#(I’m even gonna go and say clarity is not an objective thing either and in some cases

[loverboydotcom]

purple prose might be another term that needs to be put on the high shelf of writing advice cause why does nobody seem to agree on what it actually means 😭😭😭

[wavesmp3]

you jump; i jump

sunwoo x reader 

requested from sensory prompts #46: the waver in someone’s voice when they’re stressed genre: spy au, exes (ish) to lovers wc: 5.6k  warnings: cursing, tiny bit of gore/blood

Sunwoo used to pride himself for being able to keep his cool, in even the most unimaginable situations. He kept his exterior when Haknyeon turned out to be double crossing their agency, Creker, and secretly sending information to a rivaling one the whole time. Sunwoo didn’t crack when his entire mission in Sydney blew up right in his fucking face, never even flinched when his gear malfunctioned dumping him in a hospital for a week. But all those instances seem to fall flat now. All the times where Sunwoo stayed strong seem to disappear the moment he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around only to come face to face with you. “What are you-“ he falters, grasping at the last bits of crumbling pride and hanging on to the dip in his voice. “What are you doing here?” 

“You forgot this,” you continue, ignoring him entirely, “forgot it in Vienna specifically.” You dangle a watch in front of his face. The same watch he lost somewhere in Austria three months ago, at the same time that he was in the middle of the most intense and longest mission the agency had ever given him, and more notably, around the same time he met you. “Don’t look so shocked.” You scoff when he fails to respond. “You told me you were gonna be here.” 

Sunwoo laughs, except it’s less of a laugh and more of an exhale of pure disbelief. “I know what I said, but you’re…” his voice trails off, some part of him unable to finish the sentence and another part of him still too disturbed to believe it. 

You tilt your head with faux confusion. “I’m what?”

Sunwoo gulps. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

VIENNA, AUSTRIA  THREE MONTHS AGO 

Sunwoo remembers, with a starling amount of clarity, all that happened three months ago. He can recall every day he spent roaming the streets of Vienna with you despite the way he’s been trying to drown out the memories and douse his lingering feelings. 

When he met you at a pub on one of his first nights there, he told himself he entertained your conversation because, well, to put it bluntly, he thought you were cute. Although the small tug in his gut doesn’t help justify why he found himself stumbling back to his hotel room with you by his side. And there’s really no good excuse for the tiny sting of disappointment Sunwoo feels when he wakes up alone the next morning. 

It’s two days after that night when Sunwoo sees you again, sitting on a bench with a book in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. It’s an odd coincidence that he should see you in Vienna again, but the small pang of doubt is quickly replaced with a more promising burst of elation. Sunwoo can’t tell if it’s exhilarating or terrifying.

“Ah,” you mutter when you notice him approaching, “Sunwoo right?” It’s a facade, Sunwoo thinks to himself, he knows you remember his name, knows you only pretend to forget. But he doesn’t mention that, instead he nods rather lamely, shoving his fists into his pockets and burying away the voice of reason in the back of his head telling him this is a mistake. “Sit.” You say, moving your things to the other side of the bench and patting the now empty spot next to you. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And in retrospect, it’s quite obvious that Sunwoo should have found the words alarming. Really, he should have begun to put his guard up the second he spotted you in Vienna again. But at that moment in time, the only thing Sunwoo can think to ask is if he was worth the wait. 

Your tongue darts out, swiping at your bottom lip in thought for the smallest of seconds, before disappearing into your mouth again. “Yeah,” you say, lips turning up into an intrigued smile, “you were.” 

—

Sunwoo doesn’t think much of the way he comes to trust you so easily, telling you the truth about his job in the darkness of the hotel room. He doesn’t think anything of the way you hang onto his every word without ever sharing much about yourself. And when one day, you sit down at the cafe booth across from him and ask, “what’s your current mission,” Sunwoo doesn’t think twice before telling you everything about his objective to infiltrate Pegasus. He also doesn’t notice the phone call you make soon after. 

—

When the truth does come out, it comes fast, like water rushing off a cliff and crashing into Sunwoo sitting unsuspecting at the bottom. It comes in the form of a charity event that he only attends as part of the mission which sent him to Vienna to begin with. The truth arrives, like a rock in his gut, at the same second that Sunwoo sees you across the hall. You, who he last saw at the hotel, and you, who’s supposed to be on a train to Paris right now. And when your eyes finally catch his, there’s something unmistakable swimming in them. You’ve been caught, Sunwoo thinks, finally placing a name to the familiar way you swallow and dart your eyes around the room. Sunwoo recognizes the feeling, vaguely remembers the rush he felt once in Santiago and again in New York. 

“I can explain,” you hiss, quiet and breathless, finding him outside the hall after a few minutes. 

And Sunwoo knows he should be dying for an explanation of what you’re doing here or who you’re really working with. Some small part of Sunwoo knows that he should already be replaying every conversation and trying to determine how much information he’s given you to use against him. But another, larger part of him, that’s poking at his heart and prodding at his brain, chooses to stare at your lying eyes, study the face he’s come to memorize, and lamely ask, “how much of…” his voice tapers off, gesturing to the empty space in between you two, “of this was a lie?”

You don’t respond, but in the silence Sunwoo finds the answer anyways. 

All of it.

—

It’s not long after that night that a new message from the case officer shows up for him.  

You’re on thin ice. New mission: get rid of that Pegasus agent. 

PRESENT TIME  THREE MONTHS AFTER VIENNA

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here?” Sunwoo asks you again, shifting in his plastic red chair and keeping his gaze focused on the street you’re both seated beside. He hadn’t planned on hanging out after crossing paths with you earlier today. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do was put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but when you offer him a meal in exchange for a conversation, his rumbling stomach agrees before he can even consider the offer. The scene you lead him to is a busy one, filled with people rushing down the road and bustling behind each of the food stalls. It’s a mosh-posh of neon signs, kicked up dust, and the aroma of food being fried. More importantly, it’s a loud area, one where you and Sunwoo can talk freely without the worry of being heard by someone seated nearby. He takes a bite into his skewer, waiting for your response. 

“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t follow through with the mission,” you counter, twirling your lime green straw with the tip of your finger. “The one where you were supposed to kill me.” 

You say it plainly, but something in Sunwoo’s stomach turns hard at the reminder anyways. “We’re spies,” he mutters behind clenched teeth, “not assassins.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, taking a sip from your coke, “the job description is pretty vague.” 

The words are met with a taut silence, a snap of Sunwoo’s eyes towards yours, and a search for any implication of murder behind the sentence. 

“It’s a joke,” you choke, wiping the coke that slips from your mouth and quickly shaking your head, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Well anyways,” Sunwoo continues, “I tried to finish the mission. Even hired someone to find you.” And as soon as the words leave his mouth, Sunwoo realizes he’s told you too much, realizes he’s let the truth slip too easily--again. Biting his lip, he thinks this must be what people mean when they say ‘old habits die hard’. 

“He didn’t follow through.” You tell him as if to fill him in on how exactly you’re still alive and sitting across from him right here, right now, miles away from Vienna and months after Sunwoo’s hire took his money and ran. “But you knew he wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

And this you say with a taunting smile, catching his eyes like there’s a private joke concealed behind them. Sunwoo only gulps and pulls his focus back to the busy street.

“So what do you want with me?”

“I left Pegasus.” You answer, clearing your throat.

Sunwoo waits. He waits for you to take it back, for you to laugh at his widened eyes and say it’s a joke. The punchline never comes. “You’re an idiot.” He settles on.

“And I’ve got two agencies who’d prefer me to be dead right about now.” You grimace. “But despite the bounty on my head, I’m still here which means you’re probably not on great terms with Creker either.”

“Get to the point.”

“We both have people who want us dead. We both have next to nothing to lose at this point. So let’s team up.” You pause, checking Sunwoo’s reaction. He watches you intently, body pushing against the creaking plastic table in an attempt to hear you better. With an almost mischievous glint in your eyes and a satisfied quirk, you continue: “Let’s take back what we stole for them.”

There’s a long moment where Sunwoo just stares at you, deciphering what to make of the proposition. You appear genuine, Sunwoo decides leaning away from the table until his back hits the chair, but Sunwoo isn’t exactly sure how much he trusts his own judgement considering the last time he decided you were sincere you had been lying to him left and right.

Sunwoo lifts his hand to the vendor of the food stall you’re sitting by. The previous glint in your eyes is gone, overshadowed by a darker shade of doubt. “What are you doing?” you finally ask, voice lower and less excited than it had been a second ago.

With a tired sigh, he replies, “I’m gonna need more food while you explain your plan.”

Sunwoo has to swallow back the smile that nearly emerges at how happy you get.

--

It’s a simple enough idea. Clear our names, you had explained, wipe ourselves entirely from both agencies. And it’ll work too, Sunwoo realizes when you begin the second explanation on the logistics of the whole operation. The only downside to your plan is you. Because the last person Sunwoo wants to start a new mission with is the same person who broke his heart three months ago. And it’s bothersome, almost, how calm you are and how collected you appear, especially compared to how scattered Sunwoo feels just to be around you again.

“What do you think?” You ask once you’ve explained your plan completely, tapping anxiously on the table.

“I think,” Sunwoo starts, inhaling deeply, “you’ve thought about this way too much.”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gulping down some more coke, “three months is kind of a long time.”

And yeah, he thinks, it is. But despite the time that’s passed since you’ve last seen each other and despite the way Sunwoo thought he was over you, his stomach still flips each time you look his way. He just prays that the past three months have at least somewhat watered down how he used to feel about you.

“How do I know you won’t ditch me after we clear you?” Sunwoo asks, pushing away the thoughts of lingering heartache to a corner of his mind.

“We’ll do you first.” You state simply. “Steal your file off Creker and get the bounty off your head first. Then we’ll do me.”

“And then how do you know that I won’t ditch you?”

You falter at that, frowning for the smallest of seconds, then say, “I don’t.”

Sunwoo nods, pretending to contemplate your offer. But in all transparency, Sunwoo knew he’d agree to your plan despite the bile that turns up at your name because with the way he’s been hiding in a crappy motel and eating instant ramen every night, it’s kind of hard to refuse any proposition that gives him the slightest chance at an out from Creker. 

“Okay,” he finally utters, wiping the crumbs of his second skewer off his hands, “let’s do it.” You meet his eyes expectantly. Nodding, he says,

“Let’s team up.”

//

You and Sunwoo clash more than anything else on the first day of prepping for the mission, crammed in a corner of Sunwoo’s dingy motel with two half finished cans of red bull sitting forgotten on the table, fighting about even the smallest details.

“I know the building,” Sunwoo argues, pointing to the floor plan you have pulled up on your laptop, “and this is the entrance we should use.”

“But using this entrance,” you refute, dragging your finger across the screen to show him exactly what you mean, “will give us better access to security and admin. And trust me, I know the building better than you do.”

“How do you—” Sunwoo stills. Something seems to register in your eyes at that moment as well, a small recognition of the tiny slip up, a barely audible acknowledgement that comes in the form of a cough. And all at once, Sunwoo’s reminded of the time he spent spilling his heart to you in Vienna under more covers than he was aware of. Sunwoo’s harshly thrown against the realization that you must’ve been watching him, surveying him long before you ever found him in that Austrian pub.

“See, I knew this wouldn’t work.” He grumbles, shaking his head. “You know too much about me. No, actually, you know everything about me. And I--” there’s a dip in his tone, “I know nothing about you.”

“Fine then, ask.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you think will even the playing field between us. Whatever it is you want to know about me,” you shut the laptop and turn your body to face him completely, an action that exudes largely frustration but more faintly, guilt, “just ask.”

--

Sunwoo learns more about you than he had intended to. He learns about the origin of the scar that runs along your spine. A fucked up operation in Shanghai, you tell him, writing over the lie you told him three months ago about it being from your childhood. He learns about your old partner Younghoon and about the shadow falling over your forehead at the sound of his name. He’s told about how you got involved with Pegasus to begin with, a similar story to Sunwoo’s beginning with Creker: an unlucky concoction of desperation and coincidence. You tell him, with reluctance, your most embarrassing story, followed by a long list of firsts and favorites. So by the time night falls, with two empty red bulls at the foot of the bed and the building’s floor plan now forgotten behind the black screen of your laptop, Sunwoo learns enough to rebuild a fraction of the trust he lost.

//

Everything goes smoother after that. You and Sunwoo seem to fall into a rhythm, meeting at a café in the morning and at the motel in the afternoon, planning out the missions with far less difficulty than before. A rather quick adjustment, from both of your ends, and an even faster allocation of responsibilities. He finds himself looking forward to sitting in front of your open laptop each day and conjuring new ways to distract you every hour. 

And it’s after meeting up with you one night, not as partners but—perhaps more cruelly—as friends, that a dangerously familiar warmth blooms in his chest and refuses to wilt away when he sees you again the next day. Sunwoo knows that he should be doing something, anything to blow out the flame, but instead he feeds the fire and prays that this time it spreads from his heart to yours.

//

“Where’d you get all of this?” Sunwoo questions one day when you show up at the motel with a suitcase full of equipment. An assortment of laptops, earpieces, weapons, and randomly picked gadgets.

“Took it from Pegasus before I left,” you smirk, pulling out an earpiece and holding it out in front of his ear. “You’re usually on the field, right? The one in action?” He nods. “Good, you can be the agent for this mission then,” you mumble, setting down the earpiece and holding up another. “I’m usually the person behind the computer anyways. Was even a handler for a mission in Seoul once.” You place the earpiece in his palm and begin to pull out the other pieces of equipment from the suitcase.

“What about Vienna?” Sunwoo says, inspecting a certain gadget from the case. “You were on the field then.” And it’s a question that would’ve been asked with malice if it had come up a couple weeks ago, but right now, there’s nothing but curiosity behind Sunwoo’s words.

“Oh,” you hesitate, a small smile appearing briefly, “I guess I do both.”

Sunwoo doesn’t ponder over your answer for long.

It’s later that day, right as you’re about to leave, that you frown at Sunwoo’s head, matter-of-factly saying, “you should change your hair before the mission.” Then, with a laugh bubbling behind your teeth, you add, “again.”

(Sunwoo changed his appearance a lot. One of the tactics that had stuck from his training days. Never really in big ways, but small changes here and there every couple of months. Sometimes it was a new piercing that he’d wear for a year and let close up in the next, and other times the change came in the form of a temporary tattoo imprinted on his neck whilst in Vancouver with Kevin. When Sunwoo met you in Vienna his hair was a light brown that he had gotten done in Tokyo and hadn’t bothered to touch up since. So when the time had come to change something again, he headed to the hair salon.

“When’d you do this?” you asked him that night, running a hand through the new red hair. 

“Just today.” He answered, hoping you wouldn’t ask for a reason. 

“I like it.” 

“More than the brown?”

“Way more.” You whispered, leaning in until he felt the breath of your words on his lips. 

And in the moment before you closed the distance, Sunwoo had made a silent vow to never change his hair again.)

Sunwoo gets his hair done the day after you suggest it, and when he returns to the motel from the salon, he finds you already there.

“Oh good, you’re back.” You mumble, arms full and an extra key card to his room that he had given you out of convenience a while back held between your teeth. “I just came to drop these off because I have to go to—" you stop, straightening yourself and eyes fixated on him. “You got your hair done.”

It’s an observation, a small, stupid thing really. A comment made in passing that should feel routine with as much time as you and Sunwoo spend together and one that should feel even more mundane considering you were the one to suggest it. But there’s something about the way you say the words that makes Sunwoo feel slightly breathless anyways. “Yeah,” he finally affirms, running a hand through his now black hair, “I did.”

You nod in acknowledgement, setting the things in your hands down, then turn to leave. 

“Wait,” he calls out. You do, pausing three paces away from the door and give a long look to the hand he’s placed on your arm to stop you before turning around to face him. And the next words seem to fall off the edge of Sunwoo’s mouth at that moment, tumbling back down his throat and landing heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Do you still…” he hesitates, attempting to smooth over the nervousness folding up in the corners of his mind. 

“What?” 

“Do you still like my hair?”

You consider it for a moment, bringing a hand up to tug at the new black fringe. And there’s something unmistakably domestic about the way you tilt your head in concentration, eyes fixed on Sunwoo’s hair as if there’s nothing more important for you to be doing in this moment. He watches you evaluate his hair closely. 

“Yeah,” you finally say, eyes meeting his and something like a double meaning swimming in them, “I still like it.”

//

The first mission goes smoothly thanks to you sitting back at the motel instructing Sunwoo which turns to take and what files to download. So with a flash drive containing all the information he needs to free himself from the agency stuffed in his pocket, he turns to leave, whispering into his earpiece, “is the exit path clear?”

“Shit.”

He stops walking. “What?”

“It’s blocked. I think I can get you out another way, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, go one story below. Take two rights and then a left.” He does as you say, feet hitting the ground as quietly and as quickly as possible. The less time he spends in the building the better. “At the end of the hall, there’s a window.��� You say once he’s near the place you directed him too. His stomach drops. “Jump from it.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He breathes, studying the drop with grimace. “I really hate heights.”

“I know.” And there’s a misplaced softness when Sunwoo hears you mutter, “I remember.” You wait a beat. “Do you trust me?” 

“Do I trust you?” He echoes, dread and disbelief coating his words. “I don’t even—”

“Just answer the question, Sunwoo. Do you?”

“I—” he studies the drop again, thinks and overthinks the newfound steadiness in your voice. Quietly, he mumbles, “yeah.”

“Then jump.” You tell him how exactly to do it as well, where to find the rope you packed and which hook is best to use. He does as you say, preparing for a jump he hasn’t decided to take yet. And once everything is prepared, the only thing that passes between you and Sunwoo on the intercom is silence. “Hey,” you mutter after a long while, something like a joke audible in your voice, “you jump; I jump, jack.”

“Except you aren’t jumping.”

“Technically, yes, that’s true but—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up.” Sunwoo inhales deeply, closing his eyes and letting silence fill the intercom again. The silence, however, is interrupted the second he hears a group of voices travelling from somewhere down the hall. His eyes snap open.

“Sunwoo—”

“Fuck it.”

He jumps.

— 

“You’re bleeding.” Is the first thing Sunwoo hears when he walks through the motel room’s door, quickly followed by you rushing to him, tilting his head with a finger against his chin, and inspecting the cut above his eyebrow. 

“Yeah well your little jump stunt didn’t make for the smoothest of landings.” 

He means it as a joke. A bad one he realizes when you pull your hand away, eyes dropping from his face and guilt hanging over your head. “Sorry about that.” 

He shrugs. “It didn’t kill me.” 

“Come on,” you beckon, grabbing the first aid kit and heading to the bathroom, “I’ll help you bandage them.” 

Sunwoo sits on top of the closed toilet lid, folding up his pant leg to examine the gash running across his shin. The cut, he realizes, isn’t nearly as bad as it feels, but you make a small face at the sight of it anyways. It doesn’t take you very long to clean the cut on his leg, quickly finishing it while kneeling on the cold bathroom tile and asking him questions about the mission.

“No stitches?” He wonders when you pat a bandage in place.

You shake your head. “You should be fine. Nothing more than a gloried scrape really.” You add teasingly while rearranging the objects in the first aid kit. And when you laugh at the look he gives you for the comment, Sunwoo does his best to ignore the fluttering that appears in his gut at the sound. 

You move on from the cut on his leg, placing the first aid kid on top of the counter and poking the bruise that’s forming above his knee before getting up yourself. He smacks your hand away.

“How’d you know about my fear of heights by the way?”

“You told me one night in Vienna.” You answer, tearing open an alcohol wipe packet. “Do you not remember?”

He shakes his head.

Frowning, you let out a small, “oh.”

Neither of you say anything after that. And Sunwoo’s so focused on the frown that’s yet to leave your face that he barely registers the way you lean towards him for better access, propping your knee on top of the toilet and between his legs for balance. Although he does notice the warmth that radiates off your body. And a minute after that, he notices how much longer it takes you to clean this, smaller cut than it took to clean the one on his leg.

“Sorry.” You quickly apologize when you press against the cut too harshly. Sunwoo waves you off. “I am sorry though.” You repeat, seriously, lips still turned down in a frown and brows knit together.

“It’s really fine.” He chuckles, amused by the amount of gravity in the apology. 

“No. For Vienna.” The amusement dies in the back of his throat. “I never apologized for…” you falter there, fingers paused against his forehead, “for that. But I am sorry.”

“It was your mission.” Sunwoo gulps. “You were being a good agent.”

“And a shitty person.” You say, no hint of a joke laced in the statement. “In fact, the mission was just to observe you. Make sure you didn’t find out anything too important about Pegasus. Meeting you was mostly on accident. And everything that followed,” you bite your lip, and Sunwoo can’t tell if you’re biting back a smile or a frown, “all those other parts just sort of came naturally.”

The flame in his chest from before bursts into a bonfire, filling his lungs with a hopeful smoke. “Naturally?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you repeat, tongue darting out in concentration while you complete the last step of smoothing out the bandage. You don’t lean away when you finish. You don’t remove your knee from between his legs. Don’t pull away the hand you have holding back his hair or the one resting against the side of his face. Nothing but your eyes move, trailing down until they find his, visibly gulping, then wandering further below. “Naturally.”

And the word is like a spell, lifting his chin and drawing him towards you until his lips are brushing against yours. It’s barely a kiss, a small hesitant press of lips that lasts no longer than a second, but one that has Sunwoo’s heart pounding wildly in a way it never did three months ago. He pauses there, lips unmoving and hovering just below yours, waiting for you.

You don’t move. Neither leaning in nor away. His gaze flickers up to your eyes, finds them half open, focused on the upper curve of his lip. He captures your lips between his again, a second attempt that is met with response when you lean into it, inhaling him in for a tiny blissful moment and exhaling him out in the next, pushing him back by the shoulders and stepping away yourself.

“I should…”

“Fuck.”

“I should go.”

And you’re gone before he can say anything else. 

