#finally xl getting the treatment he deserves

[yumaisbored]

the ghost city residents took one look at Hua Cheng around Xie Lian and knew what time it was

[hualianff]

How To Piss Off Your Boss II 《I》

When HC places the dishes in front of a group of esteemed guests, foreigners and wealthy business people by appearance, he’s roped into a brief conversation in English. Not that he minds too much. HC has had many opportunities to practice different languages in the kitchens he’s worked in, mainly consisting of English, Spanish, Italian, and Japanese. Most of the phrases HC retained were curse words too. Go figure.

Once the CEO wraps up the small talk session, he spins on his heel and speeds back to the kitchen. As he power walks through the various tables, HC takes note of which guests have seemingly ordered yet still only have drinks on their tables. He’s not sure what his employees were yammering about to delay their service up to fifteen minutes, but it could certainly wait until after the dinner rush, for god’s sake.

A blur of white completely stops HC in his tracks. His neck suffers from a violent double-take when he catches sight of a familiar white turtleneck, worn by a figure with a familiar smile. HC’s mouth gapes open slightly, nearly tripping in his haste to veer off towards the two-person table secluded by the window.

XL cutely waves as he finally gets a glimpse of his husband tonight.  

“Gege!?” HC breathily asks, confused. XL sets his flute of wine down, amber eyes shining with mirth. 

“Surprise!”

HC immediately shoots a glare back to the kitchens where he sees his employees peeking through the pair of windows on the doors. His lips curl into an angry snarl, like a tiger provoked by its own streak. He makes a move to steamroll into his kitchen and rip them a new one. Except a hand grasps onto his wrist before he can make it past one table.

“San Lang, don’t mind them. It’s no big deal,” XL pleads, tugging on HC’s hand. The taller man willingly turns around, rolling his wrist so he can be the one to hold XL’s hands instead. 

“Gege, how long have you been waiting?” HC asks in a tight voice. XL frowns, not wanting to answer, but he knows HC won’t let it go.

“Just under thirty minutes.“

“Thirty minutes!?” HC exclaims. “The fact that no one told me you were here for nearly half an hour is unacceptable. Oh my god, I’m going to fire them all.“

“No, you’re not. San Lang, calm down. I didn’t tell you I was coming, so you couldn’t have known. I don’t think the server who showed me to my seat even knew who I was,” XL reasons.

He subconsciously pulls HC closer to sitting down at the table. 

“Someone should’ve told them because you’re not just any customer, gege. You’re my HUSBAND. You’re important to me, and I would like my workers to let me know if you’re here regardless if I knew beforehand. I don’t want you to have to wait that long for me to come out and join you.“

“They said you were busy! Plus, thirty minutes is hardly a long time.“ XL tries again. HC insistently shakes his head, gingerly squeezing XL’s hands. 

“Darling, your time is too precious to be wasted like that,” HC says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on XL’s forehead. XL hums as he finally pushes HC down into the chair opposite of his own. 

“Well, you’re here now, right? Why don’t we enjoy a lovely dinner together? My treat!” XL says happily.

Seconds later, two massive dishes of finely-boiled squid and glass noodles, along with spicy wonton soup are placed in front of the two men. It’s the new cook who bows while stuttering out an apology, repeating “I didn’t know- Hua Lao Ban, Xie-xiansheng- I didn’t know- please forgive me.”

XL, being the angel he is, claims there is nothing to forgive. Across from him, HC silently churns in strong disagreement. It takes three servers to make sure everything was up to standard, watching their boss’ expression carefully for any hint of dissatisfaction. They leave in a hurry, the abundance of food making XL’s face light up like a Christmas tree.

“I love you, San Lang,” XL cheers, tapping his chopsticks together excitedly.

HC’s face softens, endeared by his husband’s antics. The incident is far from being forgotten in his mind. After all, from the stories XL has told about the times he was truly struggling in life after the pitfall of his parents, HC has a very good idea of what circumstances XL has had to endure��way worse than waiting thirty minutes for his food and husband to show up. 

XL probably didn’t even expect to see HC tonight. And that is still absolutely inexcusable. XL is HC’s number one priority, even above all of his businesses.

But for now, HC supposes he can put it off to share a wonderful meal with his husband.

“I love you too, Gege,” he responds, shoulders relaxing.

However, an offending, black, leather folder captures HC’s attention. It’s tucked into a corner on XL’s side of the table, unopened. HC already knows what it is without having to look closer.

“Gege…”

“Hmm?” XL looks up with his mouth full of noodles.

“Did they charge you for the meal?” HC asks slowly, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. His eye pins the flutes of his favorite drink he hasn’t touched. “And the wine?”

XL chews methodically, cheeks puffing from how stuffed they are. If anyone who cared about eating etiquette were watching him, they no doubt would be utmost appalled at such a messy display. HC would curse them to hell if they dared said or did anything.

XL finally swallows, licking his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with charging me,” XL says. HC’s nails dig into his skin as his hands clench into balled fists. “What if I just want to support my husband?”

HC inhales deeply, then exhales heavily.

“Gege does that enough by being married to me. Look, I’ll be right back-“ HC abruptly stands up. He swoops in to kiss XL on the lips, pecking three more times which makes XL giggle. HC then quickly blows cool air on the spoon XL holds mid-air with his hot soup. 

Without another word, HC storms back towards the kitchens. The other cooks actively avoid their boss, bowing profusely if they happen to cross paths with him. HC doesn’t say anything to acknowledge their remorseful actions. For the next ten minutes, he continues instructing the team as if the mishap hadn’t even happened. 

Apologizing won’t be enough, they all know this. They kept not only XL waiting for thirty minutes but also the other customers that entered after him. However, XL had been waiting for the longest as he was a walk-in customer, which made it all the more displeasing for HC to find out his husband had not received the special treatment he deserved. 

