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guqin-and-flute · 4 months

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Are You Here to Stop Me? –Ch. 7 [Peony to Lotus!Verse, Yaoli]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5][Chapter 6] [First post in Peony to Lotus Verse]

[Ao3 Series]

[CW: Mention of blood, canon and era typical internalized ableism and misogyny from Yanli]

"You're sure you don't need me to get your parasol, furen?"

Yanli opened her eyes to the buttery autumn sun and smiled up at her maid, who hovered by her elbow like a nervous bird. "A-Si, I’m fine--” she began to insist, gently.

But the girl was already spinning, hurrying away up the garden path and calling back over her shoulder; “I’d better get it, just in case! I’ll be right back!”

With a sigh of fond surrender, Yanli settled back into her heavily cushioned chair, hands resting on her stomach. Nothing moved inside, yet, and it was no more round than it ever was, but there was life there. Wen Qing--Qing-mei, as she had begun to call her in the weeks they had spent so much time together--was certain of it.

Yanli was certain of it, now, as well. In the weeks following the diagnosis, she had felt the changes beginning, quite apart from her the recovery symptoms of lingering wet heaviness in her chest. There was the horrid nausea and sickness in the mornings, the aversion to foods she once loved, a craving for foods of a strange combination. Her belly didn’t look any different, but it certainly felt fuller. And she was so tired. Wen Qing had assured her and A-Yao that it was normal when she was recovering as well as metabolizing for 2.

And ever since the fact had “accidentally” gotten its way around to the rest of her family, as well as the Wen, the servants, and disciples, she was being treated as if she might trip and fall to pieces at any moment--treatment which she amiably bore. Even if it was excessive. Would such pampering really go on for 9 whole months? Her health had always been fragile but now, she hardly had a moment alone!

“You’ve hardly grown at all, yet, and everyone is taking such good care of you,” she murmured down to her own belly, slowly rubbing it.

She wasn’t certain exactly how news got out, as she and A-Yao had intended to wait the 3 customary months to announce the pregnancy--but somehow, everyone in Lotus Pier now knew. She might have suspected A-Xian, with his mischievous streak as wide as the lake, or A-Cheng, who was truly terrible at keeping any secret back from his face; but it just as well might have been given away by the fact that she couldn’t stop cradling her middle or the way that A-Yao’s doting attention on her had increased tenfold.

Besides, A-Xian was far too preoccupied working himself ragged reviving poor Wen Ning, and A-Cheng too busy entrenched in the steps of that cutthroat political dance he must perform to gossip with anyone. It took all of their attention just to keep this whole affair afloat.

She let out a sigh, watching her belly rise and fall with her breath, the tiny purple beads on her hanfu sparkling with every movement. They were all now in an uncomfortable stalemate—which, she supposed, was better than one of the alternatives, being outright war. From what she heard of the initial meeting, it had been tense and heavy, just barely above outright threats. Yanli was just as happy not to have been in any shape to go to Koi Tower and have to face anyone there. A-Cheng seemed incredibly stressed about the outcome, from what she had seen of him, and Yao seemed unhappy, but simply assured her that it was to be expected, assured them all that his father was keeping a wary eye on the other Sects. Jin Guangshan was too politically savvy, he said, to act purely from anger. They still had time to maneuver. And other meetings scheduled.

Even then, they had received plenty of correspondence of outrage, from rival and allied Sects alike—some even from their own people. They had not forgotten the pain of being occupied as a Supervisory Office. The wounds of the loss of all of those in the Lotus Pier compound were not even scarred over, yet, still red and furious. A-Yao was doing things behind the scenes to work on public opinion, but had once described it as carefully walking a tightrope. Yanli would agree, and secretly add that it felt as if it were one high in the air, above crashing waters and hungry mouths. The Jiang still held a strong standing in the jianghu, solid reputation held there equally by the legacy of their parents and A-Cheng's monumental success in the rebuilding of their Sect at his age.

But the children of the Jiang knew better than anyone, save perhaps the other Clans wiped out by the Qishan Wen, to never rely on that remaining true. They were not safe yet. There were miles yet to go, in this.

She wished she could be of more help, but she was still too weak to do much else besides be led about to bask in the shade, as she did now. Today was the first time in a long time she had felt well enough to consider reading, or perhaps embroidery. Maybe even cooking something simple, if she had help. And, in truth, there was not much she could do amidst the street gambler’s Shell Game they were attempting to pull with the Wen amidst the already complicated match of go they always played with the rest of the jianghu.

And so, the leak of who told who about the pregnancy remained a mystery. It didn’t truly bother her; the excitement and congratulations, A-Yuan’s sweet, probing questions. She was just as relieved to be able to not have to keep a secret on top of the upwelling of emotions that swamped her daily. Elation. Terror. Anticipation. Pride. Anxiety. Satisfaction. And, of course, love.

Most of all love.

She had hardly been able to properly absorb what Wen Qing was saying that day, to express the elation and terror that coursed through her--and through A-Yao as well, if the shock in his pale face had been anything to go by--before Qing-mei had somehow herded him out of their room after A-yuan and closed the door firmly behind them. “Jiang-furen,” she had said, coming to sit on the edge of her bed. There was an edge of steel in her face and tone that was nowhere to be found in the gentle hands that folded around Yanli's own. “Please, speak freely. Tell me the truth. Is this what you want?”

Exhaustion had sapped into her bones, as wet and heavy as her breath. “Is…what?” she had trailed off, dizzy.

Wen Qing, seeing this, had first helped her settle back down flat onto her pillows. When the gnawing swirling in her gut and head had abated, slightly, Qing-mei continued, unflinchingly; “This pregnancy. If this isn't what you want, there are ways I can help you that no one will be able to detect. If you are being pressured by Jin Guangyao to--”

“What? A-Yao?“ Yanli had repeated on a laugh more of startlement than humor that had turned into a coughing fit.

As it had squeezed her already sore middle, a strange, aware panic had suddenly overcome her--would coughing so hard hurt the pregnancy? She had curled around her stomach and tried to stifle them, with limited success. From now on, she would be housing another that would share in her discomforts. The thought was…unimaginable.

When the coughing had finally passed, she had gasped, weakly, “Ah, oh no, no…this was planned, we both want to start…. I...we didn't expect...I'm just surprised, I suppose.”

The worried disbelief on Qing-mei’s face had made her close her eyes in weariness, praying for patience and words enough to convince her. She would not live through another well meaning woman trying to pry her marriage apart at the seams because they did not think he deserved her. How to explain to them a husband who laid every choice at her feet? How to properly convey just how safe she had been made to feel in her own marriage? The easiest love she had ever been gifted? “You have gotten the wrong impression, meimei, I'm delighted, I'm...I'm....” Going to have a baby. A baby!

The thought had made her more lightheaded still, either with giddiness, terror, or a combination of the two, she hadn't quite been able to tell.

Even then, it had taken a significant amount of effort to convince her suspicious sister-in-law that, no, her husband was not impregnating her in some sneaky bid to solidify a place of power in their Clan; no, he did not scare, control, or force her; no, he had not been the one to somehow put the idea of transferring her own core to A-Xian into her head. That had been there a while all on its own.

It was still close enough to the failed conversations she had had with Madam Jin that she might have begun to feel the same helpless frustration, if Wen Qing hadn't subsided into a still suspicious acceptance of her wishes and the quickly growing whirlwind of shimmering excitement hadn’t begun swarming through her limbs as every time she said ‘my baby’ and ‘our child’, the future seemed that much more tangible.

And Qing-mei meant well, Yanli knew. Whatever she had seen in A-Yao in their time at the Scorching Sun Palace had clearly scared her deeply, and Yanli wasn't going to dismiss that. Her husband was cunning and clever, able to change faces with the ease of a passing cloud when he needed to. She had seen it herself and she could not, would not deny it. But she knew his heart, knew that he was also kind, sweet, gentle, and frightened--she loved him for all of it. That included the parts he regretted, the parts that Wen Qing hated. Yanli would never have anything to fear from him.

She could tell that Wen Qing still thought she was either helplessly hoodwinked or naive, but she seemed at least satisfied that Yanli wanted this for herself and her family and did not bring up the idea again. In fact, each new day she got to spend with the girl, she seemed to be a little more relaxed. At least she had far more color in her face and light in her eyes than when she had first laid eyes on her in that Lanling forest, looking as much like a corpse as her brother--just a walking one. Yet, even with the improvements to her health and mood, even after weeks, she and A-Cheng still circled each other warily. They practically fled the room whenever they saw that the other had entered.

It might have been amusing if it weren’t so tragic.

How did one matchmake a couple who was, effectively, already married? Yanli thought that she might be able to have some clue, seeing how her and A-Yao’s love had blossomed with care and time, but if the two wouldn’t even share the same air….It reminded her uncomfortably of their parents’ relationship; prickly silence and separate rooms across the Pier. It raised ugly gooseflesh down her back to think of A-Cheng resigning himself to be as miserable in marriage as they clearly had been. She might not have dared to think so as a child, but after her own delightful marriage, knowing what it could feel like…she wept for her parents and all that they had become. For what they both so clearly wanted but didn’t know how to get without sacrificing parts of themselves they refused to let go of, for better or worse.

A-Cheng and Qing-mei didn’t need to love each other. Yanli knew the seed of love was there, in her brother at least, knew that yearning look in his eye. She had seen him as a teenager eagerly waiting for her eye to turn to him--a warming Wen sun, not a burning one. Everything had become hopelessly tangled with rage and regret and duty and grief during the murder of their Clan and the war. But irreparably so? She hoped not. They didn’t need to love each other, but Yanli would have them at least comfortable in their living with each other. She would love to actually host a real wedding for them, one day, in private.

What little she could do for A-Cheng, she tried, probing him gently once in a while--when he had a spare moment to visit, which wasn’t often. She complimented the clothes he had admitted to ordering for Wen Qing; robes in a spectrum of rich plums, burgundies, and muted magentas--red the undertones of each. “Did she ask for those colors in particular?”

“No.” His whole affect always sagged, dulled whenever she gently probed him about his wife and he would stare at his hands.

“Did you choose them yourself, then?”

“...Yes. I…Yes.”