// 

The kiss is ignored by both of you while prepping for the second half of the mission. A silent agreement to act like it never even happened and another one to not discuss whatever misplaced feelings led to it. It’s almost sickening how easily you and Sunwoo fall back into being just partners. Especially considering the fact that Sunwoo’s feelings haven’t faded, the bonfire in his chest still burning with the same brightness. So Sunwoo spends his days with you, attempting to put out the fire between his lungs, and he spends his nights alone, replaying the kiss you both pretend to ignore.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” You mutter on the last night, a trail of anxiousness slipping off your tongue. “And then we’ll be done.” 

Sunwoo only nods, watching how your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek and mulling over whether you mean done with the mission or done with him.

--

The Pegasus mission doesn’t go nearly as smoothly as the Creker one, complications toppling around Sunwoo from the moment he begins. They start small first: a locked door resulting in a change of entry and a janitor straggling in a hallway that should have been clear. He makes it to his first destination eventually, quickly shuffling through the room of file cabinets until he finds your physical files, slipping them into his bag, and heading to the next room with you whispering directions into his ear. The next room is empty when Sunwoo arrives. He works quick, bypassing the security system and fingers flying across to find your information.

“Faster.” He hears you mutter over the earpiece. A hasty reminder of what you had told him earlier that week: the room never stays empty for long.

“Got it.” He exhales, finally pinpointing your files and beginning the process of downloading and deleting them.

“Sunwoo,” he hears an elevator ding from somewhere outside the room at the same time he hears you, “someone’s coming.”

He doesn’t move. Keeping one eye on the closed door and the other on the still-pending status of your files. “I’m almost done.”

“If you leave now, they won’t see you.” Voices fill the hall. “But you have to leave now.”

“I’m not done yet.”

The voices move closer, louder. “It’s not worth it. Please, just go!”

He hears them behind the door. “It’s you.”

There’s a jingle of keys. “How will you—”

“Hey,” the door unlocks with a click, “you jump; I jump, right?”

“Sunwoo—”

He pulls the earpiece out at the exact moment that the door swings open.

-- 

The rooftop is obscenely pretty at this hour, with the golden sun partly hidden by a high-rise building but still growing in the distance, scattering its light across the sky, and casting a golden shadow on everything it touches. It’s a gorgeous sight, and yet, there’s no one but Sunwoo here to appreciate it.

“You’re okay.”

He whips around only to find you standing on the rooftop with him, body trembling and hands clasped over your mouth. Behind you, the door to the roof is still falling closed. Your eyes are red, dark circles hanging under them that make it look as if you haven’t slept days. Silently, Sunwoo wonders how he’s just now noticing your sudden restlessness, and a small part of him hopes—no prays that whatever’s chasing your sleep away is the same thing chasing his.

“I got it.” He says, pulling out the flash drive he stayed to retrieve. Your eyes never flicker off his. “How’d you find me?”

“How’d you get out?”

Neither of you answer. Instead, you begin to walk towards him, asking if he’s hurt with a voice that’s too soft and too concerned for Sunwoo to make out an answer. You ask it again.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in front of him. Close enough for Sunwoo to see the tears welled up in your eyes. “You’re okay.” You repeat, voice wavering with a sudden gust of wind.

“I am, but I—” he hesitates; you take a step towards him, “I miss you.” He succumbs to the fire in his chest; lets it fill his lungs, burn up his throat, and throw the sentence, “I just miss you so much,” out of his mouth without bothering to hide the crack in it.

He meets your eyes and finds a starling amount of clarity in them. “I missed you too.”

“Really?”

You laugh at that, nodding your head and stepping closer to him again. “I missed you before we ever met.”

He stares at you. For too long probably. Watches a smile grace your features, spreading like a fire. The flame feels familiar. And for the first time since seeing you after Vienna, Sunwoo doesn’t have to hold back the urge to ask, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”

He does. Lips crashing into yours, and you meeting the motion halfway, leaning into his lips, his body, him. A fervent want present in the way you pull at his neck and grab onto the collar of his shirt that would’ve probably been surprising if it wasn’t matched completely by him. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his and deepening the kiss for a second more.

You both pull away, just barely, faces still close and bodies pressed against each other.

“Hey,” you begin, breath hot against his lips and a knowing smirk appearing briefly, “was I worth the wait?”

And suddenly Sunwoo’s in Vienna again, sitting on a bench, and asking you the same question.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling, “you were.”

//

a/n: i apologize this request took me forever to get around too. and if the actual spy aspects to this fic make zero sense then my bad i was spit balling here. brownie points if u can find the scene inspired by queens gambit and the other scene inspired by the office lmao

[kyidyl]

Kyidyl Does Archaeology - Part 4

(As before, if you’re only seeing this part 4, the rest of them have the tag KyidylCL)

THE ARTEFACTS

Ok, so I’ve talked about the site and what we’ve been digging in and such, but I’m gonna be honest with you guys: I like lab work exponentially more than field work.  So I am the one who has been processing the vast majority of the finds and ergo have lots of stuff.  That’s why I sometimes make jokes about the stuff in my basement - I’m storing the majority of it here in my basement.  I’ve gotten the question before about ownership, so here is how that works.  The dig is on private land so anything we get technically belongs to the owner of the land.  Now, as far as I know, he has no interest in keeping any of it so it’ll likely end up in the hands of the arch society, who will basically just be custodians of it but not owners.  It might end up in a museum, too.  I don’t really know, but that determination won’t be made until we’re finished, and not by me.  

So every site has its own sort of categories of stuff that you find depending on who lived there (although for ease, archaeologists often categorize this stuff based on location and time - more on that later.).  For our site the majority of it falls into these categories: animal bone, shell, lithics, pottery, charcoal, modern contaminants, and artefacts.  And, to lend a bit of clarity here...lithics are anything made of rock.  So they include fire cracked rocks, flakes from stone tool making, material that was used in construction, material that was crushed to make temper for pottery paste (more on that later, too.), etc.  If it came from a rock it’s a lithic.  

And imma tell you a secret: I hate lithics.  Everyone has their thing, their category of human refuse that they simply do not like.  A prof of mine hated teeth and pottery.  That’s just how it is, and mine is lithics.  I think they’re boring, I can’t tell a flake from a blade, I don’t give a single fuck what material they are, I don’t care about the style or craftsmanship...I just don’t care.  I call them all rocks, and I do it so much that everyone on the site has started accidentally calling them rocks, too, which amuses me.  Rocks, to an archaeologist, means “stone that wasn’t altered or used by people”.  They’re worthless.  Not that I think lithics are worthless - far from it - I just really hate them and this site has so.  goddamned.  many.  Lucky for me, we have a Rock Guy aka someone who really loves lithics and actually has gotten pretty good at flint knapping and just, y’know, is really into rocks.  

And to clarify about artefacts.  When you’re out in the field everything you find is either an artefact or a find.  The collection of these things is called an assemblage.  When you’re doing lab work and sorting through it all later on an artefact is, well...like a thing.  I’m explaining this poorly....it’s a complete object with a specific function.  So, a whole pot = artefact, broken pieces = sherds (not shards, sherds.). Complete arrowhead = artefact, flakes or a broken one = lithic.  Artefacts also tend to be somewhat unique, or at least something you don’t have a lot of.  They don’t always have to be complete, anything that is a specific object can go in here.  Like, for example, this piece of pipe we found: 

To recap, we’ve got pottery, charcoal, lithics, shell, bone (animal - we haven’t found human. But I’m just gonna say bone.), and artefacts.  If you are sensitive to things like that, this is your warning that this post is going to have pictures of animal bone and you should scroll quickly.  

Now, for reference, this is what it all looks like before I clean it and after it’s been dying out for a day or two (the ground has natural moisture, so I basically just open the bags and let them air out.): 

And, yes....I am cleaning them off on an actual antique blotter with real silver edges that my mom gave me for this express purpose.  A factoid I’m only sharing because it amuses me in that sort of “bet they never envisioned this use for this thing” sort of way.  Normally, if I was in a real lab, you’d do this over a metal tray.  When you’re working with an assemblage you never hold it over empty space, you always hold it over the bench and preferably over whatever your work surface is.  That doesn’t mean I haven’t dropped my fair share of stuff anyway, but most of it just lands on the work surface and not the floor, which is why you hold it over a work surface.  But anyway, as you can see, it just looks like a brown, dirty mess.  I usually do a quick sort of the stuff I know for sure what it is and then I wash it with a soft toothbrush and some water.  The rocks I just submerge and swoosh around because they’re rocks and I can’t really damage them and there’s SO FRIKKIN MANY that I refuse to clean them individually.  

So now that you’ve gotten through that long-winded but necessary explanation of terms, where are we at? Since I’m a bioarchaeologist and I prefer things that were once alive to the general detritus of human society, we’re gonna start with the bone.  Specifically, we’re gonna start with how I know those two pits from yesterday’s post are one pit.  This is how: 

This is a deer bone.  Don’t ask me which one bc I’m really not good at ID’ing species and animal anatomy, but it’s a leg bone of some kind.  See how it’s broken? One piece was found in one hole and the other piece was in the other.  Clearly it’s the same animal, ergo the pits are related to each other.  The vast majority of what came out of that particular feature was bone, with the rest being charcoal and the occasional pot sherd.  This means it was probably used for cooking and not as a garbage pit. Also there was food in it, if you recall the cooking accident from yesterday.  but sometimes y’know, stuff falls into the fire pit or it’s put in there as a way of disposing of it.  

But wait, I have more cool animal bones!! 

Ok, so there’s this one: 

This bone has a special place in my heart. IDK what species it is (I *think* it’s a fragment of deer long bone.), but that’s not why it’s cool.  This single bone is strong evidence for the presence of dogs.  =D See that circular mark on the right? That is the impression of a canine tooth from a carnivore.  Human teeth can’t make those marks in bones - our teeth aren’t strong enough to do significant damage to bone, and anyway we tend to crack bones open with rocks (a form of damage called percussion marks.) and not with our teeth.  Those other longer scratch marks are also likely from chewing, not butchery, because they’re in the right places and they’re the right shape.  Now we know this was a settlement, and this bone was found smack in the middle surrounded by human detritus and not on the fringes or outskirts.  There were no domesticated felines in the Americas at the time BC this is from the lower pre-contact level, so what’s really the only carnivore that would be wandering around a human settlement? Dogs.  I love this kinda stuff because it’s so easy see them chilling around the fire pit, talking and eating, teasing whomever it was that spilled dinner, and then tossing the bones to their dogs to gnaw on after dinner.  It’s just such a people kind of thing, you know? All from one small, circular mark.  I actually found more on later bones that came out of other places, so it’s pretty safe to say there were dogs living here with their people even though we have found neither people nor dogs.  

So here’s another cool bone: 

Again, no idea what species it is bc I’m not a zooarch (yes, there are archaeologists that specialize in animals and wooooo boy can they tell you a LOT about migration and eating habits of people.). It’s about the size of half my thumb, IE, not large.  This one is cool, and it’s the only one I have like this, because of that notch you can see vertically in the image on the right hand side.  I don’t know what it was for, but I DO know that it was an intentionally made modification to the bone.  Those striations aren’t natural - natural bone is smooth or has a very specific texture and this isn’t that.  It’s probably not damage done to the bone after it was deposited in the archaeological record.  It has the same patina as the majority of the rest of the bone, which you can compare to the lighter area there on the right hand end of the bone.  That lighter area does not have the patina of age that the rest of the bone does, and is the result of damage in a much more recent time - probably as we were taking it out of the ground.  Small bones are fragile.  So someone gouged this channel intentionally in this bone, either because they were going to use it as decoration or it served some purpose as a tool.  I’m not really sure what though.  Hell, they could have just been bored and fidgeting after eating.  Either way, it’s a human modification to this bone that has nothing to do with cooking or consumption (damage from human consumption is cracks and breaks, not scrapes.).  It could also be a butchery mark, although it’s a bit deep for that.  Butchery marks are there from separation of meat from bone - they’re usually just shallow scrapes.  

Ok, last cool bone I’m gonna show you.  Well, bones, plural.  

Ok so this is part of the same assemblage as the ones above, and if I remember correctly these were the ones that came out of that pit.  You can see the same bone with the canine tooth mark there in the center.  There’s also some interesting things like some pottery on the left and a couple teeth off to the right (one is a deer and I *think* that curved on is a squirrel.), but the really interesting thing is the series of 3 shiny bones that are in the center.  There’s a lot of ways to cook meat, and they all do different things to bones.  You will often find the dry, brown looking ones like you can see here in the non-shiny bones. That’s like...your basic “this bone had meat on it when it was cooked”. Then you’ll see ones that are black, and that’s “this bone probably didn’t have meat when it was cooked, or someone tossed it back in the fire when they were done”. Lastly, you’ll see white bone, and that’s a bone that has been burned at a high temperature for a long time.  Usually it’s done on purpose (you can use burned, powdered bone to make stuff.).  

But the shiny ones were in a soup.  And the reason I know that is *because* they’re shiny.  Bones, especially old ones, aren’t shiny.  I mean...you can see that.  You have to do stuff to ‘em.  And bones are porous, but those weren’t.  They felt like hard plastic. And they get that way by being boiled.  The shiny patina is what we call pot polish - they were stirred in the soup while it was cooking and rubbed against the side of the pot and each other, and it gives them a smoother texture.  

All of these collections of bones tell us what and how they ate things.  I know from what I can ID here (which isn’t everything, trust me.) that they ate a lot of deer and wild turkey (we have an entire almost completely intact turkey long bone.). There is also, I believe, squirrel (I found a portion of a skull and jaw that I’m pretty sure belong to a squirrel), and an assortment of other small rodents and birds.  Lots of birds.  Bird bone is really distinctive, it’s light and the spongy bone has a distinct texture.  A zooarchaeologist can look at bones like this and ID species and age, and from there tell you what time year something was probably killed.  Societies that hunted a lot tended to do it seasonally so that they wouldn’t damage the populations.  Plus especially with fish and stuff they have very specific growing cycles and short lifespans, so they can also tell you a lot about where the people were hunting and when.  Like certain fish will only spawn in certain places, so it’s really informative.  Zooarchs are so important and there just aren’t enough of them.  

Anyway, there are other cool things in the bones but I’m trying to strike a balance here between too much and not enough and I really love bone so I’m going to stop here for today.  Tomorrow is going to be other artefacts (yeah, sadly, even lithics, lol), and what they tell us about the site and the people who lived there.   As an aside: if anyone has any like just general “how do they know this?” sort of questions about history and archaeology those would be fun to answer.  I love to tell people how we do things but I don’t just wanna infodump.  I DO want to explain procedure in what I hope is a readable way because I think understanding how we make the sausage will help people have more trust in science.  So if you have any questions, please, send asks.  If I don’t know the answer I’ll research it or pass it on to someone who does.  

[consumeconstantly]

The Only Antidote is a Kiss

Summary: Scarecrow always did come up with the most whacky chemical formulas to test on people. Red Hood gets dosed with his latest toxin, and the only way to cure it is with a kiss. The only candidate? Long time rival and almost enemy, Ladybird.

____________________________________________________

“No,” Red Hood said, resolutely. “No way in hell.”

Red Robin’s exasperated voice crackled over the comm. “Hood, if you don’t, you’re going to die.”

“Do you think I care? Death is better.” 

“I would say that’s insulting if I didn’t feel the exact same way.” Ladybird nonchalantly twirled a yoyo at her side. “Besides, ten minutes is plenty of time to get him someone else.”

“You two are in the middle of nowhere. It’s thirty minutes to the nearest city.”

“Yeah, but the suburbs are always an option. You Bats always seem to miss the obvious solution.”

“I’m not kissing her,” Red Hood repeated.

“I know that you two are…” Red Robin tried to find a more delicate way to word their relationship, “Not always on the best of terms, but you are on the same side right now. Ladybird, you don’t want Red Hood to die, do you?”

Plying Ladybird was always easier than trying to convince Red Hood. The woman had a heart of gold. Today? No such luck. 

“He’s not going to die,” Ladybird scoffed. “If he dies over this instead of the many, many, many assassination attempts that I saved him from, I’ll feel insulted. But I’m also not going to help. I’m not going to kiss an unwilling party, and certainly not one with a mug as ugly as Red Hood.”

“You’ve never even seen my face!” Red Hood argued from safely inside his beauteous red bucket.

“Yeah, well you’ve never seen mine either, and yet somehow, you have no issue with calling me disfigured every time our paths cross.”

“You’re wearing a mask. Only people who are horribly scarred wear full face masks.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting you’re ugly then?”

“No, I’m wearing a helmet, not a mask. Big difference.”

Ladybird barely stopped herself from bashing her head against the cement and steel wall. If the action didn’t break her mask, she would have considered going through with it. “God, this is why I’m not going to kiss him, Red Robin. Can’t you use one of those zeta things and drop in a girl for him to make out with?”

“You know they don’t work like that.”

“I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I’m in the Justice League.”

“Not for a lack of trying! We’ve offered you the position at least ten different times.”

“Yeah, on the condition that I get Red Hood to join up too. That certainly doesn’t sound like you guys actually want my help.”

“Nine minutes on the clock,” an automated voice reminded them.

“I say we blow this popsicle stand,” Red Hood pointed a finger up at the cement ceiling.

“Wow, what a stupendously original idea, Red Hood. It’s almost like the next thing out of your mouth might be something vaguely resembling intelligence. Oh wait, that’s right. We can’t get out of this hell hole because there’s three feet of cement on every side of us and we have no weapons that can help.”

“I haven’t had a crack at it, yet.”

“Be my guest. I’ll sit back and laugh at your failed attempts.” Ladybird reclined on a wall. “We both know that between the two of us, I’m the one who’s better at escape and solutions that don't require firearms. You don’t think with either one of your heads, you think with your AK-47.”

“My babies are all I need to get the job done. Your plans are always so unnecessarily convoluted.”

“They’re convoluted so I can cover my tracks instead of leaving evidence, debris, and dead bodies behind.”

“Uh, guys? Can you have your spat after Hood’s life is out of immediate danger?”

“No,” both of them chorused, immediately glaring at each other for speaking in sync.

“I doubt Scarecrow actually came up with a formula that will make you die if you don’t kiss someone of the opposite gender within ten minutes. That seems like the kind of chemical compound that’s featured in all of those really trashy romance novels, except instead of being unable to control your instincts, you die.” Ladybird considered the empty vial on the floor. “I’m confident that Red Hood can ride this out with minimal damage. Even if he does get horny, it’s not like he’s going to go for me-- drug induced state or not, he can’t stand my guts.”

“Can I just say that I don’t want to bank his life on that assumption?”

“It’s not like your life is the one at stake. Just try to get someone out here that can break down this welded door for us sooner, rather than later.” Ladybird gives Red Hood a once over. “Besides, if he does try anything, we all know that I’m more than capable of tying him up.”

#

“Hey, why don’t you use that Lucky Charm of yours?”

“Do you think I didn’t think of that already? That was one of the first things I considered.”

“So why didn’t you use it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that after I do, I detransform within five minutes? Not a big fan of exposing my identity, plus it’s not like anybody’s in any real danger because we’re locked up here. Scarecrow’s tied up, the goons that welded the door shut on us aren’t capable of using their brains, and a team is going to bust us out in thirty minutes anyways.”

For the millionth time, Red Hood pounded his shoulder against the steel weld, hoping that something would give. Nothing happened.

A beep sounded. 

“Ten minutes have passed.”

“See?” Ladybird crowed triumphantly. “I was right. Nothing’s--”

Red Hood fell to the floor, clawing at his chest.

“... happening. I jinxed it, didn’t I? I guess I’ll use it, then.”

Ladybird called for a lucky charm. No antidote fell into her hand. Just a sheet of paper, saying Kiss him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Tikki, don’t do me dirty like this!”

“Tikki? Who’s Tikki? What did the Lucky Charm give you?”

A wet cough sounded from underneath Red Hood’s helmet. He started to gasp for air.

Ladybird didn’t like Hood, but Red Robin was right. She had grown fond of him after saving his ass so many times. She wasn’t just going to let him die, especially not when she could help him. With a bone weary sigh, she knelt next to Red Hood. 

“I guess we’re doing this, aren’t we? Red Robin, comms off.”

“Off? But Hood sounds like--”

“Off,” she repeated, firmly. “Or I’ll break them.”

The telltale sign of static ceased in her ears.

Ladybird held Red Hood by his shoulders, maneuvering his mask off. 

“I hope you’re ugly,” she whispered.

He was not.

#

Even with blood on his lips, Jason Todd was unfortunately attractive. 

“Gonna--” he coughed again, the spray of blood accompanied by a wheeze. “Bless me with your face before I die?”

“I can’t believe that you’re still snarky while you’re on death’s door.” Ladybird touched the full face mask that she added during her years as a vigilante in Gotham. She still has the usual Ladybug eye cover, so her identity is safe. But the noh mask provides a sense of safety to her. She’s loathe to take it off, but in order for a kiss to work, it needs to be put aside. With a sigh, she places it on the ground and places a hand over Red Hood’s startlingly blue eyes.

“Kinky,” he spat. Ladybird grimaced. Why she ended up on this mission alone with Red Hood was beyond her, but they always ended up in the worst situations together somehow, anyways.

Her lips descended on his. 

Iron and sweat.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her lips with the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with shielding Red Hood’s eyes. “You feeling any better?”

He coughed again.

“Great, so Scarecrow was lying and I didn’t have to kiss you. You were just going to die anyways.” 

She placed her noh mask back on, then pressed a button on her comm. “You’re going to want to speed up the whole backup team. Looks like Scarecrow was lying.”

“You’re kidding me. Scarecrow never lies--”

Red Hood sat up shakily. 

“I’m fine, Replacement. Throat’s a little sore, but I’m fine.” 

“Good to know his MO hasn’t changed,” Ladybird remarked. “I’d suggest that you wipe your face with something. It’s covered in blood.”