The orders have slowed down enough for HC to snap his fingers as a signal for everyone to line up. When all the cooks are appropriately assembled, HC doesn’t hesitate to hurl the folder with the check onto the main island in front of them. 

“Who was it?” HC asks icily. No one utters a sound. The CEO reaches over to yank out the white paper filled with prices. He points to it, eyeing every single one of his employees. “Tell me. Who gave this to him? Who charged him for his meal when I have specified numerous times to never–and I mean NEVER–bill him.”

It’s so quiet in the kitchen, the guests closest to the kitchen doors can probably hear HC scolding his cooks, beyond livid. HC couldn’t care less, as long as XL was outside of hearing range and slurping down his soup with a content tummy. He’ll have to make it up to XL on his own accords, first by taking his husband home to have uninterrupted one-on-one discussion.

The newer cook who HC has distinguished as Hai Ye shuffles uncomfortably, looking like a child guilty of disobeying their parents’ order. Someone has yet to speak up to confess or snitch, meaning they would rather face punishment collectively than risk one person receiving full blame. While HC is one thread away from blowing his top off, he buries the nasty curses down inside his chest. He knows what it’s like to receive unfair consequences for things he didn’t knowingly do wrong. 

Instead, HC forces his temper to cool down. 

“Seeing as these were a series of mistakes that everyone here has contributed to, I’m canceling janitorial services and assigning all of you cleaning duty,” HC declares, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what else it will take, but this must not happen again. With Xie Lian or with the backed-up orders. We are better than that, understood?”

“Yes, Hua Lao Ban,” the cooks recite resolutely. HC grunts with a tone of finality. He quickly snatches his long coat, taking out his wallet and stacking the amount of money needed to cover XL’s check. 

“Good. We can move on from that. Finish the night on a reasonable note. Additionally, can someone fetch me a to-go box and cup?” HC asks as he unbuttons his chef blouse and throws it into the hamper off to the side. HY is the closest to the to-go boxes, so he instantly abides by HC’s request. The CEO offers HY a nod of gratitude. Then, he’s out of the kitchen, long coat thrown loosely over his lanky frame. 

Between the few orders they have to complete, HY witnesses HC personally box up his and his husband’s food. XL eagerly holds HC’s hand when he’s done, pulling the taller man towards the front door to go home. Before leaving, HC gives the head chef, HX, a menacing glare as if to say, “You better have things under control.”

The CEO of Crimson Embers walks out of his restaurant with a gentle hand resting on his husband’s lower back. They disappear through the front glass doors, subtly leaning into each other’s space, content to be together after a long day apart. 

Bonus:

When the other branches hear about the incident, they hang up a framed picture of XL with HC, making sure to point to XL’s face for new employees saying, “If this man enters the restaurant, show him to his seat and then tell Hua Lao Ban immediately. Get him everything he asks for. NEVER charge him for his orders.”

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 1] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 2] [Part 3]

A/N: Low budget yandere for my greasy king. This concept has definitely been done before, but I couldn’t resist. This is my first non-smut on this acct and I’ll be so sad if it bombs 😭

Title from the Hozier song: “don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: light yandere, minor injury, angst, Shiggy likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep. [In later parts but not in this one: violence, sex, more yandere, 18+]

You’ve always had a soft spot for strays. Maybe that’s why you became an ER nurse—from the first abandoned puppy you brought home as a kid to the patients you refuse to give up on even when it looks hopeless, you’ve never been able to turn a blind eye when something needs your help. Sometimes (times like this) you wish you knew better. It’s hard enough to take care of yourself these days.

Today’s shift was…what, 16 hours? 17? The 20-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment building feels like it takes twice that long in the rain. God, you need a shower. And a decent night’s sleep, preferably for at least 12 hours. Tomorrow’s your day off, and you’re ready to take advantage of it the best way you know how: Netflix, soju, and your favorite vibrator. But tonight? As soon as you’re clean, you’re going to pig out on leftovers and collapse into the bed that’s the only halfway nice piece of furniture in your shithole apartment. You really do deserve a break; you’ve earned it.

Unfortunately, as usual, the universe has other plans.

You hear him before you see him: wheezing, choked breaths, like someone’s trying to breathe with an anvil on their chest. You’re not quite out of nurse mode so your mind starts trying to diagnose the issue before you even register what you’re hearing. Fluid in the lungs, possibly blood. That hacking isn’t good. Broken ribs? Definitely bruised. But probably not a puncture…

The breathing is coming from down an alley next to your building. It’s dark enough that you can’t see from the street what’s making the noise. And you’re not a fool, you know it’s a bad idea to walk down pitch-black alleys late at night, especially in this area—a neighborhood you’re living in by necessity, because it’s the only place cheap enough for you to get by. But the coughing…it just sounds so awful. It sounds like it hurts.

Your phone’s already in your hand with 119 dialed and ready to call (standard practice when you’re walking home by yourself), but you turn the flashlight on and shine it down the alleyway. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Nothing responds, but you can still hear the breathing. You step in a little deeper, swinging your light from side to side and looking over the heaps of trash bags overflowing from the dumpster. The raindrops make clicking sounds as they hit the plastic, and you can hear gurgling from a rain spout down the side of the building, but the wheezing doesn’t stop.

One more step. And then one more. You wish there was something you could do to make the splash of your rain boots in the puddles a little less loud. Something about this situation—the rain, the dark, the flat grey light from your cellphone, and that horrible hacking breath—it makes you feel like you’re walking into a horror movie. But you don’t stop walking.

The hacking is coming from a man propped up on the wall between a few XL bags of trash. The black outfit he’s wearing almost blends into the bags, but a mop of grey-blue hair gives him away. His head is slumped onto his chest, and if he’s conscious he doesn’t show it. “Hello?” you ask again, even less confident that you’re going to get a response.

No answer.