She had been delighted to be surprised by this, though she shouldn’t have been--he had always been a smart dresser with a keen eye for color. Besides some of her Jiang shimei’s and the tailor, she had specifically sought his opinion on her own wedding outfit. He and A-Xian had been planning her entire wedding since they were 8, after all, he was bound to have opinions. And he certainly had--her wedding dress had had both of her brother’s stamps of approval.

Lately, when he came by, he was always well groomed, but could feel the stress humming through him and behind his tired eyes. He could act so prickly, she wondered if anyone was pestering him to make sure he slept well. If they would let themselves, she was sure a wife would be a perfect person to do so. Whenever Yanli tried, he would just say that she shouldn’t worry about him with everything going on with her, that he was sleeping fine, and would proceed to fuss over her instead.

“A-Cheng, what’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, jiejie.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetling.

“I don’t have the time to worry about pretending to be married, right now.”

“You could just try talking to her, you know. Just…start a conversation.”

His face scrunched up in a combination of self derision, confusion, and agony, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes. Waiting, she had stroked his hand where it lay balled up on her blanket, his knuckles a pale bite against the rich emerald and purple. “I wouldn’t know what to talk about,” he had finally said, shortly, his voice more of a mumble than the gruff dismissive tone she thought he might have been aiming for.

“You could ask her what she’s feeling, how she likes it here.”

“I don’t think I want to know.” He was staring down at her bedspread, bleakly, tight lines of worry between his brows.

When she had reached up to try to smooth them away, admonishing his doubt with a gentle, “A-Cheng--” he had caught her hand and pressed the backs of her knuckles against his cheek, eyes squeezed shut. After a sharp, indrawn breath, he had announced that he needed to go--and she needed to rest. There was nothing more she could say without making him flee faster.

What a mess all of this was.

Qing-mei was not much more of a help on that front. And Yanli was even less inclined to force her, poor girl--they didn’t have the history and she didn’t want to trap her. Every time she brought up A-Cheng or their marriage or what she felt about the whole relationship, she clammed up and grew solemn. “I’m grateful to Jiang-zongzhu. To all of you,” was all she would ever say, regarding their arrangement.

At least Yanli had finally convinced her to stop calling her Jiang-furen, insisting that if they were going to be sisters now, it only made sense. She had confided in the younger woman that she had never had a little sister before, that she was excited to have someone to call ‘meimei’. At that, quite apart from her unflappable, self assured doctorly attitude, Qing-mei had offered, shyly, that she had never been a little sister before and that she found the idea quite odd. This tacit acceptance of the role delighted Yanli beyond words.

Qing-mei had taken to visiting her long past the time she had finished checking and treating her, taking tea and meals in her room either A-Yao came back or Yanli would, embarrassingly. fall asleep mid sentence. They hadn’t been able to visit like this very often when she had sheltered them in Yiling--Wen Qing would be called away and there had been work to be done, healing A-Cheng. Now, though, they had time and privacy, and their conversations would wander both wide and deep, over being elder sisters to trouble-prone younger brothers, about their shared time in Yiling, their mothers, their favorite books. Qing-mei was very clearly reluctant to confide her worries in her, whether in not wanting to cause her further stress or simply due to her own innate reservation, and so their conversations rarely included fears or the far future.

But, sometimes, she would talk about Wei Wuxian’s progress and Wen Ning. “I don’t know what I’m more afraid of,” she had whispered one evening as the sun set outside, stock still next to Yanli’s bed, staring at the screen that threw spindly shadows of willow’s fingers across like thrashing ropes. “The idea that he may never come back. Or that he might…and I don’t know what he will be.” She had turned her head then, her neck and spine braced bravely, but her large, sweet eyes shining with tears in the low lantern light. “Da-gu, he’s so cold,” she had choked, barely audible.

When Yanli had sat forward and reached out her arms, there was no hesitation when Qing-mei huddled into them, shaking silently.

Yanli herself had not yet seen what was left of Qing-mei’s gentle brother since she had landed at Lotus Pier, barely conscious herself. It hurt her heart to remember the shy, earnest boy she had seen attempting to become invisible behind his sister, despite his standing several inches taller than her at the Cloud Recesses what felt like eons ago. She hardly knew a thing about him, and all she did was through Xianxian and Qing-mei’s eyes. Hopefully there was a future possible for them to get to know each other on their own terms.

Though she wholeheartedly believed in Xianxian’s brilliance and dogged tenacity, she had to admit…a conscious fierce corpse had never been achieved before. And the work was hard and damaging. It had scared her when she had finally seen what A-Xian had looked like after a week of what was clearly just a diet of half forgotten food and resentful energy. She had found him in the family shrine just a few days ago, when it was too rainy to sit outside comfortably. The early autumn had been washing warm, wet storms over them almost daily, but often, they came and went within minutes and she would patiently await the sun beneath a tree and her parasol. That day, however, the day woke to rain, and it had stayed, churning the lake cloudy with disturbed particulates.

Though she enjoyed a good walk in the rain, everyone--A-Yao, A-Cheng, He Si, Qing-mei, Liu-popo, her childhood doctor-- had cautioned against going out in it when she was still fragile, and so her maid had helped her shuffle slowly across shining walkways and summer-verdant ponds pebbled with raindrops, huddled together under a waxed parasol and cloak. When she saw a hunched, dark shape within, she had paused at the door, squinting into the incense and candle warmed gloom within. When she recognized the set of her brother’s shoulders, she had quietly dismissed He Si with a lift of her chin.

A-Xian had looked up when she moved from the fresh, silvery air of the outside to the space of quietly splashing water and remembered prayers. Immediately, the comforting hiss and patter of rain receded even more when she slid the door shut, leaving them surrounded only by the pale darkness of the ornate lotus screen panels--a private little universe. When she turned, A-XIan was already there, helping her out of her cloak, taking the dripping parasol from her hand. “Shijie! Are you sure you should be up?” The shadows beneath his eyes were dark and he had missed a spot on his jaw shaving this morning.

“I don’t think staying in bed for the rest of my pregnancy would be good for me or my baby, A-XIan.” She had softened the already gentle jibe by brushing back the hair from his face and patting his cheek, feeling the prickle under her fingers. “Help me to the cushions?”

He, of course, did, supporting her elbow, his other hand wrapped protectively around her far shoulder. The scent that clung to him was sharp and unpleasant, wholly unlike the memories she associated with him. Long ago, she had buried her nose in the top of his little boy head, and would breathe in soap and sunshine and love--and now, as a man, he used to smell like the spices he liked to eat and something fresh. Now, he smelled like…danger, soot, blood. That alone would have unnerved her. But when they sat next to each other and her eyes adjusted, she could take in the whole of him.

“I know, I know, I look terrible. I look worse than I feel, don’t worry,” he waved off her eye’s widening with feigned ease, smiling.

He had lost weight quickly, leaving him hollow cheeked and wan. His hair was only hastily brushed, his topknot uneven, slightly lopsided, and his eyes were bloodshot. On his hands, cinnabar, soot, and old blood was smeared, half-heartedly wiped, then smeared again, darkening around his nails. “A-Xian,” she had intoned with enough force that he immediately sat up straight, sucking in his lips like a child caught out doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing. “After we talk, you’re going to take a bath and eat a full meal outside your room. Alright?”

“Really, I’m--”

“A-Xian!” She had broken in, frowning, eyebrows drawn down.

He hunkered down, pouting as he muttered, “Yes, Shijie.” Tilting doleful eyes and pushed out lip up at her, he then whined, “Shijieeee, don’t be mad at me. I’ll do better. Sorry if I’m smelly.” To illustrate this, he theatrically lifted up his sleeve to sniff it, then wrinkled his nose in real distaste. “Ugh. Alright, I get it.”

With a sigh, she had reached for his hands. He had seemed to wake to what was on them and scrubbed his palms on his thighs before taking them. “It’s not that, Xianxian, you know that. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about both of you.”

Apparently, he and A-Cheng had also been warily circling each other, like they did after most fights. Their spats, she had heard from a combination of A-Yao, He Si, and Qing-mei were more mundane and brotherly, now, weeks later--though they ended as often with eye rolling and secret smiles as hurt feelings and tight lipped silences. It had been bad right after their return, she had heard--A-Cheng storming around with a poisonous temper for days and A-Xian working on Wen Ning all hours of the day and night, refusing to leave his room. She hated that she had to hear about it second hand, that they visited her one at a time, that when she was able to emerge from her room, they were often away, doing what they could. She wasn’t around to soothe their rough edges from grinding against the other.

Qing-mei was with her the most, A-Yao a close second, when he wasn’t helping A-Cheng or something else that needed doing around the Pier. Xianxian had only come in a few times, sometimes too exhausted to do anything but drape himself over the edge of her bed and childishly request hair stroking, which she, of course, gave. Once, a day or two after she had discovered she was pregnant, apparently deciding that she was well enough for a scolding, he had come and very seriously told her to never even think about giving him her core again. “Aren’t you glad Wen Qing said no to that nonsense?” he had demanded, frowning at her in displeasure.

Yanli thought it was rich of him being so incensed about it, but she had let it go. “I wasn’t…I don’t remember doing it. It was the fever, I think.”

“Well, don’t even go thinking it!” he had said, fierceness belayed by him anxiously petting at her arm. “Put it out of your head! Alright?”

She thought about a great many things that she didn’t share with him. It wasn’t something she thought of…constantly. Or even very often. It was just something that had reared its head when she had learned of what A-Xian and Wen Qing had done. When he had sat before A-Cheng and herself with A-Yao by his side and tried to pretend it wasn’t the worst thing they had ever heard. She felt sick when she remembered it--sick for both her brothers. She couldn’t think about it too long, or….

But she was, indeed, glad that Qing-mei had stoutly refused her delirious babble. Her core, weak and pitiful as it was, was going to have to support her and this child through her pregnancy. At least it was finally good for something.

With a start, Yanli blinked out of her hazy, sunwarmed ruminations of the past few weeks and back into the garden, now shaded a brilliant blue from the after images her orange eyelids had left. She couldn’t have been dozing long, for she could hear footsteps returning back down the path. But something in the back of her mind perked up at their familiarity and the knowledge that it wasn’t He Si’s stride. Delighted, she levered herself back entirely upright in the chair and twisted around to see her husband emerging from around the dwarf maple whose leaf edges flirted with gold. “A-Yao!”

