#location: luxury tent

[msmelissalin]

Cotton on skin, hair dishevelled from the nights antics, a smudge of mascara lining the under of her left eye, and she once again felt like she was letting them see too much...but it's the way he looks wild, enraged in a way she's not sure she's ever seen but once. At Adriana's birthday. It's his rage, the hard-set eyes, that altered barritone shook Melissa to her inner core in a way she wasn't use too, finding herself staring at the outlining figure of Gideon.

The laterns cast a glow casting him into shadow. One minute ago, Melissa had been in unchartered territories, this version of who she was a mystery to most. And in that rarity, in all it's granduer, fleeting like a comet, she'd momentarily found her way home. To laugh was a forgotten past time to a woman who monetarily had everything. But came home to a clean, empty apartment every night.

Those that warmed her bed, never stayed come sunrise. And she never wanted them too. Her life had never allowed for such connection that she'd truly needed someone besides herself. She'd viewed loving someone as a weakness. And that had not changed. Or at least, that's what she told herself.

Melissa Lin pretended she did know the word weakness.

But she'd been enjoying herself tonight...

Doom had nothing on whatever this was about to become. Melissa felt Benjamin's presence expand: not here, she wanted to challenge. Insted, she used that quick, affirming dominance that had him obey her like a dog, hand finding his shoulder. It's the first thought that finds Melissa, how she wouldn't be able to control him if she let go of that tight reign she had on him... black eyes finding Ben propped up on the bed and staring directly towards Gideon, unforgivingly.

"Get Out. Now."

It's enough, that when Benjamin finds his own voice, a bark on his lips, he quietens just as fast when Gideon fires back quickly. He was a Rutherford, afterall. And the woman beside him might've not shown it in her facial features, expect for that hard-like glass stare, and the mimick of his moments as he stood.

But she was furious.

She watched: watched as Benjamin gathered his things and left, anger evident in the tense muscles of his shoulders and the absolute grind of his teeth.

And finally, Melissa and Gideon met for round 243457.

" -- don't you ever talk to him like that again." cacophonic in tone, voice like ground glass. The lioness finally snapped. “Secondly -- what now, Gideon?" exasperated, while a hand found the top of her hand. "Are you so damn..." she huffs out a breath, "desperate to make me the villain?” Melissa asks.

She could only guess what he'd heard, and what he assumed.

But Melissa was growing tired of the assumptions. Of the blaming. And the constantly hoping that he'll see...it didn't matter, anyway. "I was doing it for your benefit." hand falling with a flop to her side. Like she was finally surrendering.

Despite the sense of impending doom that had weighed on him all of yesterday; in knowing he'd be sharing sleeping quarters with Melissa Lin, the hours had passed without a return on his misgivings. Today had been even better as a result, aided to some degree by the knowledge there was only one more night to be endured before being set free. He'd managed to enjoy the day because of it, managed even to relax.

Armed with uncharacteristic optimism, he decides to turn in earlier tonight than he had yesterday, and without drinking his body's weight in alcohol beforehand. Ben's voice, muffled, becomes clearer as he approaches, and the Rutherford's steps slow.

'... Speak to Nevra? Did she do what I asked?'

'Yep, she followed Amélie, spoke—'

He doesn't hear the rest, for the sudden uptick in his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears. Liar! Manipulator! Duplicitous bitch!! Gideon storms into the tent without a greeting, jabbing a finger in Benjamin's direction, who startles abruptly on the bed beside Melissa. If it had been any other conversation he'd walked in on, he'd be more concerned about the sight in front of him, and whether or not the more disturbing rumours about their relationship were true. But right now, he doesn't give a damn.

Doesn't care whether Benjamin simply worships the ground his mistress walks on, or whether he whores himself out and does her other favours while he's down there, too.

"Get Out. Now."

He doesn't care that he doesn't have any authority over Benjamin, that the young man isn't his to order about. Hearing Amélie's name on his tongue makes him furious, blind.

Benjamin goes to make some protest, but his fury slices through it; a knife that severs all pre-existing intimacy in their close quarters. "Don't make me repeat myself, Vox."

[benjaminvox]

FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: His luxury tent, in his ensuite. OPEN: to anyone who he would've allowed to use his shower. I thought this could be hilarious and something quick fire, xo.

"Wha-- oh fuck," he paused when he heard the door to the bathroom slam open, the shower water trickling down his face as he squinted to see who obviously didn't know what knocking was, and with no luck, tried to move and hide himself. "Can you not wait to piss?!"

[absurdthirst]

Serving the General {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Mentions of servants/slaves, mentions of war, mentions of blood/injuries, washing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, power imbalance, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating, oral sex (male and female receiving), analingus, anal fingering, cock riding, slight breast play, hurt/comfort

Comments: Coming back from battle, Roman general Marcus Acacius has you waiting for him. Serving him to clean his wounds and soothe his soul with your body.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The sounds of the battle are muted, the tent you are in is far from the front lines. Smoke from the fires being tended by servants and slaves alike is heavy in the air. You can almost forget the clashing of swords and the sounds of the catapults being launched against the fortified town. The clanking of steel and screams barely rise above the crackling of burning wood and the rustle of fabrics as men and women move throughout the camp. 

You aren’t rushed. The large cauldron in front of the tent has already been filled by others, hot and ready for when the general returns. If he returns. Your face doesn’t show the worry that you carry, the fear that one day the man that you are serving won’t return. 

The heavily carpeting floors of the tent are luxurious. The furniture better than some would have in their homes, carted from one encampment to another, providing comfort and a sense of home for the high ranking and lauded general. He has been honored by the emperor, by Rome, with servants and treasures, riches bought by the cleverness of his war tactics and the strength of his sword. 

The tub has been brought in, soaps and perfumes set out at the ready for his return. Wine and food will be brought in, other servants retreating so that you can care for the general in private, as was his custom after returning from battle. 

Waiting is the worst part. Pacing around the large tent, wearing the simple silk gown that he prefers you in. Your sandals are nothing more than a quiet whisper over the threads of the ornate fabric, hauled in from the east. The jewelry on your body displays your elevated status. You are not a slave and are more than a servant, but you are not a wife. You are Marcus Acacius’s mistress and his constant companion. 

Marcus grunts as he stumbles through the encampment towards his tent. He had suffered a few swipes and bruises during the battle but he emerged victorious. He is eager to sink into a bath before he sinks into you. You will be waiting and that makes his battle hard fought. He imagines coming back to you, your sweet, relieved smile, and he fights harder. He will kill whoever he needs to to make it back to you. He cannot marry you. You aren’t of his status. Below a plebeian, you are not eligible to marry but he keeps you by his side. Selfish, he supposes, but you’re his lifeline. Long ago he lost his first wife who died in childbirth along with his son and he vowed to never marry again. He enjoys your company and he loves you in his own way but he still mourns his childhood love. He locates his tent and pushes the linen aside to stumble inside, his eyes immediately finding you.

“Marcus!” You rush over to him, throwing your arms around him. When it is the two of you, you are allowed to be emotional, to show him how you feel. Sometimes you think that he prefers that over being in the company of others and having to hide your emotions. His arms around you are strong and exhausted, the battle long and brutal. You pull back and frown when you see a cut on his cheek, his temple, the blood of others on his skin mixed with the dirt and sweat. “Let me tend to you.” You coo, fingers reaching for the ties of his armor. His nod is weary and you don’t call for anyone to help you, wanting to serve him yourself. His wounds fussed over and cleaned by your hands and his aches and pains soothed by your body.

He nods, unable to pretend that he isn’t battle worn and exhausted. He wants to relinquish his body to your touch. You work diligently to remove his armor and he’s soon left in his bloodied tunic while you guide him over to the steaming bath. You remove his tunic and he’s not ashamed to be half hard, his body running on adrenaline and the idea of being inside you again. “Come on, General. Get in.” You demand softly and he hisses when he steps into the water. “Too hot?” You ask and he shakes his head, “no. No. I'm just - too old for this.” He sighs as he sits down in the water.

There is gray in his hair and lines on his face, but he is still strong and healthy. A lifetime of war has worn him down and you know that he is tired of the constant battle for lands that Rome seems to be fighting. “You will feel better once you are clean, well fed and fucked.” You murmur, reaching for the cup of wine you had poured and pressing it into his hand before you pick up the cloth and soap.