The smell of garbage is…ugh…hard to ignore, but on top of it is an oppressive stench of copper coming from the man passed out in the trash. You kneel down to get a better look and yep, he’s covered in blood. It’s hard to make out in the low light, but there’s a trio of long gashes in the man’s abdomen, cutting apart the skin and flesh so deep you can see traces of a slim layer of yellow fat between all the inky clotted blood. It looks like he was attacked by an animal. Or someone with an animal quirk. There are a lot of villains in this neighborhood.

And the coughing...definitely internal injuries. Whoever this guy is, he needs treatment. You hold up your phone to hit the call button on your pre-dialed 119—

“Don’t.” The voice is a growl, low and surprisingly firm despite the scratchiness. You jerk back and clutch your phone to your chest, caught off guard not just by the interruption but by the intensity of the face glaring up at yours.

His eyes are red. “You need an ambulance,” you tell him in your calmest nurse voice.

“If you try to call the police, I’ll—kill you,” the man says, but the threat is a little less threatening when he has to stop in the middle to retch blood onto his own chin.

You glare back at him but don’t call the emergency number. There are a lot of of reasons why he wouldn’t want to go to the hospital, but the most obvious one is probably true. “You’re a criminal. A villain?”

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to keep glaring at you like you’ve committed some mortal sin against his ancestors by having the nerve to check on him and try to help him. Somehow it pisses you off. When you were getting your ADN, you once took a temp job doing health screenings at a local middle school and you would always get so annoyed at the kids. Didn’t they see you were just doing your job? Why is it so hard to understand that what you’re doing is for their own good?

Stupid kids. Stupid villain. “You’d rather bleed out and die?”

The man bares his teeth at you, and it’s a pretty disturbing scene considering how they’re covered in scarlet. “You think they’re going to save me? Think I’ll go to the hospital and get all my HP restored?”

He’s mocking you now. You only have a second to move out of the way before he spits off to the side. “I mean…that’s how a hospital works.”

“If you think I would—make it out of that ambulance alive, you’re—dumber than you look.” His voice is interspersed with coughs.

“Well, you’re not going to live if I leave you here.” You hold up your phone, ready to call the ambulance, but in a shocking display of agility the man lunges forward and grabs it out of your hand. “Hey, wait! Give that…back…”

Your voice trails off as your phone crumbles—literally crumbles to dust in the man’s fingers. Once he’s satisfied that there’s no way for you to call the cops, he slumps back onto the trash bags and closes his eyes, apparently exhausted from the effort.

Goddamnit…! For a second, you can only stare blankly at the pile of dust that used to be your $300 smartphone. And then you’re seized by something, maybe not hatred but an annoyance so strong you can feel it in your throat, and you decide right then and there that this villain is not going to die. You’re going to save him. Out of spite.

You’re not sure how you manage to half-carry him from the alley to your apartment, but you do. You’re lucky it’s ass-o-clock at night and no one’s in the lobby or the elevator, or you’d definitely be getting some looks trying to lug a maimed body around. What would you say if someone did call the cops? Don’t worry, don’t worry about it officer, it’s just my friend drank a little too much, oh those wounds? We were at a costume party, haha…

But no one sees you, and no one calls the cops. The man is unconscious the whole time you’re carrying him, and by the time you have him laid out on a shower curtain on your living room floor his breathing is a little bit shallower than it was before. You’ve got your tools—nothing fancy, just some gauze and closures and antiseptic from your personal first aid kit. It’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

“Let’s get to work, asshole,” you tell the unconscious body in front of you, and you crack your knuckles.

///

The day after you pick the villain out of the garbage, your body decides that it’s not going to let you sleep in no matter how much you need it. You can tell because the huge windows in your bedroom—the only saving grace of this apartment, honestly—are depositing golden-pink sunrise light over everything you see when you open your eyes, including the villain’s face. Which is about six inches away from yours.

“You smell like death,” you tell him sleepily. He doesn’t move.

He’s…probably in his early twenties, you think, but it’s hard to tell because of all the wrinkles. His hair is on the longer side, and it’s striped with rusty brown smears from his blood. Again, you notice how red his irises are. Have you ever seen someone with eyes that color before? You’re pretty sure you haven’t.

“You slept for a long time,” the villain says, finally moving back so he’s not breathing into your mouth.

“Yeah, I was tired. From saving your life.” You sit up and rub your temples. “I’m thirsty…”

Before you can finish your complaint, the villain is holding a glass of water out to you in an awkward 4-fingered grip.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You suck down the water and immediately feel better, enough that you realize how wrong it is that he’s up and moving around and probably undoing all your hard work. “You should be lying down.”

“The floor hurt, and I was bored.”

“Lie on the couch then. You can watch TV. But first—“ He’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to you, and you make him lie down flat so you can look at the injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as they looked last night—no walk in the park, but at least you won’t have a corpse in your apartment in a few hours.

When you’re done inspecting him, he sits up and asks you for a shirt. You had to cut his off, not that it was any great loss. The thing was shredded. Him pointing it out is the only thing that makes you really realize he’s shirtless, so you give him an oversized pajama shirt of yours. It has the name and motto of your old high school on it, and the villain reads it out in a half-mocking tone when you hand it to him.

“Beggars shouldn’t be choosers,” you snap. “You should be grateful.”

“I am grateful,” he says, putting the shirt on. “But I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you need a shirt, right? It’s cold—“

“No. Not that.” He’s staring at you again, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact. “Why you didn’t leave me where you found me last night.”

There’s a lot you could tell him, all of it a little bit true. You were curious. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t make it out of the hospital alive. You couldn’t leave him alone the same way you can’t leave abandoned puppies alone. You wanted to prove to him that you were right, and that being stubborn wouldn’t get him what he wanted. But you don’t say that. “You killed my phone, so you owe me a new one. And I can’t get that back if you bleed out.”