“I’ve brought you something, Jiang-furen,” he announced with a twinkle of humor in his dimples, presenting her favorite scalloped, lavender parasol, dotted with intricate plum blossoms on a branch. “He Si was very keen that you have it.”

She laughed and shook her head, reaching out to him for a greeting kiss, which he warmly bestowed on her. He smelled and tasted lovely, like he had been walking around out in the fresh air all day. “She frets so much. It couldn’t have anything to do with you fretting so much, could it? Is she coming back?”

“I dismissed her for other duties, as I assumed you might wish to spend time together.”

Delights up on delights! “Oh, always!”

He helped her up from her chair and walked pressed to her side, his arm sure and firm around her, his fingertips brushing her belly beneath her sleeve, out of sight from passing eyes. Oh, A-Yao; her beloved, tangled up A-Yao.

Despite his calm outward face, was so clearly terrified by everything about this, including the prospect of not being by her side at every moment. He was constantly on the move, organizing and advising and assisting and whatever else his clever mind decided that they needed--but in between all this, he would appear anxiously at her side at all hours, asking what he could do, if He Si was attending to her properly, if she needed something. Come to think of it…perhaps she had better make sure her husband had no overt hand in her maid’s currently overly fretful state.

She was fairly certain he was more scared than she was about the prospect of becoming a parent, which was endearing, considering she was the one that would have to give birth and not him. He hid it quite admirably, even for him, buried underneath the more typical worry for her--and now, the baby’s--health. And he clearly planned to “burden” her with none of it. But she could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the way he held her.

When they had discovered she was with child, that night, he had asked to make love to her, and had done so exquisitely sweetly. Well, every time they had made love so far had been sweet, but that night, he had been even more tender, more warm and attentive than ever before. Every press of his skin had been gentle enough that she could barely feel where he began and she ended. Ever since then, he had been treating her as if she were made of precious glass. From him, her husband, she happily accepted the attention. The way that he doted on her never made her feel lessened, like he thought she was some incapable child or weak, silly girl. It only made her feel wanted and precious.

He had been appalled that he had let her go on the arduous trip to find Wei Wuxian, and when she had asked with her expression, smiling softly; Let me?, he had amended that he should have begged her to come back with him to Lotus Pier. She had had to remind her that she couldn’t have. A-Yao had simply sighed deeply and said that he knew. Running her hands over his jaw, where the yellow-brown ghosts of the bruises on his jaw from Zixun were finally no longer visible, she had said, “I’ll be careful now. And so should you, yes?”

He had kissed her slowly into sleep.

Now, together, they agreed to try some cooking in the smaller kitchen, so as not to get in the way of the cooks. It was the most activity than she had attempted in days, but there was no tremble to her hands and her muscles felt like actual muscles today, instead of some wet, quivering mud. Standing felt good instead of arduous. And she would never get her strength back if she lived in a chair for the next 9 months. This kitchen was more cluttered than the main one, and a little darker for the smaller windows, but by no means dirty--it also gave them the added benefit of privacy. It was because of this, she was certain, that A-Yao felt comfortable enough to press up behind her as she stood at the counter and sliced up figs. His arms rested comfortably about her waist, palms pressed to her belly and chin resting on her shoulder as he observed her work. Though his whole front pressed warmly against her back, there was no lascivious invitation in it, only closeness and trust. In public, he was not overtly performative with his affection; a supporting arm while walking here, laying a hand atop hers there. It was when they were alone he felt he could cautiously touch her more freely, as if the eyes of others made his love something lewd. Well…she supposed that might in fact be a concern for him. No matter. Whether a peck in private, a brush of her cheek in public and everything in between--and sometimes more--she adored it all.

“I’m not going to fall over, A-Yao,” she teased. “I’ll let you know if I need to sit down.”

“Of course,” he answered easily, but did not move away, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

Contended, she hummed and paused in her knife strokes, laying her cheek atop his shoulder. A golden glow, at once fierce and tender, had a permanent place in her chest nowadays. It had nothing to do with her fading illness and everything to do with this bright new future she had been gifted. She was so lucky.

Outside the widow, across the courtyard, someone screamed.

A-Yao spun her back from the window as the bright afternoon outside was split with a crash, an inhuman roar, and more screams, one right after the other. Yanli stumbled, pressed herself against the far wall, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. Icy gooseflesh cascaded over skin, her stomach knotted in fear. A-Yao, a dagger suddenly in hand, was peering out the window, motionless. She couldn’t see anything from her angle and the leaves outside, but the wild screaming, the roaring continued. The sound of running feet. “What is it?” she whispered, voice pressed thin.

He only wordlessly shook his head, scanning back and forth. A tree stood in front of the window, she knew, obscuring most of the view of the outside.

What on earth could it be? Lotus Pier was protected, there were talismans and wards and--

A-Cheng bellowed something, voice harsh with fear.

A-Cheng.

“A-Li, no--!” A-Yao’s shout followed her out the door, but she couldn’t stop.

Her brother was in trouble. I won’t be left behind again, I can’t, I can’t--

The courtyard stones flew beneath her feet, then the bridge and she could see, flashing into her mind like blinding light off of waves. A-Cheng, across the walkway, Sandu flashing in the sun, Zidian crackling. Still bellowing, pointing. Disciples running to him as quickly as the servants flooded away, wailing in terror. A towering black figure on the other side of the ornamental pond, wreathed in writhing smoke. It ripped out another unearthly snarl as it flung something big away from itself. A body, a person, flailing in midair, screaming. A snap as they crashed through a carved banister and landed in a sickening, motionless heap, a loose pink ribbon fluttering to earth behind them. “He Si!”

A hand clamped on her arm as she started forward. A-Yao had caught up. “A-Li!”

“We can’t! A-Si!” She struggled forward, clutching his sleeve, dragging him along.

Shouts and screams bled into the pounding in her ears, pulse a frantic bird in her head that shrieked. She was only across the walkway, only a dozen steps away. Clangs, a thump, a grunt--oh gods! Then she heard A-Cheng’s voice still shouting orders--not him. A-Yao’s face was sharp and hard. His other hand rose to her shoulder. He was going to pick her up and carry her away, saw his thoughts written like script across his face and she couldn’t, she clutched at him and pleaded, “No, please! A-Yao, please, please!” They couldn’t just leave her here, bleeding, in danger!

His eyes darted, then his pull changed, urging her forward, running with her instead of pulling her back. Her movements were loose with fear, jerky and wild and she nearly fell up the steps onto the walkway. Blood covered the girl's face, pooling crimson rapidly onto the shining wood around her. They bent, dragging her back to get better purchase on her limp body. Her feet dragged pitifully. Yanli’s hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t close them around her arms properly. One still held the knife from the kitchen. She had forgotten she still had it.

The girl wasn’t moving. A-Yao hefted her torso up in his arms, turned to her, opened his mouth--

A fresh wave of screams.

“Jiejie!” A-Cheng’s voice cracked from across the second bridge as she heard a shuffle of wind, a thump behind them and suddenly, the roots of her teeth ached, and that smell--the sharp, burning metal-blood smell that clung to A-Xian--flooded her.

Looking up, the sun blinded her for a split second before vicious smoke--resentful energy stung her eyes, flooded her throat--white hand filled her vision. Then, something canoned into her side, knocking her away to sprawl away from He Si. Blood and sky spun around her. Battlefield gore, fear, death choked her throat. Gasping, coughing, she scrambled, to her hands and knees, head whirling. When she looked up, her entire body went ice cold and all she could hear in the world was screaming.

It was Wen Ning, black veins sprawling across his face, the empty white holes of his eyes fixed on who he now held by the throat. A-Yao, who had knocked her aside.

No!

Even though the foul resentful energy wreathing them both, her husband’s eyes were alight with more rage than fear, teeth bared. He had already buried his dagger hilt deep in Wen Ning’s chest, right in his heart. The fierce corpse vented another noise human throats should not be able to make and lifted A-Yao, like he was light as a rag, off his feet. Thrashing, choking, A-Yao brought up a leg to kick the dagger hilt deeper, another already in his other hand.

Wen Ning’s other hand shot out, latched around his wrist. Yanli felt the snap in her chest more than heard it. His dagger clanged to the ground. She could see those fingers closing further, like a vise, crushing. A-Yao made no sound--couldn’t, his throat was squeezed, he couldn’t--he couldn’t--

Screaming--she was screaming, that noise was her--she stumbled up, forward, swinging the kitchen knife up to hack at Wen Ning’s arms, wrists, anything to free her husband. She was close enough that the writhing mist stung like nettles over her skin when something collided with her again, knocking her back from them, sending the knife clattering away from her grip. Qing-mei clung to her, dragged her back, shouting something into her ear. She fought against her, still screaming. He had A-Yao!

It had been only moments since Wen Ning had landed behind them, but time was boiling, stretching, bursting around them. No no no no no--

Crackling, blinding purple wrapped around Wen Ning’s pale throat, pulled tight and he at least dropped A-Yao’s arm, snarling, clawing at it. Zidian. A-Cheng was there, yanking back on Zidian hard enough to bow Wen Ning’s spine back. But he still had A-Yao’s throat clenched in his grip, still held him up entirely as he kicked at him, hands locked on Wen Ning’s wrist.

“A-Ning, stop! Stop!” Wen Qing cried, arms still knotted around Yanli, still dragging her back as she struggled.

The disciples clamored nearer, shouting, flinging talismans that sizzled into ash as soon as they met the corona of energy spilling from Wen Ning. Some were already limping, bleeding, and A-Cheng shouted at them to stay back. A piercing, chilling note shrieked above the clamor, freezing Wen Ning still as stone.

A-Xian.

Frantically, Yanli searched for him, found him pelting around the corner of the Banquet Hall, Chenqing at his lips. “Wei Wuxian!” A-Cheng roared over at him. “Make him stop!”

A-Xian was pale and wide eyed as his fingers flew over the black lacquer of his flute. He skidded to a halt to suck in a huge breath and trill a complicated, twisting melody that raised all the hairs on Yanli’s body. A shudder went through Wen Ning like a wave across the pond and he began to shake. A quiet, abrupt gasp broke from A-Yao’s lips, as if the fingers around his throat had loosened fractionally. But his face was almost blue, eyes rolling back--and black veins were snaking from under the fierce corpse’s palm.