Marcus closes his eyes as you start to wash him, “every day more men die. Fathers, brothers, sons. There’s nothing I can do except battle onward for the Emperor’s orders. How many men must die at my hand?” He whispers, hating how torn he is while fulfilling the oath he made to the emperor.

You understand the frustrations that Marcus feels. He sees the death and destruction that war has wrought, the emperor only seeing the glory of Rome in the crimson red of the blood spilt. The cloth swipes away the dirt and washes the blood clean, but you know that it will continue to stain his soul. Every bite of his sword into flesh weighing heavily on his mind and heart. “As many as it takes for you to live.” You murmur softly, keeping your touch gentle when you see a bruise near his ribs where his armor had saved his life. “You save your men with your tactics and your presence in battle beside them. If you were to fall, the army of Rome would suffer.” 

Marcus knows that what you are saying is correct but he can’t help but feel hopeless as he tries to reconcile the losses on the battlefield, knowing he will be delivering the news of their deaths to their families upon arrival back in Rome. “And the Emperor would fall.” He whispers, knowing that even saying that is blasphemy.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you shouldn’t have even heard those words being spoken from his lips. You move to his face and carefully clean up the cuts, blowing on the wounds when he winces. “Drink your wine.” You urge him. “I will refill your cup when it’s dry.” 

He grabs the goblet, taking a large gulp of wine and he hisses when you rub into his neck where he has his worst injury. “Nearly chopped my fucking head off but I managed to dodge it.” He admits nonchalantly like the violence doesn’t bother him anymore.

You want to lean in to kiss the wound, but it will need to be sewn up first but it can wait for now. “You are lucky that it did not end up that way.” You wring out the water and dab at it again. “I will get it closed for you and the paste put on it after you rest.” You promise, even though you know that he doesn’t care about scars. A lifetime as a soldier, his body is a roadmap of battles and injuries. 

He downs the rest of his wine, setting the goblet down as he looks at you with those dark eyes. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” He asks softly, wanting a moment to let you know how much he appreciates you.

Your eyes slide down, slightly embarrassed by his words. You know that he desires you, every time he touches you it’s with a rough devotion. He brands you with his touch. You look back up to find him watching you still. “I always want to please you.” You murmur softly. 

Marcus tuts, reaching up with wet fingers to grip your chin. “It’s not all about pleasing me. I want to please you. I wish I could give you more. Give you all of me but there are pieces that are lost. I no longer own those pieces to give to you.” He confesses like you don’t know this. “And society-” You add but he scoffs, “fuck society. Noblemen still die. No one is above the gods. I do not care about society. I simply wish to protect you.” He admits, “if I die…” He says and you open your mouth but his dark look stops you from speaking. “If I die, you must return to Rome. Atticus promises me he will make sure you return unharmed and there you will find my domus and you will remain there with my coin until the day we are joined in death.”

You don’t want to think about a life without him. You have been with Marcus for too many years. Your heart belongs to him. “I think that if you were to die, I would follow not too long behind you.” You admit softly, reaching out to cover his heart with your hand. “My heart is yours, just like my body.” You know that he cares for you, he has made that obvious even if he could not give you everything. 

Marcus offers you a rare smile, one that is only reserved for you, and his heart thumps when you assure him that you love him, that you are his. “Even so, I want to make sure you are protected and looked after in my absence.” He says as he reaches for your hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. “Wash me, mea columba.” He orders, wanting to wash the battle from his skin.

You nod, picking up the rag again and and you are thorough, washing his feet and then sliding the cloth up his thighs. “You survived.” You remind him, biting your lip as your fingers inch up. You know that he is half hard under the water, already thinking about how he is going to take you. He always does, after every battle, he comes back to this tent and works out the rest of his adrenaline on your body, leaving you a sweaty, cum filled mess on his bed. “Now you get the spoils of war.”

He chuckles, reaching for the decanter of wine to pour himself another glass. “You are my spoils of war? My gold? My treasure?” He smirks as your fingers trail up his thigh while you wash him. “Corculum.” He murmurs, watching you with rapture as you lean over the tub, “I want you.”

“You have me.” You promise him, leaning back and reaching for the gold hoop that holds up the delicate folds of your silk dress. It’s an ingenious design, slip the hoop from around your neck and the front of your dress falls, revealing your tits to him. You stand and let the dress fall to the floor and are completely naked under the thin dress. 

Marcus’s eyes trail along your body. You take his breath away every time he sees your figure. “Bella.” He murmurs, calling you beautiful. He wonders sometimes how he is worthy of touching you after his hands have taken so many lives. “Let me finish washing. I want to be clean when I’m inside you.” He declares, reaching for the cloth.

You watch him just as eagerly as he had watched you. Water cascading down his broad body as he stands to wash his cock. Watching him harden under your gaze and you know that he is eager to take you. “Bella.” you murmur softly, repeating the same endearment. While you can never call Marcus yours in any kind of social setting, you know that the general seeks out your company above those that would gladly throw themselves at the powerful man. 

He washes quickly, making sure he is clean, and he steps out of the tub. Water dripping from his body as his cock throbs for you. He wastes no time reaching for your body, pulling you up against him as he surges forward to crash his lips to yours.

A man of Marcus’s experience has a strong appetite. For food and wine, for sex. He knows exactly how he wants to pleasure you and take his pleasure from you. You give in to him and melt under the force of his lips, wrapping your arms around him and moaning when he picks you up and carries you the few steps to the bed to lay you down. 

He cannot be soft now. He will be later when he's fucked the adrenaline out but for now, he slides his fingers through your cunt. Pleased when he finds you wet enough to take him, and he positions his cock to push into you in one thrust, his body covering yours.

Your cry is silent, mouth open on a scream that could not be heard. Cunt clenching down around him while your fingernails dig into the meat of his shoulders. Filled with him until you cannot think of anything else but the way that his cock drills into you. “Marcus.” You gasp out when you finally catch your breath. 

Your gasps makes him smirk and he grabs your wrists, keeping them together in one of his large hands so he can keep you still. He starts to rock into you, a harsh pace, unrelenting and unwilling to give you time to breathe when he so desperately needs to assure himself that he is alive.

You love the way he needs you. Driving into you again and again with sharp snaps of his hips. You take it, every thrust that has you gasping and moaning. Your body trembling under the force of his need. He needs more, he needs everything and you whimper his name again and again, watching the way his jaw clenches and tights above you. 

He grunts as he pushes into you over and over. He's relentless, wanting to lose himself in you. An orgasm is the only time his mind goes blank. He doesn't get drunk enough to forget the cries of the men he has killed. He squeezes your wrists in his hand as he rams into you. "Fuck you are so tight." He hisses, bending down to bite on your neck.

You shiver when he bites down on your flesh, moaning as he fucks you. The bed groans and sways under the force of his thrusts. “Marc- Marcus.” You pant out raggedly, pushing your legs up on his hips, and wanting more from him. You turn your head, kissing his temple over and over again. “I love you.” 

He can't say it back, the memory of his wife and child haunting him so much that he could never allow himself to love again, but with you...he is close to that feeling. He grunts out a soft noise, pushing into you and feeling your body absorb the brunt of his thrusts. "Shit." He hisses, getting closer and the adrenaline surges as he pants out your name.

He never says the words, but you don’t take offense. You know about his wife, his child that he had lost. The pain and suffering that he endured until you had come into his life. Becoming his comfort. “Yes.” You whimper. “I -” You cry out, stiffening underneath him as your body lights up in pleasure, driven to that peak by the rough way he loves you. 

He hisses when you clamp down on his cock, making him struggle to push into you but he manages, thrusting a half dozen more times until he’s spilling against your walls. “Fuckkkk.” He pants, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead on yours, his mind blissfully blank.

You whimper his name, rocking your hips as he slows his thrusts until he collapses into you. Lifting a leg up over his hips, you hold him closer even as he holds your hands. He will release you when he’s ready and you can stroke and soothe his skin for the rest of the night if that is your wish. “My general.” You murmur softly. 

Your voice soothes him, keeps the horrors of his mind at bay. He breathes in the oils you bathe yourself in and he presses a soft kiss to your neck, letting you know how he feels about you without saying a word. You hum, running your fingers through his hair and he grunts, letting go of your wrists. He shifts rolling over so you are on top of him and his soft cock slips out of you. “Sit on my face, corculum.” He orders, wanting to hear your cries of his name.