He’s looking at you like he doesn’t believe you, and you fidget under his gaze until he sighs and says, “Whatever.”

You have to let him lean on your shoulder when he walks back to the living room to lie down on your couch. How the hell did he even get to your bedroom by himself? You really didn’t think this through—what are you supposed to do with an infirm possible villain who can barely walk unsupported without opening his injuries back up?

But that’s a problem for tomorrow you to deal with. Today, you’re content to set your laptop up on the coffee table so the two of you can watch TV in…oddly companionable (if you’re not imagining it) silence. It’s almost the lazy day off you were daydreaming about before you got yourself into this mess, and the atmosphere is so relaxed that before you can really decide whether to force the man to go to the hospital or turn him out on the street (or…?) you’re dozing off on your couch like there isn’t a potentially dangerous stranger lying beside you with his head just a few inches from your lap.

When you wake up, your problem is solved for you. He’s gone, and it’s like he was never there—except you’re down a cellphone and a pajama shirt, and your shower curtain is drenched with blood. You wrap it up with the rest of the soiled medical supplies and toss all of it in a dumpster a mile away from your building without knowing exactly why.

///

It’s not the last you see of him, but somehow you had a feeling that was going to be the case.

He scares the shit out of you the first time he visits (over time, that’s how you’ll start to think of his little unannounced drop-ins: visits. Like you’re being visited by a ghost or something). You’re coming back from another grueling shift in the ER, so tired you think you might be sleepwalking, and what do you find when you come in your apartment but a strange white-haired man sitting on your couch eating dry cereal out of the box and flipping through one of your books?

You nearly piss yourself.

He doesn’t seem surprised, which makes sense, considering he’s a villain and he’s probably used to pulling this dramatic entrance thing on people. He certainly doesn’t seem the least bit threatened when you brandish the mini canister of pepper spray on your keychain and demand that he tell you how he got in if he wants to retain the power of eyesight.

“It was unlocked,” he says.

“It was not unlocked,” you reply, rolling your eyes. You may be sleep deprived, but you’re not careless. Never careless.

“Whatever. Calm down. You’re not going to use that on me.”

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. If he wanted to do something to hurt you, he could’ve done it that first night. And you’re too tired to really put up a fight, so you just put the cap back on the pepper spray and flop down next to him on the couch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looks at you curiously from between his shaggy bangs, like you’re the one intruding in his home and not the other way around, then reaches out to hand something to you. “Here, payback.”

It’s a cell phone—not a smartphone like the one he destroyed, but a flip phone circa the 2000s, the kind that forces you to press “9” four times to get the letter “F”. You stare at it for a second, then look back at the villain. “Are you kidding? Did you get this from a museum?”

“Take it or leave it.” His feet are propped up on your coffee table, but you can’t make yourself care. Actually, it looks nice…him stretched out with an odd look of comfort on his lanky form.

You lean back on the couch and kick up your feet next to his. “Fine. Thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs.

“How are your wounds healing?” Why are you trying to make conversation with this guy? He’s…a villain, right? Not that you’ve ever received affirmative confirmation of that fact, but the hesitance to call the police and the breaking and entering are pretty good tells. But…it might be weird, but since you picked him up that day, you’ve felt a kind of kinship with him.

Alone. Abandoned. No place to go. No one to save him. It’s not a pretty comparison, but you can’t deny it rings true.

Maybe that’s why you pick up strays.

“They’re fine,” he tells you after so long a pause that you’ve almost forgotten your question. “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

You take a long look at him, at his posture—he’s relaxed, but his abdomen is crunched a little bit, curled in on himself so subtly that even you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t looking. It’s not your problem. He’s an adult, and you’re sure he could be seeking real medical attention if he really needed it. You’re in no way obligated to perform some kind of checkup on this arrogant dick who literally broke into your apartment to give you a shitty phone and eat your cereal. The sensible thing to do is to tell him to forget that you live here and hopefully never see him again.

His head tips back to rest on the top of the couch, and he holds your book up to read. At this angle his long hair is out of the way of his face, and you notice among the deep-set creases in his skin a pair of wide scars across his right eye and on the corner of his lips. They’re pale and faded—old, then—but they look off to you, and after a while of snatching glances at his face you realize it’s because they’re healed badly, extraordinarily badly, the kind of healing that you don’t see very often because it only occurs when a stubborn patient tries to let a particularly nasty injury heal on its own. The part of you that isn’t sensible wonders how old he was when he got those scars.

Has he learned his lesson?

You doubt it.

“Lie down,” you sigh. “Let me see the cuts.”

Which is how you find yourself examining this annoying villain again, checking on his injuries and giving him recommendations for care like you’re his personal nurse or something. It’s not a role you enjoy playing, but at least he takes it without complaint, and you start to wonder if maybe this is why he broke into your apartment in the first place. If anything, he looks calmer when you’ve flipped up his shirt and prodded at his wounds, his eyes closing slowly and freeing you of that scarlet-red gaze.

He’s like a cat, you think, and then you shake your head and remind yourself that it’s a terrible idea to think of this man—this grown man who is probably a great danger to you and others—as a wild animal you’re trying to domesticate.

When he finally leaves (only after you drop a couple dozen unsubtle hints about how long you’ve been at work and how exhausted you are), you take a moment before you sink into bed to look at the flip phone. It’s no nicer than your original impression, but as you scroll through the screens you notice that it’s factory-new, except for one thing: there’s a contact programmed in, a phone number with an area code you don’t recognize listed under “T”. And you don’t want to be curious…

…but you are. Shocking.

Down the rabbit hole it is, you decide. So you text him.

