his lip, then meets Jack’s gaze at last. “After you—after the hospital burned down, the whole city was in chaos. No one knew what to think or who to blame—the police revealed that the sprinkler line had been damaged, and that some of the exits had been sealed, and that the fire started because the power box had been tampered with.”

Jack’s stomach twists. “I don’t understand...you—you’re saying it wasn’t an accident?”

“I think if it had been, it would’ve been contained a lot faster,” Davey says darkly. “It hadn’t even been a week before The World published a full story about how it was Strike’s doing. Jack, there were witness statements, sources explaining how your powers could’ve caused this—”

“I was trying to save people,”

“A lot of people thought you had done it by accident. Or that you’d...snapped, or something.”

“I nearly died in that fire.” He isn’t entirely sure he hadn’t, to be honest. Everything since then is blurry and out of place, and he feels like he’s been set right back to grappling desperately for a handhold, like he’s in the center of an inferno all over again—

There’s a click of metal on metal and the cuff on his right hand clatters to the floor. 

“Got it,” Davey says, and suddenly Jack can breathe again. Even with the cuff still circling his left hand, he feels electricity surge through him, that familiar hum of lightning beneath his skin. A part of him he hasn’t felt in so, so long. 

Sparks dance over his fingertips, and the air fills with static. He can see the hairs on Davey’s arms standing on end and despite everything, fights the urge to laugh. Davey looks at him, eyes wide with amazement, and Jack wonders if he can taste the power in the air, too. 

“Thanks,” Jack says, breathless as he runs his hand over the torn skin of his wrist. 

Davey nods and gently takes his left hand, starting the process again and evidently more sure of what he’s doing now. “Jack,” he begins, but whatever he’s going to say next, Jack doesn’t let him finish.

“Someone set me up,” he says fiercely, trying hard not to sound as desperate for Davey to believe him as he really is. “Whatever evidence and witnesses they had—it was fake.”

“Okay, but why?” Davey presses. “Why go through all this trouble to frame a dead man? How did they get The World to publish a bunch of false information? And if someone really is trying to pin this on you,” there’s a click, and the cuff around Jack’s left hand pings against the ground, “who set the fire in the first place?”

-

Jack can’t remember the last time he’d had a hot shower. Even before the fire—and god, Jack is really about to start categorizing his life events as before and after his death, like that’s not absolutely insane—the lodging house never really had a surplus of hot water, especially with so many of them. Standing under it now, though, everything else melts into the background. There are scars and bruises along his skin that he hadn’t even noted before, but the water is like instant relief; he doesn’t have to think, just lets it wash him clean.

By the time he gets out, the effects of the drugs, which have been weaning away for hours now, seem completely gone. Everything is sharper, like he’s been thrusted into high-definition, his thoughts clearer and his memories—well, his memories becoming more painful by the second.

It’s not easy, trying to push it all back. As he pulls on fresh clothes, Jack stares at himself in the mirror, at the jagged scars raised against his chest and the tiny spots that pockmark his forearms where he remembers needles going in, and tries to reconcile this picture of himself—exhausted and hollowed out and afraid—with the identity he’d spent so long building up from the ground. He doesn’t look like Strike, New York City’s favorite vigilante. He looks like a scared kid.

He doesn’t know what to do. Something bigger than himself is brewing in the city, he knows it, he has to stop it. But he doesn’t know how. People are counting on him and Jack just wants to forget any of this ever happened.

There’s so much noise. Davey’s questions are ringing in his ears and behind them there are voices telling him he’s never, ever going to get out, and he thinks he might be on fire. Everything is too hot and too loud and hurts.

There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up, but he dry heaves over the toilet anyway.

Jack sits back on the cold tile floor and drags his knees up to his chest. He could just go—break out the money he’s been saving and skip town, hop on a bus all the way to Santa Fe. Crutchie could come with him, and he could change his name—again—and start fresh. Never see this place again.

Except there’s an arsonist on the loose in the city. There are Snatchers all over the streets, and maybe Jack wants nothing more than to leave it but New York is still his city, still his place to protect. He can’t just leave.

Jack tilts his head towards the ceiling, biting back the urge to scream. The unsteady silence is broken by a tentative knock at the door, and then Medda’s voice—“Jack, honey,” she says, “Dinner’s ready. You okay in there?”

Slowly, he picks himself off the floor, pulls the loose hoodie hanging on the door on over his clean t-shirt, takes a shuddering breath. “I’ll be right out,” he calls through the door, and glances at his reflection one more time. He can be Strike again. He can do this. 