“And Ladybird cooties.” Red Hood used his forearm to wipe the blood off. Ladybird had to admit that the man was objectively good looking. The artist in her wanted to take a picture or sketch him. The shock of white hair, symmetrical features, and prominent nose. His eyes had a certain darkness in them, like he had seen the worst of the world, but there was still a clarity to them that said he was fighting against those injustices. “C’mon, you’ve seen my face, don’t you think it’s time to exchange the favor?”

“Backup’s arriving in three,” interjected Red Robin.

“There’s nothing in it for me.” Ladybird tugged the hood of her cloak down lower. 

“Isn’t it weird that we kissed and I don’t know your face?”

“No.”

“You really are into some kinky shit.”

“Also no on that.”

“Then why not show me your face?”

“Stop being such a brat.”

“I know I’m older than you.”

“Bratiness isn’t measured in age, but in mental maturity. Which you have none of.”

“Please?”

“I’m almost tempted to take off my noh mask if only because that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say the word please.”

“If I say it again, will you?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Pretty please, Ladybird?”

“... Fine.” She’d get a laugh out of this anyways, and the team was minutes away from picking them up.

She took off her noh mask to reveal the red and black domino.

Red Hood cursed.

@jasonette-july-2k20

it’s wild that yall are liking my fics when i basically vomit these things up im honestly scared to look back at some of the ones that have been posted because i do not proof read or edit 

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 14: Devil

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

A bit more plot stuff with a bit more fluff and just... Liu Kang. Yes. Thank you guys for reading~~ Next update is saturday. Not sure I can do double update, you will see why on Saturday!!! <3

Part 13 Part 15 Chapter Index

When you opened your eyes next, you were in utter darkness. For a brief second, you panicked that you’d lost your sight or were having a vision but then realized that wasn’t the case. Liu Kang’s arms were wrapped around you with the weight of sleep. You were not blind, but instead tucked under a blanket and buried against his bare chest. Apparently, you had fallen asleep next to each other, laid down, and tangled yourselves together. The blankets were pulled high and you were nearly completely covered. His chin rested against the top of your head and you could feel the calm, slow rising and falling of his chest.

This hadn’t been the first time you’d fallen asleep next to him, not by far, but it was the first time where you’d woken up and found that he was still there. You tugged on the blankets just enough to free your face, careful not to disturb him. You gasped at the cool air of the rest of your room. Liu Kang made everything warm, and you had no idea if it was because of his arcana or if it were just part of your attraction to him. You were grateful that the night had been colder. Liu remained dead asleep with his arms around you, though he shifted his head to the side so you could move a bit more freely.

There was nothing to do but to admire him in the silence of your room. You could see little beyond him and his arms, while slack, were firmly around you. From a glimpse at the window, you thought it was likely still the middle of the night. You were grateful for the moment of peace. Your heart had been so heavy over the past few days that it was a reprieve. The strength of his arms around you and the stillness of the hour were beautiful reminders that things would be okay.

You peered behind you carefully and caught a glimpse of the book and journal neatly resting on top of your desk. This hadn’t been you accidentally falling asleep together. He had, at some point, gotten up, put the books away, and then made the decision to crawl backinto your bed to hold you and rest. You couldn’t say you would have done any differently had the tables been turned, but it was comforting that he had thought to do it.

It still left you wondering what any of it meant, but you decided in that moment, that perhaps you didn’t need to know. Perhaps it would be best to live in the moment and what would be would be.

You decided to try and sleep again but as you closed your eyes, the darkness felt different. In your mind’s eye there stood a man, horned like a demon. His body shifted and changed from monstrous fiery beast and back to a cloaked man. He walked along a path through mountains so tall that they rose above the clouds that gathered about them like the sea. Trees sprouted along his path, growing at odd angles, as if they were gnarled by invisible hands. The creature walked along an ancient path and into a small cavern, hidden beyond a waterfall in the cliffside.

You tried to shake off the dream, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t a dream. You panicked. It was a vision! The creature turned to look you dead in the eye and suddenly your head was screaming in agony. You tried to close your eyes, to escape from the pain and his gaze that gnawed at you, eyes flashing from yellow to red- but there was no escape. You couldn’t control the vision in your head, couldn’t escape it. And the creature knew you were there. He grinned at you and drew closer, sickly hands reaching to grasp you.

Then, in a flash, he was far away, as if he had never looked upon you. He searched the cavern for others, as though what he did there were secret. Then he placed something within the bubbling waters at the center of the cavern. Your head ached again and you caught the hectic, rapid images of dead men in intricate robes. They were too fast to catch or understand.

You tried to scream as the world rushed suddenly around you. It felt as though you were falling from the top of that incredible mountain. When you finally stopped, you were barely aware of your body. Surrounding you was a bright turquoise lake, the water bubbled. It looked fake. Water couldn’t be that color. It was in a crater of some kind and then you knew without having to think further as though the knowledge had been granted to you. A caldera. That seemed right.

A shrine stood in the distance, a Buddhist shrine, you thought. You recognized Japanese kanji on pieces of paper hanging from the roof. The lake was steaming behind you, bubbling, and as you turned back to the shrine, the creature returned to your vision. He walked into the temple. The flowers that grew in pots on the stairs wilted as he passed them. You followed him beyond your will into the shrine. When he turned to face you, the air left your lungs and you struggled to breathe. Pain racked your body. The ringing of a dolorous bell shattered your thoughts and your body crashed into water.

It was blood red and the man stood over the water that drowned you, looking within as if not seeing you. His hand touched the surface and you tried to shut away the image to no avail.

You gasped and choked, and your eyes snapped open. You couldn’t breathe and there was something forceful and heavy pinning your arms and legs into place. It was Liu Kang, and his eyes were wide and full of fear. “Y/N! Y/N! Come back!” He was shaking you, trying to urge you awake. His open shirt was torn at his shoulder, dripping with ink and blood. You realized why you couldn’t breathe and choked on the ink bubbling in your throat. “Y/N?” He caught your eyes, desperately, hands moving to your cheeks at once. “Y/N, are you there?”

“Liu?” You felt the ink drip over your lips, but it choked you. Liu released his grasp on you and helped you move to the side. You coughed and ink poured past your lips and onto the floor. He rubbed your back and helped you clear it from your throat, urging you to breathe slower. Even so, you could feel his hands trembling. Either that or you were shaking so much that you were also shaking him.

He held you as you coughed, soothing you. After you wiped your lips, he helped you sit upright. “Breathe, Y/N.” He pushed your hair back, resting his hand again on your cheek. “Say something, please.” Your head was spinning. You tried to talk but the words didn’t come and you gasped for breath again. Panic. You were having a panic attack.

“I can’t.” You wheezed. Forcefully, but still somehow careful, Liu urged you into his arms, took your hands and then urged them both against his chest. His heart was hammering beneath your fingertips.

“Then breathe with me, Y/N.” His voice was desperate, begging you to try. You took a shaky breath in when he did and though it took a few times and his grip on you was so tight that you couldn’t move much on your own, you managed to finally breathe. The panic that had taken complete control of you melted away slowly.

You were still in your room.

Liu Kang held you, still counting breaths.

You hadn’t gone anywhere. You were safe.

It had been a vision. Nothing more. No one had seen you or taken you or hurt you.

You lifted your head up and Liu relaxed his grip. Then you wrapped your arms around him and buried yourself against his chest. You gripped at the back of his loose shirt and your body was racked with sobs. He held you tight, one arm around your middle, the other hand in your hair as he held you close. He pushed your hair back, examined your face, sighed in relief, and then allowed his hand to brush up and down your back to soothe you. “It’s okay.” He whispered, his voice no longer panicked or shaking.

You fought back the sobs and the tears and managed them away, catching your breath. Certain you could keep your composure you leaned away from his chest. Then you carefully grasped his right arm and marveled at the sleeve, torn, and stained with blood and ink. “It’s fine, Y/N.” He sensed your worry and assured you but it didn’t make you feel any better.

“I attacked you again.”

“You attacked something. Not me. It’s really fine. Just a scrape.” He assured you but he was just like you, diffusing your worry without actual proof. You tugged at the tear and tried to wipe the ink away to find the source of the blood. He grabbed your hand to stop you and pulled it to his chest. His other hand guided your cheek so you would stop staring at his shoulder. “I’m fine. I promise. Trust me.”

You nodded and tried your best not to worry but the guilt still ate you up inside. He wouldn’t lie to you. If he needed attention, he would ask for it. Liu wiped your face, presumably of ink, thumb following over your cheek bone, your jaw, and then beneath the curve of your lower lip.

“I’m sorry.” You managed to say, breath still shaky.

“Don’t be.” He rested his forehead against yours and let out a deep sigh. “We were sleeping and then you were…” He shook his head in disbelief. “Did you see something again?”

“Yeah.” You coughed and tried to relax but it felt impossible. He let go of your hand and rested it against your chest so he could feel your heart beating. You thought that checking your pulse at your throat was probably just as easy but found no reason to object.

“You’re breathing is still funny.”

“Yeah, I panicked. It’ll calm down.” You assured him. That was the last thing you needed, was him to worry about your breathing. “Everything’s still fuzzy.” The ringing in your ears returned and you hung your head and winced. It was painful to focus on what you’d seen and what had happened just before it. “…you stayed?” You weren’t sure why, of all the things that you could ask, that was what you wound up saying. Your thoughts were scattered, fragmented in ways that made it difficult to find clarity. Plus, your mouth seemed to have a way of betraying you lately.

“Yes. You were… at peace and I… then… you woke up and that ink arcana of yours? Well, it’s impressive to say the least.” He rotated his shoulder and you escaped his arms, much to his surprise. He seemed jolted by how quickly you’d done it. Honestly, you were surprised by how fast and steadily you could move too. You retrieved the first aid kit that Chen had sent with you on one of your many trips to the infirmary. “I’m fine, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, Liu.” You didn’t listen to him that time. Even if it were just a scrape, you would take care of it. He’d spent so much of his time taking care of you, worrying about you, that you would return the favor whether he wanted it or not. You took a seat in front of him. Instead of arguing, he pulled his shirt off and draped it over the side of the bed so that you wouldn’t have to fight with the torn cloth to get to the wound. You cleaned up the ink and were grateful to find that he had been correct. It was just a scrape. You hadn’t thought he’d been lying but you also thought that hadn’t had time to see the true extent of the wound with all the chaos that had come with it. His skin was barely broken but it would likely bruise something fierce by morning. “I’m sorry.” You repeated, guilt dripping from every word.

“Don’t be.” Liu took your hand away from your task. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about you. Are you okay?” He gently tilted your chin from side to side, searching your neck and face for damage. You couldn’t help but smile even if it faltered quickly. He then urged his hand over your side, where he knew you were wounded. “Is that…?” He tugged at the shirt.

“I’m okay, I think. Just freaked out.” You took his hand and held it between both of yours. Liu breathed a sigh of relief. You sat together like that, you holding his hand close to your chest, his other hand resting on your knee.

“What did you see?”

“I… it’s hard to explain. It’s like… something in my head is all jumbled up afterward. Like someone took all my thoughts and shook them up. Nothing makes sense. There was… a man… I think it was a man, at least.”

“The same dark man?”

“No, I’m not even really sure that he was a man. He was also a monster. He was... hiding something, I think? Two things. I saw flashes of faces and… heard this sad… I think it was a bell or a chime. The… the second place was definitely in Japan. I saw writing in a temple there. It’s… god it’s so fuzzy.” You held your head and Liu pushed your hair back.

“A man but also a monster? What kind of monster?”

“I… he had horns? And sometimes his body was… like magma. I’d… I’d use the word demon. Does that seem silly?”

“Nothing seems silly to me anymore.” Liu turned to the mess of ink on your sheets and blankets then leaned his head back with a heavy sigh. “We should talk to Raiden.”

“It’s the middle of the night. We’ll disturb him again.”

“I know. We should though, shouldn’t we?”

“Time won’t change what I saw. It never did. I…” You furrowed your brow. “I think we should wait until morning. I’m exhausted. I don’t think I can walk there.”

“Okay.” You were surprised that he’d agreed with you since the last time you had a vision, he had nearly dragged you to the infirmary. This time he had been far easier to convince. You imagine this had been exhausting for him too. “You’re right. There’s no need to panic anyone. It doesn’t seem like a warning of imminent danger. We can tell him in the morning.” You had caused a fuss last time for nothing. Raiden had sent you away. You still hadn’t met with him to properly go over what you’d seen before, so urgency seemed like a wasted effort.

“Thank you.” You gave him a tired smile. He looked uneasy still, not taking his eyes away from you, as if afraid that you would disappear if he did. “This is a mess.” You touched your sheets. It could have been worse, all things considered. Still, it would be difficult to sleep with ink everywhere.

“Easily fixed, Y/N. Don’t worry.” He urged you to stand up and then helped you take a seat in the desk chair. Then he gathered the blankets and sheets off your bed, balled them up and tossed them to the side on the floor. He didn’t let you help even when you tried to get up. In fact, he’d urged you to sit back down, placed his hands on the arms of the chair, had given you a stern look, and then set back about his task. “We’ll deal with those later.”

You didn’t argue with him. He left the room and you took the opportunity to get changed. You were drenched in ink and sweat. One of the dressing gowns would do for the rest of the night. You wiped your face clean on the discarded sheets. Liu returned seconds later, and you took the sheets from him and set about making the bed. He watched you but when you turned back to catch his gaze, he moved instead to help you finish tucking them in. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took your hand, urging you to join him.

You sat in exhausted silence for a long while. You shivered. Your body kept going from hot to cold and you hated it. A fever, most likely. This was all too familiar, so similar to how you had been as a child. It made you feel helpless. But Liu had been right. You weren’t a kid anymore. You had spent years working to become strong. You could handle this.

“Thank you, Liu.” You turned to him and he bowed his head politely, slipping his shirt back on over his shoulders though it looked uncomfortably crusted over with ink.

“I’m glad that I was here.” He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows against his knees. “Do you think that you’ll be able to rest after that?”

“I… honestly? I could pass out right now. I’m beat. But also, I’m afraid to sleep.” This was the second time that you’d had a vision in a handful of days and both had happened when you had been barely on the brink of sleep.

“I can’t rightly blame you. I imagine rest is the most important thing for you to do to recover. Whatever shadow comes with this gift, Y/N, it weighs on you. Even now you are pale and breathing funny.” You nodded. There was no arguing with the truth.

“I know. It’s hard. I slip from sleep to… terrifying vision so quickly, it’s… jolting.” You furrowed your brow. “You need rest too, Liu. I beat you up again.”

“You tried to beat me up.” He offed you a nudge of his elbow and you smiled. “I’m fine.” He ran his fingers through his messy hair, lost in a war in his head that you could only guess at. “I should probably go.”

“I…” You hesitated and you caught his smile and turned your gaze. You meant to say that he probably should have, that you were afraid to be alone, that you had stolen enough of his time that night, but none of those came out. Just a stuttering mess of nothing. “Well…” You drifted off. You didn’t want him to leave. He’d been there to protect you both times now. What would have happened if he hadn’tbeen there to wake you up? The ink had almost drowned you! Besides, it had been a huge comfort to be held after it had happened. Even if it made things complicated, his arms were strong and comforting. You longed for them to be around you again. You felt very selfish to think so fondly of it. Even the stifling warmth that you’d woken up to under the covers had been absolutely wonderful.

“I could stay.” He averted his eyes but the smile he tried to hide was hilariously obvious. You wound up doing the same and turned your gaze. “Then I can make sure you get to Raiden first thing in the morning.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to rest in the peace and comfort of your own bed? Not covered in ink? Knowing that I can’t possibly attack you when you’re that far away?” You offered him a way out. He was worried about you, that was clear, but he didn’t need to lose sleep over you. He pulled his shirt off and draped it over the back of your desk chair with a lazy throw.

“There. Not covered so much in ink anymore. I’ll sleep like this.”

You nodded but looked anywhere but at him because looking at him had consequences. Guilt. Attraction. Admiration. In all honesty, you were so exhausted that you didn’t have the energy for that conflict. If Liu Kang wanted to wrap his big strong arms around you and hold you while you slept, half naked, then you were going to let him do it, damnit. You wouldn’t fight it. Not right now. Besides, you wanted to be held. Even as you came to terms with that very silly urge, you could see the man with the horns like a demon, his eyes flashing and burning into you.

What did any of it mean? You held your head in your hands and rested your elbows on your knees. Liu pushed your hair away from your face, watching you with those dark concerned eyes. He looked as exhausted as you felt. God, he was bruised all to hell. Your eyes lingered on the darkness on his stomach. It was all because of you. Why couldn’t your arcana have helped you that much when you’d tried to summon it against Kung Lao that afternoon? Kung Lao had earned a bruise or two. Liu Kang hadn’t. You laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Liu laid next to you and did the same, shoulder brushing just against yours. It felt suddenly very funny to fall asleep purposely next to him and you laughed in disbelief. It also felt pretty nice.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing feels real.” You turned to find him watching you already. He picked up your hand at your side and laced his fingers with yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” You weren’t sure that was true, but there was no point in being morose.

You let go of his hand, rolled away from him onto the side that wasn’t pained and stared out into your room. Your floor was stained with ink. From there you could just see the outline of the flower that Kung Lao had given you in front of the books that Liu had put away. You closed your eyes and felt Liu shifting behind you. His arms then slipped around your middle and tugged you closer to him, so that your back was pressed against his chest. His hands were warm and comforting, settling against you once he’d pulled the new blankets around you.

Your stomach was twisted into knots again for a thousand different reasons. Liu’s lips rested against your shoulder, his breath warming your skin. You got goosebumps; you couldn’t help it. His hand rested flat against your stomach, the other beneath you. “Please promise me that you’ll wake me if you need me.” He turned to whisper in your ear.

“I will.” You managed to fight against every instinct in your body so you could reply. His lips lingered close to your ear, his messy hair tickling at the side of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. He lingered before allowing his lips to plant a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Good.” He leaned back and rested his head against your pillows and you laid, staring ahead of you for some time. Your stomach was too twisted into knots for sleep and your nerves were completely shot. But Liu Kang’s soft, soothing breathing as he drifted to sleep gave you some peace. His grip went slack on you but his arms remained around you. You fought sleep for some time, afraid of what vision would await you. More visions didn’t come, but sleep did.

[mrslackles]

what do you think are gg's biggest flaws?

Ooh, Anon! It’s like you’re in my head. 

I’m busy making a video (that will probably never see the light of day) about this --  my distance from the show has really helped with some super objective clarity -- so I’ll use my notes from that to help me answer. 

I’ll preface this by saying what I was most shocked by after putting down all the points was that Rio isn’t even mentioned until really far down??

Anyway, let's get into it.

These are Good Girls' greatest flaws in my opinion (and relative to season 1 -- while I think it had its flaws too, the list is far smaller and I think that's a separate post)

1. It didn't stick to its guns

What set this show apart from others in the 'Everyday person does crime (poorly)' genre was its comedic lightness, strong friendship element, relatability and emphasis on girl power.

a) By season 2, the lightness was already slowly disappearing to make way for season 3's darkness. (Quite literally; this show said sunlight scenes for WHO.) It also stopped being as fun. Remember how it genuinely used to be fun? I mean let's not forget The Best Scene Ever where Ruby shoots Big Mike by accident and we all laughed our asses off. (Compare and contrast to a similar-in-tone-and-context scene -- or even the whole episode -- like Boomer popping up behind them as Rio's package in season 3.) I think season 3 had some great lines and laughs, but in general, the fun element was completely missing for me.

b) As was the friendship. We already know Annie and Ruby basically became Beth's backup dancers in season 2, but at least then they still seemed to have some type of agency. In season 3, they rarely question Beth's (truly questionable) decisions, don't talk to her about shit like why she's still with her horrible husband and have very few true friendship moments as they did in season 1.

c) Which made it less relatable, but what also contributed was the major plot holes (it's less easy to relate when you're constantly having to remind yourself to suspend your disbelief). And, to be honest, their stupid actions. Just the most common-sense things weren't followed, like not taking your children to a crack den or not putting a hit out on a gang leader. It's frustrating watching a TV show -- where characters are supposed to learn things, have arcs and improve over time -- and feeling like you have more logical sense than all the main characters in every scene. (WHO would think a hitman was going to use a sniper rifle on people in broad daylight on the side of the road???)

d) You don't have to look any further than the title or the stans who shout "THE SHOW IS ABOUT THE GIRLS" -- or, hell, the first 10 seconds of the show where Sara is literally talking about the glass ceiling -- to know that the main characters being women is very important to the show. If not formally feminist, it was at least supposed to be empowering or feel like "girl power" (a term I hate, but we won't get into that now).

And I think it did it pretty well in season 1 -- it actually played on my favourite theme of the show, which is the world's perception of these women being what ultimately allows them to get away with so much. (Rife with opportunities for commentary about white privilege, but also a genius way to upend patriarchal beliefs.) But more and more it seemed like the show was asking you to accept empowerment as simply "these things are being done by women, yay".

And, well.

2. Its marketing

I'll keep this one short because I think we all know how messed up this situation is. Basically they're selling a show (every week!) that they're not making while ignoring all feedback on every social media platform. Which brings us to...

3. The marriage of Death

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times -- Beth's character development starts with getting rid of Dean. Her growth is stunted by him on multiple fronts and it's frustrating to viewers since she's constantly put forth as the main character. Not to mention how the audience, separately from Beth, was originally conditioned to see Dean as the scum of the earth (think of scenes like him crashing his car because he was perving on a woman jogging) so keeping them together is really... a choice. To actively root for this marriage (which seems like what the show wants, at least for the protracted moment) means either thinking Dean is a great person (which, as I said, we've only seen the opposite of) or believing he's all Beth deserves. Which leads me to...

4. Beth's (socio)path(y)

Is sociopath a 'good' word? Probably not. Have I seen dozens upon dozens of posts talking about whether Beth is one? Yes. And I see it from a huge variety of people -- from viewers who just binged the show last weekend to those who've been watching for years, the question keeps coming up. And I entirely blame the writing of the show that, by the way, I don't believe is deliberately creating Beth to get this reaction. I think she's written (and, to an extent, acted) in a way that is much too aloof and I'm not convinced it's meant to come off as cold and unfeeling as it does. Everything else leads me to believe that the audience is supposed to root for Beth, but it's just so difficult.