///

[You: 12:03 AM] > Hey it’s (Y/N) > (the girl whose apartment you broke into) > What does T stand for? [T: 12:07 AM] > What do u think [You: 12:09 AM] > ?? [T: 12:09 AM] > My name > Dont you know who i am [You: 12:10 AM] > Are you famous? [T: 12:10 AM] > You dont watch the news do u [You: 12:11 AM] > Not really > What’s your name then [T: 12:12 AM] > … > Didnt u say u had to sleep [You: 12:15 AM] > Oh yeah > Whatever I guess > Good night

[T: 2:34 AM] > Its Tomura > Dont look it up

[You: 8:02 AM] > Ok > I won’t > Tomura

➠ [Part 2]

[goldencored-arc]

Ship Bias + Mo Xuanyu ?

Send ‘Ship Bias’ and I will share up to 5 Ships I have a bias for for my muse! (+ specify a muse)

1.  Jiang Cheng. I have a lot of feelings about this ship. JC was MXY’s second crush, because I personally wholeheartedly believe that NMJ is every baby bi/gay’s awakening into liking men. Just LOOK at him! Anyway, since I don’t particularly like canon’s timeline and treatment of MXY, I have him at Lanling for five years, from ages 13 to 18. Unlike JGY, he was allowed full access to JL before JGS’s death, and adored him endlessly, doting on him between his studies. After the deaths of JL’s parents and JC was more in the picture, they did, in my opinion, strike up something of a friendship. MXY was definitely a little starry eyed over JC, and JC was kind to him because MXY so adored JL. Of course at the time JC was preoccupied with sect business and JL, and MXY was at points too young for anything to truly blossom, but POST-CANON, well...

The trope of two lost, broken souls finding each other and helping each other heal and grow is... so good? JC seeing MXY on the streets of Lanling for the first time in years? After thinking him dead? MXY seeing him too? Recognizing him and rushing over in a flurry of robes and excitement? It’s... so GOOD. The world has been very cruel to them, and they deserve a soft epilogue filled with a sweet blossoming romance.

2. Nie Huaisang. Ohhhhh my GOD the angst. I read a very, very good, but very sad fic with this pairing that has converted me to it forever. Elegy of the Celestial Crane and it’s fix-it, Orioles Singing in the Willows. I’m not overfond of the assumption that NHS overtly tricked MXY into summoning WWX. I believe MXY took it upon himself to do it, in a rare moment of clarity, because with this he could end his own suffering and perhaps bring someone else who needed, in his opinion, to be in this world back. It has all the makings of a tragic love story, but I hate sad endings, so of course, post-canon, when MXY is free of the trappings of the Mo Family and those horrible memories (they’re trickling back in, but now he’ll have help to deal with his ptsd), they can sort things out and be together.

3. Lan Xichen. This is lowkey on my ‘give mxy a sugar daddy’ agenda but, listen. LISTEN. The potential here is...good. Angsty, but good. LXC agonizing over falling for MXY’s sweet, sad smile, knowing that he’s his lost love’s younger brother? On the flip side, LXC spending too much silver to pamper MXY and provide him with the comforts he was denied of after being locked within a dirty shed for so long? How could MXY not get a little starry-eyed over that? There would definitely be issues that would complicate things— Lan guilt runs HELLA deep, MXY’s insecurities, but if they communicate ( which LXC probably learns after this Whole Mess that communication is key ), things will turn out good for them.

4. Xue Yang. They’re likely around the same age, and were definitely in Lanling at the same time. There’s no way XY wouldn’t spot another budding demonic cultivator when he saw one. Canon says MXY wasn’t very good at demonic cultivation, but canon is invalid and therefore, he was. I love the idea of them studying together, and of course MXY is unafraid to use his own blood for arrays and talismans. MXY is unbothered by XY’s stealing and troublemaking, especially if XY’s stealing makeup or pretty hairpins to give to them and food for them to snack on while they’re pouring over the Yiling Patriarch’s notes. It’s a little high school romancey, until MXY disappears one day.

XY eventually finds him in that shed, and murders his entire family for him. Or with him. Either way, it’s romantic in it’s own dark, twisted way. Good for them.

5. He Xuan. This one is fucking out in left field but hear me out. There was a thread on twitter I read once ( i wish i could find it now but alas ), about MXY doing the sacrifice in Black Water’s name. Now, think of MXY becoming a fierce ghost because of all his anger, sorrow, because it’s HUGE. And think of HX, in a moment of seeing himself in MXY, takes pity on him in the way he couldn’t do, too caught up in his need to see his revenge through, for SQX. So he takes this little ghost under his wing. Let’s face it— HX is probably lonely without SQX chattering in his ear all of the time. He thought he wouldn’t miss it, but now that it’s gone, and gone forever, well. It’s nice to have another voice around. MXY isn’t as chatty as SQX— he’s shy, more introverted, but he’s incredibly curious, he likes to learn.

There aren’t many similarities between MXY and SQX, but there’s a familiar vein of regrowth, how they both enjoy more ‘feminine’ things like makeup and pretty hairpins, their boundless curiosity. 

HX begins to check on SQX less and less— SQX is being well cared for by PM (surprisingly) and others— that love is lost. Perhaps one day, far in the future, they can be friends again. There’s no way around not seeing each other because of his association with HC and SQX’s with XL. But maybe... just maybe, revenge fulfilled, he can say all the things he wished to say, do all the things he wished to do, with this bright, budding little ghost who is also now finally free.

[terryblount]

Mortal Kombat 11 – Review

Mortal Kombat is more than a game: it is the closest thing we as gamers have to a counter-culture. It is an I.P. that has consistently laughed in the face of censorship boards by never compromising on giving fans the unfiltered carnage of close combat. This was literally (part of) the reason why there exists an ESRB rating system today.

What’s more, this violence is not just for looks – it is also about skill. The genius of Mortal Kombat’s formula has always lain in demonstrating the player’s fighting ability through how sadistically they can crush their opponent. You don’t just K.O. an opponent in this game; you FINISH THEM!!!

Is it weird to admire the way blood is animated in a game?