And even if he can’t, he has to.

-

The Sancocho is perfect, warm and spicy and brimming with the taste of home. By the time he’s inhaled maybe three servings and helped clear the dishes, Jack is so exhausted that he doesn’t even make it to the guest room. He just stumbles towards the couch and collapses there with the sunlight still spilling in through the windows, falling hard and fast into a heavy sleep.

It’s dark when he bolts awake. He feels hot and breathless, his heart racing against his ribcage, and whatever awful memory had invaded his dreams left the sharp taste of metal in his mouth. Sparks flicker across his fingers, blinding blue-white in the darkness, and Jack curls his hands into fists to quell the lightning brimming in his veins. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall; it’s just past one in the morning. He doesn’t think he’ll get back to sleep any time soon.

He maneuvers around the coffee table to stumble blindly towards the kitchen instead. A dim glow catches his eye, then; Davey is sitting at the bar stools, hunched over his laptop.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jack says, and Davey starts and then swears.

“Jeez, you gave me a heart attack,” he huffs as Jack chuckles lightly and fills a glass with water. “I thought you were still asleep. And...no. You?”

Jack shrugs. “I slept okay, got a few good hours. But I don’t think I can go back to bed. What are you doing?” he asks, nodding towards the open laptop.

Davey hesitates. “Miss Medda let me borrow her computer. I’m trying to contact the rest of my family,” he replies, his gaze flitting between the screen and Jack’s eyes. “When Les and I ran off there were already Snatchers at our house. None of them have powers, though. Just Les.” He works his lip between his teeth. “They said not to contact them in case the Snatchers found some way to trace it back to us, but I set up a separate email account and sent them a vague message, hoping they’ll know it’s me. I just need to know if they’re okay.”

Jack’s chest twists in sympathy. Davey’s family is just one more example of all the lives the Snatchers have torn apart—and Jack is the poster boy for their whole agenda. He has to fix this, for Davey, and for the rest of his city. “You’ll see them again soon, Davey,” he says—yet another promise he can’t afford to break—“I’m gonna make this right, okay?”

“How?” Davey scoffs. “You don’t even know where to start.”

Jack slips his hands into the pockets of his clean hoodie and feels the familiar weight of the flash drive he’d placed there. Actually, he might have some idea. “Can I use the computer?” Jack says, barely waiting for Davey’s nod before taking a seat on the barstool beside him and plugging the flash drive in. 

“What is that?” Davey’s brow furrows.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I took this from a computer in the Refuge’s control room, hoping I’d find something important. Maybe something here could give us a clue of what’s really going on.” There’s only a handful of files on the drive, and they’re labeled with numbers instead of actual names. Jack opens the first one and feels his heart sink. “Shit. It’s encrypted.”

“Let me try,” Davey says, pulling the laptop towards him and typing furiously. The computer makes a few error noises in protest as he works through the code, but Davey is laser-focused, seems to know exactly what he’s doing. He’s some kind of genius. “Got it,” he announces after a few minutes. Sure enough, the screen flickers, and rows of text begin to replace the numbers and symbols from before.

“That was incredible,” Jack tells him.

Davey shrugs and ducks his head, smiling just a little before turning back to the screen. “They look like email exchanges. Between some guy named Snyder—” Jack feels a cold trickle of shock run through him at that name, “—and...Joseph Pulitzer.”

“Wait, Pulitzer?” Jack leans forward to read over Davey’s shoulder. “As in the CEO of The World?”

“He’s running for mayor in next month’s election,” Davey explains. “It looks like he’s trying to get Snyder’s support? He’s promising money to fund the Refuge. But why would—shit.” There’s something dawning on his expression as he looks up at Jack, eyes blown wide. “Jack, a lot of his campaign has relied on anti-super propaganda. And...The World was the one who first published the story about you setting the fire.”

The realization crashes into him, hard and fast. “He’s the one who framed me.” Jack feels a hot rush of anger surge through him. “For what, a political platform? So that he could give the people a common enemy? Holy shit, did he set that fire for this...twisted agenda?” 

“I can’t believe this,” Davey shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and tugging his hands through his dark hair, shell-shocked. “How could he do something like this?”

How could he?