Beth does a lot of messed up shit that requires dialogue to sympathise with her and the inner workings of her mind, but in the later seasons Beth rarely gets to express herself verbally. And every time she does get to speak about her emotions, the dialogue is a pick-your-own-adventure between "She's in so much denial", "This person feels no emotions" and "I'll go find an analysis/fic later to explain this" (scenes like "Nothing" or "I was just bored"). Compare and contrast with some of the great scenes in season 1 where she emotes, like her paralysing shock after they first rob the store or admitting she enjoys crime, or (one of my favourites!) the one in the park where she's mimicking the other mothers beside her.

5. Brio

I said in the beginning that I was shocked Rio doesn't get mentioned until this point and that's because I've always felt like he was an integral part of the show. When people say the show is about the girls, they're truncating -- the show is about the girls getting into crime. That crime is represented by Rio over and over again -- they never bring in another criminal at his level (which is another one of its flaws, but that's also a different post); Rio is it.

And though I stand by Rio's importance, the truth is that Brio isn't as essential to the show, by which I mean that if all of the above were done well, it wouldn't be as sorely missed. In lieu of riveting plot, a fun friendship, character development and empowerment, most viewers have glommed onto Brio like a lifeboat (or ship, heh).

Unfortunately it's also what the show has most stubbornly refused to develop significantly.

It's honestly a toss-up for why I feel Brio is a flaw: is the flaw that they got together? That they never got together well enough? That the writing keeps bringing in these 'chemistry-filled' scenes that are ultimately filled with air?

I don't know. Maybe all of them; maybe just one, depending on the day.

6. Its criticism falls flat without intersectionality

This is a big one because Good Girls is *trying* to do something very clever. As mentioned previously, my favourite theme of the show is how the women's apparent innocence/vulnerability in the eyes of society is their biggest strength. The show plays with this and other interesting themes with varying levels of success, but ultimately they all fall a little flat when they don't feel intersectional.

When Ruby gets sidelined. When Turner, who sees and all but calls out by name Beth's privilege, is portrayed as the villain. When Rio is told he's gonna "pop a cap" in his young child's "ass". When the racist grandma becomes a sympathetic character whom we must later grieve. (And she really didn't have to be racist, now that I think about it? It was just that one line for laughs and that was it.) When, despite the real-world implications, Dean can loudly announce in a store that he's buying a gun to kill someone with and the show just glides past it. When Ruby has to grovel for forgiveness from Beth for trying to protect her husband and family from the system, with no acknowledgement from Beth about how their realities are different. When Rhea gets booted off the show as soon as she's done serving Beth's plot. When Rio gets treated like a prostitute for absolutely no reason. (Oh, and is accused of raping Beth and is literally spoken of as an animal and starts only existing in zero dim lighting as a one-dimensional stereotype... the list goes on.)

7. PR/The actors

I'll risk my life here to sprinkle this in because I do think it's a massive problem. The Manny/Christina of it all is just the tip of the iceberg (although wtf Good Girls? There's nothing you could do to get these two into an interview together??). The main actors do the bare minimum to promote the show and it's weird. I also think it's the height of unprofessionalism to keep characters on the show against the wishes of the majority of the audience just because you enjoy their actors (Boomer confirmed; Dean highly suspected). While, on the flip side of the coin, limiting a character's screentime because you aren't best buddies with them. Having less and less Rio when he's such a fan favourite is dumb; as is not including him in any series marketing material. It feels personal and that isn't how a TV show should be run.

8. The entire hair and wardrobe department needs a stern talking-to

[silvercrystalwhump]

Little thing based on an idea for Ash

@ashintheairlikesnow owns all of these characters I just an idea one day and decided- Hey I'ma write this. Enjoy

TW: implied noncon, noncon photo taking, general bbu warning, Owen Grant exists

-

Vincent drums his fingers across the wood with nails bitten to near bleeding. A hard drive sits on the table in front of him, almost eating at his eyes by simply existing. It’s red, and the word Memories is written on the side. His eyes bore into the table, wanting the hard drive to combust and leave his life.

“You know I could always see what's on there?”

James, the only person other than his therapist to know about Owen, leans by an open window. The sound of Blue Jays singing outside dances through his words like background music on set. The only reason he had the displeasure of knowing about that migraine-inducing part of his life was that Vincent forgot to watch his liquor intake at an event and vomited out his entire life story to James in one night. Needless to say, he woke up the next morning with a hangover that could kill god and a very concerned James who knew too much.

Vincent shakes his head, “I am fairly certain I know what's on this, I don’t want you seeing that.”

James doesn’t respond, “I have an incinerator at home. You can just get rid of it there.”

“If it’s not I’ll be destroying something I actually like.”

Vincent did not even know why he had him come over. After he saw the handwriting he just went on autopilot. “Could you drive down about five minutes down, there’s this small coffee place that makes pecan pie flavored coffee, can you go get me some?”

“Sure,” James says, “Do you want me to go so you can do this alone and I can come back later or?”

“No, I just need you out of the house for maybe 15 minutes, it’s not like you probably have already figured out what I think is on this hard drive.”

James shrugs, “You want something to eat too?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Vincent hears James’ keys jungle quietly and the door opens. He can hear his footsteps walk down his porch. As he listens to James’ car start, Vincent puts his head in his hands. His finger knit into his hair and closes, threatening to rip the follicles right from his skull. I really don’t want to see this. He exhales as he hears the car pull out of the driveway and his gate slide closed.

Inhale, he closes his eyes and fumbles the hard drive into the laptop. Then, exhaling, he opens his eyes.

USP Pot In-Use. Transfer 486 GB of data onto this device?

Half a terabyte of data just sitting on a hard drive. A hard drive that was in the button of one of Vincent’s bags for months. Vincent starts to chew on the inside of his cheek, hands trembling near the mouse pad.

Yes.

Not enough storage for transfer. Preview file?

Yes.

A handful of files transfer to his laptop. Some files were named with dates, some with pet names, some with actual event titles but all were photos. Vincent closes his eyes and opens one simply labeled Coffee. The actual photo itself is just him sitting in one of his old dressing rooms back when working with Owen. There is a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner of the photo. This was definitely Owen’s phone. Owen’s phone always had a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner no matter how much Owen wiped it off.

The photo looks like it was taken at an awkward angle. Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and mutters, “So he stalked me long before the incident, I stopped working there months before it happened.” The other handful of photos are similar; pictures were taken without Vincent noticing, usually at work. The last one was in his own house, but it was during a party he remembered that he invited Owen to.

Then a video pops up only labeled with a date.

Vincent reaches up and mutes his computer, and slowly presses play on the video. It starts with Owen muttering something before sticking his phone up and peering through a window. The video is of Vincent sleeping, and it lasts for nearly 30 minutes before the phone is dislodged, and the video finishes.

The next set of photos and videos are dated during his time with Owen.

He gets through three before rushing to the bathroom to puke.

-

When James gets back, Vincent has seen enough. He was right. It was Owen’s hard drive, and somehow he got a hold of it. James hands Vincent the coffee and the bag.

“I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot what you said about food so I just got you a scone since I was listening to the radio talk about the new federal policy on box boys.”

Vincent took a sip of the coffee and raised an eyebrow at James, “Something changed?”

“The emancipation law, it was signed by the president a week ago and the changes went into effect today,” James says as he sips his own coffee, “If you own a box boy for over a year and they meet a handful of prerequisites you can emancipate them and give them legal citizenship.”

“I honestly thought it would get shot down.”

“Well since the senator that was so against it was voted out this election no one else has objected,” James says, and he pulls up his phone, “Well the owner has to be the one to sign them for emancipation. Senator Grant was her name wasn’t it?”

Vincent takes a bite out of the scone. He swallows both the scone and a thought.

“Does it say anything about private transfer?”

“I think you just have to have their papers. Why?”

Vincent looks down at his food, and an idea pops into his head, “What’s Senator Grant doing now since she’s not in office.”

James shrugs, “Let me see if anyone said anything?” He taps on his phone, the little buzzes echo around the room like flies to trash. James pauses, “I’m pretty sure she’s just at home preparing for the next election why?”

“I think I might need you to help me make a phone call.”

-

Weeks later, Vincent paces, listening to James talk on the phone in the other room. He could not physically hear Owen’s voice through the phone without falling apart.

“That’s my ear,” James says sarcastically, “Do you agree with this or not?”

Silence.

Click.

James knocks on the half-open door, “You alright Vincent?”

“Are you done?” Vincent asks, tighter than a spring.

James nods, “After the screaming he agreed, do you want me to go over with the papers so you don’t have to see them?”

“Please, I’m more than likely already going to have to be on a phone call with his Mother and that's stressful enough.”

Vincent opens the door of his study and steps out, “I need a drink.”

“It's noon Vincent.”

Vincent has one hand on the liquor cabinet and chuckles dryly, “Perfect.”

‘Vincent, no.”

Making dead eye contact with James, he pulls a bottle of sweet tea vodka out of the cabinet and pours himself a glass. James sighs and shakes his head, “I thought Dr. Brycan told you not to drink.”

“He said that I need to wait until at least noon since I used to drink from dawn until dusk unless I had work, it’s 12:01.”

“Didn't you tell me that you’re probably going to get a phone call from the ex-Senator today,” James says, stepping back, “I think you want to wait at least until then so you're sober when you two talk.”

Vincent pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. He sets it down just hard enough to hear it but not hard enough to crack the crystal. Vincent grumbles, “Fine,” and walks back for his study to wait by the phone.

-

“You do know this is blackmail, Vincent,” Mrs. Grant grinds through the phone, “And that is illegal.”

“So is paying off someone to hide criminal charges. He either takes the deal or I take this half terabyte hard drive filled with evidence to court and get the press involved, his decision.”

“How much do you have to pay you,” she says after a moment.”

“No amount of cash will buy me over, he either takes the deal or I contact my manager.”

Silence through the phone. Vincent’s nails dig into his jeans. The woman on the other end of the line can’t see the tears pouring down Vincent’s face. One thing acting taught him was how to keep his voice steady for clarity in a microphone. The only difference here is that the microphone is in a phone rather than on a long stick.

“We’ll think about it,” she finally says.

“You have until Sunday.”

“Fine.”

Click.

Vincent holds the phone up to his ear for a second before dropping it onto the table. His head falls into his hands, and he sobs. His mind, blank yet filed with too many feelings, recoils under its own weight. Tears that had been held back for months spill across contract papers and blot through blank ink. The ink spread like blood across bed sheets.

-

“Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his teeth in?” James asks as he holds the contract and transfers forms in one hand and a Sprite in the other, “Because I will and want to.”

Vincent shakes his head, fingers drumming across the velvet seats of the limousine he almost forgot he had. When did I even buy this was the first thought he had when he dug through contacts. “No, just go inside, get him to fill out the forms, and come back. Then we go home and I gorge myself on M&Ms and fudge ice cream.”

James laughs, “Room numbers on the card right?”

“Yes.”

-

James steps out of the car. The condominium looms over the limousine, and James bites through white-knuckled rage as he steps into the lobby.

Guess who’s standing there waiting for him, Owen Grant, and his mother. James steps up to them, “Grant, correct?”

Owen looks surprised and gives James a quick not-so-subtle scan, “Are you who Vince sent, I thought he was coming?”

“Do I really need to explain why that will never happen?”

Mrs. Grant gives James a glare to rival the sun’s wrath on gingers. The demeanor shifts almost instantly to a more business appeal, “Well allow us to get this paperwork sorted out as painlessly as possible.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

How long does it take to sign papers? James thinks as he watches Owen go through the forms. These are pre-filled out records; he just needs to sign in three spots. Pen scratches against the paper, Owen’s friendly demeanor evaporated when he reached the final form.

“Why this of all things?” he grinds out.

Neither of the two people answers him. Owen finally tosses the form and an orange file in James’ direction. “All of Kauri’s paperwork; if Vince needs anything else, he’ll have to contact WRU directly.”

James scoops the papers off the table, flipping through them; he looks to make sure Owen didn’t deliberately miss any signatures. An extra envelope sits in the orange file. James pulls it free and waves it in Owen’s face.

“What’s this?”

Owen, stupidly, answers, “A goodbye letter since I just filled out a no contact agreement, I want to give my final goodbyes if you will.”

James rips open the envelope and takes out the letter but keeps in anything that may be important.

“That’s for Vincent’s eyes only!” Owen snaps.

“And that hard drive was for your eyes only wasn’t it? I got Vincent’s consent to look through these forms.”

Owen and his mother glare daggers at James as he tosses the letter back onto the table, “Goodbye.”

James can still feel Owen’s teeth grinding gaze on his back as the door closes behind him.

-

Jake answers the door, “Hello Vincent.”

“Is Kauri here?” Vincent asks as his fingers shift around the orange folder.

“Depends,” Jake says, leaning against the door frame, “What do you want?”

Vincent sighs, “I called Natalie yesterday and---”

“Just let him in,” Kauri’s voice echoes from inside the safe house, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jake pierces his lips and steps out of the way. Vincent steps past him and enters the safe house. Natalie had told him to make things as quick as possible, and if Kauri told him to leave, he would. Vincent agreed. Now he simply hoped that he would be able to get this across without being told to leave.

Kauri steps around the corner, a look of tired anger sits behind his eyes.

“Kauri I’m so---”

“Skip the bullshit, Nat said this would be quick.”

Vincent nods and forces the new wave of guilt back into his stomach, “A few days ago, I was able to… convince Owen to transfer ownership of you to me. I want to ask if I can transfer you to anyone else for your own security, so you are entirely out of Owen’s grabbing range.

Kauri stands there with an expression of absolute disbelief. Then, finally, he opens his mouth to speak before stammering, “I said quick but not one sentence, elaborate.”

“Well, to put it in simply I was going through some of my old stuff from during the incident. I found a hard drive with nearly half a terabyte of… evidence that could be used against Owen,” Vincent says as his shoulder tense at memories he wishes to be buried. “A friend of mine brought up the new box boy emancipation law and after that I got an idea. This friend, who I vomited out my entire life story to black out drunk, was willing to help be the liaison between Owen and me. After a telephone call between Mrs. Grant and I, we got the papers signed and so now I have all of your paperwork under my name.”

“Okay?” Kauri says with disbelief still in his tone in tiny blips, “Then why are you talking to me, just leave me alone and I won’t have to worry about Owen.”

Vincent chews at the inside of his cheek, “Here’s the thing, what I did is, in the eyes of the law, black mail. While he could be charged with the same thing, if he took me to court one of the first assets taken for compensation are box boys. So, you could stay under my name but I don’t trust that he won’t try to get you back by either suing or doing something. My question now is, is there someone who you trust enough for me to transfer your ownership form to.”

Kauri pauses. The gears shift in his head for a moment before he looks past Vincent and back at Jake. The widest shit-eating grin nearly splits Kauri’s face in half. He looks over Vincent’s shoulder and laughs, “Hey Jake, want your own Romantic?”

Vincent looks over his shoulder and sees a very exasperated, tired, and just downright flustered Jake.

“I- um- Kauri- I- please don’t wrd it like that, that makes me sound terrible.”

“And.”

“I- mean in order to keep Owen away from you then yes I will but please don’t,” Jake stampers, “I don’t and won’t own you.”

Kauri pushes past Vincent and boops Jake on the nose, “Congrats you get your own boxie.”

“Kauri, please.”

Vincent clears his throat and interrupts, “While I am used to being third wheel um I know you all want me out of your hair so I have the forms with me and after they are signed I will do the heavy lifting with WRU.”

After a second, Kauri chuckles before walking away. Jake just watches as he leaves, a sigh escaping his lips, “He is never going to let me live that down.”

“If you don’t want to-”

“No no,” Jake says, “I will, he's just teasing. What do I have to sign?”

[klm-zoflorr]

Issues with the Tyzula ship that Tyzula shippers/fics typically avoid

Stereotypical Tyzula Ty Lee: “Azula-san, I completely forgive you for everything you ever did to me or my best friend and have always loved you unconditionally. I will help you become better if it means risking the quality of my life, my other relationships, my sanity, and even my life. I will magically be able to help you deal with your myriad of mental issues as if you always only needed love/affection instead of real medical help. I will always love you even if you don’t really change your behavior or worse, remain the same power hungry bitch you grew up to be. I love you ‘Zula.”

Look, I am not opposed to Tyzula for I actually think that they had a real friendship, even if there was a massive power imbalance, that got fucked up by Ozai’s abusive teachings and Azula trying to act as her sovereign and friend at the same time. But there is a tendency among Tyzula shippers/fics to make Ty Lee forgive Azula way too easily, make Azula not deal with her flaws or make (proper) amends to Ty Lee and Mai, retcon Azula into a soft baby who didn’t do anything wrong other than get abused, and/or gloss over the issues between the two.

For example, If Tyzula occurred pre-Boiling Rock like some fics imply, do you think it would have been consensual? Especially considering that there has been a massive power imbalance (Azula is Ty Lee’s Sovereign) since their childhood that Azula took advantage of even then; Azula forced Ty Lee to join her squad at firepoint; and Ty Lee is deathly scared of Azula? And if it happened post-Boiling Rock there is a massive power imbalance in favor of Ty Lee since the moment Azula “acts up” (it doesn’t have to be a big thing since Ty Lee is scarred shitless of Azula) Ty Lee can either call Zuko to jail her and/or have Aang de-bend her. There are some Tyzula fics that properly deal with, imo, the pre- and post-Boiling Rock power imbalances but most of them just gloss over them.  Not helping is the fact that comics imply that the two never had a real relationship at all and that Ty Lee is still deathly afraid of Azula, willing to chi-block Azula the moment she is anything other than docile. 

Also, how come most Tyzula shippers/fics don’t touch about LOK’s Turf Wars said about Sozin outlawing homosexuality and the implications it has for a lesbian/bisexual Azula? If Azula, who tries to be the model princess in a post-Sozin Fire Nation, can’t even realize that using fear is not a good way to maintain relationships, how would she deal with the fact that she has feelings for girls? Most of the Tyzula fics or headcanons I have read don’t seriously deal with the fact that either Azula is deep in the closet and/or suffering from serious internalized homophobia and would not likely express her sexual preferences in public unless she was in an extraordinary situation or got serious therapy plus years of self-reflection/character growth. Not to mention the fact she would be one of the leading perpetrators of homophobia by virtue of being Ozai’s right hand general/advisor.

So, do I have a valid point about how Tyzula shippers and fics often engage in abuse and/or toxic friendship/relationship apologism? Or I am just being too harsh on a group of shippers that have been vocally condemned by the greater ATLA community and most likely will never see their ship be canonized? And yes, some of my own fanfic works do contain Tyzula so feel free to call me out if I am being a hypocrite and holding people to standards that I can’t uphold.

-----------

This was a very interesting submission, Anon, and I don't think you're "in the wrong" here, even if I don't necessarily agree with you. At least you're polite, so I won't swear at you xD I'll sum up your points for clarity's sake

"Tyzula shippers make Ty Lee dumber and ready to do anything for Azula. They write stories without depth and without adressing the imbalances in their relationship"

Here's my personnal opinion on that: this kind of drama/angst is hard to write, and I don't want to waste my time for 10 chapters while they're angstying over whether or not to love each other. Mental health issues are hard to write too, and I want azula to be happy, so I can just make them dissapear. I completely acknowledge it isn't the most realistic kind of writing, but I don't care, I just want to have fun. I wouldn't pretend it's canon either.

Now, some Azula fans are just biased towards her, and like to pretend her canon character did nothing wrong and is purely a victim and is owed Ty Lee's love. I'm not gonna shit on them, in the grand scheme of things it's quite inconsequencial, but I don't think that's accurate.

"Tyzula shippers make it happen even if Azula is still a "villain" and hasn't redeemed herself for her sins"

I can link this to my first point a little, and erase all moral complexity for the funzies while acknowledging it isn't canon. But there's also the fact in ATLA, Ty Lee has little to no redemption arc herself. She just betrays azula, and then the good guys accept her and mai with no problem? We could interpret that as "she was always supporting Aang's cause and hated azula secretly since forever" but I don't think that's very correct, because Ty Lee never shows any sign of it, never talks treason, never helps the good guys while azula isn't looking (unlike mai!). The only thing that could possibly make her betray Azula, in my point of view, is seeing her other best friend almost die to her hands. And even then, it isn't a moral choice. I firmly believe Ty Lee was just as indoctrinated in the Fire Nation's ways as everyone else there. And that she actually supported her nation and obeyed Azula as her commander not only because they were friends, not only because she had to, but because she was loyal to her nation. And the only reason I can see her go to the good guys' side at the end of atla was simply because of self preservation with a side of unbrainwashing from FN propaganda

So, in conclusion, I don't think Ty Lee is a completely good character, and I don't think she has a problem with Azula's crimes.

"There is a power imbalance"

I'm not going to deny that. But who told you all relationships with a power imbalance are inherently bad? They're more likely to be toxic, but they won't always be. If the person with the upper hand is respectuous and nice, everything works out perfectly. It's more of an advice towards people who don't have the upper hand in their unbalanced relationship, and who could get taken advantage of. But Ty Lee is smarter than she looks, and I believe she would know to stay away from that.

Pre-boilling rock, there is indeed problems with them getting together, but they're not due to one of them being toxic. Azula is Ty Lee's princess, and it isn't her fault. She was literally raised to lead. And Ty Lee was raised to follow. We see that despite that, Azula still considers Ty Lee as her friend and gets her in her team in a nice way. But it isn't her fault she was raised in the middle of a war and sees the will of the fire nation as more important than anything.

Additionally, I don't think Ty Lee hated Azula, for the reasons I mentionned before.

Post-boilling rock, I just don't think Ty Lee would be scared, or cruel enough, to jail or unbend Azula for no reason. Because, again, I don't think she hates her.