I am quite pleased to say that this 27-year-old spirit of Mortal Kombat is alive and well within the eleventh arrival. Let’s not beat around the bush here. This is essentially the perfect fighting game, and players and pros alike will surely regard it as one of the best this series has ever produced. This is because Mortal Kombat 11 manages to include every modern convention that works, while being mindful of the old-school novelties that cemented the I.P. in gaming culture.

Time and time again

In the single-player ‘kampaign’, Earthrealm yet again comes face to face with an apocalyptic threat. The story opens with a now corrupted Raiden (see MK XL) decapitating the elder god Shinnok as a message to anyone who dares to threaten his domain. This was was a most serious error in judgement as Shinnok turns out to be the son of a new character, Kronika – the guardian of time itself.

“But know this–the arc of the universe bends to my will.” – Kronika

Needless to say, Kronika is rather unhappy not just about her son being reduced to the usefulness of a bowling ball, but also due to the balance of good and evil now being uneven. She vows to restore equilibrium in the timeline up to the events of her son’s beheading, but is also aware that Raiden and the Earthrealm gang could present a troublesome thorn in her side in any dimension.

Kronika therefore merges the past and present together, and teleports an army of Netherrealm’s most formidable villains, like Baraka and Shao Kahn, from the past into the present as her insurance policy. As per usual, the player will represent the fight for Earthrealm’s fate from the perspective of Johnny Cage, Kotal Kahn, Kung Lao, and other classic and contemporary characters.

I get that the whole time travel motif has been done to death, but the team at NetherRealm have once again shown their practiced hand for storytelling. They have wisely used the motif of temporal distortion as a McGuffin to re-imagine and bring back some of the franchise’s most beloved figures for the modern gaming climate.

Johnny squared!

This makes for a deeply interesting plot with some exciting and unexpected alliances forming or breaking between characters from different time periods (because their major clashes haven’t happened yet). More than that, Netherrealm sets up the opportunity to introduce characters like Cetrion and Geras who have fighting abilities centred on the manipulation of time.

Overall the story really oozes the kind of cinematic quality that would make Marvel Studios sweat bullets. The combination of excellent graphics, captivating voice acting, and the return of favourite characters will most definitely have new fans engrossed, and old fans spiralling into nostalgia.

In with the old, out with the new

Objectively speaking, Mortal Kombat 11 plays it extremely safe. This game demonstrates the old adage that players are bound to enjoy what lies in their comfort zone, and it is not necessary for sequels to reinvent the wheel. Instead, MK 11 goes for the ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, but make it a whole lot prettier’ approach.

Indeed,  MK 11 plays just as slick and precise as every game Netherrealm has developed thus far. What can be perfected has been tweaked, but a whole slew of small changes collectively add up to an experience that will still feel fresh and engaging to long-time players. Not much is new here, and I am very happy about that.

You get to see quite a lot of Sub Zero’s face in this game.

So aside from the single player campaign, the ‘Klassic Towers’ mode also makes a return in which the player must defeat a sequence of opponents to ascend up the tower. Except for infinite modes, these always end with Kronika as the final boss. Defeating her also gets you a brief cut scene that fills in some story details specific to the character you happen to be playing much like Tekken or Street Fighter.

You will not find the ‘Living Towers’ of the previous installment as Netherrealm has ditched this mode in favour of the ‘Towers of Time’. These differ from Klassic Towers in that opponents get more challenging as you approach the top, and players are also permitted to activate certain modifiers (they unlocked as loot) either for one match, or for the duration of the entire tower.

As an example, you can assign Jade one or two of Cyrax’s cyber webs to fire at her opponent stunning them momentarily. Alternatively, the match might have a vampire modifier in which the player’s health bar drains constantly to the opponent’s, so it is best to finish the match sooner rather than later. These towers can certainly get infamously punishing, but the game drowns you in rewards for completing them.

Lemme smash! This is who you will be playing in the Krypt. Note the three currencies in the bottom of the screen.

The Krypt is back again, of course. This time the event plays out on Shang Tsung’s island (see MK 2011) during which you open chests, smash vases and crush meteorites for some sweet loot and unlockable goodies. The Krypt also adopts a third person perspective now which only makes the act of swinging around Shao Kahn’s colossal hammer at vases and statues all the more gratifying.

Light puzzle solving is also a way of collecting some treasures, and it is clear that the developers really want the player to enjoy exploring for goodies to make your game more interesting. I have always been intrigued and, a little creeped out by this subsection of Mortal Kombat games, so it’s nice to see it return here. It’s really beginning to feel like a crucial component of the experience.

Kompletely Unreal

I have never been shy to express my admiration for the Unreal Engine, but what Netherrealm has achieved on a visual level in this game is outright astounding. Here we have a super modified version of the Unreal Engine 3 no less, throwing around particles and rendering high definition textures like it is trying to put Frostbite and Unity out of business.

Even though certain sections of the game have been mysteriously capped at 30fps (most of which can now be fixed by a mod), this game flows on the PC like butter down a centrefold’s butt cheek. In contrast to Mortal Kombat XL, the vibrant graphical tone of MK11 really throws the bountiful details of the visuals into sharp relief. I feel like the unique cast of characters that has always defined this series finally get the representation they deserve.

Damn this game is beautiful. This allows for particularly dramatic cut scenes.

The environments and fighting arenas have also been given the deluxe visual treatment through dramatic lighting and environmental effects. I found the arenas to have an enigmatic and refreshing feeling to them, and a particular favourite of mine became the decaying Shaolin temple where the corpses of dead monks observe your match. I clearly have issues.

They are noticeably the tightest fighting planes that Netherrealm has implemented within one of their games, but this has the pleasing outcome of somehow making the action feel closer… more immediate. The close-quarter combat also places more importance on finding openings in the opponent’s technique rather than just  flying from one combo to the next.