“I’m going to kill him,” Jack says fiercely, and the lights above him flicker. He stands up, feeling wild, brimming with untamed fury—innocent people died for Pulitzer’s insane power grab, and he has to pay for that. He can’t get away with this, he won’t; Jack can’t find it in himself to mitigate his anger right now, he needs to find Pulitzer and fix this.

“Jack—Jack!” Davey’s hand latches around his wrist and a shock like static electricity bursts between them, making him pull back. “Wait. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“What, you just want me to let him walk? He killed people, Davey. Innocent people.”

“You don’t actually know that yet.”

“I know enough,” Jack snaps, pulling back. “This can’t all be a coincidence, it makes too much sense. He has to be behind this, behind everything.”

“I’m not arguing that.” Davey is astonishingly calm; Jack doesn’t know how he can keep his resolve right now, after finding out something this sick. “But what are you going to do, break into his house and murder him? What is that going to solve? Things are only gonna get worse for supers.”

Jack hesitates. Davey is right—a personal attack on one of the most influential people in New York would make him even more of a villain than he already is. And every super in the city would suffer from it. He can’t make this some sort of revenge plot; he has to be smart about it. He takes a shuddering breath. “Then I’ll expose him. These emails—”

“—aren’t enough. All you have from this is a theory. Pulitzer would just find a way to spin it, make you look like the bad guy here. Again.” He shakes his head. “He holds all the cards right now. We have to find hard, indisputable evidence. What we need is a way to get close to him.”

“We?” Out of everything, that’s the word Jack gets hung up on. Davey’s making it sound as though they’re partners. 

Davey looks at him for a second. “I believe you, Jack,” he says finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. I don’t think you set that fire, and if we’re right, and Pulitzer did frame you, and we can find proof...we might be able to stop everything. Shut down the Refuge for good.”

“No, no—I’m not dragging you into this any further than I already have,” Jack stops him before he can go any further. His whole time as Strike, he’s been a solo act for a reason—not for lack of Race or Specs or Elmer trying to get him to let them join him—but because he can’t bring himself to pull someone else into this life. Especially not someone like Davey, who’s an engineering student, and a genius, and has a family. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. “I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me so far, I really do, but I can take it from here. You and your brother just lay low and stay out of trouble.”

“You can’t do this by yourself,” Davey argues. There’s something hardening behind his eyes, something bright and sharp and determined. “I’ve already shown you what I can do, so let me help you.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

He snorts, defensive. “I can handle it.”

“You think so?” Jack stares him down, skin buzzing. “I almost died because of this, and I may not remember everything about the Refuge, but I can tell you that it wasn’t pretty. If we try to take Pulitzer, there’s a good chance we don’t make it out alive.”

Davey doesn’t break his gaze. “But if we do it together, we double our odds,” he says quietly. When Jack snorts and turns away, Davey keeps going. “This is so much bigger than you or me, Jack. If we can pull this off, we could make New York safe for supers again. I promised that I would protect Les, but I can’t do that as long as there are Snatchers roaming the streets and as long as Pulitzer has power. And you can’t protect this city if you’re dead.” 

Jack wishes he didn’t have a point. “You could get hurt,” he counters. “You don’t even have powers.”

“You’ll protect me,” Davey replies swiftly, and something in Jack’s stomach twists.

“You have an awful lot of faith for someone who didn’t trust me an hour ago,” he says grimly, eyes darting away from Davey’s fierce ones.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Davey presses, unrelenting, and god, the offer is tempting. Davey clearly knows his way around his computers and technology, a skill that could be really helpful here, and more than that, Jack stupidly, selfishly doesn’t want to do this by himself. He wants a partner. He’s tired of being alone, and he hates himself for it. 

“We do this on my terms,” Jack says finally, and in the corner of his eye, he can see Davey smiling. “I say get out, you get out. You’ve got to be smart about this. Got it?”

“Understood,” Davey nods. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I promise. So where do we start?”

“It’s like you said, we have to get close to Pulitzer.” Jack sits back down, racks his brain for anything that could help. Pulitzer is a private person, watching the rest of the city from high off the ground; getting close to him would require someone who already knows him well. He can practically see the lightbulb over his head when it hits him—he knows the perfect candidate. He just hopes she’ll be willing to join them.

“I know someone who might be able to help,” Jack says, already drafting an email—coded words like the two of them used to use when he was just starting out as Strike. “She interned as Pulitzer’s personal assistant for a while when she was in high school, but the last time I saw her she was a journalism student, working for The Sun. She may not work for him anymore, but she knew Pulitzer as well as anyone.” Jack takes a deep breath and pleads silently that she’ll believe him, then sends the message. 