He is greedy tonight. You know that he doesn't care that his seed drips out of your cunt, wanting to indulge in his pleasures. He is filthy when he wants to prolong the night and make your voice hoarse with crying out his name. The soldiers around his tent will hear every scream and cry, smirking when you emerge from the tent in the morning and carrying tales of their general’s virility to the campfires as they boast as if it was their own cock being used. Leaning down, you press your lips to his before your thighs frame his head and you wait for the first swipe of his tongue. 

He groans at the creamy mess he’s left between your thighs and he hisses, lifting his head so he can slide his tongue through your folds. He’s desperate to make you cum for him on his tongue. His calloused hands grab your ass to pull you down onto his face, wanting to be suffocated by you.

The first gasp of his name is loud, your hips rolling at the gentle pressure of his hands on your ass. Dragging your cunt over his face, his beard becoming drenched in a mixture of your juices and his moans of pleasure being absorbed into your body. Marcus has always been a very giving lover, wanting to hear your cries of pleasure to drown out the screams of pain and death that echo in his ears. “Marcus!” 

Your scream makes his soft cock twitch and he works his tongue inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He groans at the way you grind down onto his mouth and he closes his eyes, absorbing your taste and your sounds to memory for when you eventually come to your senses and leave him.

You rock back on his face, your head tilted towards the sky and your hands sliding up to cup your breasts. His hands squeeze your ass, making you moan as you move. It’s indulgent and wicked, your body already slick with sweat as he devours you from below. “General,” you whimper. “You are so good at making me shake.” 

He loves hearing your praise and he laps at you like a dog, messy and uncaring as he desperately seeks your orgasm on his tongue. He wants to hear you scream his name again.

You grab on to one of the tent poles by the bed, hanging onto it as you ride your general’s face. His tongue pushed deep inside you. Glancing back, you see that his cock is still not hard again, so if you cum, he will seek another orgasm from you until he’s recovered. “Gods!” You squeal when he pulls his tongue out of your cunt and sucks your clit into his mouth. “Marcus!”

Your squeal of pleasure makes him hum with contentment and he groans against your clit when you roll your hips, chasing your pleasure, to extend it. He caresses your ass when you are still on top of him and he grabs you, shifting you until you are kneeling on the bed. "Going to make sure every bastard outside this tent knows who is making you cum like this." He hisses as he kneels behind you and bends over to slide his tongue through your sensitive folds until he is circling his tongue around your puckered hole.

Marcus has used every hole you possess, not allowing you to keep any part of yourself from him. You gasp out, but he just holds your hips firm in his large hands as he tastes you. You can and will let him do anything he wants, knowing that he is used to getting his way. He loves pushing you, making you wanton for him. “I- your tongue.” You moan, dropping down to press your face to the bed.

He grunts into your ass, loving the way you grind back onto him and he presses his thumb against the slick puckered hole as he slides his tongue back into your pussy, wanting to taste you again.

Your toes curl when he breeches the ring of muscles with his thumb, moaning like a whore while his tongue curls inside you. Eyes closing as you let him do what he wants. “I- I want to suck your cock.” You pant out. “Make- make you feel good.”

“Not yet.” He rasps as he pulls back from your cunt for a moment. “Going to make you scream my name all night.” He promises and dives back in, lowering his head in an awkward angle so he can suck on your clit. Every injury he endured is in the back of his mind as he focuses on you and how you taste.

He should be relaxing, letting you take charge of his pleasure, but that is not the kind of man Marcus is. He leads his men to their deaths and now, he pushes you towards orgasm. His hands are always engaged. His mind focused on nothing else but accomplishing his task, whether it is one he sets for himself or handed down from his emperor.

He sucks on your clit for a while until he’s dragging his tongue back through your folds, his thumb now pushed into your ass and he works it in and out, loving your sweet cries of pleasure but he wants to hear you fall apart for him.

Your gasp of his name is all you can manage. Your body rocking from the force of his thrusts of the thumb into your puckered hole. Cheek smooshed against the soft blankets, you feel your entire core start to tighten with that familiar draw. “Marcus- you, I’m going to -“ you babble, so close to the edge that you feel as if you are going mad.

He groans into your wet flesh when you babble, wanting you to cum for him. He ducks down to suck on your clit and that sends you over the edge. You cry out and he smirks around your bundle of nerves as you cum for him again.

You don’t hide your sounds. Making sure that your cries aren’t muffled in the least. The men near Marcus’s tent will know how talented their general is.

He loves that you let his men hear you, hear how he’s pleasuring you. He’s groaning and working you through it before he withdraws his thumb and playfully bites down on your ass. He’s half hard as he flops to lay down on the bed beside you.

You moan and quickly cover his chest to kiss his lips. “Let me pleasure you now.” You murmur, kissing his jaw and then down his chest. “Celebrate my general’s win by sucking his cock and then riding him until he cums.”

He groans when you take his cock into your mouth, hardening in your mouth as he watches you with dark eyes. “Fuck.” He hisses as you watch him as you take him deeper. “You are so good for me.” He murmurs in awe.

You would pull off his cock and tell him that he deserves everything good, but he would never believe you. Regret weighs him down with the mantle of responsibility so you try to ease his burdens or make him forget about them. You hum around his shaft and hold his hips while you work him deeper with every bob of your head.

He bites his lip after he curses again. Your mouth is his Elysian Fields. His heaven. The thing he thinks about when he’s in the baths alone when he’s in Rome. “Fuck.” He reaches down to caress your cheek, loving the way you are covered in jewels he bought you to claim you in the only way he can.

You lean into his touch, humming happily as his thighs tense and tighten. You slide your hand up to wrap around the base, squeezing it and pumping it as you work the head of his cock. Swallowing around his shaft makes him bite out another curse. You love when he lets you pleasure him, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“I don’t want to spill inside you.” He warns you, wanting to have you ride him just as you promised. He taps your cheek, knowing you’ll spend all night sucking his cock if he lets you but he desperately wants you to ride him so he can watch you cum again.

You pout slightly as you pull off his cock, the thin strands of your saliva keeping you connected until it breaks. “You do want to spill inside me, just not my mouth.” You tease, holding his cock and keeping the foreskin rolled down as you move to straddle his hips. “My general.” You coo as you line up and sink down on his length.

He watches you with the same concentration he applies during battle. Focused on where he disappears inside you with ease and he hisses when your wet walls grip him. “I want you to take what you want, amica mea.” He demands, his hands finding your hips to squeeze the flesh.

You love when you ride him, when you get to set the pace and rock your hips as you take him deeper. Marcus lays under you, his back cushioned against the bed and you lean forward to let your breasts sway in his face as you roll your hips and squeeze him tight inside your body.

He slides one hand down to squeeze your ass and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast. He loves the way you rock your hips, your cries of pleasure making him twitch inside you. "Fuck, that's it. Look so beautiful." He murmurs, looking up at you before he surges up to take your nipple into his mouth.

The sounds of the camp around you are audible, but all you can concentrate on is the feeling of his mouth on your breast, suckling on your nipple. “Marc!” You moan, pushing your hips back a little harder as you slam down on his cock.

He bites down on the bud and he slaps your ass cheek, loving the way you moan his name for the whole of the fucking Empire to hear who is making you feel like this. "That's it." He growls, kissing your sternum.

Marcus Acacius is a fierce soldier and general, just like he is a fierce lover. Your body responds to his touch like a wildfire is spreading in your blood. Making your hips speed up and you bounce faster on his cock, riding him like you would his giant war horse if you were trying to outrun a barrage of arrows. “Marcus- I- Marcus!” You scream out, body stiffening in pleasure as you start to cum.

When you clamp down on his cock, he hisses at how fucking tight you get, and you collapse forward onto his chest. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He grunts, wrapping his arms around you, thrusting up into you. He works you through your orgasm and loves the way your wails continue as you ride your high.

Turning your head, you press your lips to his skin, kissing his shoulder and up his neck. “I love you.” You moan softly. He won’t return the sentiment, he can’t, but you can say it for the both of you. “Cum for me.” You urge softly. “Fill me up.”