Combos are still just as important, but it is clear that MK 11 wants shorter, more potent moves to play a bigger role too. This means that the one guy with supersonic thumbs you always get paired with online is less safe than he thinks this time round. You know who you are!

The fatalities and other post-match tomfoolery have, naturally, also been given an obvious graphical upgrade. Seriously, seeing brains being splattered and bones being shattered in this level of realism is not at all for the faint of heart. Be that as it may, I nevertheless have a hard time imagining a more beautiful, albeit visceral fighting game.

The very definition of fighting chance

As I mentioned, the roster of fighters is a mixed bag of old and new characters including the original 7, but like all the other yobs on the internet, I feel like some characters leave a conspicuous absence. Where the hell is Goro!? I also miss, Takashi who had a snappy and responsive feel in his fighting that appealed to my playing style in the previous game.

Perhaps old Goro will get his chance with DLCs, but the roster is still a bit smaller than I would have liked. It is once again too obvious that most of us will be expected to fork out more of our hard earned cash as extra content later down the line. Netherrealm has chosen quality of quantity, but this rather anemic roster just smacks too much of leaving room for microtransactions.

At least Geras more than makes up for my four-armed favourite being conspicuously M.I.A. His time-travelling abilities allow him to execute a punch, blink back in time, and execute another attack before my opponent could even find a moment to move. I also liked the beefy, warlock look he had going on which looks particularly slick during fights. Definitely my favourite new character in this game.

Geras warping back in time behind his opponent. Cannot remember who the other is… uhm was…

It also helps that the developers have really gone the extra mile to give MK 11 a truly comprehensive and helpful tutorial segment. They even included a lesson on frame times and hit advantages – something I usually ignored and left to subconscious strategy until I actually paid attention to it in this game.

Best of all, for the really nasty combos and chained assaults the game will actually demo the move on screen with button prompts. I am embarrassed to admit that some combos in previous games took me upwards of an hour to get right. With this new system, it was ten tries tops. As such, newcomers to Mortal Kombat, and fighting games in general, will undoubtedly feel more welcome than ever before.

On the subject of techniques, MK 11 has swapped out X-ray moves for a new system called ‘Fatal Blows’. Like X-ray attacks, they are once-off, deadly attacks taking you microscopically close to your, or your opponent’s, cracking jaw and rupturing internal organs. Except there is one crucial difference: Fatal Blows can only be activated in the last third of your health.

In other words, if the player has only been maintaining a slight lead with their opponent throughout the fight, the last section becomes indescribably tense. You can no longer rely on short-distance techniques or longer combos to win because if you allow even one opportunity to have a Fatal Blow performed on you, you’re toast.

Let us have the talk

So what exactly is the deal with this grind getting everyone all upset? Well, the manner in which MK 11 deals with in-game currency makes us all want to gather our raincoats for the inevitable microtransaction storm that is surely going to hit soon. At the time of writing, MK 11 has very little to offer in the way of DLC on Steam.

Still, something tells me that this will change soon not just because this is the nature of our industry, but because fighting games are also particularly lucrative opportunities for monetisation. They always have been because it is so satisfying seeing no grey blocks on your roster, or adding some cosmetic personality to your favourite fighter.

This is my only major issue with MK 11 because it feels like there is simply too much being gated off from the player when you start the game. Every time I completed a fight, the game goes through a huge pomp and circumstance to inform me of all the different currencies I just earned. Not that the handouts are even that generous mind you.

You read that correctly. This time there is not just the Koins  used to unlock outfits, fatalities and modifiers for tower modes. Even in the Krypt, you now have to juggle multiple kinds of currency units like hearts and soul fragments if you want all off the riches the hidden content has to offer. Oh, and the Krypt chests are randomised so your friend may find a liquid metal suit for Sonya Blade in the same place you get concept art…

Playing around with some of the unlockable skins and finishing moves.

Even though I have never really cared much about cosmetic items in the games I play, I don’t like the sense of gaminess MK 11 creates with the endless pop-ups eagerly informing me how much I have earned. I am playing because I am having fun, and this just feels like Netherrealm is trying to force me into some scheme inevitably leading to microtransactions.

FINISH IT!!

In case that last section threw you off a bit, I want to state again that Mortal Kombat 11 is essentially fighting game perfection. This game is completely saturated with the kind of creative vision that has been the worked into the design of my favourite fighting games. This game looks great, sounds great and feels great.

If Netherrealm vow never to turn the superfluous currencies online into an evil plot of monetisation, I will not need another fighting game for the next ten years at least. Combined with an excellent story, this will become an essential classic in your Mortal Kombat collection.

Remember to check out our Mortal Kombat 11 performance analysis!

Tight and refined combat

Tutorial section

Story

Excellent visuals and sound

Design of new fighters

Temporal fighting abilities

Somewhat limited roster

Too focused on currencies

          Playtime: About 28 hours total. 10 hours on the single player campaign with much of the remaining time spent online.

Computer Specs: Windows 10 64-bit computer using Nvidia GTX 1070, i5 4690K CPU, 16GB RAM – Played using an Xbox Controller (Thanks to my friend Niel for lending me his!!)

Mortal Kombat 11 – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

[citizentruth-blog]

Promises Made, Promises Kept: President Trump’s Impressive Two Year Track Record - PEER NEWS

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Promises Made, Promises Kept: President Trump’s Impressive Two Year Track Record

Just two weeks away from the November midterm elections, the first test of President Trump’s staying power, and a new poll from NBC News and The Wall Street Journal found the 45th president’s approval rating at an all time high of 47 percent. This is up 10 percentage points from just six months ago. Why is the Donald finally getting support nationwide? Just look at what he has accomplished and how many promises he keeps.

Even Joe Scarborough is giving the president the credit he deserves.