"The fire nation is homophobic"

As is usual with me, I loathe the comics and don't consider this as canon. It doesn't even make sense, apart from saying "fire nation's evil, they're homophobic now too" to be honest, if anyone's gonna be homophobic it's gonna be everyone, cause there was no gay representation in atla.

Oh, and f*ck this, I hate homophobia, I don't want my fictionnal worlds to have it too. It's dumb as shit and everyone is gay in the Fire Nation. There.

"So, do I have a valid point about how Tyzula shippers and fics often engage in abuse and/or toxic friendship/relationship apologism? Or I am just being too harsh on a group of shippers that have been vocally condemned by the greater ATLA community and most likely will never see their ship be canonized?"

You do have a valid point that some tyzula shippers have the same problem as some azula stans, as in that they put her on a pedestral and say she did nothing wrong. But some also just don't want to bother with that and just want to write fluff, and that's fine. There are way worse things they could be doing.

It is true that Tyzula is kind of a controversial ship, and for this reason I don't think you should care too much about it. Bullying people never help anyone, and criticising tyzula shippers will only push them back in their fandom spaces and make them unable to tell apart genuine, objective criticism and mean bullying.

I don't want Tyzula to be canon, btw. Well. For me canon kinda stopped at the end of atla, so everything is possible after this point lol. Not that I even care much about canon.

You are not an hypocrite for liking tyzula and criticizing it. You can call out the behavior of people in your own community, it's perfectly fine and should be encouraged. I'd pay more attention to your opinion too, because I know you don't just dislike the ship and want to find any reason for it to be "problematic"

I'm gonna put that submission in the Tyzula tag, if anyone in there feels offended by that do let me know. I don't intend to shit on this ship at all. Also, if anyone wants to add points or give me perspectives I didn't think about go ahead!

[dekalko-mania]

Things That Lurk in the Dark (Pt. 1)

Amity changed the day the portal opened, in more ways than one.

....

As a young child, Danny had an immense fear of the dark, so severe that he had slept with his parents until they'd attached glowing stars to his ceiling and assured him there was nothing wrong. He'd assumed the problem was no longer there, pushed aside by the many other obstacles he'd faced in his past year of ghost-fighting.

He'd assumed wrong, it seemed, when he began to once again see the shadows in a sinister light.

Danny had first attributed it to his increasing paranoia, an overactive imagination fueled by being constantly alert. He was used to seeing things that were not there upon second glance, accustomed to jumping at any figure he saw from his peripheral vision. This was different, he knew, when he found himself knocking on Jazz's door more often, asking if he could sleep on her floor.

"This is the third night in a row, are you sure you're okay?"

His sister asked the question every night without fail, despite only ever receiving a lie as an answer. His nightmares were back, that was his response, knowing all too well that to get them he would have to have slept at all.

He lay awake that night, lulled into a rare sense of calm by Jazz's soft breaths. Maybe if he counted them, like one counted sheep, he could finally rest.

He planned on doing just that, when a familiar humming filled the room, coming from beside his sister's desk. He sat up, head snapping in the direction of the intrusion as tendrils of darkness formed into abstract shapes.

He stared, not daring to take a breath as he waited. Tonight, he would let it be for longer, observe first and then shoot after. As he watched, cold waves of terror creeping up his spine, the shadows formed into what looked like a door.

He had previously predicted they would become something outright threatening, a creature that lurked in pitch black, or a hand creeping out from beneath their wooden floors. This was somehow much worse, a gateway from who knows where, into their world.

Getting on all fours, he crawled forward, reaching out towards the handle. Before he could make contact, it began to jiggle, beginning as a gentle side to side, and rapidly shifting into an aggressive attempt to enter.

Without sparing a thought, he lit a fire on his palms, green and incredibly bright to ward the door away. That somehow always seemed to work, destroying whatever fragile arrangement had made its place near him.

Deciding that sleep was out of the picture, he shifted into a sitting position, keeping his eyes out for any more potential threats. The following morning, Jazz found him that way, both hands set ablaze and drooping eyes filled with apprehension.

....

It had been difficult explaining away Jazz’s worry, even more difficult to explain to Sam and Tucker why he was acting so strangely. He had grown as Phantom, realized that when facing his fears it was better to be strong and fight through them. If he let his guard down, people would be hurt. 

Yet, somehow, after literally facing death, he found himself once again fighting against a childhood fear. It was humiliating, having to admit it, so he kept it hidden as best as he could.  

"Daniel!"

Danny shot up, snatching the arm waving in front of him on instinct, earning a series of giggles from the class. He tightened his grip, realizing that the lights had been dimmed in the time he'd been nodding off. Already, in that short time frame, he was beginning to see the darkness curling into itself like smoke, caressing the walls in unnatural shades. Surely someone had to have noticed?

"What, he’s gonna fight the teacher now?"

"Loser."

Danny took a sharp intake of air, seeing who exactly the arm belonged to. With an apologetic expression, he released Mr. Lancer’s wrist, lowering his head and mustering the most sincere “sorry” he was capable of in his current state.

“It’s alright, I’ve faced worse at PTA meetings,” Lancer grunted, upset but with a kind tone. “I noticed you dozed off. I know educational movies aren’t preffered, but unless you pay attention, you’re going to fail the upcoming exam.” 

“I’m sorry,” Danny repeated. “It’s just, the lighting here is making it hard to stay awake. Could we maybe flip a switch?” 

Danny did his best to hide the tremor in his voice, all too aware that the gaze of Dash and co. were pinned onto him. Lancer, unaware, surveyed his student, face unreadable as he apparently didn’t like what he saw.

In a low mutter, he told Danny to grab his backpack and wait for him in his office. As someone who had been sent there countless times in the past, he needed no direction, quietly making his way out of the classroom with a mental groan at seeing Dash smirk in his direction.

Great, among his cryptic visions he would now have to deal with his long-time bully. 

Danny leaned against the lockers, running his hand along them for stability in the all too quiet hallway. The humming was everywhere, within the walls, under the cracks in empty classrooms. Anywhere scarce of light, they always lingered, the vague figures, never tangible except for the doors. The longer he stared at one spot, the more Danny noticed them.

They had always been there, waiting for him to spot, knobs twisting as the unknown tried to worm themselves inside of him. They appeared to him as Fenton the most, weak human Fenton, rendered useless with limited access to his ghost powers. He’d found himself growing bitter of this half of him more as of late, wishing that he could always carry the confidence of Phantom, the fearlessness. 

He pushed open the office door more aggressively than he’d intended, dumping himself onto a leather chair with a heavy sigh. He inspected the room in his wait for Lancer, fingers twitching with impatience. The man meant well, setting him aside from a situation that obviously made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find it within himself to appreciate it just yet.

Maybe he would be more grateful if the humming would stop. He clasped his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the frustrating noise that never ceased to grate on his nerves. As if taunting him, the sound seemed to travel through the flimsy barrier his fingers provided, emanating from his right side.

Thump, thump, thump

He glanced over to the source, teeth clenching at the old storage cabinet that filled his vision. Its drawers rattled, forcing themselves open, before crashing closed. 

The surreal qualities of Amity were everywhere, strongest in the darkest places. Objects disappearing in the blink of an eye, room layouts changing completely on a daily basis, all things that the residents should’ve noticed. But no one did, not even his family or closest friends. 

He was alone, the only one who was aware of his bizarre surroundings, now stuck in a room with a seemingly haunted cabinet. Danny stood, shifting into a fighting position. 

“Whoever you are, get out of there right now!” 

The slamming stopped, relieving him for a minute, before restarting again with increasing vigor. It was like it was mocking him, the whole town was. 

“Cut it out! I can’t deal with this crap anymore!” He readied a blast, uncaring if he would get detention for the rest of the year. “I’ll give you until three-”

The rattling came to an end, leaving the room quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the wall. 

“I can’t believe that actually worked.” He relaxed his posture, though only by a margin as he’d learned to never underestimate his luck’s ability to run thin.

“Daniel?” 

He jumped, realizing Lancer must’ve walked in while his student was glaring at the cabinet. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, attempting to seem unfazed. 

“Was that you yelling? I could hear it from the hallway.” 

“Um, yeah sorry. I thought there was a ghost.”

“Is that what it is?” Lancer closed the door, gesturing for him to sit down. “I wanted to talk to you about your behavior lately. You’ve been more taciturn than usual, perhaps it’s due to the increase in ghost activity?”

Huh, so there were some who had noticed something odd, even though it wasn’t to the full extent. Danny thought for a moment, testing the waters. Maybe Lancer saw more than he let on, noted the gradual changes to their city. 

Quietly, uncertain with his teacher’s response, Danny spoke. “I’m fine. Things have just been a little odd lately, besides the ghosts.”

“Well, I have an hour until my next class. Perhaps you can explain it to me,” Lancer leaned forward, showing his undivided attention. “You’ve been doing well this semester, I don’t want us going back to square one.”

Danny thought back to his freshmen year, bombarded with the change of his lifetime, having absolutely no time for his assignments or anything else in between. It was an arduous effort adjusting to his new life, or half life, and he wasn’t keen on losing control of everything he’d worked so hard for. 

“No, I don’t want to either. It’s the changes that are bothering me, I think. Amity.” He glanced over at Lancer’s face, eyeing any changes in expression. 

“I don’t think I follow.” He looked slightly confused. 

At this point, Danny would’ve usually given up, swept the issue under the rug and moved on with his day. He didn’t enjoy sharing his emotions, his burdens, but he just needed to know that there wasn’t something wrong with him, that someone else could see it too. 

“Don’t you ever see...I don’t know, weird things that shouldn’t be happening? Maybe hear noise and see light under a door, but walk in and there’s nothing there?” He steeled himself, looking up to meet Lancer directly in the eye, hoping that the man saw that he was speaking with clarity. “Or have you ever been behind a locked door and felt that someone was trying to get in? Or the dark...that’s where it’s the worst. Do you see any of that?”

“I can’t say I do, Daniel.” Lancer frowned. “And if that was the case, I would say it was the ghosts.” 

“But it’s not the ghosts. I know it’s not them.” His ghost sense would’ve gone off by now. “Entire buildings shift positions at night, there’s this dark fog everywhere. I know it sounds crazy-”

Lancer held up a hand. “I’ll have to stop you there. Nothing is ever too far fetched in this place, and I don’t like my students discrediting themselves before they get a chance to fully speak.” He paused, considering, before continuing with a grim tone. “Look, I know you won’t particularly like this answer, but do you think it possible you’re being haunted? It’s not unheard of for ghosts to become attached to a host here.”

“I don’t...” It wasn’t possible for ghosts to haunt other ghosts, was it?

“Before you decide, I suggest you talk to your parents. I know people your age don’t like to approach them for help, but they’re the biggest paranormal experts in town. You’ll find a solution there.”

Realizing that was the best response he was going to get, Danny slumped into his seat, disillusioned. “Alright, I’ll try bringing it up to them tonight.” 

“Good, and in the meantime, you know my office hours. I’m always open to helping you catch up.”

....

Danny had absolutely no intention of approaching his parents about his findings, confronting them was his very last resort. He remembered the incident with Youngblud, how their first instinct was to scare the crazy out of him, and he wasn’t keen on repeating it. 

Still, Lancer had unintentionally given him an idea, one he was surprised he hadn’t thought of before. If by any chance something was going on in Amity and his parents knew about it, they were sure to have kept data, information that the entire Fenton family was privy to. His parents were unconventional in the sense that their work was not kept secret from their children, all security activated by fingerprints or face recognition. 

It was, he knew, done with the hope that their kids would become just as interested in the study of the paranormal as they were. It was also, what they did not know, partly responsible for contributing to his accident. 

After double checking that his parents were not home, he snuck down to the lab, beelining his way to their work computer. As expected, it was easy as usual to log in, endless arrays of information at his disposal. To an untrained eye, his parent’s work was disorganized, even Vlad had said so. But he knew better, knew his way around their strangely named folders like he was reading the table of contents in a nonfiction novel. 

Ghost profiles, weaponry charts, data on present, past, and future projects, new developments...there. 

He clicked on the folder, apprehensive as it took a moment to load. Once it did, it took only a glance to tell that something was very, very wrong.

Unnatural levels of ectoplasm in the air, measurements at a high of-

Cognitive dissonance experienced by a reported 1 in 10 Amity citizens, signs of-

Missing teen, Ross Lucas, 16 years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Polluted lake at Amity Central Park, no side effects reported, but water glows green-

Missing woman, 37 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Reported disorientation, home layout changed. Upon further questioning, memory loss is reported, no reminder of filing the report-

Minor detail: green tint to sky at certain points of the day-

Missing man, 22 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Poltergeist activity, Amity Police Station-

Missing teen, Jenny Lee, 15 years old-

Missing-

Missing-

-last seen in Amity Forest Reserve

From above, Danny heard the telltale rattle of the front door opening, lumbering footsteps and daintier ones tapping along the tile.

Acting on impulse, Danny shut down the computer, turning invisible and keeping quiet in case his parents approached. Sure enough, he heard them nearing the lab after a minute of rustling. He stood, holding his breath, while the Fenton’s chatter got nearer as they appeared. He noted that his dad carried a briefcase, unusual for a man who preferred his casual attire, one with the Amity Police Department seal along the bottom corner.

After what he had seen, he could only stare at the case in apprehension.

“Let’s handle this before the kids are home, Jack. I don’t want to scare them.”

“Why can’t we tell them? It’s dangerous right now, Mads. Vladdie wouldn’t risk the safety of his god kids for this.”

His mom sighed, plopping onto the desk chair and booting up the computer. “I want to as well. Especially Danny, he’s always sneaking off somewhere. I can’t imagine him leaving, seeing his name among the victims.”

“We don’t have to ask him for permission...”

“You’re right, we don’t. The kids know how to keep quiet.” Maddie went silent, gesturing over for the case. Jack laid it on the table, unlocking it with a quick passcode and handing her a series of documents. She placed them beside her, pulling up a series of weaponry profiles. 

“What I don’t understand,” she continued, “is why he was so adamant about them not knowing. Danny more than Jazz. What could possibly be the issue of keeping them safe?”

“Vladdie thinks ahead. Maybe he was worried they would try solving this themselves. Do you want me to ready the vault?” Upon his wife’s nod, Jack made his way over to the section of the wall behind Danny, waving a hand over a sensor to reveal hidden sliding metal doors. From behind them, hundreds of weapons resided, all of various types. He grabbed two, planting them beside Maddie. “Anyhow, this is one of those rare times I admit I disagree with him. Let’s tell them tonight.”

His wife chuckled, amused at the prospect of Jack disobeying his dear Vlad. 

“That’s rare to hear.” She bit her lip, eyeing the sheet. “What a tragedy. There’s a group that’s gone missing, we haven’t had so many at one time.”

“That’s five people! What were they doing in there?”

“I don’t know, the forest is rumored to have more ghosts than usual. You know how teens are, maybe it was a dare. The question is, how is it possible that our devices state the victims are in the vicinity, but none of them have come out?”

“Perhaps they’re being held captive, or maybe, maybe they’ve become...”

Jack didn’t dare finish the sentence, but Danny knew what he meant to say. If something evil lurked within the reserve, a being that wouldn’t allow a human to live, it’s possible their spirit hadn’t moved on.

Trapped within its confines as a ghost.

“I’m holding onto hope that’s not the case. We’ll get them out Jack, we’ve got Amity’s biggest experts joining us in the raid tonight. Vlad himself will be there, it’ll be alright.”

Deciding he’d heard enough, Danny kicked off, uncaring of the clatter of beakers he left in his wake. There was someone he needed to see, a person who owed him an explanation and who deserved the sucker punch of their afterlife.

His parent’s were optimistic, and whatever raid they spoke of obviously included thorough planning, but if there was anything he’d learned about fighting the paranormal, it was that one was not sure if those on the front lines would make it out alive.

He couldn’t allow that, he had placed that responsibility onto himself, and he would be damned if someone else would have to bear it.

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4 Paranormal Stuff: Developer Blog (Part 1)

SimGuruConnor has released part 1 of the Sims 4 Paranormal Developer Blog series.

Hello Simmers! Welcome to a small 2-part Dev Blog about our newest Stuff Pack, Paranormal Stuff! This pack has been an absolute blast to work on, and I’m excited to share what this pack is all about!

I’ll try not to reveal too many spoilers for the pack either, so I’ll keep things somewhat brief. Our topics for today are the new Scared Mood and the Haunted House Lot Type, plus an interview with our Audio Artist too!

Get Scared

Sims can now relish in the mortal dread of the Scared Mood! The Scared Mood affects Sims in a variety of ways, with my personal favorite, the new Scream Incoherently interaction, where a Scared Sim runs up to another Sim to scream their lungs out. This can result in the other Sim calming down the Scared Sim, or resulting in both Sims becoming Scared. This can create a Scared Mood wildfire if you’re not careful!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's okay!

Sims afflicted with the Scared Mood also have trouble communicating with others, the urge to panic-run everywhere, and are slightly more prone to accidents. If no other Sims are around to help calm down a Scared Sim, they might just have to Hide Under The Covers for a while.

But if being Scared just isn’t your Sims style, consider purchasing the new Brave Trait. This Satisfaction Reward Store Trait will rapidly reduce the incoming fear a Sim feels and help Sims regain their composure faster. While no Sim is totally fearless, this trait should help mitigate some of those creepy feelings.

The Scared Mood and the Brave Reward Trait are all base game features coming with the Paranormal Stuff patch on January 21st. Tons of previous Uncomfortable Buffs are now becoming Scared Buffs, such as the “Startled By Ghost” Buff or the “Thalassophobia” Buff from Island Living.

While being Scared might not be a common occurrence in your everyday Sims life, living in a Haunted House is a whole different story…

Happy Haunts

Introducing the Haunted House Lot Type!

The Duplantier Dwelling, created by Doctor Ashley! This “canon” Haunted House will be available in the gallery!

They’re like regular houses, only haunted! Although unassuming during the day, at night, these places get super weird. Your Sims may notice things like flickering lights, pipes rattling, or even creepy dolls staring at them in the corner. All are totally normal occurrences in a Haunted House, but it may take some time for your Sims to adjust to their new surroundings.

Sims living in a Haunted House will also be introduced to floating apparitions known as Specters. They’re cute little critters, but their motives aren’t entirely clear. You can try talking to them, or even offer them presents in hopes of establishing a good rapport. If they like you, they’ll drop special loot for you and your family. If they don’t like you, well, you’ve been warned.

o o o (> ‘ u ‘ )>

Learning to get along with your new ghostly inhabitants is crucial in a Haunted House. Things like botching seances, neglecting Specters, or letting accursed objects invade your house will have a negative impact on its spiritual serenity. There is a delicate art to co-existing with the entities of the house, and thankfully you’ll have an expert on the matter to assist you!

Meet Guidry

Claude René Duplantier Guidry was a seasoned Paranormal Investigator in his previous life, but now he exists to help anyone brave enough to live in a Haunted House! You’ll probably run into him eventually living in a Haunted House, but don’t worry, he’s a nice ghost!

Guidry will gladly offer his wisdom to those who seek it. If you’re confused, alarmed, or slightly uncomfortable by your new haunted surroundings, give Guidry a holler and he might be able to help. He can also offer valuable objects to help your Sims, too; all you need is to reach out!

Still got it.

All Guidry wants in return is to crash at your place for the time being. Sounds like a fair deal, right? But if you’d prefer to fly it solo, you can always disable his nightly visits—he won’t be too upset, maybe.

As mentioned before, Guidry was a Paranormal Investigator before his untimely demise. If he sees potential in you, he can certify you with a Paranormal Investigation License, granting access to the Paranormal Investigation Freelancer Gigs. Only those who are qualified enough can join the ranks of Paranormal Investigators, but more on that next time!

Be Brave!

Living in a Haunted House adds a layer of risk and reward for your Sims, and each successful night yields Reward Store Satisfaction Points for everyone in the Household. Specters can also drop treasure that can also be collected, consumed, or sold to an Oddity Collector. So although your Sims might go through a bit of peril, they’ll thankfully be compensated.

One of my favorite pieces of haunted treasure is the new Sacred Candle. Not only do they look cool, but they also help protect Sims from paranormal influences. Place them around your house to make sure Sims are properly shielded!

A properly protected Sim.

Things like Sacred Candles and performing ceremonies at the Séance Table are integral to keeping your Sims happy in a Haunted House. Without using these paranormal tools, the entities of the house might get a little bossy.

And while it might be in your Sims’ best interest to keep the spirits of the house in check, watching things go horribly wrong in a Haunted House can be just as fun too. So whatever works for you!

Like Tiny Homes, this Lot Type can be toggled on or off at any time. So whether you’re a casual thrillseeker who wants to spend a couple of nights in a Haunted House, or a seasoned Paranormal Expert who wants to take on a new challenge, this Lot Type should offer something for you!

Crosspack Stuff!

Pets get to share the fun too! They especially love the accursed objects that show up!

I think they’re gonna get along great.

As mentioned before, a ton of old Buffs from multiple packs are now being converted to the Scared Mood. I think 70 something Moodlets were converted? Honestly, I lost count. Anything that seemed more appropriate for the Scared Mood was transferred over.

Oh, and you might remember an old Lot Trait from City Living called Haunted. For clarity’s sake, it needed a name change, so now it’s the Spooky Lot Trait. It also benefits from being combined with the new Haunted House Lot Type and will have an increased chance of spawning Ghosts at night. So use both for maximum haunted-ness!

Audibly Frightened

Last but not least, I’d love to turn it over to our Audio Artist for this pack, Briana Billups! She did a killer job bringing Haunted Houses to life! Trust me!

Conor: Can you tell us what an Audio Artist does on The Sims 4?

Briana: Big, broad picture: an audio artist decides what everything in The Sims 4 sounds like. We record, create, and edit sounds to the art and animation of the game. Little, very detailed picture: creating the actual sounds is usually one of the smaller aspects of our job. We are meeting with other departments, like design, animation, and VFX, to understand the overall vision of new game features and how we can fit in sonically. We are meeting with each other to make sure all our new content still keeps the very fun and quirky vibe of the Sims. We come up with new tools and implementation where necessary.