He wants to hold off again but your cunt is squeezing him and you are kissing his neck. "Fuck, amor." He lets his emotion slip as he thrusts up into you until he is pulsing, painting your walls with his seed.

You whine softly, loving the feeling of warmth as he floods your womb. Kissing his pulse and panting against his skin. “You are perfect.” You praise him. “The gods have blessed me when they gave me to you.”

He grunts as you shower him with sweet words and for a moment, he wishes he was a simpler man. A plebeian who could marry you and bring you into daylight, but he can’t. You are his mistress and you are hidden in the shadows because of who he is, what he is. His hands caress your sides as he relaxes beneath you, body aching now the adrenaline has worn off.

“Sleep.” You coo, feeling his breathing start to slow down. His body is slipping into the boneless exhaustion. He will need to eat, but he can rest for now and you will take care of whatever he needs when he wakes. The general has fought hard today and deserves the comforts you can afford him. You kiss his chin and then his lips. “Sleep, my love.” You urge him softly. “Roman glory can wait.”

[gaza-giving-tree]

Imagine waking up every morning to the sound of explosions, the walls of your home shaking, and the cries of your hungry children piercing the air.

@tahreer1

Story written by @rumiandroses

This is the reality for Tahrir, a mother of four from Gaza, whose life was forever changed on October 7, 2023, when war turned her world into a nightmare.

Before the war, Tahrir’s life was peaceful. She had completed her university studies in computer information systems and worked at a university and in local municipalities. Her children played freely, and her family enjoyed simple pleasures—walks through the streets, meals shared in the warmth of their home, the security of normalcy. But in a single day, that life was stolen.

The war severed communication between Tahrir and her loved ones, tearing their families apart. Tahrir and her husband lived in one governorate, while her extended family was trapped in another, with no way to know if they were alive. Anxiety consumed her as bombings became relentless, reducing homes to rubble and claiming lives by the minute.

As food supplies dwindled, hunger gnawed at their stomachs. Tahrir’s husband ventured out in the dead of night, dodging airstrikes, just to find bread for their children. Water became a luxury, and they resorted to cooking over open flames as gas supplies were cut off. The price of firewood soared, making even this desperate measure unsustainable.

For two months, they suffered in silence, their bodies growing weak and emaciated. Then, one day, the radio brought news that shook her to her core—her family’s governorate had been ordered to evacuate. The uncertainty was unbearable. Were they alive? Had they made it? When she learned that they had been displaced near her, she ran from her home for the first time in months, only to be met with the horrific sight of destruction everywhere. Buildings lay in ruins, streets were filled with debris, and an eerie silence hung over what was once a bustling city.

But their ordeal was far from over. Displacement became their new reality. One order after another forced them from shelter to shelter, each location proving just as dangerous as the last. Their home was gone, erased from existence. They moved into a tent, barely more than a tattered cloth, offering no protection from the elements.

When winter arrived, the situation became catastrophic. Their meager shelter was no match for the relentless rain. Mattresses were soaked, belongings ruined, and worst of all, her children fell sick. The freezing temperatures led to severe chest infections, but with medical supplies nearly nonexistent, there was no way to treat them.

Even as talks of a ceasefire circulated, Tahrir and her family knew that survival was still a battle.

"What kind of life are we still living?" she asked. "We are still in tents, suffering from the cold, from disease, from hunger, from the fear of breaking the truce, from everything."

Her children need food, warmth, and security. They need to live like children, free from fear and suffering. "Please do not forget my children," she pleads. "Every donation means life. It means rebuilding what was destroyed."

Tahrir’s story is one of unimaginable hardship, but also of resilience. She is not asking for comfort, only survival. If you can, please donate. If you cannot, share her story. Because no mother should have to watch her children starve, and no child should have to grow up knowing only war.

You can donate to Tahrir's family fundraiser [HERE].

[msmelissalin]

"On a normal day, Benjamin's got a bloody good knack for finding his way into places he has no business being, this time, though...I can't credit it to that" Melissa laughed, it was quite funny, she had to admit. "You’d think he'd found himself a golden ticket with how he talks his way into these things." Benjamin’s 'preferential treatment' hadn't come into play this time: funnily enough, this had come through luck, and luck alone. "He had no favours from me this time." Though, he'd had plenty in the past -- and she was sure more would come in the future.

Sliding the notebook back into her bag once she'd marked down the money spent on the business out of her own personal cash. She had t keep on top of it, at all times. Melissa rarely let personal considerations bleed into her decisions, yet here she were, stepping into a zone she wasn't comfortable. "Employee of the month? What would it be measured on? Most kills?"

She couldn't really say she was surprised Melissa was asking her to do something. Work didn't stop just because they were out for a weekend. Though the nature of the request wasn't what she expected. Nevra accepted all the same, nodding her head and making a few mental notes for later.

"I'm sure there won't be any issues. Consider it done and not a burden. Speaking of burdens though, how did Benjamin end up on the rich side of town while I ended up having to set up my own tent? You'll pull some strings for him but not for me?" Nevra was becoming more and more comfortable around Melissa. It was becoming clear that the older woman felt the same, though subtle the hints were. "I see I'm going to have to do better if I want to beat him for employee of the month."

[beegomess]

Your marriage with them || Slytherin Boys

Summary: This time, the title describes it well… Warnings: None.

Requests are open!

Blaise Zabini

It was on a sunny afternoon, at one of the idyllic country estates of the Zabini family, that your wedding with Blaise came to life. The setting, though unpretentious, exuded a serene elegance. The estate was situated on a vast property, surrounded by green fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The ceremony took place outdoors, under a clear blue sky, with subtle decor that appeared natural and unpretentious, yet it was evident that every detail had been carefully chosen.

The altar was a simple structure, adorned with white and green flowers that blended perfectly with the surroundings. The chairs, arranged in elegant lines, were dressed in soft-toned linen fabrics, creating a pleasant contrast with the green field backdrop. The sound of birds singing and the gentle breeze completed the tranquil and intimate atmosphere of the event.

The guests, many of whom were close friends and family, appreciated the sophisticated simplicity of the setting. The reception featured an outdoor dinner with refined dishes served informally, allowing everyone to feel at ease. The day concluded with a sunset celebration, marked by lively conversations and laughter, in an environment where elegance met natural beauty.

Draco Malfoy

The wedding with Draco was a spectacle of grandeur and tradition, reflecting the prestige and magnitude of the families involved. The ceremony took place in a splendidly decorated church, whose interior was an imposing example of classical architecture. The environment was filled with luxury and refinement: crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a soft light over the meticulously crafted details.

The altar, adorned with opulent floral arrangements in shades of white and gold, seemed like an extension of the church itself, harmonizing with the columns and walls embellished with marble details and gold frames. The main aisle was filled with guests, all dressed in their finest attire, giving the event a royal air. The sound of organ music filled the space, creating a solemn and majestic atmosphere.

The reception was equally grand, held in the main hall of the Malfoy family estate, distinguished by its refined decor and luxurious details. Guests enjoyed an exquisite banquet and danced to the music of a live orchestra. Every moment of the wedding was planned to emphasize the significance of the occasion and the connection between the families, creating a celebration that will be remembered as a milestone of elegance and prestige.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Your wedding with Lorenzo Berkshire took place in a serene field, immersed in the simplicity and natural beauty that characterize the Berkshire family aesthetic. The location was carefully chosen to offer a tranquil and elegant setting, with robust trees and blooming white flowers.

The ceremony was held outdoors, with a simple yet sophisticated altar, decorated with white and green floral arrangements that complemented the natural palette of the field. The chairs, arranged in a semicircle, were dressed with linen covers and ribbons in neutral tones, blending with the surroundings. The blue sky and gentle sun created a pleasant and calm atmosphere for the celebration.

The reception followed the same refined simplicity, with an outdoor dinner served under elegantly decorated tents. The menu included light and sophisticated dishes prepared with fresh, high-quality ingredients. The overall atmosphere was one of relaxation and intimate celebration, with friends and family enjoying a natural and elegant setting where the beauty of the field complemented the discreet sophistication of the occasion.

Mattheo Riddle

The wedding with Mattheo had to be conducted quickly and practically, reflecting the urgency with which both of you wanted to seal the union. The ceremony took place in a small and cozy garden at the back of one of his family's houses. The decor, done in a hurry, was simple but had a touch of homey charm.