“And you think she’ll know what to do?” Davey asks.

“I’m sure of it.” Jack has always had faith in her; he knows she’ll come through, will fight for what she believes in. “If cards are what we’re playing,” he tells Davey, suddenly brimming with a newfound sense of determination, “then Katherine Plumber is our ace.”

[1-800-divorce]

I thought you weren't getting SwSh and had other games you were more interested in? How do you like the game thus far? I haven't played SwSh, it's the first Pokémon game I haven't played on launch day in 20 years.

There are still other games I want, but none of them are out or will be that soon (I’m on the fence about Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE and God Eater 3). I already got DQ XI, which I really wanted, so all that was left was pokemon. I know I wasn’t going to, but I’m weak and caved because all my friends got it and I wanted to play with them and not feel like I was missing out.

There are some major flaws:

The plot. Plot is unpolished and leaves a lot of questions. You don’t really know what’s going on most of the time because the adults talk down to you and keep you out of the loop so that you can focus on your gym challenge. On one hand that makes sense because you’re a kid so you shouldn’t be burdened with taking care of their problems, but on the other hand it’s weird since it’s always been the case in the past that the kid has to clean up the mess of the adults. There’s no clear antagonist until the very end and at that point it’s like “Right, what’s all this then?” It’s thrown at you out of nowhere, not even a mention of the antagonist group until you’re already facing them.

The graphics. They’re fine for the most part. There are some weird texture and shadows/reflections not lining up, and it’s a little fuzzy in some areas, but it’s not awful. However, for how big pokemon is and how anticipated the games are, these should’ve been cleaned up.

Online (link trades/battles). If you played Let’s Go Pikachu/Eevee, finding people is the same. There’s no friend list, which is a huge pain because you can and do still match up to random people even when you use a code. There’s no GTS, and yes, I know it was always filled with garbage and people asking for an arceus in return for a freshly caught magikarp, but at least you could search for specific things you needed. Now you have to hope that if you show a pokemon to some random person you match with online that they understand you’re trying to fill your dex.

Online continued (sticker system). The sticker system that notifies you when there are new raids open is also frustrating at best. It may update on the side of your screen like a laggy live feed, but you may not see that notification when you go to the online menu to join a raid you saw pop up. It doesn’t refresh frequently or consistently so often times you’ll miss things. The only way to ensure you’ll see a raid from someone you want to do raid battles with is to exchange friend codes, because you see random people trading, battling, camping, and doing raids. Most of the time you’ll see people join raids that you can’t see the invite to (it’s just “Player joined up with other people in a raid!” and you see people defeat/catch a raid pokemon that you never saw the invite to. The only way I’ve so far heard to get around this is to exchange your League Card to keep the sticker feed refreshing. It’s annoying.

The Wild Area. You’ll be spending most of your time here when you aren’t doing going from gym to gym whether it’s to grind for exp, exp candies, TRs (like the old-school TMs where they break after one use and you get them as rewards from raids), items to sell for money, etc. However, because it’s so huge and the game shows both real players (if you’re online) and NPCs there’s obvious lag as you adventure around.

However, despite all the flaws it’s a pretty fun game, especially with friends to do raid battles with. The main story is very short and can go from 6-10 hours depending on how fast you get through everything. Despite the frustrations, it satisfies the desire for a “new pokemon game” itch. I also got over leveled by accident by gym four and stayed that way until the champion battle, but I don’t mind the exp always on (it’s been like that in JRPG games for a long time, so that’s a petty complaint, in my opinion). I’ve already put in over 100 hours to complete the dex and do a lot of raid battles the most. It’s reaching a point where I’m running out of things I want to do, but it was still an entertaining game. I do think, however, that $60+tax is steep for what you get. $50 would’ve been more fair.

I also like how all the gym leaders aren’t a one-and-done deal, but rather pop up at a few points throughout the game. I found some new top favorite pokemon, which I haven’t felt that way since gen 4, and I really enjoyed all the characters in SwSh – they all had some depth to them, which was refreshing. Is it the best pokemon game? No, I wouldn’t say so, but it was more enjoyable than XY and SM/USUM making BW/BW2 the last enjoyable pokemon games to me. I don’t necessarily agree with the 9/10 ratings the games got, but they were still enjoyable.

Also, the complaint about reusing pokemon models? Stupid.