“A-YAO!”

In that instant of brief stillness, like a shadow, A-Cheng rose up from behind Wen Ning, Zidian pulled taut in his hand, Sandu raised--his face was dark as a thundercloud, death in his eyes. “Zongzhu!” Qing-mei’s gasped, “Husband, please! Don’t hurt him!”

A-Cheng’s hesitated, eyes flickered, his killing intent cracked. “A-Cheng!” Yanli shrieked, fighting and thrashing, throat raw.

She didn’t even know what she was begging him to do. All she knew was that A-Yao was now just twitching instead of kicking and she could not get free.

A-Cheng’s face hardened as Chenqing’s tone shrilled up and down a haunting scale, and, with a huge heave, he wrenched Zidian back. The frozen Wen Ning toppled down sideways with the force of it, collapsing both he and A-Yao over into the ornamental lotus pond beside them with a splash. Yanli no longer had to break free of Wen Qing’s grip, for they were both racing to the pond as fast as they could.

But A-Cheng slid in front of them, flinging out his arms to block them both with his chest as Chenqing’s notes cut off, A-Xian’s panicked voice instead yelling out a warning; Wen Ning reared up from the water behind him, roaring, thrashing, and splashing.

A-Yao did not.

#Yaoli #jgy #jin guangyao #jiang yanli #jyl #peony to lotus #my stuff #rarepair #mdzs #the untamed #my fic #the untamed fanfic #Well hellooooo there :3 (said while showing up a year later with the update)#I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY I TRIED TO GIVE YOU A NICE BREAK BEFORE ACTION AND ANGST AGAIN 😬 But don't worry every little thing's gonna be alright #The next chapter will be from Xichen's POV!#I may come back and do some editing of grammar things because I've rearranged it a few times

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raccoonfallsharder · 3 months

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Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟupdated 1/17

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 25/27 chapters | wip| word count: pending. ♡ check the masterlist for expected updates ♡ ♡ see the "holiday special" ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ [new 12/5] ♡

see new fan art of my girl jo! a few gorgeous sketches by @moonnpiie ♡♡♡♡ and a Chapter XXIV jo by @frostedwitch ♡♡♡♡

girl falls first; racoon falls harder.

Rocket isn’t sure how he continues to be surprised by her, or how he never seems to anticipate her next move, especially when — cosmically speaking — Jo’s the most predictable frickin’ person he knows. For one damn thing, she is constantly dropping down to the ground in front of him: in front of the cage with a plateful of food. In the streets of Conjunction. By his bed while he slept. The very first time she’d used her mouth on him. And then the next time, too. That whole experience had been so brain-melting he still isn’t sure he’ll ever recover. But for whatever reason, when she sits down at the foot of his chair this time and takes his hands in her own — so carefully — his heart is suddenly, unexpectedly, in his throat. He can’t breathe around it, can’t swallow. When she starts speaking, he already knows what she’s going to say. He can feel it in the air, like static electricity building toward a spark. Because, just as she’d said, she’d already told him a million times before. With and without words. But still. He can’t breathe. And once she’s done confessing, and gives him two kisses — one pressed into each palm, to keep — she looks at him patiently and shifts like she’s about to rise to her feet and go about her night, like she’s not expecting anything back. Because of course she’s not.

[NEW 1/9] ✧･ﾟ:*Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. in which both of our heroes learn a little about themselves. ❤︎

i know there are parts of this don't read smoothly (sorry sorry sorry) but in general i am so so so happy with this chapter. drax. (╥﹏╥) we have two more chapters to go, which is.... kinda making me cry tbh. i already miss these two idiots so much. ~♡

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut.

let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic taglist ♡

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies).

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon

*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units.in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be. in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. *in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI. I Very Still. ❤︎❤︎ in which our heroes get fucked. In the good way, this time. Finally.

Chapter XXII. Got There Worse. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket does not say "I love you."

Chapter XXIII. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Table. ❤︎ in which the galaxy continues to spin.

Chapter XXIV. Space Would Be Better. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket ~discreetly~ claims the title of boyfriend.

Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. * in which both of our heroes learn a little bit about themselves.

Chapter XXVI. Other Side of the Window. ❤︎

Chapter XXV. The Most Beautiful Thing in My House. ❤︎❤︎

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆A Holiday Special *

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short/drabbly, silly fluff.

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @pretty-chips ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @glow-autumz

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

Text

Watching a documentary on Edward II while I work and in this doc:

1. They repeatedly call Piers Gaveston Edward's "best mate" and "close friend", then have one seven-second acknowledgement that they were probably lovers before immediately returning to calling them pals, buds, just mates being dudes, my guys, just bros like bros will be, totally normal friendship here

2. Piers is not depicted as half so pretty as he likely was. He is handsome, yes, but very... dirty compared to everyone else? And also, dude, brush your hair. Come on. Piers Gaveston was famously not only arrogant but vain!

3. The actor playing Edward is playing this documentary dramatization like he is going for the motherfucking Oscar, he is amazing. I love him, my God someone give this man jobs and money!

4. They speak French! Just like everyone actually did!

5. Hugh Despenser has perfect hair, which seems in character

6. The documentary definitely doesn't admit the simple truth that Hugh Despenser the Younger was almost certainly Pretty Man Bait to get Edward II to give the Despensers power.

7. The doc DOES do a great job of showing what an absolute disaster Edward II was at basically everything forever

8. It does contain the most excellent line, "To the people of the time, Edward could have been bedding his priest, his page boy, and his horse, so long as he was governing the kingdom properly."

9. Isabella's actress is also incredible. That woman does some impeccable face-acting.

10. Man. The moral of this documentary - and of his life - should be "This man did not deserve the wild glory inherent in his amazing wife."

11. Now Hugh Despenser needs to brush his hair! Maybe Edward just likes 'em grungy.

12. Edward is the epitome of being shown exactly what he needs to do and then doing the opposite.

13. I am genuinely impressed at how carefully they dance around admitting that Edward was definitely up in Hugh Despenser's business, too. His manly business.

14. Wait, I take it back. The real moral of this story is "take a woman's children from her arms and she will burn you to the ground and spit on your ashes."

15. Honestly, I don't blame her.

16. THEY CALLED HER THE SHE-WOLF FOR A REASON, MOTHERFUCKERS.

17. Also, hell yeah for Isabella's brother the King of France working with her on this. He absolutely knew Isabella was being underestimated and he made sure he never did.

18. Oh, so we can admit Isabella and Roger Mortimer were sleeping together, huh? We can admit that? I mean as long as it's decently hetero, sure, let's have a whole sex scene. But God forbid we admit Edward and Piers might have held hands under a tree even once.

19. THEY PUT A SEX NOISE IN EVEN

20. Honestly now I'm mad.

21. "She has a number of men closer to a moderate house party than an invading force." Okay, that line redeems you somewhat.

22. Awwwww puppies hunting the disgraced king, sweet. I love when dogs are clearly checking for cues from their trainers just off screen.

23. A FIFTY FOOT GALLOWS SEEMS EXCESSIVE. Oh holy shit they hung him without quite killing him, then de-genitaled and- god damn, Isabella. This seems like a bit much.

24. SHE MADE A POINT OF EATING WHEN THEY CUT HIS DICK OFF.

25. Isabella is terrifying. I am in wild irrational love.

26. I'm sorry they put WHAT up Edward's ass. A red hot WHAT

27. I feel like that probably didn't actually happen but honestly, I don't doubt Isabella is capable of it. And also, um, these deaths seem... To send a message.

28. "Edward's wife and her lover-" oh, are you sure they're not just best mates? Buddies? Pals? Like Edward and Gaveston?

29. Oh he probably just like... was smothered. That makes way more sense. He could be "found dead" then and it could be claimed to be natural causes.

30. Underestimate pissed off French women at your peril, English kings.

#edward ii #ash rambles #history #english history #piers gaveston #king edward II #this shit is WILD #royal history #gay history #JUST BROS BEING PALS #isabella of France #the motherfucking she wolf #documentaries

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hisaacswrites · 8 months

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Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Chapter 4

Summary:

When Simon first interviewed for The Great British Baking Show, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. He certainly didn’t expect to win. Despite the chaos it brought to his life, he couldn’t really complain. It landed him the best job he could ask for and a close circle of friends who actually seemed to enjoy his company. It also led him to his biggest fan, one John MacTavish, who’s determined to win him over one baked good at a time. — Or, The baking AU that no one asked for

← Chapter 3 】 ⦿ Chapter 4 ⦿ 【 Chapter 5 →

☆ Read on AO3

【 Chapter Specific Warnings: - 【 Notes: Apologies for the delay, but Bake Room in Your Heart for Me is now entirely outlined! You'll see that the chapter count has been upped to 13 for that perfect baker's dozen. Unbeta'd, as always, so forgive anything that slipped through the cracks! Now that I have this entire work outlined, I'm hoping updates should be a bit more frequent. We'll see if time cooperates.

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Masterlist ⦿ CoD Library ⦿ Hayden Isaacs Library

🍰 Chapter 4

The kitchen was quiet as Simon finishes with the last of the pans, only the metallic clink of them hitting the sides of the sink and the white noise of running water filling the space. It was miserably rainy and windy outside, so much so that not even the promised warmth of good drinks and pastries could tempt customers into the cafe. That meant it had been quiet and slow all day, though Simon had refused to vocalize that out loud lest he jinx it, so he had let Alejandro and Rudy leave a bit early to get a head start on their weekend.

The extra work was minimal, and, honestly, Simon didn't really mind. Sometimes it was nice to be alone in his element. No need to carry on idle conversation, direct anyone, or even think, just falling back into a blissfully empty mind and muscle memory led by the rhythm of softly rumbling thunder.

Setting the final pan into the drying rack, Simon assessed the kitchen, satisfied to see it sparkling clean and ready for a fresh start the next morning. Wiping his hands on the towel tucked in his apron, he mentally consulted his to-do list. Cafe 141 was meant to be open for a few more hours, but all that was left for him to do was tidy up the front display cases and restock the shelves with the last of their goods for the day. Once that was done, Simon figured he could relax for the rest of his shift, start planning for next week's baked goods, and maybe even start thinking about some new seasonal recipes to experiment with.