The space was decorated with field flowers and candles, creating an intimate and warm environment. The ceremony area was improvised with an arch of white and green flowers, giving the place a fresh look. Simple wooden chairs were arranged around the makeshift altar, where the vows were exchanged.

The few friends present shared a simple feast, with homemade food and drinks. The celebration was marked by a sense of urgency and love, with everyone present understanding the importance and intensity of the moment. The simplicity of the event reflected Mattheo's and your desire to unite quickly, and even in its simplicity, the love and dedication were clearly present.

Theodore Nott

The wedding took place at the end of a golden afternoon, in a seaside garden belonging to a majestic house on the coast. The setting was breathtaking, with the deep blue sea shimmering under the soft light of the setting sun.

The garden was adorned with natural and refined decor, with white flowers and green arrangements that enhanced the beauty of the environment. The chairs were arranged in a semicircle configuration, offering panoramic views of the sea and the sunset-lit horizon. The altar, simple yet elegant, was framed by a curtain of flowers and leaves, matching the garden’s color palette.

The ceremony was enveloped in a warm glow, as the last rays of sun reflected on the sea, creating a magical and romantic atmosphere. The reception continued outdoors, with a sophisticated dinner served under a large tree, where guests enjoyed the spectacular view and relaxed ambiance. The combination of the natural setting with elegant details created a dreamlike scene, capturing the essence of love and glamour.

Tom Riddle

The wedding with Tom was an urgent and symbolic celebration, held in the Chamber of Secrets, a location that, despite its dark and mysterious character, became the backdrop for a deeply personal and significant moment. The ceremony had to be conducted quickly due to the need to remain hidden, but Tom insisted that all the elements he wanted be present.

The Chamber was temporarily transformed with simple but effective decor. Magical torches cast a soft light on the stone walls, and a series of white candles were placed around the makeshift altar. Discreet floral arrangements, consisting of white lilies and dark flowers, were positioned at strategic points, providing an elegant contrast to the somber environment.

The few carefully selected guests were present to witness the union, marked by sincere vows and a sense of urgency. The ceremony was brief and intense, reflecting both the gravity of the situation and Tom’s deep desire to seal the union as quickly as possible. Despite the improvised decor and unusual setting, the moment was filled with significance, with Tom ensuring that every detail reflected his commitment and desire to build a future together, regardless of the circumstances.

_______________________________

masterlist

I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it too!!

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[deli-writes-fanfics]

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader short

Rainfall

You and Daryl, and the season 1/2 group end up at a farmhouse. Non canon location. Just in my own little AU.

Not proofread, length is midly short.

------

The sun had been ruthless the past couple of days. That's why when the rainfall finally hit, you spent the early hours of the morning downstairs in the kitchen, nothing but the sound of the rainfall and the slight wind that accompanied it. You sat by the slightly opened window, in a wooden chair by a small table where your cup of hot water and honey sat. It wasn't much, but beggars couldn't be choosers these days and a cup of hot anything seemed a bit like a luxury now. The heat burned your palms a little but you didn't mind too much, a strange comfort found in it. The white see-through curtains pushed to the side and lifting with the breeze. For a moment at least, you could imagine that all was right in the world. All was normal. And you'd rather savour that lie for a little while longer.

"Ain't yer cold like that?"

You jumped a little when you heard Daryl's voice; gravelly but soft, quieter than usual. You hadn't heard him sneak in, though you rarely did with him. Always so quiet. You turned your head enough to meet his gaze with a slow smile. Watching as he leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, his face holding his usual untelling expression.

"Not really...just enjoying the coolness. It's been too hot lately."

Your voice soft, quiet. Knowing it was late. Or perhaps early. You weren't too sure since clock's weren't of much use now. You watched him nod, almost grunt and turn to look out the window. He seemed to accept your answer. Though you sort of expected him to tell you you'd get sick or something. But he seemed satisfied. Perhaps because you were in the house rather than outside in a small and thin tent like usual.

"You going to just stand there or do you want to sit down?"

You say after a while. Breaking the silence softly. You didn't turn to look, your eyes on where the droplets fell and gathered outside. After a moment you wondered if he was even in the room but soon the sound of his feet padded across the floor and the chair slowly, carefully, was drawn out from under the table across from you and he sat down with a slight protest from the chair. Everything in this house seemed old and liked to complain.

There wasn't much to say. You two were often content with shared silence. It was soothing to be around Daryl, for reasons you weren't too sure of. But you felt safe. He felt like home. That was the feeling you had tried not to dwell on, tried to hide away. The reasons why he felt like home. Reasons you didn't let your mind even entertain, usually. You didn't want to risk anything. Nothing. Loosing Daryl would mean to end everything you were staying alive for. You'd admit that much. But not to anyone else. Definitely not to him. Not unless you absolutely needed to; not unless a certain time came.

Your eyes glanced over but you didn't move to look at him. Watching his rare relaxed expression. How his eyes seemed to glimmer in the dim lighting. How he seemed to be lost in thought too. Your eyes drifted to his chest. The steady rise and fall. His arms resting over his makeshift vested chest. You wondered if he could hear your heart in the quietness. How it thudded against your ribcage. You wondered if he pined for you like you did for him. Or if you were just some younger woman with school girl crush to him. You wondered if it was obvious to him; how you'd lean closer when you were sat next to each other just for a chance for your skin to brush against his, to touch. How you'd spend all your time with him every moment you got, even if you weren't needed. How you'd listen so intently whenever he spoke and burned his words into your mind as if it was the most precious thing you owned. You wondered if he knew how thoughts of him kept you up. Like he had tonight. Like he had since you first met him. Like you knew it would for eternity.

"Yer like my shirt or somethin'?"

You heard his voice break your thoughts and the silence, moving to meet his eyes as your face flushed a bit in embarrassment. Having let your mind wander far too much.

"No it's- sorry. Yes I like your shirt. I was just zoned out. That's all."

You said with a laugh, small. A little awkward. Your eyes shifting to your cup as you picked it up to take a sip.

"I'm teasin'. S'all."

You watched a small smile creep onto his lips, clearly enjoying seeing you flustered. The sight made your heart beat faster. You wanted to commit that smile to memory. It was worth more than gold to you. More than anything.

"Dumbass."

You muttered as you turned away and for a moment, just as you could still see his face, you were sure you caught a glimpse of something else. Something. Tender. As he looked at you. But perhaps it was all just your want for him rather than truth.

[vendettaspathfanfic]

Chapter Eight

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

I have a lil surprise for y’all! From me and… someone else ;3

“That was fucking cool ass!” Toxic's jubilant declaration reverberated through the vehicle as she thrust her fists triumphantly into the air.

“Where do you even get these word combinations?” Scourge groaned, his grimace displaying his annoyance at Toxic's strange attempts at swearing.

“She’s right-might-bite! That was fucking cool ass!” Flying's exuberant cheer filled the air, his own excitement matching Toxic's as he pumped his fist energetically.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Fiona interjected, her tone a sobering reminder amidst the buzzing atmosphere, “no doubt there's a huge bounty on this car, and someone at a mod shop could report it, or hell, someone could report us on the way.”

“So we’re dumping it?” Lightning inquired, his features relaxing as he pulled off his mask.

“Yup,” Fiona affirmed, mirroring Lightning's actions as she too removed her mask, taking a moment to readjust her hair, “I expected as much, honestly.”

“That sucks,” Scourge lamented with a hint of disappointment, his eyes rolling as he took off his mask, savoring the sensation of freedom as the cool air brushed against his quills.

“Don’t forget, baby, we'll be back on our thrones in no time,” Fiona reminded her lover, a note of reassurance in her voice as she raised a finger in emphasis.

“Oh yeah,” Scourge conceded with a grin, his gaze shifting to Toxic, his next words laden with a hint of nostalgia, “you won’t believe what it’s like being on the throne, kid. Cars, food, money, anything you want at the snap of your fingers.”

“I get, um, a throne?” Toxic's hopeful inquiry hung in the air, her eyes wide with wonder at the prospect.

“Well…” Scourge began tentatively, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, “if you're my sister and I'm the king, then you're the princess. I guess you get a throne...”

“I wanna be the king,” Toxic asserted, crossing her arms.