Conor: What sort of things go into the creative process for creating audio?

Briana: Every audio artist/sound designer has their own creative process, but I like to make a “sonic mood board” of sorts. I typically like to have a good idea of what I want something to sound like in my head before I record or edit it, so it’s nice to have sound effects or music to refer to that represents my original inspiration or ideas. When I was in college, I would make Spotify playlists for whatever I was working on. I would listen to them once a day, adding and editing as necessary, so when I actually got to work, I was in the right headspace. Now I’m usually less formal about this sort of stuff, but for this pack, I would refer back to things like Vincent Price’s demonic laugh from Thriller or Casper the Friendly Ghost Cartoons and the looping soundtrack from the queue of a horror ride at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk (Ghost Blasters)

Conor: What were you most excited to work on for this pack?

Briana: Definitely all the haunted house sounds! Good sound design is the crux of so many horror movies and video games, so even if we were keeping things more “Casper” and less “Poltergeist,” I still wanted to give a good scare here and there. I actually scared myself one day while playtesting another feature in the game!

Conor: If you had to choose, what is your favorite audio clip you’ve ever added to The Sims 4?

Briana: I would say my favorite SFX were the sports arena loops in EP08: Discover University. When you visit the arena for the soccer/esports match or graduation, you can actually listen to the whole game or ceremony. It was great to craft a whole story from start to finish using just sound. I also snuck in a lot of developer names when writing the scripts for our voice actors.

Thanks, Briana!

More To Come!

That about covers this first foray into the Paranormal Stuff Pack! This pack has been a ton of fun to work on, and watching my Sims flee in terror has been more enjoyable than I’d like to admit.

Next blog, we’ll focus on the Séance Table and developing your Medium skill, as well as the new active freelance career Paranormal Investigator.

Big thanks to the Stuff Pack team for helping this pack come to life, and thank you, Doctor Ashley, for building our featured Haunted House!

Until next time, SimGuruConor

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 20

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Word Count: 5.1k

; Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, character death, depression and anxiety

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Boy have I struggled to get round to this. I’m working from home and on lockdown so I’m so bored and when I finish work, I just want to go to bed lol I half proof-read this and I’m posting it a little early! So...<33 as a reminder, the UK went forward an hour last night so the times each which have changed! Please reblog and give me some comments and love! I don’t get much interaction nowadays ;-;

; Flower Masterpost

-

“So Hoseok was really the first guy you messaged?” His mom asks, a soft smile on her face as she sits down on the couch, eyeing where you sit on Hoseok’s lap in the armchair with an unreadable look. Your stomach feels full from the delicious meal she’d made earlier to welcome you into her home and you almost whine when Hoseok shifts behind you, jolting you just enough to put pressure on your food baby.

For clarity, he was the one who had pulled you onto his lap once he’d sat down in a plush, leather armchair. Apparently this had always been his chair when he’d been living here and he didn’t want you too far away from him it seemed.

“Yeah. Actually, he was the only guy so...either that makes him really desperate or me very lucky.” You can’t help the teasing tone to your voice, the pitch increasing as you giggle when Hoseok lets out an overly exaggerated affronted gasp before gently tickling your sides. 

“You take that back. I was not desperate. I waited like...a whole half an hour or something to respond to you.” He points out, lower lip pursing out into an adorable pout and you snort in amusement, flicking the metal ring affectionately.

Turning back to his parents, you shrug lightly as you reach out for your water, taking a sip of the cold liquid before placing it back on the coffee table. Thankfully, they hadn’t seemed too weirded out by your request for just water. You’d found that a lot of people found it bizarre that you preferred that over everything else, but they’d just taken it in their stride.

“He’s right in fairness. One of my best friends, Soyeon, signed up for match.com and she hadn’t filled any of her profile out. Only had a picture and her description was something like ‘I’m not as pretty as my filter makes me look’. Which is a complete by the way, she’s actually way prettier. But in like...fifteen minutes, she had over 100 likes and 30 messages. I know online dating works for some of us,” You give Hoseok a fond smile at that. “But honestly, some of them were just...desperate. I mean...how can you match with someone when all you have is their photo and nothing else?!”

That gets a laugh from his parents and you feel warm relief bloom in your chest; the knowledge that they were laughing with you and not at you was good. It meant they found you funny, which hopefully meant you were making a great impression on them.

“I gotta admit you’re right. I, personally, was never one to go by just looks. My friends can attest to the fact that just because someone looks nice, it doesn’t always mean they’ve got anything nice going on underneath. And by friends I mean me, unfortunately.” Hoseok’s face twists into a grimace and you wriggle in place slightly as you laugh, oblivious to the way he stiffens ever so slightly beneath you or the way his expression tightens for a moment.

His dad notices though, and the loud guffaw he lets out causes both Hoseok’s mom and you to stare at him in confusion. It makes Hoseok’s cheek’s colour though when he realises that his dad’s obviously figured out the reason for his discomfort.

“I hope that’s not referring to me.” Teasingly, you poke at his cheek and smirk when he tilts his head away, whining quietly before reaching up to grasp your finger. His chocolate brown eyes focus on you firmly before he’s waving the index finger of his free hand in your direction.

“Stop fishing lady. You know it’s not you,” You pout at that, eyes going big as you give him a wounded look and he can’t help but laugh at your antics, letting go of your hand to instead place his arms around your waist once more. “I’ve made a lot of really bad life choices, I’ll admit to that. But answering your message was definitely not one of them.”

That has you cooing at him, cupping his cheeks and squishing hard. He says something to you, but his lips are so smooshed together that it just comes out garbled, causing you to baby talk him for a few seconds as you feel the warmth of his cheeks heating beneath your palms.

It’s unbearably cheesy, and if you’d seen anyone else doing this then you’d have been embarrassed on their behalf. But you don’t really realise because something about him makes you be cheesy in a way you’d always cringed at before.

You’re both so involved with each other that neither of you notice the way his parents turn from watching you both to looking at each other. The emotion on their faces isn’t one you would recognise, given you’re not a parent yourself.

But for them, it’s a soul deep relief that paints itself on their face while burrowing into their very being. Their son, their only remaining child, their little boy whom they loved more than anything else in this world and had been lost to them for so long, was happy. His flushed cheeks might indicate his embarrassment but they recognised the happiness he radiated towards you as you played around with him.

And that was to say nothing of the pure love he seemed to positively glow with in your presence. Like you’d hit an internal switch inside him that had been flipped off many years ago. Hoseok had turned a corner in college with therapy but it felt like only now were they really getting to see the little boy that had disappeared so many years ago with the death of his sister.

It made his mom a little too emotional, and she stood up abruptly before leaving the room. The movement was so sudden that it distracted you both from each other, Hoseok’s brows immediately furrowing in concern while you watched after her in bewilderment.

Glancing back at him, you saw that Hoseok had seen the glassy tears in her eyes too. There was a brief pause between you before Hoseok shifted, getting ready to move you off his lap and evidently go after his mom.

But then his dad’s voice spoke up.

“Don’t Hoseok, it’s okay. She’ll be okay. How about Y/N go instead? It might be nice for you both to bond a little or something.” He gives a meaningful look to Hoseok and you get the sudden feeling that whatever had upset his mom was going to be explained to him by his dad. Leaving you to deal with Hoseok’s mom.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t feel forced or anything.” Hoseok says firmly, glancing at his dad for a few seconds before looking back at you. You get the feeling that he’d just mentally reprimanded his dad for being so forceful and expectant but you gave him a slightly tense smile, shaking your head.

Nerves flared in your stomach immediately though, the anxiety rolling around and you shook ever so slightly at the thought of being alone with his mom. She’d been perfectly nice all evening to you, but there was the knowledge still that Hoseok loved her deeply and you’d seen tonight just how much she loved him too.

What if she was angry about what Hoseok had said? What if she didn’t approve of you? What if she was crying because she was upset Hoseok loved you or something?

A brief glance in Hoseok’s direction has him immediately scoping you out, squeezing his arms around you tightly and pushing his head into your neck. At this angle, he can kiss your cheek easily and he does so, freely giving his affection to you as his hands gently soothe.

“It’s okay, she’s not gonna bite. I swear. I promise. Please. If you’re okay with it then...talk to her, get to know her. And make sure she’s okay, please?” His eyes are wide and endearing in their innocence, causing you to give a slight smile as you run your fingers through his hair. “I love you, you’ll be okay.”

He whispers that bit, almost as if he’s afraid of his dad hearing. But you know it’s probably not that and more out of respect for you and how you feel when it comes to emotions. You’re not exactly someone who goes around shouting your feelings from the rooftops after all, and you feel the same way the other way around.

Swallowing, you take in a deep breath to fortify yourself before nodding. Anyone would think you were off to war, and you can’t help but chuff a laugh at the thought of that. It gets you a strange look from both Jung men, but you simply kiss Hoseok briefly before standing and moving in the direction his mom had gone.

As you reach the door frame though, you pause as your nerves get the better of you once more. Glancing back to Hoseok, you see him watching you with careful eyes, his lips turning into a sweet smile as he gives you his silent reassurance. His complete trust in you to not only handle yourself, but comfort his mom meant a lot and you resolved not to make him regret his faith.

The house Hoseok had grown up in was much larger than the one your parents had, the rooms bigger and the ceilings higher. Not only that, but there was just the sheer number of rooms on top of all that as well. It was one thing to know objectively that Hoseok’s family was well off, but it was another entirely to actually see it.

If anything, apparently Hoseok had been very humble about himself and his family’s money. They weren’t loaded or anything, but their house was big enough and in a nice enough suburb with two cars not even a year old that you’d immediately felt the difference between you both.

He hadn’t said anything about it though. Hadn’t indicated that he was aware of the difference at all. Maybe he didn’t notice or maybe he was just being polite and not mentioning it. It probably wasn’t very good in a relationship to blatantly float your wealth compared to your partner or something.

Either way, you appreciated his tact. 

Once you'd left the room, Hoseok is distracted away from watching where you'd gone by the wry snort from his dad. Glancing over, he furrows his brows in a silent question, wondering what his dad found so funny.

"She's cute." Is all he says, causing Hoseok to nod in response. He doesn't even realise he's looking back until his dad talks again. "Your mom isn't going to kill her, you know, she'll be okay."

That makes him blush, his cheeks heating as he purposefully turns his body until he can't look out the door. Turning his gaze to his dad, he glares at him slightly before pursing his lips.

"I know that. I just...want to make sure she's okay." He didn't tell his dad why he thought that. Your emotions and mental health were yours to share or not, and you'd only shared it with him so far. Hoseok wouldn't betray your trust by blabbing it to everyone.

"Your mom won't do anything to upset her. We know how much she means to you. Which in case you didn't realise, is why your mom left the room."

Hoseok just hums lightly, hoping that will be true.

-

You find Hoseok’s mom in what looks to be a home office, the walls covered in bookcases filled with files and framed pictures while a desk takes pride of place, an iMac sitting atop it with the plush looking desk chair empty in front of it. She’s sat on an equally nice looking leather sofa, backed up against the wall and facing the desk.

For a moment, you stand awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do or what to say. You feel probably even more nervous than you’d expected, your stomach swirling the delicious pot pie and vegetables she’d made for dinner that you’d eaten happily earlier. This was Hoseok’s mom. His mother. The woman who had carried him for nine months, given birth to him and raised him. The woman he adored.

You knew logically that you were psyching yourself out, but you just didn’t really know how to react. What if she was angry at you for some reason? Or disgusting for being so close with her son in front of her? Though Hoseok had been the one who had dragged you into his lap so it was his fault really.

“You can come in sweetheart, it’s okay.” Her tone is gentle and the warmth in it automatically soothes some of your nerves. You can really see where Hoseok got his caring nature from now, and it amuses you to know that he spent years actively pushing his parents away only to have such strong similarities between him and them.

Carefully, you move into the room and sit on the couch next to her, your posture absurdly straight and wooden as you struggle to relax. There’s a moment of silence before she lets out a soft chuckle, her hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder as she squeezes ever so slightly.

“You can relax, I promise I’m not going to be mean.” Looking at her, you see the familiar smile of your boyfriend in an older, feminine form and can’t help but smile back. Taking in her face properly, you realise as you see the way her eyes crinkle warmly that Hoseok has her eyes too. It makes something warm bloom in the midst of your nerves.

“Are you...are you okay? They err, sent me to check on you. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m a girl or something.” Shrugging awkwardly, you pause as you hear the gentle laugh that falls from her lips once more.

“Probably. Neither of them are all that great with emotional women I think,” She muses, looking away from you to one of the bookcases. “But also probably because they want us to talk. They’re not very subtle.”

You can see the amused expression on her face and yet you feel a sudden urge of protectiveness, a desire to defend Hoseok. Which is ridiculous, because this is his own mother. But still.

“Hoseok’s great actually, he’s really good at coping in a crisis. Especially with an emotional woman. I should know because he did it with me the other month.” As the words fall from your mouth, you look away in horror and shock. Yet again, you’d just said something without thinking first and wanted to cringe at the knowledge that you’d just given away something had happened with you. And that you’d also just argued with her.

Instead of getting offended though, she reaches for your hand and squeezes gently, concern written all over her face when you turn to look at her. Genuine concern.

“I won’t poke my nose in, but are you okay yourself?” Glancing at your hands, you consider the last few months carefully before giving her a small smile and a nod.

“I am. On the way there anyway. And Hoseok has been a huge part of that. You should be proud of him.” That causes a smile from you as you remember everything that your boyfriend had done for you over the last few months and that warm fuzzy feeling returns in your chest.

“I am proud of him. We’re both proud of him. Probably more than he ever realises, you know? I know you know about the accident and everything that happened after. Sometimes we didn’t think we’d ever get to see our happy little boy again,” Pausing, she reaches for one of the binders stored into the bookcase close to her and pulls it out. “Have you ever seen a picture? Of his sister?”

Shaking your head, you take what you realise is one of those books that parents keep track of all the important milestones in their child’s first year and rest it on your lap, opening the cover carefully. The front page features a photograph of a tiny newborn baby, swaddled in a pale yellow blanket. 

‘Jung Hyeri, born 28th November…’

The information carries on including her birth weight, the time of her birth, her star sign, her Chinese zodiac sign, her parents' names and more. On the next page was an ink imprint of her tiny foot, while the next page had a small piece of her black hair. Each page continued on, outlining her achievements such as her first word, her first time crawling, her first smile, her first time walking and so forth.

It was sweet, and yet you found yourself feeling so sad as you took in the image of Hoseok’s big sister back when she was so small. She wasn’t here anymore, and you can’t even begin to imagine how much their family still hurts over that.

“She was a sweet baby, laughed so easily and was really quiet. I think we got lucky for our first time.” His mom smiles brightly as she traces her finger along the image of Hyeri at her doljanchi, the Korean tradition of celebrating a child’s first birthday. She’s sat in a tiny hanbok with a table full of objects in front of her and you recognise it as the doljabi custom in which the item a child picked was supposed to dictate how their life would turn out.

“She picked up the book,” You look up at Hoseok’s mom, a small smile on your face. “Supposed to symbolise that they’ll be smart. And she was very smart. I like to think she would have become a scientist or something, because she used to love her science classes so much in school.”

Once you’ve finished looking through the book, his mom places it carefully back before smiling and giving you one that looks identical. Only this time, you get to see a more familiar name above the image of another baby, fast asleep in a pale green blanket this time.

‘Jung Hoseok, born 18th February…’

You can’t help but coo at the sight of how tiny he was, completely unable to reconcile this itty bitty baby with the man you have to look up to today. Each page is turned slower than before as you take in all the information you can, a part of your mind wondering if Hoseok would be embarrassed to know his mom was showing you his baby pictures.

But you can’t bring yourself to really care to be honest, because he looked so cute.

“Oh my god, you can see all of his features just in tiny chubby form.” Laughing quietly, you run your finger along Hoseok’s eye on a photo of him crawling, his smile so bright. He looked like a really happy baby, and even though you’re not fond of kids yourself, you can’t help but enjoy looking through the first year of his life.

Just like Hyeri, the final page was dedicated to Hoseok’s doljanchi celebration with a similar image of him in a cute hanbok in front of a table. Looking at his mom, you raise your brows in a silent question and she smiles.

“He chose money, which definitely pleased his grandparents. We weren’t concerned with pushing him though, you have to let children make their own way in life. Though he is doing quite well for himself isn’t he?” She takes the book from you and closes it carefully, placing it back in its rightful place before grasping a thicker binder.

This one is full of pictures and your eyes widen as you take them in. The pictures start out with Hyeri as a sweet three-year-old, sitting next to her newborn brother in his little bassinet. She’s looking inside, her black hair draping in and curling next to him. Over the next few pages, you observe as they both grow older.

Hoseok starts to be walking after her, and soon running, a bright and happy expression on both of their faces. Hyeri grows taller and taller, remaining firmly above her little brother and you see them building sandcastles on a beach, taking a walk along a forest lined path, climbing the steps of a castle and more.

A few pictures feature his parents, their fashion and hair wildly out of style for today but obviously perfect for the time. They looked like a happy family, one who was close with each other. As the children age through the photos, you note how Hoseok slowly starts to look a tiny bit more like how he does today.

The same occurs for Hyeri, her features losing the baby fat of her younger years as she fast approaches teenagehood. It’s with fondness that you note both siblings have the same eyes, sharing them with their mother in a clear sign of their familial relationship.

And then suddenly, Hyeri isn’t in the photos anymore.

It’s just Hoseok and occasionally his parents. Your heart clenches when you realise the joy that had been so evident in his eyes has vanished and that his smile is empty. It’s even worse when you realise how young was, how unprepared he was to suffer such a tragic incident so early in his life.

Swallowing hard, you look at his mom with a sad expression. “This was after, wasn’t it?”

She nods slowly, the pain in her eyes still as fresh and evident two decades later. “Yes, it was. A split second. That was all it took, and then we lost our daughter. We didn’t realise at the time that we’d lost him too, for such a long time. They were really close and he...he idolised Hyeri. He was convinced that he was the reason she’d died. That it was his fault. We knew it wasn’t, and he knew somewhere in his mind that it wasn’t. But...he was so young. And we just...we lost him to that grief and anger for so long. Therapists couldn’t help him back then because he was too lost in his own head. I think he had to be willing to accept the truth, and he wasn’t when he was younger.”

“Until college.” You murmur, running your finger along the vacant face of a younger Hoseok. It makes your heart hurt when you truly realise just how long he’d gone feeling such anger inside him, such a disconnect from the world. The tattoos on his body were a living memory to Hyeri, but you wondered if part of him had gotten them to start with so he could try and feel the pain he felt he hadn’t been given compared to her.

“Yes, until college. We had no idea until he came home one day, looking...well different I guess. And then he told us what he’d been doing. Apologised for how he’d behaved over the years and just...we talked it all out. All of us cried a lot, which I’m sure he was probably embarrassed about but, it felt like we were getting him back. There was still a part of him that wasn’t there though. A part that still...punished himself.” She sounds a little awkward then and you give an amused smile, knowing what she was getting at.

“You mean he slept around a lot and was still a little wild?” You can’t help the laugh that leaves you at her face at that, focusing back on the photographs as you flick through them. “I’ve met his friends. They were shocked that he was not only properly dating someone but that he was dating me in particular. Apparently I’m not his usual type.”

There must be something in your voice that sounds a little more vulnerable than you realised as his mom takes your hand gently, squeezing reassuringly until you’re looking at her. When you do, she takes a moment to look over your face before speaking.

“I know we’re talking about my son, but he obviously knew this was going to happen so I feel less bad about it. But I just...I need you to know it doesn’t matter what his friends said. What they say. Even what Hoseok says. He has a past, yes, but that means nothing really. He chose to date you, fully aware of his own habits and history, aware of you as well. No, you’re not like what he used to...date. If you can call it that. And that’s probably why it’s working, because you’re someone he has to actually work for, someone who’s made him realise that he wants to put in the effort required to make a relationship work. He wouldn’t be doing this, being with you and bringing you here, if he didn’t think you were worth it and that your relationship was going to work. I can promise you that.” It makes your stomach go all funny when you hear that and you’re not sure why.

Maybe it’s just because you’re finally getting validation that you’re not just some novelty Hoseok found. As much as you like his friends, you often feel distinctly uncomfortable with the knowledge that they found it amusing the fact he’d picked you. Like there was something wrong with you compared to the other girls he’d had in his life.

But hearing from his mom that there was nothing wrong with you and that it was probably just that Hoseok had found you worthy of his time and attention? That made you feel better. You were positive there was nothing wrong with all the other girls he’d been with, but the idea that he’d found you so enticing that he’d decided to commit himself was nice. More than nice really.

Logically, you knew it was stupid to be worried about things like this. After all, you’d both been in a relationship now for a year and he couldn’t change his past. So it should mean nothing. But you found it hard to let some things go.

“I didn’t know why he wanted me either to be honest. I mean...he’s...well him. Handsome, a good job, tattooed and into all that metal stuff. And I’m...me. Introverted, shy, awkward, exceptionally geeky and just...yeah. I mean, i know it’s stupid.” You struggled to explain it to his mom, feeling embarrassed about it but she lets out a soft tutting noise, placing her other hand over yours to capture it between her own.

“Doesn’t matter. None of it matters, okay? He knows all that. He knew all that before getting this involved with you. And he loves you. That’s what matters. And that’s what made me leave earlier. Because I got emotional seeing my little boy was back, the Hoseok who smiled and laughed with such love in his eyes. He’s been gone for so long, but he was there with you. So it doesn’t matter what the differences between you are. It doesn’t matter what his past is or yours. You make him happy, and that’s all I care about.” Now it’s really a struggle to not cry, hearing his mom sound so emotional and thankful to you.

It’s not like you’d done anything. Hoseok has done most of the heavy lifting in this relationship if you were being honest. You owed a lot more to him than he did to you, of that you were positive. But his mom looked so earnest and her words reverberated inside you.