First thing first though: cleaning and restocking. Approaching the kitchen's door to the cafe, Simon looked through the window to gauge what state of disarray the shelves were in and how much product he would need to restock them. The cafe looked like a ghost town, the warm lighting appearing especially moody against the dark skies outside. The display case didn't look too chaotic, thankfully, and the shelves were still relatively full. It looked like they would have extra pastries left over at the end of the day... Simon mentally added stopping by the shelter to donate the excess to his to-do list.

As his eyes swept over the end of the counter, Simon realized the cafe wasn't entirely empty. Gaz was leaning against the countertop, wiping it down with a rag as he spoke to a familiar mohawked man.

Soap.

Without thinking about it, Simon ducked his head down from the small window, hoping that he hadn't been seen. His heart started racing and he stood there, tall frame awkwardly crouched behind the door, for a few moments to settle his sudden nerves. Rising slowly, Simon peeked back through the window.

Gaz and Soap were still chatting as Gaz cleaned up, the Scottish man gesticulating wildly all the while. Gaz was reluctantly smiling at something his friend said and Soap grinned in victory, radiating smugness even in a separate room. Simon felt the tips of his ears warm as Soap's teeth gleamed in the low light, contrasting against his tan skin impishly. It was cute, Simon noted, the playful mischievousness in his grin, the pleased crescents his eyes formed, the way well-worn laugh lines creased the corners of his mouth—

Simon moved away from the door, willing the flush away from his cheeks. He didn't know how to act around Soap, feeling completely adrift in an unknown sea. The other man was kind, if a bit awkward (though who was Simon to judge others on their level of awkwardness? He was awkward personified). He was also sweet and attractive in a way that Simon couldn't describe. Just the thought of being around Soap again made him nervous, which was ridiculous considering the situations he had faced down in his military service.

Fighting the urge to peek through the window one more time, Simon turned to gather up his supplies. It would be no big deal, he tried to convince himself. Gaz would be talking to Soap, keeping him distracted while Simon quietly cleaned the cases and refilled them. They wouldn't even notice he was there and he'd be back in the kitchen before they knew it.

Cleaning rags tucked into his apron pocket and carefully holding a small tray of pastries in his hands, Simon took a deep breath before gently shouldering the kitchen door open.

Gaz heard the door open from behind him but paid little mind to it, continuing to tell Soap about a particularly obnoxious Ken of a customer that had stopped by a few days ago. He was scrubbing at a stubborn coffee stain on the counter as he spoke, only pausing to look up when Soap didn't respond for an oddly lengthy amount of time. He was looking over Gaz's shoulder, but his blue eyes didn't have the telltale glaze to them that signaled when the Scot had zoned out.

Gaz didn't even try to recapture his attention, instead looking over his shoulder at the object of his single-minded focus. He couldn't help snorting or the amused quirk of his lips. It was Ghost. Of course it was. Cafe 141's hulking head baker was wiping at the interior of one of the display cases with a damp rag, seemingly oblivious to his spectators. From the subtle tensing of Ghost's grip and the way that he angled his body, however, Gaz knew that Ghost was aware he was being watched. And was that a blush peeking over the top edge of his medical mask? Oh, how perfect...

Smile widening into a teasing smirk, Gaz turned back to Soap. His best friend was obvious in his little crush on Ghost and it looked like the attraction was reciprocated. Never let it be said that Gaz wasn't the best wingman.

Gaz snapped his fingers in front of Soap's face, reveling in the embarrassed way his focus jolted back over. He didn't even wait for Soap to try and defend himself, grinning at Soap with way too many teeth as he said, "Seems like you've found something a bit more interesting, mate."

Red burst across Soap's cheeks and he spluttered out an excuse, but Gaz just shook his head and laughed. "I'll head to the back and give you some alone time, 'lright? Make sure you turn on the rizz before you talk to him."

"Gaz." Soap whisper-hissed in panic, lunging for the barista's wrist before he could walk away, "No, dinnae! What dae I even say to him? He must think I'm a feckin' moron."

Gaz was ready for another round of teasing, but a look at Soap's face had him sobering up. Usually charismatic and suave, Soap looked worried and at a complete loss. "Hey," Gaz said softly, catching the Scot's wide-eyed gaze. "It's just Ghost, alright? Take a deep breath and be yourself. Just talk to him. You got this."

Soap could only nod, his grip on Gaz's wrist loosening until the other man turned to walk away. "I'm heading to the back to make sure we've got the coffee and tea for next week," He called over his shoulder to Soap, loud enough for Ghost to hear while not being obvious about it. "Keep yourself occupied and don't burn the place down."

And with that, Gaz headed to the stock room disappearing through the hallway door, leaving Soap alone.

With Simon.

Soap sucked in a breath, trying to be quiet as he attempted to calm his racing pulse. Sat at a barstool at the counter as he was, he could see Simon methodically cleaning the display shelves out of his peripherals. As the other man swept up spilled frosting and jam from the glass, Soap couldn't help but admire his form.

Simon was tall and broad, imposingly so, but not in an intimidating way. No, in the privacy of his own mind, Soap could admit that Simon's size gave him a feeling of... safety. Of someone solid to lean on, of an all-consuming embrace, of comforting strength to weather any storm. It was honestly one of the first things he had noticed about the man over a year ago when he first saw him on the Great British Baking Show. A massive mountain of a man that had the most gentle, reverent touch for baked goods. Soap had become obsessed, watching and rewatching Simon's season just to see the man in his element. And now, seeing him in person? Well, the telly screen didn't hold a candle to him.

Chestnut brown hair with an endearing wave to it that never seemed to lie flat. Rich, dark brown eyes that looked almost black at first glance, but gleamed like gold in the light. Thick forearms with a fine coating of hair on them, strong and able. Wide, long-fingered hands that moved with a precise deftness that had Soap's mouth dry. And his lips— Simon's mouth was covered by a mask more often than not, but the glimpses that Soap had sneaked? Slightly chapped lips, the skin constantly worried by anxious teeth, that were surprisingly plush looking and far too tempting.

In Soap's professional artistic (and not at all biased) opinion, Simon was gorgeous. But Soap knew that he was more than just a pretty face. While speaking on the show, Simon had come off as quite reserved, but Soap had seen glimpses of a thoughtful and caring man underneath the prickly shell. And now, getting to see him in a more natural setting, Soap coveted all the moments he found Simon in with his walls lowered. How he wanted to see more, learn more. To be invited to look behind the broody wall and know the carefully guarded man within.

But in order to do that, Soap would actually have to talk to him.

Just the thought had him veering towards an internal crisis. It seemed like every time Simon was in his vicinity, Soap lost the ability to act like a functioning person, much to his embarrassment. Despite Gaz's words, Soap couldn't help but start mentally planning their conversation. He couldn't afford to put his foot in his mouth again — his self esteem would never survive it. After a few moments of mustering his courage, disguised as strategizing, Soap slid from his barstool and walked over to Simon.

Simon continued to clean the display case, oblivious to Soap's inner turmoil. He had felt the Scot's eyes on him, increasingly so when Gaz had gone to the back, but he had a job to do (and he was never the best at small talk), so he continued to wipe the last of the crumbs with a damp cloth. While it may have looked like he was entirely focused on his task, his military training had him tracking Soap's movements as he walked over, so it didn't startle him when Soap suddenly spoke up.

"Good tae see you again, Simon," He drawled with a grin, leaning against the display in a charming manner.

"Afternoon," Simon greeted quietly, straightening up from where he had crouched to reach inside the case. Despite Soap's loose postured, he carried an air of nervousness about him. Surely Simon wasn't actually that intimidating?

"I wanted tae apologize for being awkward as all hell. I dinnae ken what's been wrong with me but I swear tha' I am a functioning person and not some—", Soap gesticulated widely as he fumbled for the words, "Some primitive pod person who dinnae ken how to behave themselves. I ahm civilized."

His eyes had been jumping around, nervously avoiding Simon while he spoke, and it was only once his apology trailed off that he had the courage to look back at the quiet man. Simon wasn't even looking at him, instead, his gaze was focused downwards. Soap internally preened for a moment, thinking that he was checking him out, only to realize that Simon was looking at his hands.

Which, odd, but everyone had their favorite features he supposed, except—

Except Simon was looking at his hands where he was leaning against the display case.

The glass display case.

The glass display case that Simon had just cleaned.

Soap jumped back as if burnt, hurrying to apologize once more. "Feckin' hell, I'm so sorry! I ken ye just cleaned tha', 'n Ah wasnae even thinking, lemme just-" He pulled at the sleeve of his jumper, wiping frantically at the handprints he had left on the glass, ever mindful of Simon's stare as he only made the oily smears worse.

"Shite, I can clean tha' if ye have a spare rag? Or I can just..." Simon was still quiet, his dark eyes flitting back between the handprints and Soap's face. Soap deflated, considering that perhaps it would be best for him to retreat, even if it was with his hypothetical tail between his legs. "I'll just... head back over there 'n wait fer Gaz. Get outta yer hair 'n stop making more work for ye."

Heart in his stomach, Soap turned to leave.

"Two-" There was a clearing of a throat, "Two cakes are on a shelf,"

Soap's brow furrowed, and he turned back to Simon, barely noticing that the man waas nervously fiddling with a corner of his apron with thick fingers. "Go on,"

"One cake leaves, and the other says to himself, 'Just a bunch of desserters these days.'"

An awkward silence dropped between the two, Soap staring incredulously at Simon while Simon looked anywhere but at Soap. When the silence stretched almost too long, Simon looked at Soap out of the corner of his eye.

"'S a little bit of baking humour," Simon rasped quietly, the barest hint of pink peeking above his medical mask.

Soap finally barked out a laugh, breaking the tension with his customary grin. "Aye," He agreed as he stepped back towards Simon and the display case, seizing the offered olive branch with both hands. "Very little,"

With the ice broken, the conversation seemed to unfold easily, naturally, akin to dough finally given the breathing room to rise. It was nothing deep, nothing substantial, but it was perfect in allowing the two men to get comfortable with each other.