“Tough,” Scourge retorted, a smirk playing on his lips as he retrieved a cigarette, the flame from his lighter casting a fleeting glow on his face as he took a drag.

"Alright guys," Fiona's voice cut through the chatter, her gaze shifting towards a hopping brightly-lit nightclub they passed by, "looks like that club's busy tonight. Lightning, Predator, go in there and grab..." Her brow furrowed as she hummed in thought, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes, "like, 3 car keys from some drunken jackasses. After that, we gather our belongings, ditch this vehicle, and each take a different route home. All clear?"

After receiving a collective “yes ma’am” in response, Lightning and Predator smoothly exited the now-parked vehicle and made their way into the vibrant nightclub. In the dimly lit chaos of the club, they deftly relieved various inebriated revelers of their car keys without raising a single eyebrow. They swiftly rejoined their team outside, the metallic jangle of the ill-gotten keys echoing through the alley in which the SUV was parked.

Activating the locator buttons, they discovered they had acquired two sedans and a jeep - not luxury vehicles by any means, but perfectly suited to their immediate requirements. With their newfound assets in hand, the team efficiently redistributed the contents and occupants of the SUV, preparing to load up the newly acquired vehicles for their next move.

“Fiona and Toxic are with me,” Scourge announced decisively, standing by the red sedan he had selected, his posture exuding confidence. “Predator and Lightning, take a car, and Flying and Simon will likely opt for the jeep.”

“Where else can ya fit a jolly brown giant, eh, Simon?” Flying quipped, nudging Simon playfully, the latter responding with a resigned eye roll as he stood with his arms crossed.

“I wanna go with Simon!” Toxic's protest carried over as she hurried to him, her enthusiasm evident.

“They only got a two-seater, short stack,” Fiona interjected, her arms crossed as she leaned against the car, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice.

“Well, I can always hang with fuzzy and birdie!” Flying chimed in, bounding over to join Lightning and Predator, the latter struggling to conceal his irritation as a subtle twitch of his brow betrayed his composure.

“Your call, man,” Scourge addressed Simon, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his words. “You want this thing?” His gaze flickered disdainfully towards his sister.

Simon expressed his indifference with a dismissive shrug, muttering, "I don't care," before he offered a steadying hand to Toxic, who was clambering up into the rugged jeep. "Buckle up," he instructed firmly, "And take off your mask. Everyone else has already taken theirs off."

"No fuckshitty way. It looks cool," she retorted, stubbornly adjusting the seat belt across her chest.

Simon, under his breath, murmured a gruff, "I don't have time for this." Without waiting for her compliance, he reached over and stripped away the balaclava from Toxic's head in one smooth gesture, despite her immediate objections. "We'll attract the wrong kind of attention with these on," he explained, his tone brooking no argument.

Meanwhile, Scourge stood a little distance away, surveying the group with a casual eye. "Alright, see you guys back there," he called out, his voice carrying an air of finality as he slid behind the wheel of his own vehicle.

With a collective purr of engines, the group dispersed, each taking their separate paths, winding their way back home through the less traveled roads.

During the drive, Toxic became a whirlwind of chatter beside him, excitedly recounting every moment of their recent heist. She embellished the tale with animated sound effects and poorly done impressions, eager to relive the wild journey.

Simon, slightly exasperated, responded with noncommittal hums of "Mhm," and, in a quest for some auditory respite, he reached out and turned on the radio. He hoped the music would serve as a gentle distraction and perhaps encourage Toxic to quiet down.

Undeterred, Toxic continued her enthusiastic reenactment, eventually pausing to ask, "What was your favorite part?" Her foot tapped along to the rhythm of a song now playing, her energy undimmed.

"Dunno," Simon replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he maintained his focus on driving through a dilapidated shopping district. The flickering neon signs were caked with layers of dirt, the road was a minefield of potholes, and the omnipresent litter added a final touch to the atmosphere of neglect.

Contrary to Simon, the disarray didn’t seem to deter Toxic. Her attention was captured by a small, rundown diner. "I wanna eat there," she announced abruptly, pointing with determination toward the diner's partially illuminated sign.

Simon cast a skeptical eye at the establishment, his nose scrunching in distaste. "There? With all the money we have?" he questioned, the incredulity evident in his voice.

Toxic's enthusiasm was undeterred. "Yeah!" she squealed, nodding vigorously as her stomach offered a timely rumble of agreement.

Feeling the gnaw of hunger himself, he conceded with a resigned exhale. "Ok," he acquiesced, guiding the jeep to a stop beside the diner, parking it behind a solitary motorcycle.

Toxic's eyes danced with new interest. "Can I drive that?" she inquired, gesturing toward the motorcycle with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Nope," Simon answered, his response immediate and unyielding as he stepped out of the jeep. He extended a hand to help Toxic down and escorted her toward the diner's entrance, the neon glow of its sign washing over them in flickers.

Shockingly, the desolate ambiance and lackluster staff of the grungy diner failed to entice anyone to linger late into the night — except for a solitary figure. Seated at the counter, a tall polar bear woman clutched a beer bottle in one hand, her attention fixed on a news report detailing a recent bank robbery and ensuing police chase that had unfolded in the city, leaving a trail of casualties in its wake.

In a moment of recognition, Toxic's gasp pierced the quiet of the diner as she pointed animatedly at the screen, her eyes widening in shock. Before she could cause further commotion, Simon swiftly swept her up into his arms, his voice a harsh whisper as he admonished, "no!"

The sudden disturbance drew the attention of the polar bear woman, prompting her to shift her gaze towards the pair. Locking eyes with Toxic, she offered a gentle smile in response to the child's unflinching stare, her attention drawn to the vivid cyan glow emanating from her cybernetic eye, framed by intricate silver steel and peeking out from beneath her tousled white hair.

Known for their straightforward nature, children often possess a unique candor. Toxic, however, excelled in this aspect. True to form, she exhibited her unfiltered curiosity by bluntly pointing at the woman's cybernetic eye and posing the question, "What the hell happened to your eye?"

“Toxic!” Simon hissed, catching the young girl off guard and prompting a sheepish pause in her inquiry.

Rather than taking offense, the woman responded with a light chuckle, shaking her head with a hint of amusement as she turned her body to face the duo.

"Ah, this eye?" she began, gesturing to the eye in question, "it fell out because I didn't eat enough veggies."

Toxic's reaction was immediate, her skepticism palpable as she scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "What a load of bullshit," she groaned, unimpressed by the explanation offered.

This caused Ursula to erupt in laughter, spitting her beer onto the floor as she doubled over, clutching her stomach in mirth. It took her a full minute to regain her composure, her laughter echoing through the dimly lit diner.

Amidst her amusement, Ursula managed to compose herself enough to address Toxic. "Oh," she chuckled, wiping away tears of laughter, "yer a spunky little gal. Toxic, right?"

With a nonchalant shrug, Toxic confirmed, "Yeah.”.

With a warm smile, the woman extended her large hand for a fist bump, which Toxic eagerly reciprocated. "I'm Ursula," she said, her laughter still evident in her voice.

Impressed by Ursula's style, Toxic surprisingly showed signs of politeness as she complimented her fashion sense in her own unique way. "I like your nails, Ursula. And your earrings. And your...” she paused, searching for the right term, “face earrings."

Ursula accepted the praise graciously, her amusement evident in her tone. "Why thank you," she replied, her smile unwavering, "I like them too. And I like yer hair."

Caught off guard by the unexpected interaction, Simon hesitated, feeling warmth creep up his cheeks as he met Ursula's gaze. "We're sorry to bother you, miss..." he began, his tone apologetic.

Ursula quickly dismissed his concerns, leaning casually against the counter and adjusting her black leather jacket. "Oh, not at all!" she reassured him, her demeanor friendly and relaxed. "She yers, mister...?"

"Sergeant Simian," he introduced himself, clearing his throat before adding, "and, erm, no. She's my boss' kid sister."

Ursula's response was warm and complimentary. "She's a sweet gal," she remarked, her words sincere.

"Well, you don't know her," he retorted, averting his eyes as a faint blush of embarrassment continued to color his cheeks.

“I’m hungry,” Toxic complained, tugging at Simon’s bandolier with impatience as her stomach continued to grumble and ache with the pangs of hunger.