Here’s what he said of Trump recently:

“I can tell you, especially with Pat, the one that kept winking at Mika and saying ‘Bless your heart,’ she believes that America is in trouble and that Donald Trump is the only one fighting to revive the country. And I know Elise is — I don’t know if you are a fellow former Republican, but at one point we were both Republicans most of our lives. The great frustration with Republicans has been — we elect our Republican presidents, we knock on doors for them, we have blood and sweat and tears for these people, we contribute to them, and then they appoint liberal justices or then they back down and try to make a deal on immigration with Ted Kennedy, then they try to make a deal with Ted Kennedy on education. They do all these things they told us they were not going to do. Because they all tell us they’re going to move the embassy to Jerusalem. They all tell us that. And it all ends up being a lie. And Elise, what they were saying was, ‘Unlike every other Republican president we’ve elected, this guy is doing exactly what he said he was going to do.’”

For all of Trump’s faults as a person and his flaws as the chief executive of the largest bureaucracy and military in the world, he has set out to accomplish what he promised he would do on the campaign trail, in stark contrast to the many politicians who came before him, and already has quite a track record to show for it. He is the most pragmatic president in my lifetime and was elected because he was different, a real changemaker. His first two years in office have revealed his unparalleled ability to fulfill promises he made to his voters.

CNN even put out an article earlier this month pointing to Trump’s recent winning streak.

Stephen Collinson’s analysis of the president’s recent accomplishments starts off with: “Only a re-election party on the night of November 3, 2020, could possibly offer the same vindication for America’s most unconventional commander in chief as the 36 hours in which two foundational strands of his political career are combining in a sudden burst of history.”

He is referring to the pivotal confirmation of Judge Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, a travesty that unearthed just how far Democrats will go to score political points. The establishment of a conservative majority on the highest court in the land was one of Trump’s biggest campaign promises and was likely the number one reason why millions of Americans bit the bullet and voted for the Donald two years ago.

In that same week, Trump touted the best jobs data in 49 years. The economy was the number one selling point for the real estate developer turned chief executive. If it’s all about the economy, then Republicans have a good chance of surprising the pundits in a couple weeks by holding onto both the House and the Senate. Trump delivered a sizable tax cut to millions of Americans at the end of last year and has installed a deregulatory regime to help small and large businesses alike succeed and hire more people throughout his time in office. The president stuck with Kavanaugh as he did with the tax cuts and deregulation, and he is crafting an enticing message for Americans to vote Republican on November 6th.

“So,” Collinson writes, “he has every right to return to voters in the next four weeks ahead of the midterm elections to argue he has done exactly what he said he would do. He now has a strong message to convince grass-roots Republicans that it’s well worth showing up at the polls.” We will find out soon whether the country likes what they see or want to put a stop to the president’s accelerating agenda.  

Marc Thiessen wrote in the Washington Post a couple weeks ago calling Donald Trump “the most honest president in modern history.” Far from Trump’s biggest fan, Thiessen makes a compelling case.

Sure, Trump lies all the time and uses hyperbole on a daily basis. He’s a politician now. He’s from New York. He can’t help it.

“But when it comes to the real barometer of presidential truthfulness — keeping his promises — Trump is a paragon of honesty,” Thiessen claims. “For better or worse, since taking office Trump has done exactly what he promised he would.”

What promises has he kept? Here’s a comprehensive list. Like the moves or not, he does what he says he is going to do.

Trump kept his promise to move the U.S. Embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, something the last three presidents all promised but failed to do

Obama presided over the rise of ISIS and said it would be a long slow battle to defeat them, Trump promised to “crush and destroy ISIS” and after two years at the helm, the Islamic State’s physical caliphate is all but decimated

Trump promised to impose a travel ban on terrorist-ridden countries, after a bit of trouble getting it going, his latest version has been upheld by the Supreme Court

Trump promised to nominate conservative judges similar to Antonin Scalia, we now have both Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the high court and 29 young conservative judges on the federal appellate courts, more than any recent president at this point in their administration

Trump promised to cut taxes, and with the help of Congressional Republicans, enacted historic tax reforms in the first major overhaul of the tax code in three decades, the law also provided Opportunity Zones, aimed at providing incentives to investors and developers to revitalize struggling cities and urban communities

Trump promised to rollback unnecessary regulations by eliminating two existing regulations for every new one … in his first year, $8.1 billion in regulatory costs has been saved and his administration is on track to achieve $9.8 billion more this year, eliminating far more than the two-to-one

Trump promised jobs for struggling African Americans and today we are witnessing the lowest black unemployment level in history

Trump promised to cancel Obama’s Clean Power Plan, withdraw from the Paris climate accord, approve the Keystone XL and Dakota Access pipelines, and open the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil exploration … he has accomplished all three

Trump promised to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, renegotiate NAFTA, renegotiate the U.S.-Korea Free Trade Agreement … he has recently signed trade deals with Canada, Mexico, and South Korea

Trump promised to take on China’s bullying trade policies and has committed to imposing tariffs

Trump promised to increase defense spending, he has done that

Trump promised to bring back manufacturing jobs, they are growing at the fastest pace in more than two decades

Trump promised to sign “Right to Try” legislation to give dying Americans the ability to access experimental treatments that have been approved in Europe and other countries and he has done that

Trump promised to take on the opioid epidemic, he has labeled it a national health emergency and is on the verge of signing a significant bipartisan bill into law

Trump promised to build a wall … he’s still working on that

Trump promised to get us out of Afghanistan, unfortunately, he has backtracked on that

If Trump keeps this up, he will go down as one of the most accomplished presidents in our nation’s history. Believe me. I don’t agree with everything he does. He is a far from perfect so far. But he is getting things done. He is doing what he said he would do. He doesn’t always make it easy on himself but he knows how to get over the finish line. He knows how to take the country in the right direction. He knows how to get under liberals’ skins. He knows how to play the media. He knows how to put America First. And he is on the right track.

[trigafy]

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