Soap was a chatterbox, always had been, and Simon seemed quiet and reserved. Soap was worried that he was potentially overwhelming him, or that his tangential rambles were a bit too much, but Simon actually seemed to be listening to him, offering grunts and short responses occasionally. It may have been nothing to some people, but to Soap it meant quite a lot. He had a history of being "too much" for people, of being too loud, too "hyper", too eclectic in his conversation topics. So for Simon to be actively listening and engaging him? It made Soap's chest warm.

So, it was really no surprise for him to sheepishly divulge a secret he'd been keeping close to his chest around Simon. "I, uh... Actually watched ye on The Great British Baking Show." He ran a nervous hand through his mohawk, tugging at the long strands. "Yer season is my favorite; watched it so many times that I think I can tell all yer jokes by heart,"

Simon nearly dropped the tart he had been restocking the display case with. Multiple people had told him they found him endearing in the show, but he still struggled with seeing himself as anything other than awkward and standoffish. Habit makes him want to read into Soap's admission, but the other man came off disarmingly sincere. Still, Simon couldn't help but downplay and deflect.

"Well, I had plenty of material to work with with some of those bakes. 'Nd they had to keep someone around for comedic relief."

Soap snorted, seeing right through the deflection. "Aye, right, ye won the season based on your dad jokes alone." He quipped, revelling in the blush that peeked over Simon's mask and his scowling eyebrows. "Cannae say yer jokes weren't some of my favorite parts, but yer bakes... Ye made some amazing stuff and it's no wonder ye won. I dinnae ken if there was one thing ye made that didn't look absolutely delicious."

Soap was delighted to see the flush erupt higher onto Simon's cheeks and onto his ears. The quiet man was determinately avoiding Soap's gaze, grumbling something under his breath as he finished restocking the display case.

"Thanks," He grunted, setting down his empty tray before glancing up at Soap through golden brown lashes. Usually he'd leave it at that, but something about the lively Scot just made him want to... try.

"You're probably the expert by now," Simon continued, focusing on cleaning the crumbs and frosting from his hands with his rag, "With how often you've been stopping by the cafe and such."

"Not exactly," Soap countered quickly, "Dinnae get me wrong, I've tried everything ye've had on the menu at least once, but there was one thing that ye made on the show that I haven't been in for that I've been dyin' tae try."

Soap's eyes took on a bright gleam as if imagining this mysterious pastry, and Simon couldn't help but snort under his breath. He was absolutely ridiculous. Simon tried not to find it endearing.

"Well, what was it?"

"Er, good question. Uh, it was lemony and had a weird name, mile faux or somethin'-"

"Mille feuille," Simon corrected seamlessly, remembering the stacked puff pastry dessert. Of all his bakes during the show, he had actually been quite pleased with that one and the handshake it had earned him.

"That's the one!" Soap's voice rose with excitement. "It looked pure magic, I'm telling ye. I love lemons 'n' with that blueberry sauce ye made? Jesus wept, I've been aching for a taste since I saw it."

Simon's mind raced, thinking over the recipe and its difficulty. "I actually haven't made it for the cafe yet," he said slowly, "But maybe it'll show up on the menu soon."

He hadn't actually meant to say that last bit, the words escaping his lips before he could even think about them, but Simon couldn't regret them when he saw Soap perk up as if his birthday had come early.

"Really? If ye make them, Simon, I swear tae ye that I'll buy out the entire tray just for myself. I'll come in first thing and buy every batch throughout the day, amnae even joking."

Simon laughed, his first unhindered one in a long while, fully believing Soap's words. He had already made it this far without things catching fire in his face and Soap seemed receptive to his... "charms", so what harm would a little more harmless flirting be near the end of his shift?

"I make no promises, Soap. You'll just have to come back to see me to find out if I do."

Soap grinned at him, smaller and softer than his previous ones. "Aye," He agreed. There was a lull then, a peaceful sort of quiet between the two as Soap watched Simon gather up his things to bring back to the kitchen.

"John."

Simon blinked at the non sequitur, brows furrowing in confusion.

"My name," Soap rushed to say, "Soap is my nickname, had it forever an' everyone calls me that, but John- My name is John."

Simon smiled, knowing that Soa- John wouldn't be able to see it behind his mask but unable to help himself.

"If those mille feuille do make an appearance sometime next week, I suppose they'll have your name all over them, Johnny."

#soapghost #ghostsoap #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #baking au #simon riley #john mactavish #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #bake room in your heart for me #baking puns #john soap mactavish

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shoppncarticles · 9 months

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The Trubbish Family

People are so mean, you know that? Poor Trubbish was the subject of ENDLESS ridicule when Pokemon Black and White first came out, and once a bunch of Pokemon fans on online forums caught wind of the living trash bag they proclaimed it as a CLEAR sign of Pokemon’s empty barrel of potential design ideas. Never mind the Nazca line sentry drone or the baggy pants hoodlum lizard that came earlier in the generation – or the very next entry that’s a sleekly designed fox monster that I’m sure would make a few people quite happy – no, Trubbish is a perfect indication that Gen 5 has ZERO creative ideas whatsoever.

I really do have to imagine it’s something to do with the negativity bias and older fans growing disillusioned with Pokemon because like, at the end of the day Trubbish is completely inoffensive. It’s a little trash bag with eyes and a mouth and nub feet. What’s the harm that it’s doing, guys. Look, I’m one of the people who will say Grimer and Muk are in their top 10 Pokemon of Generation One, and even I’ll admit Trubbish is more interestingly designed than either of them were.

ANYWAYS, Trubbish itself is a cute little Poison-type monster, as cute as you’ll probably get with a living trash bag. I love that while it does have arms, those arms are formed from pure waste and grim bursting from its sides. It’s also been pointed out that Trubbish’s snaggleteeth could be broken shards of glass if you want to read it a little more realistically, which I’m happy to do. That's a fun little detail to attribute it with. It’s also been pointed out that the two bits at the top of Trubbish’s head – the ends of its top knot – could be seen as rabbit-like ears, and thus making Trubbish a partial dust bunny design, which is charming. That’d be one way to explain the stuff that makes up its arms, being just coalesced lumps of dust and dirt.

Interestingly, Trubbish is said to be the product of excessive garbage and chemical waste, meaning they aren’t naturally occurring Pokemon and instead some mutant species created by humanity’s excess of waste. While kind of a tragic statement, it is certainly interesting that new species of Pokemon can crop up from unlikely places like that, and does raise the question if any species resembling Trubbish existed in ancient times before mass industrialization that merely adapted into resembling trash bags. Makes you think!

Garbodor, Trubbish’s evolution, does a lot more cool things with the idea of being living trash as well. Its main body has grown so large from all the garbage and waste its accumulated, resulting in the bag that used to house its body bursting open and now only covering its head. Notably though are its arms, one being quite diminutive and appearing to be made of rebar. I love that idea a lot, its incredibly small but the idea of a beast made of condensed waste using rebar as a skeleton just makes too much sense in my mind. The other arm is much more complete, and ends in little nozzles that Garbodor can fire globs of muck out of. Y’know, just in case it ever needs to. Garbodor certainly lives up to its title as the Trash Heap Pokemon.

Oh, also, Garbodor’s Japanese name Romanizes to Dustdas, which kind of draws a further connection to that dust bunny idea I mentioned earlier. So that’s neat.

For whatever reason, Garbodor was the only Pokemon not from either Gen 1 or 8 to receive a Gigantamax form come Sword and Shield. Yeah, remember those? Why on Earth Game Freak chose to give Garbodor – one of the Pokemon frequently criticized as being one of their lowest creative points – a new gimmick form (from like a corporate perspective) is beyond me, but hey, I’m not complaining too much.

I like G-Max Garbodor well enough, it seems like a good way to go about giving it a big ultra-strong touch up. I like how it gains so much waste its lower body becomes a shambling mass, and I like how more specific trash objects get littered all over its body… but I do question why they’re all toys instead of like, fishbones and tires and even like, apple cores. Other generic trash object, y’know? It’s not a bad decision, but does have me scratching my head a little. Ah well, it’s still nice to see Garbodor get this weird splash of love from the designers. Glad to know that they won’t pander to the Gen 5 hate crowd all the time.

Score: 5/5

On the same tier as Muk and Weezing for me – they all belong together, after all. Alolan Muk is just the one that shoots that family up to my grand standings, no offense Garbodor. You’re still mighty cool.

[Gen 5 Archive]

#pokemon #pokemon review #trubbish #garbodor #gigantamax garbodor

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randomszzz · 1 year

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Non-exhaustive list of games I’ve played trying to recover from The World Ends With You Obsession

((Play harvestella))

Rune Factory 5: I don’t love Rune factory 4 quite as much as okami or twewy, but it’s definitely one of the closest games, and I was over the moon when rf5 was announced. But running around the coziness of rf4s, it did seem unlikely that rf5 could equal that, and reviews panning its performance also put a damper on my expectations. I still found some enjoyment in rf5, but rf4 ran circles around it. Biggest offenses for me: talking to everyone in the village both takes longer (so many loading screens, being 3d is so not worth this) and less rewarding than rf4 (It felt like an entire year before villagers start recycling dialogue in rf4; it’s one of its greatest strengths. Rf5 characters are repeating themselves within a week.). Actually, that kinda encapsulates a lot of rf5′s problems, longer for less, with excessively long days and low drop rates. The post game dungeon was also far shorter than I was expecting and supremely disappointing. My biggest gripe, however, was locking the flower seller to close to the end of the game. The last character you unlock in rf4 upgrades spells, something totally optionally and easily (and frequently) ignored. But no flower seeds? abs - ol -ut -ly CRIMININAL. That means heavily gimped chemistry; and no non rng sources of wettable powder. I wanted to take my time with the game, do a bunch of farming and social elements, not just rush through main story. And like, I did, but it left me completely at the mercy of typhoons. Even dragging my feet as much as I did, I still beat the story before completing a single year, and that always rubbed me the wrong way. It was over 70 hrs so I can’t really complain it’s too short, but, blegh. Other minor annoyances: the festival music became intolerably grating after hearing it for the first 5 hours, cute sea horse bosses I so looked forward to taming are untameable, the travesty. I do really hope its just the kinks of coming back to the series after so long and working with 3d and future rf games are a step up.