“Well, uh…” the flustered gorilla spoke lowly before clearing his throat and raising his volume to be more audible, “good meeting you ma’am.” His words stumbled out in a mix of unease and courtesy, a subtle hint of nervousness seeping into his demeanor that he internally cursed himself for.

“I wanna sit with Ursula,” Toxic demanded, her tone once again insistent and unwavering.

“Jeez, you want a lot of things tonight…” Simon murmured through a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“By all means,” Ursula said graciously, motioning them to the two seats next to her, her gesture accompanied by a warm smile.

Internally, he cursed himself for his weakness against this already ill-mannered child. He placed her in the barstool next to Ursula, adjusting it so she could reach the counter before sitting next to her and grabbing a menu from the exhausted waiter that stood behind the counter.

Despite his embarrassment, Simon oddly enough found himself looking for an excuse to talk to Ursula. His mind's race for words luckily came to fruition as he noticed the steak in front of her. A flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes.

“That any good?” He asked, his gaze flicking between her and the menu. His inquiry carried a hint of genuine interest, a subtle attempt to engage in conversation.

Ursula rolled her eyes a little and cringed as she answered, “dry, weak seasoning…” before she picked up the steak in her hands and bit into it, tearing off a chunk of it before devouring the piece. Her unconventional approach to dining caught Simon off guard, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering across his features as he observed her. “But,” she began as she chewed before swallowing, “the beer makes you forget about that.”

“W-well… uh…” Simon stammered, blinking a few times as he processed the sight before him before looking at the zombie-like waiter, “I’ll, erm, have a patty melt and a black coffee.” His order came out in a hesitant manner, another sign of his slightly flustered state in the moment.

“Mhm,” they hummed, “and the kid?” The waiter asked monotonously.

“What do you wanna eat, Toxic?” Simon asked, leaning closer to Toxic who was scribbling on her kids menu with a used-up green crayon

Toxic hummed in thought as she stared at the menu before poking Simon’s shoulder and motioning him to lean in. Once he was close, she whispered matter-of-factly in his ear, “I can’t read.”

With a sigh, he let the waiter know it’d be a few minutes while he helped her decipher the menu, leading her to loudly declare that she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich with orange soda.

“Ah, take it easy on service workers,” Ursula advised, ruffling Toxic’s hair, “they go through enough. Especially in this world.”

“Fine…” Toxic acquiesced, lowering her head. “Can I have, um, a grilled cheese sandwich and then I wanna drink orange soda.” Her compliance was accompanied by a hint of hesitation as her eyes shifted to Ursula who held an approving thumbs up to her.

Simon reeled his head back in surprise. This was by far the most ill-mannered child he’d ever come across, and this woman they’d just met somehow had the charm and charisma to prompt her to behave acceptably. He’d be lying — which he would — if he said he didn’t understand the appeal Toxic saw in her. Simon found himself grappling with a mix of astonishment and intrigue, recognizing the subtle influence Ursula wielded over Toxic and those around her.

She was definitely… interesting.

The food didn’t take too long to get there. The dishes served were as good as one would expect from a diner of this quality. The bread on Simon’s patty melt had a hint of staleness, and the patty was quite dry, but overall, it was still edible. On the other hand, Toxic, who had spent her life in an orphanage that eventually closed down, possessed a less refined palate than Simon and eagerly devoured the slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwich.

All of a sudden, Toxic let out a whimper as she put down her half-eaten sandwich and covered the reddened cut on her lips with her hand.

“The sandwich hurt my mouth…” she whined, her speech muffled by her hand, revealing a moment of discomfort.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t pick at the cut,” Simon chastised with a roll of his eyes.

“Aww,” Ursula said with concern as she gently moved Toxic’s hand and examined the cut, “that looks bad, lil girl. What happened?” Her expression softened with empathy.

“I fell off the slide,” she explained, her tone mirroring Ursula’s as she clearly soaked up the loving attention.

Inhaling sharply through her teeth, Ursula winced and asked, “ooh, did ya see a doctor?” Her concern for Toxic's welfare being evident with a gentle ruffle of the child’s hair.

“Sort of. We know a medic and she’s taking antibiotics,” Simon replied, soothing Ursula’s worries while taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well, if ya need any help with that, my friend Clarisse is a doctor,” Ursula offered, pulling a napkin from the holder in front of them and retrieving a pen from inside her jacket. She jotted down Clarisse’s phone number on the napkin before sliding it across the counter to Simon, extending a gesture of support.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Simon replied with a nod of gratitude.

“Anytime, soldier,” she lightly teased, saluting him with a wink, adding a touch of humor to the exchange.

The second he registered her wink, as if by reflex, he abruptly looked away, shifting his gaze to Toxic as her eyes darted between them while she absentmindedly picked at her lip.

“Knock it off,” Simon sternly reprimanded, nudging her hand away from her face.

“Ugh!” Toxic groaned in response before diverting her attention back to her sandwich, her frustration evident in her actions as she displayed an exaggerated frown and took a big bite into her meal.

As Ursula held what was left of her steak in one hand, her phone rang. With her speech slightly garbled from chewing, she answered the call. “Yah?” Her chewing gradually slowed, and the composed expression on her face began to falter as she listened intently to the caller, “thlow ‘own. Woss ‘appenin?” With a hint of concern creeping into her voice, Ursula set down her steak and swallowed the bite, muttering a curse under her breath. With a sense of determination, she declared, “ok. I’ll be there in a bit,” before ending the call.

“Who were you talking to?” Toxic asked, leaning in closer to Ursula, her curiosity piqued as she raised a questioning brow.

“I hate to leave you two, but I got a good feeling we’ll see each other again,” Ursula remarked, swiftly retrieving her wallet from her pocket and tossing cash on the counter, instructing the waiter to keep the change. Her actions conveyed a sense of urgency and purpose as she prepared to depart, a glimpse of her commitment to helping others in need.

“Is everything ok?” Simon asked without thinking, a rare moment of concern breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

“Will be soon. You two enjoy your late-night snack. Good meetin’ ya!” Ursula bid them farewell before swiftly exiting the diner and speeding away on her motorcycle, leaving behind a sense of mystery and intrigue in her wake.

“I like Ursula,” Toxic remarked, taking a sip of her orange soda.

“She’s nice…” Simon murmured, his eyes drifting down to his plate. He continued to eat, resting his elbows on the counter as he held the patty melt in his hands.

Toxic carefully eyed his movements, resting her elbows on the counter as she picked up her sandwich and took a hearty bite. She noticed Simon wiping some grease off his chin with his thumb and followed suit, dabbing her own chin with her thumb.

Once they finished their meal, Simon signaled the waiter and paid for their bill. He slid off his barstool and stretched, his joints making a faint crackling noise.

“Ready, Toxic?”

“Ok,” she replied, letting out a small grunt as she climbed down from her barstool. She followed Simon out of the diner and back to their jeep. They continued to take the long way home, the engine purring as they drove through the various city streets.

As Toxic stared out the window while they passed by neon lights and towering billboard advertisements, her eyelids grew heavy. Her animated chatter slowed, and eventually, she fell silent, her head leaning against the door.

“Simon…” she murmured, her tiny voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Today was my favorite day,” she said, her voice becoming softer as her eyes fluttering closed.

Simon’s thoughts drifted back to a pivotal moment in his life. He remembered the day vividly—the day he first truly embraced the life of combat. His old colony in the Mobian Jungle had been ruthlessly attacked by Robotnik’s forces. In the aftermath, he had dedicated himself to stockpiling weapons, acquiring them through any means necessary, even illegitimately. His grandfather had disapproved and cast him out, but Simon remained resolute in his quest for revenge. He launched a one-man assault on a Robotnik base, risking everything. Though he nearly perished in the onslaught of reinforcements, he harbored no regrets. He was ready to die in a blaze of glory. Instead, he was saved by Mammoth Mogul, the former leader of the Destructix, and given the chance to grow stronger. And grow he did, his resolve unwavering.

Simon’s gaze shifted to Toxic, who had fallen asleep, her head resting against the door panel. Despite her crass behavior and turbulent beginnings, she possessed a fierce determination that reminded him of himself years ago. She showed no hesitation in tasks like gunning down law enforcement and had a remarkable knack for marksmanship. Most admirably, she had no regrets about any of it. All of this, and she wasn’t even five years old.