Glancing down at the photobook, you take in the sight of a Hoseok who must have been around fourteen. His hair is just as black as it is today only the styling is completely different. The sides of his head are almost shaved while the hair remaining is gelled to be spikey. It’s not exactly the greatest look, but the anger in his eyes tells you that he probably didn’t care.

And it’s then that you realise that you’ve never seen Hoseok look like in this picture. Maybe it’s because of the therapy he went through in college, or maybe it’s because of you. You don’t know, but you do know that you don’t want to see him look like that again. Because that anger in his eyes was a mask for so much pain beneath.

And you don’t ever want Hoseok to suffer that again. Not while you could make him happy.

“He’s done more for me, I swear. But I’ll try to keep him happy for you. I promise. As long as he wants to be with me, I’ll try.” Your words are solemn, the tone grave and it makes her smile to see you being so serious about it.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m not going to force you at gunpoint to make him happy. There’s two of you in the relationship and he has to make you happy too. But I feel a lot better having met you now. I can see that you’re good for him, and I’m guessing that he’s good for you too. I’m just...I’m protective over him, even though he’s an adult now. We lost one child already and we were afraid that we’d lost our other too, so I want to do everything I can to make sure he stays with us.” Nodding, you give her a hesitant smile before handing back the now finished binder.

She places it back into the bookcase before taking in a deep breath and letting it out in one, long breath. There’s a hesitation before she stands, giving you a bright smile that you instantly recognise before she gestures to the door.

“Now, I think we should probably go back. Given how protective I’ve heard Hobi is over you, I think we should probably go and reduce his blood pressure by returning you to him.” You go hot at that, embarrassment making your hands press to your stomach lightly.

“He’s not that bad.” Murmuring, you follow her out of the room, unable to stop the smile as you hear her light peal of laughter.

“Sweetheart, you should have heard the riot act he gave us before bringing you over. If he thinks we did one thing to make you upset then I’m sure we’ll be made aware of it for the next few months. And as much as I love my son, I do not want to be given the cold shoulder or hear his grumbling over how we’d upset you. Men in love do the strangest things sometimes, so don’t underestimate him.”

[aetherwytch]

Drop Down (1.9k, destiel, rated M)

He could be anyone, anywhere, having a good ol’ fashioned fuck in the backseat of their car the way God intended. Why sweat the details?

Yes, I wrote almost 2k specifically to facilitate a Star Trek themed dick joke. In my defense, I think the joke is very funny. Also featuring: unfortunate sexual situations, Dean being repressed, and The Gay Angel (long may he reign). AO3 link in the notes.

The suspension in the Impala is creaking a little under their weight. It’s the only thing he can hear aside from their own unsteady breathing—the only thing that exists, maybe, ‘cause Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut. It’s just sensation this way: nails scraping at his cropped hair, a hand clutching possessively at the base of his spine, skin on sweat on skin. His jacket’s in the front seat somewhere, and both his shirts got shed onto the floor at some point, but he never quite managed to lose his pants, so they’re just sorta bunched around his knees. It’s making it hard to move, and it’s not even remotely sexy, but the little breathy noise he gets rewarded with when he twists his wrist just right is enough to reassure him that, hey, it probably doesn’t really matter. He presses his nose more firmly into the join between neck and shoulder, presses his lips against the jut of a collarbone and gets nails scraping helplessly against his back in return. It’s just bodies, that’s all it is. Bodies doing the things that bodies do. A ribcage compresses, a whine of pleasure hiccuping in and then stuttering its way out again. A thump as a work-booted foot slips and thuds into the closed door. There’s not quite enough space back here, but it’s his baby—leather and gun oil and the persistent smell of coffee from where a cup got spilled under the front seat and never got cleaned up right—and it’s… it’s…

He doesn’t have to look to know whose warm breath is fluttering against his ear, whose long fingered hand is pressed against his waist, thumb stroking the ridge of his lowest rib. Whose hips are lined up with his own, whose legs are tangled with his. Every so often, one of them will rock forward, and their chests will brush. And every time, the brief warm slide of skin is a shock that makes his heart try and crawl up the back of his throat. So no, he doesn’t have to look, but he can see it anyway, because it’s Cas spread out underneath him, that stupid trenchcoat flaring out like limp khaki wings. Doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the scene, it’s burned into his mind like a movie frame left paused on a tv screen just a bit too long. One of Dean’s hands is trapped between them, busy, but the other is braced on the seat to keep him from falling off the bench and onto the floor. Cas presses his head back against the leather, a few strands of his hair now tickling Dean’s wrist, and breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. His face might be doing something too, like making expressions, but Dean isn’t—He’s not gonna—His eyes are shut. He shifts, drops down a little so he’s resting on his elbow instead of his spread palm, and then buries his hand in Cas’s hair. The tips of his fingers tease at the scalp. It gets a low groan out of the other man, the kind that echoes through Dean’s chest like a hit on a bass drum, and Cas arches up into him, a perfect angle, and—

“Dean, we need to—Ah. Hm.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. The body underneath him is no longer pressed up against him, tip to toe, and has stiffened in a very different way. Readiness. Wariness. Discomfort? Fuck. He peels his face away from where it had been pressed into Cas’s shoulder. He’s practically nose to nose with the angel this way, and Cas goes slightly cross eyed trying to meet his eyes. There’s still a flush of color high on his cheeks, and his hair is, honestly, fucked, just an absolute disaster. And oh, good, Dean’s still got one hand tangled in it, the strands soft between his fingers.

“Um,” Dean manages articulately.

Cas squints up at him, head cocked slightly to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to get out from underneath Dean. Doesn’t seem particularly concerned that Dean’s got his hand on Cas’s dick either, and oh shit, he’s got his hand on Cas’s dick. It had seemed like a great idea 30 seconds ago, but that was before Cas had started looking at him like he was a particularly perplexing mathematical proof that Cas has been tasked with solving.

“Oh,” Cas says, expression suddenly clearing as some vision of clarity reveals itself to him and bypasses Dean entirely on the way. “I see. This is a fantasy.”

Dream. It’s a goddamned dream, Dean can see it now in the way everything that isn’t Cas fuzzes out around the edges. Or it was a dream (not the first one, not since he saw Cas all rumpled at that brothel and his brain had extrapolated, shit happens, it doesn’t mean anything) but now it’s Angel Waiting Room. And that’s really Cas. And he’s really touching Cas’s dick. He jerks his hand away so fast that it smacks against the back of the front seat, and then he fumbles his way backwards, yanking his jeans up and then overbalancing and cracking his head hard against the window. Somehow it still hurts, but that’s probably just his brain punishing itself.  Cas watches the entire thing with mild interest, going so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. His hair’s still going every which way, and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned, gaping open across a muscular chest, and he still hasn’t made any effort to, you know, cover himself up at all, so his dick’s out too, still semi-erect like it’s as confused as Dean is about who’s supposed to be doing what in this particular scene.

“Cas,” he starts, desperate to regain control of the situation. “Buddy.” Oh, God. “Uh. What’s—?”

“I’ve… I believe I’ve found a lead on the Colt,” Cas says, blessedly interrupting him before some other dumbfuck thing comes out of his mouth. “But I had a question regarding warding that Bobby might have some insight on—”

“So why didn’t you ask Bobby?”

Cas blinks at him. “Your mind was more receptive.”

“My mind…” Oh, if he thinks about that too long, he’s gonna lose it. “Look, never mind, could you…?”

To his own utter humiliation, he follows that up with a vague gesture towards Cas’s crotch, and Cas glances down at his lap as well, brows ratcheting up, as if mildly surprised to find it attached to him. He looks back at Dean, a strangely assessing look in his eye.

“You’re sitting on my legs.”

Dean is, isn’t he. He’s not wearing a shirt either, but that seems like a lost cause at this point. Apparently this is just a conversation he’s gonna have to have shirtless. But he plants a hand on the backrest of the front seat and uses it to lever his hips up so that Cas can pull his legs in and swing around so that he’s sitting normally. And then, finally, Cas tucks himself away, although not without a fair amount of fumbling, like he’s never touched his own dick before. Except, shit, maybe he hasn’t. Vessels, right? It’s not like he’s ever seen Cas drink anything, and even if he did, maybe he can just magic the pee away. Seems like someone who can glory, glory, hallelujah shattered bones back together shouldn’t have to use his own hallowed hands to make sure the piss gets in the urinal. Plus, the whole brothel deal derailed long before the pants came off, so for all he knows, this is the first time Cas has had any dealings whatsoever with his dick. Maybe Dean really has just facilitated some kind of dick first contact like he’s the… the Zefram Cochrane of, well, cock.

“Warding?” He asks, normally, in a normal tone. Does he sound normal? Or can Cas tell, like he’s got the equivalent of a big sign over his head that just says I’m Thinking About Your Dick on it in big neon letters.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. And then, because God forbid any part of this situation goes Dean’s way, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah.” It comes out a few octaves too high to be convincing. “I mean. It’s. No, it’s fine.” Cas frowns at him, unconvinced. “Ok, I mean, it’s a little weird. Right?”

“What is?”

Dean gapes at him, but Cas is just doing that cocked-head-blueyed routine that’s so goddamned earnest. Like he can’t even fathom what might be awkward about walking smack into the middle of one of Dean’s—what did he call it?—oh, actually, that’s another thing—

“This isn’t a fantasy.” He’s very certain about that. “It’s… I was just having a stupid dream.”

Cas stiffens, shoulders pushing back, and his hands, which had previously been resting loosely on his thighs, twitch up to straighten his shirt.

“I’m not sure I understand the differentiation you’re making,” he says, long fingers threading buttons back through buttonholes. “Humans often dream about sexual scenarios, and you are—” A pause that Dean can’t even begin to interpret. “Well, it’s perfectly natural to fantasize about objects of desire, and you find this… vessel attractive.”

“It’s not! I mean—” What the fuck does he mean. “You’re… It’s… fine. You look good.” Fuck. “For a guy.” Nailed it. “But I don’t— fantasize. I mean, c’mon, I don’t—I don’t. And it’s not like—I mean, I’ve got chicks practically lining up for me any time I roll up to a bar.”

When was the last time someone touched him any way that wasn't a friendly slap on the arm or a punch in the mouth? Bobby, when he was fresh out of hell? Anna, in this very back seat, her little hand splayed across the tender skin of the scar on his arm? He can't remember. It makes his palms itch, and he presses them shakily against his thighs. Maybe Cas knows it, too, ‘cause he’s giving Dean that look he gets sometimes. It’s not soft—he doesn’t think Cas can do soft—but it’s a lessening of intensity, like Cas has pushed the dimmer down on that fiery angelic aura of his, the thing that raises the hair on the backs of people’s necks even when he looks, for all intents and purposes, human. It’s the sort of look that makes Dean think that even if he were staring into a mirror right now, he wouldn’t see whatever it is that Cas does when the angel looks at him. It’s the sort of look that comes before things like, You don’t think you deserve to be saved. But all Cas does is drop his eyes to finish with his buttons, and when he speaks, it’s directed vaguely towards them.

“Of course, Dean.” The last button squared away, he folds his hands in his lap. “Companionship is a great kindness in a world not overly given to them. I will ask Bobby about the warding.”

And then Dean’s blinking awake, staring dazedly up at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed. He flops his head to the side. Across from him, the other bed is a tangle of abandoned sheets. On the highway, a semi leans on its horn, and the sound echoes hollowly off the walls of his shitty, deserted motel room.

[clannfearrunt]

Maybe a weird question but like. If you migrate splat bio stuff to your kirby au, I'm assuming you'll be keeping the incidence of magic on Splat Bio Earth to a minimum but like. What are the odds that would give some accuracy to stuff like tarot readings?

Or what are the odds that it would fit in with whatever is going on with that fax machine for splatfests?

^ that part is an ask im putting this here just in case bc i dont see a clear break on my end

Mind you this is coming from a person that super does not put any stock into divination in real life and doesnt like the idea of the future being predetermined and etc etc. I’m also not gonna say anything for Specifically One Practice because who the fuck am I and also I will never understand tarot specifically

Whether or not it works, various forms of divination definitely exist anywhere sapient people do. People just like this shit. I think SOME forms will actually have factual merit, but I think it’s limited.

Anything claiming to read the future does not work. The future has not happened yet. You can’t find something that doesn’t exist. People still believe and try these anyway, because people like having a sense of guidance and clarity about the uncertain future. Reading the past is... Kinda iffier. If an event was sufficiently magical it can sometimes leave some residual information for some time afterwards which can be used to interpret what happened but you’re unlikely to be able to do that with cards and stuff. You’re actually more likely to find a ghost who may or may not have enough presence of mind to tell you stuff rather than just... ambient data still floating around. And real ghosts are reasonably rare.

I’m pretty iffy on how common it would be to be able to read minds. Consensual “telepathy” and one-way projection can definitely be achieved, but I’m not sure about being able to forcibly take a peek. I bring this up bc I considered the possibility of mages discreetly using mind-reading spells as a form of hot reading but I super. Don’t want that to be a common/easily achievable thing can you imagine the nightmare. Anyways either way I don’t think anyone on splat Earth can do this

Magic CAN be used to locate physical things. All objects have some magic, even if it’s super minimal (like most things on Earth that predates the human apocalypse), and working divination rituals use this magic signature to attempt to locate the desired target. The chance for success depends on how strong of a magic signature the target has and how far away it is. This form of divination probably would not have worked on Earth in the Anthropocene, but it could definitely work in the Mollusk Era. It’s not an easy thing to pull off for a search radius too much bigger than a couple of rooms though. People who can pull off wider searches make fucking BANK anywhere in the galaxy. That being said there are plenty of divination traditions that try to do this and don’t actually work on a factual level but people still believe in anyway, because once again People Like This Shit. On Splat Earth, I think you’d be most likely to succeed in locating living things, while finding objects that predate the Anthropocene extinction (human artifacts, fossils, rocks etc) would be very difficult.

As for the fax machine i completely forgot that thing existed. That might work good though, good eye! I think I forgot about the fax machine because I didn’t know what to do with it, but now I have a Direction to start throwing spaghetti at. Thank you!

[dramallamadingdang]

My mind is blown.

I’m totally serious. And this is a seriously long post, for which I apologize, but you might think it worth it in the end.

I did some fiddling with my Simming computer while solving the mystery of the super-lag/abysmal FPS rate in my TS3 game. While I was reading up on things to do that might improve that situation, I ran across this MTS forum post. It's about NVIDIA graphics settings (meaning, settings outside of the game, controlled by the video card itself) that improve the appearance of TS3 in-game. Now, maybe among the more gamer-types out there, doing this kind of stuff is common knowledge. But I didn't know, and my gamer husband never saw fit to inform me of these things, for which he’s gonna get a whuppin’ :), and my mind is blown, so I thought I'd share info for other non-gamer-types like me who don't know about this stuff. :)

After I fixed my TS3 game and tried out the NVIDIA settings and they made my TS3 game look awesome, I wondered what would happen if I applied the same settings to TS2. I had to test the game anyway because part of my problem-solving in TS3 was to update my GPU's driver to the version that was released about two weeks ago instead of a 5-year-old one. *laugh* I feared this would screw up TS2, but Mustang Valley and my creating set-up, at least, are fine with it. (Might be a totally different story when I play a regular, active, populated neighborhood, of course!) But I figured, what the hell, let's make a profile for TS2 with these settings, too. The worst that could happen is the game freaks out and I have to revert back to the default settings.

Well, the game didn't freak out and, in some ways, it looks a lot better. I'll go into more detail about that, via many pics, behind the cut. In front of the cut I'll say this:

You need an NVIDIA graphics card. I mean, I'm sure there's ways to do the same things with AMD cards. I just don't know how. You can't do this stuff with Intel integrated graphics. 

Moreover, you need a decent NVIDIA video card. In the linked MTS post, the OP has a 700-series card and the guy who posted the settings was dubious about whether or not the OP should mess with this stuff because it might cause lower FPS rates and lag in TS3. But I'm gonna venture a guess that you could do this with a lesser card for TS2, since it's a much less demanding game even when it's all tricked out. And either way, there’s no harm in trying. (For the record, my card is a GTX 1050Ti. It's decent, the best card I can put in my Simming machine without needing a stronger power supply, and it’s more than adequate for both TS2 and TS3, but it’s certainly not high end.)

You need the Nvidia Profile Inspector, if you don't already have it. It's freeware, and you can download it here. Note that it's a program for Windows; I have no idea how you’d go about doing this stuff on a Mac.

Once you've downloaded/installed the Profile inspector, open it up. It looks like this when you open it:

Under the drop-down at the very top (circled in red in the pic), there's a huge long alphabetical list of games and programs, old and new, that you can create an individual graphics profile for using this program. This means that the settings you choose will affect only that program and no others. So, if you play other games, Sims or otherwise, or use other programs (my CAD program's on the list, yay!), you might want to fiddle with those, too. But anyway, for TS2, find Sims 2 (with no "The". And it lists all the EPs, too, but just pick the base game) on the list and choose it. Then, plug in the settings in the post I linked to above. They’re all in the drop-downs for each setting, so all you have to do is click and choose the right setting. When you're done, click "Apply Changes" in the upper right corner of the program window. Done. Easy-peasy. It'll take you two minutes to do, if that.

Then load up your game, and in your graphics settings you can (and probably should) turn off the game's native edge smoothing. It's being overwritten with much stronger anti-aliasing, so there’s no point in having it turned on. In the pics below the cut, all of my graphics settings are at max except that edge-smoothing is turned off, I have no lighting or shader mods installed, and the game is in windowed mode. (It tends to look better that way.)

Now as to what it looks like... There’re a bunch of pics behind the cut. I'll say up front that the changes are subtle. Don't expect miracles in a 15-year-old game! :) But for me -- since I'm pretty damn picky about how my game environment looks, what with wanting high-res and stuff - they make enough difference that I'm definitely keeping these settings in place. 

I don't see much difference in neighborhood view -- including skyboxes/horizons -- aside from meshed stuff having smoother edges and a bit (not a lot, just a bit) better texture quality/clarity. Rather, the main difference that I see is in the on-lot textures. There is better clarity and more depth, even in things like basegame carpets. It affects objects, walls/floors/terrain paints, hair textures, everything. (Well, OK, I didn't notice much difference with clothing and other non-hair CAS stuff, but all I had available to look at was my defaults and Maxis clothing, and...yeah.) 

Overall, you get a higher level of detail and more depth, even close-up, without having higher-res textures. (But if you do have high-res stuff, it looks even better than it did before, with no further increased resolution.) Which means that you get better-looking textures WITHOUT contributing to pink flashing at all.

So! On to the pictures, none of which are edited in any way except for cropping/resizing and adding text. No sharpening, no fiddling with brightness/contrast. Nothing. I wish I could give you “before and after” pics, but...nope. You’ll just have to take my word that there is a difference. Which you can verify by fiddling with your own settings. (Don’t worry about breaking your game or anything. Since these are settings that exist entirely outside the game, there’s no way you can hurt the game with them. :) ) So, pictures...

And now for some hair...

Unfortunately, all I have to show you are my own hair textures, which are neither Maxis-match nor Pooklet-y. However, this graphics profile does tend to bring out extra depth in all textures, including hairs, and with hairs specifically it does nice things to hair ends so that they aren’t so stringy-looking. I’m assuming other textures would also gain extra definition/depth.

One (and only, so far) bad thing about using this profile: It gives you better transparency. Unfortunately, this means that if you use hairs with transparency issues, the issues will be more noticeable, not less. I’m slowly weeding out such hairs in my collection, but I noticed that on the female hair in the first hair pic, there’s a transparency that wasn’t noticeable before, right next to her neck, about half-way down it, on the viewer’s right side. It’s hard to see on the sized-down pic, but it’s the bit that appears to be a blue-ish dot. So, if you do use a lot of hairs with transparency issues, you might want to use a not so high transparency sampling setting. That might help.

As for other stuff that goes on a Sim’s body, I didn’t notice any huge difference in the stuff I looked at, but what I had to look at was limited since I didn’t fire up my full game with all the CAS CC. :) I think my default skintones and the body meshes themselves might be a bit smoother/less pixellated...but that also might be my imagination. :) I do think accessories like glasses and jewelry would probably see some improvement.

So, um, yeah! If you made it through this post, I hope you found the info relevant to your interests. :) I wish that I had learned that you can do this a looooooong time ago!

[lostinspidey]

when my heart heals, it beats for you | peter parker

summary/request: “hi i have an ffh request! could you write about peter calling stark!reader instead of happy to come rescue him, but due to all the mysterio illusions he doesn't trust the reader at first?”

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was meant to be a shorter blurb but then... this happened. i guess i had a lot of Feelings about this scene and this concept and general, so thanks to whoever requested this for giving me an excuse to write them all out! gif was made by @pterparkcr​ :-)

warning(s): FFH SPOILERS!!!, if you’ve seen the film you know there’s gonna be some angst

“so let me get this straight,” happy says, watching warily from the doorway of your bedroom as you throw some belongings into your backpack: passport, band-aids, a bottle of painkillers. through the quickened breaths and troubled tone, you remember how strained peter’s voice sounded on the phone a mere twenty minutes ago. you’re almost sure he needs them.

you raise your eyebrows. “happy, please don’t give me a hard time about this.”

“peter calls you, asks you for help picking him up from the netherlands, of all places,” he continues, folding his arms over his chest. “so naturally, you call me?”

“uh, yeah.”

you struggle to zip up your backpack - it’s nearly filled to the brim with whatever first aid supplies were lying around the house. 

happy lets out a sharp, exasperated breath. “can i ask why?”

“because,” you sling your backpack over your shoulder. “you’re the only person i know who can fly one of dad’s jets.”

he doesn’t have a response for that.

luckily, the jet - with its stark industries logo recently repainted - is already parked outside, just a couple hundred yards from your house in a clearing that overlooks the lake. as you and happy make the small trek towards the aircraft and climb onboard, you try not to think too hard about how, exactly, peter’s voice sounded during your brief phone call. how you, just as frightened as he was, could do little to calm him down.