Harvestella PLAY THIS GAME PLAY THIS GAME IT HAS UNICORN OF THE CRYPTIDS WHAT ELSE DO YOU NEED?!?! Ahem. I really had a tough time gauging this game. Saw in the nintendo direct, went sold, this looks awesome gimme. I didn’t play the demo, as I didn’t want to start playing and then have to wait a couple months to play the rest, but asked my sister her thoughts about it. She really wasn’t enthusiastic, but she’s less keen on rune factory than I am, it’s fine. Reviews came out and were thoroughly middling so mmm, maybe it’s not exactly awesome. But being better than rf5 - or even just as good - isn’t a high bar so I’m looking forward to it. I started playing it, and I have plenty of gripes - but I also really couldn’t stop playing. It’s certainly a different rhythm than rf, pretty much all interaction with villagers is exclusively done through quests and there’s not much point in talking to anyone outside of those. However, said quests are also pretty good, and you wouldn’t want to talk to everyone every day, you could spend all day running to various npcs and probably not reach all of them in one day. I do really miss rf’s skill and crafting system (harvestella has crafting but outside of accessory synthesis it has 0 customization) and monster catching. At first it was charming for the sos throwback ‘just buy (not) cows and (not) chickens, but I definitely miss having more things to look forward to. And once Harvestella’s quests are completed, there’s not much point in continuing to play. I didn’t much care about the lack of festivals when I started Harvestella, but now on the other side it’s what I think it needs most. Common complaints about harvestella are the lack of voice acting and extremely limited character creation options but really that’s not where I’d put extra resources too. Anyways, the music and world in this game are just breathtaking; I’ve been totally immersed since christmas. Totaku and unicorn’s designs are A++++. I was worried it would be a fairly short affair, and predictably I dragged my feet going through it, savoring every second of that world, but it turned out to be a much more substantial world than I expected. The ending stretch of the game continued to confound my gaugings, the story by turns being disappointing “I wish you thought through this more” and exciting, I downright wanted to dance in the actually-last dungeon. Game’s a total treasure, especially if you enjoy melancholy vibes.

Monster Hunter Stories 2 Did I play MHS 1? No. Have I played any MH? No. But I played the demo for this and rise. Rise was entertaining, but not enough to part with scarce cash for. I put close to ten hours on the demo for this game though, clearly they were doing something right. That ‘something’ is not the story, despite the title. Even trying my best to indulge it, there’s just no getting invested in ‘the power of kinship!’ they keep trying to push, and they really don’t do enough to develop a relationship with ratha. I suppose they did sidestep a couple eye-rolling cliches I was anticipating (others still abound though), and there is occasional charm. I understand the minimalist approach to music, but it really would’ve been nice to have some music for the however many, many, many hours spent hunting for rare eggs postgame. ‘I probably missed something by not playing pokemon’ is the sort of revelation this game brought me. Lackluster story and nonexistant bgm? Who cares, there’s cool monsters to find and battle and catch and customize, I was flat out addicted for a month. Sadly I tried the demo for the first game on the 3ds, and already having a familiarity with the mh bestiary did suck a lot of the novelty and joy from the experience. Um, pokemon recommendations that go hard on presentation and customization?

Radiant Historia Is there a better ds game than twewy? I’m honestly hard pressed to think of any genuine competitors, and consulting the internet this game came up a lot. Radiant Historia is really good. Of the games I’ve played since neo, it has the best cast. There was one chapter midgame that had me on the edge of my seat, and I was thinking, oh, if it just keeps escalating from here it really will be special!! but things kinda just evened out after that. I went back and forth on my feelings about the villain, at first being disappointed at the reveal but by the time the credits rolled I think it worked out pretty well. I played the 3ds remaster, the voice acting was excellent, and while I get why some preferred the old portraits, overall I think new ones are better - except for Eruca oh my god why did you do that to her character design?!?! Criminal! I did get kind of stuck, however, polishing everything off for the true ending. After spending hours without looking anything up online, I’m pretty loathe to give in and do it now. But replaying chapter after chapter looking for the needle in the haystack I’m missing has lost its luster. A hearty f u to aht’s dancing companion. Presumably with enough work I could give everyone a happy ending, so I’ll just presume a happier ending. One day maybe I’ll be more patient.

Ni no Kuni I said radiant historia had the better cast, but also, ester and oliver are my precious children. The single best thing about ni no kuni is the wizard’s companion. It’s beautiful and informative! I love how easy it is to keep track and find things in the game *cough cough cough*. It also scratches the cool monsters! itch. By far the worst thing about ni no kuni is that it had a stealth section. Why? Who thought that was a good idea? Who even thinks those are fun? banging my head against a wall. A slightly negative thing about it is that I really would prefer if it was just flat out turn based instead of realtime. Give me full control of my companions, please. I will say I, uh, wildly misjudged drippy. My deepest apologies.

Final Fantasy Type 0 I like ensemble casts, okay? At first my curiousity was such that I was just going to watch a playthrough, but it’s opening was strong enough that I actually wanted to play it myself. So I did. It has a strong beginning and a stronger ending. The middle, however, is a great big yawn. That last chapter though. If only the entire game was like that. Idk, this game has a lot of flaws but I like the underlying concepts. It probably says something that while I was willing to play many hours of radiant historia postgame, I just rushed online to find the type 0 lore and missing bits rather than slogging through any of it again. Though I do kinda want to bounce around some of its later dungeons... but I have to play through so much bleh to get anywhere.

Persona Strikers I haven’t actually finished the game yet - haven’t touched it since playing harvestella - and maybe wouldn’t even bother mentioning but I wanna complain. The stupid ferris wheel event, they were like ‘hey you can hang out with ryuji and yusuke’ and I was like, cool, not something so date coded yaaaay. Only for ryuji and morgana to bemoan ‘oh this could’ve been a romantic date wow lame’. It really soured me. At least yusuke tried to enjoy himself. It’s not a bad diversion otherwise, although the difficulty is a bit wonky. Some early game game bosses/events stumped me for hour(s), but after a bit more familiarity it evened out, only for me to gain such an overflow of healing/sp items nothing’s really a threat anymore.

Ori and the blind forest I still don’t know what a blind forest is :( Still really enjoyed this, although it’s also more difficult in the beginning than end type of game. Just the design and presentation of this is whole vibe, and one of these days I’ll play will o wisps... one of these days...

13 sentinels People seemed to think highly of this game, my curiosity was piqued, I started to watch a playthrough but really blanched at the one-by-one approach. Poking around I saw the game had a fair degree of flexibility in following the various stories, plus its own encyclopedia, and yeah this was a game where I needed to be in control. Besides, playthoughs are frequently watched at 1.5 or 2x speed and this was just too dense to really process like that. Props to them for making a game’s story really be better as a game. I was going to say ‘a vn you should play instead of just watch’ but the combat was waaay more fun than I anticipated and perfect palette cleanser/break from the story segments. Still, I did wind up feeling a bit cold on the story/characters. It’s impressive it manages so many elements in a cohesive manner, but that’s the best I can say. Mystery’s fun, but nothing never seen before. Characters range from ‘meh’ to ‘rather likeable’ but the game’s insistence everyone needs a love interest weighed it down. Megumi at least had interesting dynamics despite not really being a ‘likeable’ character and the end of her story is probably what I’ll remember the most. Nenji, Usami, and Keitarou were all pretty enjoyable though. I did appreciate how the game wound up dealing with its larger conflict and antagonistic forces. Something about how everyone gets a happy ending I found really refreshing.

There are others too but hmm I’ve slid into playing neo from the start for a third time. trying to do a run without eating and crying a little on the inside. Twewy tells me to expand my world and try different things but it hasn’t actually brought me relief. Woe is me. At least harvestella has delectable vibes.

#rune factory 5 #harvestella #radiant historia #13 sentinels #final fantasy type 0 #ori #ni no kuni #monster hunter stories 2 #rambling rambles #play harvestella #recommend me a pokemon game #or try to sell me on a different game haha

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weavingmemoir · 7 months

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I both hate and love that there is a lack of exploration on Cybertron’s wildlife. Seems like there’s dragons and weird weeds and shit that Cybertronians just completely brought to extinction and they never really talk about how that’s Sad . They never mourn it. I don’t think any Cybertronian is even familiar with their own fauna and flora besides turbofoxes, and the only who might recall is Arcee and that’s never explored.

The fact it’s not explored leaves so much room for you to just bullshit around it. Caves seem notorious in Cybertron, it’s a planet filled with holes, there’s gotta be wildlife that adapts to it. Maybe not everything lives off Energon, maybe some wildlife has adapted to eat PURE Energon, straight from the stone or source, with all its impurities. Maybe that makes their blood rich and puts them at the bottom of a food chain, allows them to be hunted, allows for an ecosystem to grow from that. Maybe even those predators can eat pure Energon sometimes, so we get herbivores and carnivores and omnivores.

Weaver plays on the idea of Cybertronians just, destroying all that to build incredible cities that require nothing of the sort. Cybertron is a techno-planet, but certainly it started to die when the ecosystems began thinning out and eventually being wiped out completely, herbivores being stopped from eating Energon, or being used to purify it without much trouble. The cybertronian equivalent to a deer being hunted en-masse for its pure-Energon rich blood, among others. Predators being chased off.

Now of course not all these beasts would have only one mode! Maybe the bigger ones turn into giant guys too. Most probably do, they just find it more comfortable to be in their beast form, like Tigatron and overall how the maximals enjoy being animals. It’s, Yknow, at their core. We get a bit of that with the colonies, I suppose! Maybe they were a part of this ecosystem. Those who managed to hear the word left.

Weaver is a Wyvern, a dragon whose arms are wings. That’s a big dinosaur. And his whole play in the ecosystem, his species at least, was living in cave systems and finding the most mineral rich ones to reside in for most of their lives. They hunted small animals that wandered in, completely nocturnal animals, evolved to hunt in complete darkness and in small spaces. Their parts can shift and change and their bones are hollow, so they look heavy but actually aren’t, not a weight that indicates to their size, anyway. They’re heavy, just not as much as you’d expect.

They had courting rituals, and they had defense mechanisms, and they liked art and pretty things. Their outer shells are fragile, so they’d cover themselves with stones and gems, and they couldn’t directly eat Energon gems so they’d use that to decorate their horns. They are entirely evasive, don’t enjoy fighting because of their fragile nature, and will often flee and hide in things. They use a lot of fuel but are not 100% carnivorous, they can convert mixtures of minerals into an Energon replacement, and they expel excessive heat through their horns (which open at the end like pipes) and they can spit fire, though that one’s a little harder to do and requires them to nearly overheat, so it’s not particularly safe. One of their most strange and effective evasion tactics is shadow travel: they can hide amidst complete darkness, almost in a pocket dimension, but this is a last resort as it eats up all of their Energon reserves and leaves them tired after. There is a time limit, but time passes differently once you’re in this pocket dimension, so 5 minutes in could be close to 500 years outside.

These creatures are wiped out eventually, they are incredibly defensive of their cave/territory and because of their choice for a home, their territory were often targets for mining. Most would die trying to defend them, some would die from Energon depletion, and some, like weaver, would try to show they were like the people trying to harm him by transforming. This never ended well. For weaver, they forcibly stopped him from transforming back (he managed to hide for many years and keep his cave, by the time he resurfaced there were already inhibitors and he was very much at the near beginning of the Decepticon movement) and tore his claws, his horns, and anything in him he could potentially use as a weapon. Every piece of him that’s red are replacements to originals, he was essentially declawed lol. He felt immense amounts of pain and was forced to work as a miner since he was big, and his root mode is much much stronger and more resilient than his alt.

Eer. He’s got stones and he likes makeup because it reminds him of covering himself in stones, he’s very proud of all that. He chooses red specifically for his replacements because it pops out and shows that they’re out of place, that he’s out of place.

#ooc / misty forest

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wayystey · 1 year

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Late Night Ramblings

Mojo Jojo was having a terrible day. It seemed like everything was working against him. First, he lost his plans for his newest weapon of mass destruction, which led to him having to postpone the whole project.

Then, he realized that he had never grabbed anything to eat before leaving for his observatory that morning. He had been forced to leave to get something to eat, but every restaurant was either mysteriously closed or had the most disgusting food.

After finally finding some decent food to have for lunch, his day got worse. He received a phone call from his husband letting him know that their son Butch had received detention for a week for plagiarism.

Mojo felt the consequence for Butch’s plagiarism was a bit excessive. He had a feeling the school went harder on him because of who his parents were, which was completely unfair.

Boomer had told him once that Buttercup Utonium had been caught doing the same thing but was only given one day of detention. The fact that his child was being given a harsher punishment for the same crime was ludicrous to Mojo.

He decided to call the school and complain, which led to the next bad part of his day. The school was being extremely stubborn regarding Butch’s detentions and denied the whole claim about Buttercup getting essentially let off the hook.

He spent half an hour on the phone debating with them. They finally caved when Mojo threatened to send his husband back over there to ‘set them straight’.

“Trust me, I do not lie when I say my husband is much more intimidating than myself. I assure you, dreadful things would certainly occur if you angered HIM.” He had said slyly.

He had hung up, feeling a little smug when he heard a huge crash somewhere in the observatory. He immediately rushed to the scene, and saw all three Powerpuff Girls waiting for him. Apparently the school had told them about their little phone call and asked the girls to help.

After receiving some blows and punches from Buttercup, they eventually left, realizing that they couldn’t do anything about the situation. Mojo hadn’t actually followed through with the threat so therefore, no crime was committed.

“Curses!” He grumbled to himself, getting up painfully. He was pretty sure he had some teeth knocked out and some bruises or broken bones. He would have to have his husband heal his injuries when he got home.

He treated his wounds the best he could and tried to continue working on the machine he was currently fixing when it suddenly blew up in his face.

“That is it! I have had it with this accursed string of bad luck! I quit, clearly the universe is not on my side, explaining all the unfortunate events that have occurred thus far. I am done, finished, completed, whatever else I can say to express just how exasperated I am with this current moment in time!” Mojo shouted, grabbing his jet pack. He was going home, end of story.

He fired up the jet pack, only to have its engine sputter and die. “CURSES!” The evil genius was at his breaking point. Now he had to take the long way home.

He painfully and slowly limped home, the injuries from before hurting even worse now. Luckily one of the many secret entrances to the Underworld was nearby, in the basement of the Otto Time Diner to be exact.

He picked the lock on the door and went inside, heading for the basement. Once he got there, he saw the telltale portal that he needed to get home. He went through eagerly, just wanting to see his husband and kids after this awful, inconvenient day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down in the Underworld, HIM was currently putting the finishing touches on dinner, happily humming to himself. He had found a new cheesecake recipe for dessert that he was really excited for his family to try.

He wondered what was taking Mojo so long to get home. Normally, his jet pack would get him home in about 5 minutes but today was different. It had been 20 minutes past the time he usually chose to leave his observatory. He hoped his husband was alright. He’d sounded rather stressed when he called about Butch earlier.

He finally heard the huge front door open and heard his husband limp into the dining area.

“Hi honey! How was your day-“ He gasped when he laid eyes on Mojo. He looked dead on his feet. He had a black eye, was missing a few teeth, had bruises covering most of his body, and was bleeding from his nose.

Meanwhile, their three sons were at the table, looking dumbfounded. “Damn dad, what happened?” Brick questioned his father.

“Boys, you can eat in your rooms tonight, I need to heal your father.” HIM said, immediately jumping into action. He magically prepared three plates for the boys and sent them off.

He guided his husband to the living room to sit down. “What happened to you darling?” He knelt in front of his husband.

“Those accursed Powerpuffs happened my dear.” Mojo grimaced in pain. He felt HIM hold his hands in his claws and saw his husband begin muttering an incantation under his breath, his eyes glowing green.

Immediately the pain was relieved and he felt all his injuries mending themselves. In a few seconds, he was in perfect condition again. “Is that better honey?” HIM asked, a concerned look on his lovely face.

Mojo sighed in relief. “Much better, my love. Thank you.” HIM beamed and kissed his husband on the cheek. “Are you hungry? I have dinner ready for you.”

“Dinner would be delightful, as I am quite famished.” They both stood and walked back into the dining area. The demon began preparing a plate for his husband, wanting him to just sit and relax. He then made one for himself and sat down. The two of them ate in mostly silence, exchanging a few words here and there.

Once they finished, HIM cleared their plates and cleaned them. “I’m assuming you had a rough day darling. Do you want to talk about it?” He gave Mojo a sweet smile.

“Where do I even begin? This day has been truly exhausting, infuriating, and inconvenient!” And with that, the villainous primate launched into a tirade.

“Why don’t we take this to our room honey? I’m sure you’d love to lay down and relax.” HIM suggested, grabbing his husband’s hand and leading him to their bedroom.

“Once again, you know just what I need my ruby.” Mojo praised his spouse. Once they made it to their room and settled on their bed, the chimpanzee continued his rant.

“Where was I? Oh, yes, I was lamenting about how dreadful, how horrid this forsaken day has been! My plans for my newest weapon of mass destruction are missing, so now my clever, brilliant project is on hold indefinitely. That is to say I cannot do any further work on said project until my beautiful plans have been located, which will extend the deadline placed on the project…”

HIM got into a more comfortable position on the bed. He had a feeling he would be here for a while. His husband was using his lengthy method of talking which meant that he was really annoyed about the day’s events.

As Mojo rambled on in a frustrated tone, the Ruler of the Underworld listened quietly, only reacting or commenting when he felt it was needed. His husband seemed to enjoy this attention, because he would periodically pause and look expectantly at the demon. HIM would then dramatically gasp or make a sympathetic comment about the situation.

“And you will not believe this next part my love. I was not aware that it was so difficult to find a decent meal in this city! I searched for an exorbitant amount of time trying to obtain food worthy of eating. This is why I prefer your cooking my dear. You would never serve me inedible rubbish!”

HIM frowned at Mojo, holding one of his hands. “Oh you poor dear! I’ll start making you lunch to take with you from now on. How does that sound, hmm?” He batted his lashes prettily.

“That is a most splendid idea my nymph. Your culinary ability surpasses anyone in this city.” His husband cupped HIM’s face lovingly.

Mojo vented for another hour, during which HIM completed his lengthy skincare regimen, had his luxurious evening bath, chose a new nightgown, and started working on his latest creation (he had recently started knitting), all while listening and reacting to his husband.

Finally, Mojo concluded his story by saying, “And that is why this has been decidedly the most accursed day of my entire existence!”

HIM gave Mojo a sweet look. “Oh honey. I’m sorry this day has been so awful. At least you’re home now, right?” He stopped his knitting to snuggle up with his husband.

The evil genius looked affectionately at the demon. He still had no idea what he had done to deserve such a wonderful spouse. HIM was beautiful, nurturing, devoted, and so good for him.

He cooked amazing meals, kept the household running, and somehow always knew what to do in any situation his family got themselves into. HIM did everything in his power to make life as easy as possible for his husband and children.

“What did I do to have the honor of being married to you my love?” Mojo kissed the top of his husband’s head with a tenderness that not many others got to experience.

HIM laughed, a melodic sound. “Darling, you didn’t have to do anything to deserve me, I would’ve chosen you regardless! You’re everything I want in a partner. Strong, handsome, intelligent, persistent, dominating… need I go on?” He sensually purred in Mojo’s ear, a claw gently squeezing one of his biceps.

“And I know a strong, handsome, intelligent villain like you wouldn’t let one bad day stop him, hmm?” He crooned seductively, moving himself so that he was now straddling his husband.

“But if that doesn’t make you feel better, I know what will.” HIM slowly pushed the straps of his nightdress down his shoulders, inviting Mojo to finish taking it off.

“Have I told you how good you are for me my beloved? How much I love you?” Mojo said to his husband fondly, sliding the nightgown down his body and running his hands up and down HIM’s smooth skin.

“You tell me every day.” HIM leaned forward and pressed their lips together softly.

Mojo smiled contently once they parted. It was truly his husband that made stressful days easier to handle.

#mojo jojo #ppg him #powerpuff girls

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