“alright, y/n, i just entered the coordinates and it looks like it’ll take us a little less than three hours to get there. you’re not forgetting anything, are you?”

i - i messed up, y/n. i need your help.

“y/n?” 

happy looks at you over the back of his chair. you cross and uncross your legs in the seat behind him, avoiding his worried gaze. with how much movement your body and brain have been through the past thirty minutes or so, sitting still seems impossible.

“i should’ve gone on the trip,” you whisper.

happy sighs, twisting his body to get a better look at you.

“don’t go blaming yourself. peter wouldn’t want that.”

you shake your head insistently, staring down at your shaky hands. “he - he asked if i wanted to go on the trip, you know. i told him i wasn’t ready to leave home after everything that’s happened but i know - i just know - that dad would’ve wanted me to keep an eye on him instead of selfishly staying here -“

“y/n,” happy interrupts. “do you really flying halfway across the world to save somebody is selfish?”

your lips quirk up a bit. 

“technically, you’re the one who’s flying,” you joke.

happy chuckles, giving you a small, supportive nod before beginning the proper steps towards takeoff. you’re glad he’s here; glad that you’re not stuck in a crowded airport surrounded by people who can’t even begin to understand what’s going on. not that you really do, either.

predictably, the plane ride feels much longer than two hours and forty-eight minutes. the minute happy is turned back around, you slump down in your seat, trying to busy yourself with your phone or the book you remembered to stuff in your backpack. it’s your favorite, its pages ripped and torn after having been flipped through so many times. 

it reminds you too much of peter, with his rough edges and the way he never fails to make you happy. you toss it into the seat next to you and hope that staring out the window will be enough of a distraction.

i really need your help, y/n. please.

it’s hard not to think about your father, either. you inherited his protectiveness, among other things, and while being tony stark’s daughter has always been a lot to live up to, none of that has mattered as much as being a kind person. that’s all your dad really cared about, anyway. you can’t shake the feeling that by letting peter venture off to another country alone, you’ve really let him down.

you clench the arms of your seat, and somehow time moves faster now that you’ve managed to dream up enough false hope that maybe, just maybe, peter’s okay. because in a way, he kind of has to be.

and then, finally, you see it: through the fading clouds, a vibrant tulip field that is most definitely too beautiful for the situation you’re in. happy lands the jet in a bright batch of yellows and pinks, and after its wheels hit the ground, you can’t help but notice how quiet it is. 

too quiet.

“um, happy?” you join him in the cockpit, scanning the field for any sign of movement. “are you sure this is right?”

“these are the coordinates for the location you gave me.”

you glance around more fervently. panic rises in your chest as the seconds go by, as the tulip field starts to feel more and more empty.

“happy.” you can feel your breath hitch, eyes starting to water. “i don’t see him.”

“relax, y/n. please. i’m sure he’s on his -”

“oh my god,” you whisper.

happy gets quiet, too, his gaze seeming to settle on the same spot right when yours does. 

from across the field you can see peter - your peter - except he’s clearly not the way he was when he left, so it almost feels wrong calling him that. he limps towards the jet, eyes squinting in the beaming sun. his arm is wrapped right around his middle, and you know it’s because he’s trying to hold himself together in more ways than one.

the closer he gets, you start to notice how much blood is caked on his face.

“door’s open,” happy tells you urgently. you didn’t notice your ears were ringing until his voice slices through the high-pitched noise. “bring him inside. hurry.”

somehow, your legs carry you through the length of the jet and descend down the stairs. peter’s a lot closer now, but you still sprint towards him, leaping over batches of tulips you don’t want to crush with your feet until you finally, finally, end up in front of him.

at first, you can’t help the way your face twists in concern. he’s completely torn up, dried blood and grime flaking and falling from his skin. your eyes trail over the fresh bruises on his arms, the long scrape against his cheekbone.

“peter,” you choke out, throwing your arms around his neck forcefully. he loses his balance a bit but manages to catch you, face buried into your shoulder.

“it’s okay, it’s alright.” you squeeze him tighter, balling up the back of his shirt with your fists. “i - i’m so, so sorry for whatever’s happened to you, but everything’s fine. i’m here now, okay bug? we’re gonna get you home.”

but when you pull away enough to get another look at his face, it’s clear the boy is in a state of complete shock. confusion. he’s looking at you the same way someone would look at a foreign object. 

the unsureness in his eyes is enough for you to drop your arms back down to your sides.

“peter,” you say slowly. “what is it?”

“how do i know it’s really you?” he asks, voice quavering. the terror in his voice is much more prominent than it was on the phone. it makes your heartbeat quicken.

you blink. “i - what? what do you mean?”

“i-i mean,” he gulps, nearly reaching for you before letting his arms fall. “are you real? like, are - are you really standing in front of me right now?”

“what are you talking about? of course i’m real.”

a wince possesses his face, turning soft features into stone. you study them until it gets to be too much for peter, who uncomfortably takes a small step away from you. 

“peter, look at me,” you urge, and you wait until he does to continue. “i’m real, see? the jet’s real. look at these pretty flowers. they’re real, too, baby.”

“prove it,” he whispers, eyes filling up with tears.

“prove it how?”

“tell me something about me. a-about us. something only you would know.”

“alright, okay. let me think.” you let out a deep breath, glancing around the tulip field, the leaf-filled trees that remind you of home. “oh! i’ve got it.” 

peter raises his eyebrows, still more than a little distrusting of you. you run a hand through your hair as you try to descramble the words in your brain.

“remember that one time we went hiking through the woods by my house?” you ask, staring deep into his eyes, searching for any sign of clarity. “you saw a huge spider and accidentally killed it and you swore me to secrecy in case it violated some kind of spider-slash-spider-man code that would cause all the spiders in the world to suddenly turn against you, and -”

he takes a step forward, nearly sweeping you off your feet as he wraps you in a much more willing embrace than before. he lets out a mixture between a sob and a laugh into your shoulder, hands frantically tangling in your hair.

it’s like he’s urging you to hold onto him - to anchor him to the ground, to the reality you’re both experiencing, no matter how messy and unstable it is right now.

“it’s you,” he breathes. “it’s really you.”

the sheer relief in his voice makes you cry a bit, too. “yes, love, it’s really me.”

you allow yourself to melt into him, into his familiar arms that are too soft for being so strong, and adjust to the fact that peter’s actually here. he’s here. he’s safe. clearly broken and scarred, but as long as he’s within reach, that should be enough for you to put him back together again.

“i missed you so much,” he says, pulling the words right out of your brain.

you nod, hands starting to rub his back comfortingly. “i should’ve come.”

“believe me, babygirl, i’m so glad you decided not to.”

you’re about to ask him what that could mean - what in god’s name is going on in the first place - when a gust of wind blows, a chill running down your spine. he pulls you in tighter, fingers running down your arms until the goosebumps subside.

“you made fun of me for weeks after that hike.” he chuckles, then sniffles, and you don’t mind the way he probably just wiped his nose against your shirt. “r-remember that, too?”

“mhm. remember how you tripped over that huge log on the way back?”

“gosh. what an embarrassing day for me.”

you draw back a bit, pushing a stray curl behind his ear, smiling at the way he leans into your touch. “i guess i could’ve been a bit nicer about it.”

he shakes his head. “don’t worry about it. it was pretty funny.”

he gives you a watery smile, hands settling against your shoulders, and this is the peter you know and love - the one that stares at you this earnestly, touches you this gently. he’s only been gone for a few days, and so much as probably changed, but never peter. he’ll always be the wide-eyed boy you would travel halfway across the world for.

then something shifts in his gaze a bit, and you frown, placing a tender hand on his cheek.

“peter, it really is me. i promise. i - i don’t know who has you convinced i’m not me but i am.”

“i know,” he says, then mutters it again to himself quietly. “i know.”

for a moment it’s quiet again. another breeze blows, chilling your spine all over again, but you don’t let it distract you from peter’s stare. you can tell that something huge is still gnawing at him, that he still has a lot to fear for. and now, so do you.

you use your hands to guide his face closer to yours, his skin warm beneath your careful touch, and you’re not sure who leans in first. all you know is that you end up kissing him, the knots in your stomach unwinding with every movement of his mouth against yours. 

“o-okay, yeah, this definitely feels real,” he breathes, causing the two of you to laugh against each other’s lips.

you lean back in and kiss him until all the uncertainty seems to fade, until his arms are no longer stiff as they remain draped around your waist. until he pulls away and looks at you with a renewed sense of hope, a slightly bigger smile on his face.

“now,” you raise your eyebrows, affectionately brushing your fingertips over the bruises and cuts on his right cheek. the last thing you want to do is get down to business; you’d rather sit peter on the plane and take him someplace he feels safe, or at the very least keep standing in this very spot, arms snug and secure around each other. 

but you’re almost certain happy is watching you from the cockpit, wondering what on earth is taking so long.

“you’ve got some serious explaining to do,” you tell him.

he nods, looking back down at his feet. 

“if only i knew where to begin.”

[neoduskcomics]

Ranking All 10 Star Wars Movies

The final installment in the Skywalker Saga (as it is now retroactively being christened) is upon us, and so I’ve decided to do a bit of a retrospective on all the films leading us here.

The purpose of this personal ranking is not to put down any particular films or to invalidate anyone else’s opinions. In fact, I will be focusing largely on what I like about each movie, rather than what I think was wrong with it. I’ll still touch on criticisms of each film, but know that even if I don’t think they’re all objectively amazing films, I still like every single one of them, and have watched each one numerous times.

The fandom, as it always has been, is so weighed down with hatred and lashing out and segregation, that it overshadows the unabashed joy and love that many still hold for that galaxy far, far away. And so, I’d like to put that anger away for a second, and just talk about why each of these movies holds a special place in the Star Wars saga.

10. The Phantom Menace

Chronologically the first film in the series, and also the first on this list. I saw this movie when I was pretty little, and I have to say, it’s the first Star Wars film I ever saw that I actually enjoyed. When I was a kid, I never cared for the original trilogy. Those movies bored and, to be honest, kind of frightened me. But Phantom Menace was replete with colorful visuals, whacky humor and loads of CGI action. That appealed to me quite a lot.

Yes, in retrospect, the plot is contrived, the characters are incredibly bland and pacing is all over the place, but it was my gateway drug into the magic that the rest of the franchise had to offer. And I’m gonna say it -- Jar Jar Binks was probably half the reason the movie kept my attention for as long as it did. All the other characters were so stuffy and stoic, and all they talked about was an overly complicated plot of political intrigue; Jar Jar added some much needed humor and levity for my childhood self to stay interested. It’s heavily flawed for sure, but I can’t rag on this movie too much when I have it to thank for the love that I have for the series now. Besides, Darth Maul kicks ass, right?

9. Attack of the Clones

Is it controversial to rank this above The Phantom Menace? My reasoning is twofold: 1) The movie has an actual emotional throughline to follow, that of Anakin being frustrated with his feelings of fear, resentment and love; and 2) There’s a lot more action. The Phantom Menace was my first step into the shallow side of the Star Wars pool, but this movie is what got me to dive in headfirst.

Is the dialogue embarrassingly terrible? Yes. Is it 75% CGI fluff? Yes. And as a kid, I ate all that stuff up. Plus, honestly, the movie’s not all bad. People started liking Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan with this movie, as the charming, dry-humored, slightly exasperated mentor. We got a load of lightsaber fights, and chases through cityscapes and asteroid fields. There was a ton to think was cool about this movie. Sure, it’s still messy and awkward, and it’s loaded to the brim with outbursts of teenage angst, but this is the film that really got me to think lightsabers, starships and bounty hunters were just the most awesome things ever. You can bet I had a few specific items on my Christmas list that year.

8. Solo

I saw Solo a second time this year, and on a re-watch, I actually enjoyed it quite a lot more. It’s fun and frantically paced, there’s loads of Star Wars fanservice, and the lead actor actually does a pretty good impersonation of a young Han Solo. The supporting cast is pretty likable, too, and the dialogue is always snappy. The action sequences were exciting, and while the movie does go out of its way to try to answer every single question about Han-related trivia, I still think it’s fun to see how things unfolded.

Sure, the movie is pretty hollow when it comes to its themes. Han doesn’t get a very solid character arc in the movie, and we definitely don’t see a very cohesive transformation from relatively altruistic kid to completely self-centered nerf-herder -- and that’s a real shame. But honestly, as a Star Wars side story and blockbuster action film, I think it’s a pretty solid couple hours of entertainment. If you shrugged this movie off when it came out or weren’t impressed and haven’t seen it since, I say maybe give it another chance. You might still not like it, which is totally fair, but maybe tempered expectations and a slightly more lenient attitude will allow you to enjoy it a bit more this time around.

7. Rogue One

Now, as much as I enjoyed Solo as a relatively shallow but fun Star Wars action movie, it is not my favorite Star Wars movie of that brand. That honor goes solely to Rogue One. This movie is pure Star Wars fan service. You got X-wings, TIE fighters, stormtroopers, AT-STs, AT-ATs, star destroyers, new ships and infantry armor, and let’s not forget Darth Vader. That scene with him at the end of the film is one of my all-time favorite scenes in any Star Wars movie. I got chills watching that sequence. It was everything I’d ever wanted from a Darth Vader cameo.

Now, Rogue One might be almost nothing but action and fanservice -- most of the main cast of characters is not terribly interesting or memorable -- but that’s okay. This is a lot of people’s new favorite Star Wars movie, and I don’t think it’s hard to see why. It’s basically everything fans loved most about the prequels -- the spectacle, the new worlds, the new weapons, the new soldiers, while still trying to keep true to the spirit of the franchise, and making nods to its roots. The characters can be bland, and some of the fights drag on a bit, but it’s still a thrilling ride. Also, K-2SO is probably the funniest character in any Star Wars film.

6. The Last Jedi

This movie has some of the greatest, most powerful moments in the entire franchise. Rey’s relationship with Kylo Ren and their confrontations with Luke were an incredible emotional foundation to the story. Many of the visuals were dazzling, and not all but many of the jokes landed pretty well. Luke was provided with a realistic and interesting character arc that gave room for actual growth and depth and struggle -- not simply making him another wise old Jedi Master with a padawan who turned to the dark.

This movie took a lot of risks, and not all of them panned out for sure. I disagree with a lot of the narrative choices in this film, especially when it comes to how Kylo Ren and Rey’s relationship ends up by the end of the movie, and what they did with Poe and Finn. However, I cannot understate how great I think other elements of the story were. This is the movie that made me actually start to feel like Rey was a more fleshed-out character, and it made Kylo Ren my new favorite character in the sequel trilogy (also I really like the fight with the praetorian guards, which I guess is a controversial opinion?). While the movie is deeply flawed, it also has a lot in it that is deeply good, and that is definitely worth something.

5. Return of the Jedi

It was very close for me between this movie and The Last Jedi, but I settled on placing episode 6 higher because, to me, it just presents a more elegant narrative with a more cathartic resolution. Return of the Jedi gives us a strong and satisfying conclusion to Luke’s story, and is probably full of more heart and love than any other installment in the series, showcasing bonds between Han and Leia, Leia and Luke, and a reforged bond between Luke and his father. The team is reunited, and it feels so good.

That being said, the movie does have its share of flaws, many of which are in common with The Last Jedi. A lot of the movie feels like needless padding and sort of wasted screentime for the main characters, aside from Luke, who didn’t get much of a meaningful role in the story. However, I feel that it’s counterbalanced by the fact that this film also has some of the most powerful drama in the series. Luke’s confrontation of Vader and the Emperor is wonderfully tense and exciting, and it comes to a stirring conclusion. Plus, Han, Leia, Chewie, C-3PO and R2-D2 are all still their lovable selves, bantering away and getting in way over their heads. It’s kind of hard to not find the film charming. All in all, a great way to wrap up an iconic trilogy.

4. Revenge of the Sith

I remember when this film came out, some critics even went so far as to say it was “better than the original trilogy.” While that’s certainly up for the fans to debate, I do think this movie demonstrated a sense of clarity that was lacking in either of the other prequels. It’s a story all about one thing -- Anakin wants to stop his wife from dying a certain death, and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. The resulting story is filled with incredibly potent pain, fear, anxiety, suffering and darkness, as Anakin fights and eventually gives into temptation.

Okay, yeah, the dialogue is still mostly terrible, and the acting can still feel forced and awkward, but I think if you’re able to look past that, you’ll see what it easily the strongest narrative in the prequel trilogy. It also has a lot of things that the other two prequels were missing: humor (the entire beginning sequence is a fun and largely comical ride not found in the other prequels), memorably dramatic scenes (“Did you ever hear of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?”) and the wickedly over-the-top Emperor finally taking the spotlight with his cackling and pontificating. It may not be the most gracefully crafted movie in the series, but it does have one of the most powerful stories to tell, and I think that’s what ultimately shines through.

3. The Force Awakens

I love this movie. The action, the effects, the characters, the humor -- it is a cavalcade of blockbuster science-fantasy wonder. Abrams did an outstanding job retooling the original trilogy to suit a modern audience, with new, creative takes on the faceless, nameless stormtrooper, a Darth Vader stand-in who knows he’s a stand-in and hates it, and a burgeoning hero doesn’t run toward adventure but away from it. There is an energy, a sort of vitality, to this film that I don’t think you can find in any other installment in the series. It’s dazzling, powerful and full of spirit.

And yes, it has its own fair share of flaws. The political situation is weirdly under-explained, the movie heavily relies on the original films as a template for the plot’s structure, and Rey could’ve used more coherent development as the protagonist of the film. However, I wholly and heartily believe that the movie more than makes up for all of that with its unique and charming cast of original characters. I loved Poe Dameron, Kylo Ren, Finn, and the returning Han and Chewie in this story. They all did wonderful performances with snappy dialogue, great performances and thrilling fights. It would’ve been great if the studio had tried to stray from the norm more, sure, but The Force Awakens, in my eyes, is still an exhilarating, warm and entrancing entryway into the territory of a new era for the franchise.

2. A New Hope

This one was tough to place. If I’m being completely honest, I think I probably actually like The Force Awakens more as a film, but it just doesn’t sit right with me to not give priority to the original. And I think credit should be given where credit is due: this movie, for better or worse, revolutionized cinema. It’s the movie that started it all, defying all odds and expectations. It’s the ideal archetype of the hero’s journey; a boy from humble beginnings meets with an old mentor who shows him a much bigger, brighter, and scarier world that he must face for the good of the world he lives in. Along the way, we meet some of the most iconic and memorable characters in the history of film -- Han Solo, Princess Leia, C-3PO, R2-D2 and the ever-lovable Darth Vader.

Now, has this movie been overly mythologized? Yes. Has it in many respects aged poorly? Sure. It totally has. The dialogue can be goofy, the action can look hokey and the pacing can feel terribly slow. But a lot of people will throw statements around like “It’s only famous because it was the first” when looking at movies like the original Star Wars, or the characters contained within. But I think that line of reasoning is misguided. Cheesy sci-fi features, space operas, action movies, roguish characters, princesses and humble heroes were not invented by Star Wars or George Lucas, just as people with superhuman abilities were not pioneered by the creators of Superman. And yet, this movie stood out in all of moviemaking history, proving that it had accomplished what no film like it had before. It is not a beloved film simply because it was the first. It’s the first because it was beloved.

Honorable Mention: The Clone Wars

Not the movie, the series (because the movie was basically just the pilot to the series that honestly shouldn’t have been shown in theaters). It doesn’t technically qualify for this list, but I just have to mention it (honorably). This series took a look at the prequels, for all their flaws, and said “I can make people like this era of Star Wars.” And you know what? They succeeded. The versions of Obi-Wan, Anakin and the many clone troopers featured in this series are now often the versions people think of when remembering the Clone Wars era of the saga. It was a rollercoaster of a series, with surprisingly dark and dramatic stories, as well as shockingly good action and visuals.

Sure, there were a lot of subpar episodes, but those aren’t what people remember. People remember a version of Anakin that made him a likeable hero, a new Jedi padawan for the audience to identify with, new stories that deepened and expanded upon the lore of the universe, and some really cool warfare that honestly blows a lot of what we saw in the actual prequel films out of the water. If you haven’t seen it yet, get a free trial of Disney + and start binging.

1. The Empire Strikes Back

Okay, okay, yeah, we all saw this coming. Not exactly an original opinion, is it? Still, I can’t deny that I solidly believe The Empire Strikes Back to be the best-made Star Wars film. It may not have the razzle-dazzle of the prequels or the sequels, and it may not have the satisfactory finality of Revenge of the Sith or Return of the Jedi. But what this film does have is care. It’s a movie that feels like it was carefully crafted from top to bottom, with every scene, every narrative throughline, every theme and every line of dialogue.

This is where we got “Do, or do not. There is no try.” This is where we got “I am your father.” This is where we got “I love you/I know.” This is where Vader really cemented himself as the end-all-be-all big bad of the Star Wars galaxy. This is where Han and Leia became the cinematic couple of a lifetime. This is where we really learned about the Force, the Jedi and what sorts of trials Luke would have to face were he to take on that legacy. It’s a magical film, full of wonder, hope, darkness, tragedy and love.

I won’t say it’s a perfect Star Wars movie, because it’s not. No Star Wars movie is. But that’s the beauty of the franchise. Everyone values something different about Star Wars. Everyone has their own favorite movie or series or book or comic or even theme park ride. It’s a phenomenon that spans generations, each one looking back fondly on the era that came before. There were people who grew up on the original trilogy, and now we have people who grew up on the prequels. And in just a few short decades, we’ll have people who grew up with BB-8, Kylo Ren and Rey, and that, to me, is just fantastic.

I know many of you have already written off Star Wars, or at least the new movies, but I am both nervous and excited to see where this all goes in seven days. And I know that there are many of you out there still celebrating Star Wars, holding it dear to your hearts, and not forgetting the feeling it gave you whenever you first fell in love with the franchise. I hope that feeling stays with us, and that it cuts through all the hatred and shouting and derision.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to watch today’s episode of The Mandalorian.