“Just you wait, kid,” he murmured, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

As the wee hours of the morning descended, the group made their way back to the familiar confines of the old orphanage without encountering any significant obstacles. Exhausted by the night's tumultuous events, they retired to their beds, seeking much-needed rest.

Armed with a considerable sum of illicitly acquired wealth, they now had more than enough funds for the cybernetic implants they desired. The following day, Scourge visited an auto shop to enhance the purple sports car he had commandeered while chasing his sister earlier in the week. In addition to repairing the window damaged during the pursuit, he had the vehicle repainted in a gleaming electric green hue and outfitted it with a matching spoiler, giving it the appearance of a sleek racecar—a subtle nod to his supersonic speed.

"It must be my birthday!" Scourge declared exuberantly, letting out a triumphant whoop as he cruised through the city streets. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and he bobbed his head in time to a hip-hop beat playing on the radio.

"Just wait until we're back in power," Fiona remarked with a grin, tapping her foot to the music while setting up her new laptop, which Miles would use to coordinate with the gang through their upcoming cybernetic enhancements.

"Then it'll be Christmas," he chuckled. "Have you found us a street clinic?"

"Yeah, Dr. Fedorov's Clinic. The reviews say he's good at what he does and values patient confidentiality, if you catch my drift," she replied slyly, offering a wink.

"Perfect," he nodded approvingly, flicking his cigarette butt out of the window.

"I messaged him, and he does provide the implants we need, but it will cost extra since they are military-grade and not exactly legal. He does have other stuff too if you’re interested?" she continued.

"Really? Show me," Scourge requested, turning his attention to her.

"Eyes on the road, babe," Fiona playfully scolded. "Don’t wanna be in a body cast before the big day."

“C’mon baby, your boy’s a good driver…” the green hedgehog began, his hand stroking her arm with a self-assured smirk. However, the tender moment with his girlfriend was short-lived as he abruptly hit the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with a turning car. The irate driver honked at him, prompting Scourge to retaliate by flipping them off and calling out, “up yours too, you old bitch!”

Fiona leaned her elbow casually against the door panel, raising an eyebrow as she rested her cheek on her knuckles, her gaze fixed on Scourge.

"What?" Scourge inquired, bewildered by her demeanor.

"Is this why you prefer running?" she queried, her tone laced with sarcastic curiosity.

"Cut me some slack, Fiona. I'm just hyped about everything that's happening, plus I've got a hot girl by my side," he retorted defensively, shrugging his shoulders.

"Am I too much of a distraction?" Fiona teased, a playful glint in her eye. "Because I can hop out."

"Please, exit the moving vehicle," Scourge replied amidst laughter.

"I might just do that. I'd probably better have better chances with that than being in a crash with you at the wheel," she jested, joining in his amusement.

"You bitch," Scourge teased, shaking his head.

"You're a bitch too," she shot back with a smirk, playfully poking his arm.

"The baddest of them all," Scourge declared, raising a finger in emphasis.

“Damn right,” Fiona replied, affectionately resting a hand on Scourge's shoulder, causing his grin to widen in response to her gesture.

“Does our doc buddy take walk-ins?” Scourge inquired, pausing at a stoplight and tapping his finger on the steering wheel, displaying a hint of impatience as he waited for the light to turn green.

“Yeah, but for now, we only have time for the procedures Miles mentioned. He says if we want it done today for three people, they better come in pretty soon,” Fiona answered, retracting her hand to focus on her laptop.

“Call the guys, then. Make sure Miles gets some food and water before they head over. Can't have a dead rat lying around,” Scourge instructed, his tone casual.

“On it,” Fiona responded, scrolling through her contacts. “And while we're out, how about you and I grab some actual food for a change?”

“Takeout only,” Scourge declared, navigating through the pristine streets maintained by private cleaning companies in this upscale area. He adjusted his sunglasses as the reflection of a sleek skyscraper caught his eye. “This place is different from the slums. People pay more attention to politics around here. They might recognize me.”

“As long as it's not dripping in grease, deal,” Fiona agreed, raising her phone to her ear to notify the Destructix about the upcoming appointment.

From what Scourge told them about the clinics, the gang harbored some reservations about visiting one. These establishments often offered walk-in surgeries for cybernetic implants and plastic surgery, resembling tattoo parlors in their approach. Overall, the idea of undergoing surgical procedures in a building situated across from a strip club left them feeling somewhat uneasy.

Despite the initial reservations, the clinic appeared to be well-regarded and maintained when Simon, Predator, and Lightning stepped into the empty waiting room. The sole occupant, a teenage receptionist, was engrossed in air drumming to a tune playing on her earbuds, her eyes shut tight, oblivious to their arrival.

Unperturbed by her distraction, Predator approached her and deftly removed her earbuds, eliciting a startled yelp as she opened her eyes to meet his unyielding gaze.

"Jesus, dude! What do you want?" she exclaimed.

"We're here to see the doctor. Our boss arranged cybernetic procedures for the three of us," Predator stated firmly, his expression as unchanging as a statue’s.

"Uh, yeah..." she stammered, clearing her throat and avoiding his chilling gaze. She turned her head towards an archway down the left hallway. "Hey, Uncle Rick? These guys are here."

"Come on back, fellas!" a gruff voice called out from the indicated direction, prompting them to follow the sound into a small, dimly lit operating room. The examination table, peculiarly equipped with straps for the arms and legs, was surrounded by an array of advanced equipment and technology that seemed more at home on a spaceship than in a street clinic. Why the technology on display surpassed anything they had encountered on Mobius, which was already far from primitive.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” he began, fixing his sunglasses, “Each session will take about two hours each. Y’all will be put under the whole time and won’t feel a thing. Aftercare is just a pill a day to help with any aches and fight off infections. And before I forget,” he added, extending a hand forward expectantly “payment’s up front. 9,000 moebiums.”

“That’s insane,” Lightning scoffed, crossing his arms.

“These are military grade implants you fellas are asking for,” Dr. Fedorov chided, “illegal without government authorization and not exactly a commodity amongst street clinics.”

“Relax, Lightning,” Simon said, smacking Lightning gently on the back of the shoulder before handing over the cash. “We can afford it regardless.”

After quickly thumbing through the bills, Dr. Fedorov grinned, his gold tooth glinting from the soft glow of the neon lights in the room. “Great. Who's up first?”

“I will go first if nobody objects,” Simon declared. When the group didn’t object, he continued “alright, you guys don’t gotta wait around ‘til I’m done. Go do whatever.”

“Later, man,” Lightning said with a wave, motioning for Predator to follow him out of the clinic.

For Predator, it felt like he didn’t get to spend much one-on-one time with Lightning nowadays. As they strolled past the many vibrant, and some vulgar signs and advertisements, his gaze flitted between the colorful displays, but his focus remained on the man beside him. Remembering the previous night after the bank robbery, when Flying ended up joining them on the ride home, Predator couldn't shake the feeling that something important to him had been interrupted. Nevertheless, now they had this time alone, and Predator felt a unique sense of calm and connection with Lightning, like they were a force shielded from the chaos of the world around them.

Reflecting on these feelings, Predator wondered if it was strange to experience such closeness with a longtime companion like Lightning. More than anything, though, he pondered whether Lightning felt the same way in his presence.

The blaring horn of a passing car jolted Predator back to reality, causing him to shift his thoughts and chastise himself for delving into such introspection. He recognized that dwelling on these feelings served no practical purpose and only served as a distraction from their established camaraderie.

Lightning, however, caught sight of Predator's gaze from the corner of his eye before the blue hawk quickly averted his eyes. Frowning slightly, Lightning inquired, "you alright?"

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine," Predator replied, clearing his throat nervously, feeling his heart skip a beat under the scrutiny of Lightning's gaze.

“Okay,” Lightning responded, raising an eyebrow in skepticism before dismissing it with a shrug. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“I’m open to anything,” Predator answered.

“Anything? Even the XXX Live Theater? Sign says it’s half off Wednesday,” Lightning teased, nudging Predator playfully with a mischievous grin.

With a soft chuckle, Predator shook his head, “god, live theater? What is it, broadway?”

“Yeah, a full-blown musical,” Lightning jested, sharing in Predator's amusement.

“It’d probably be better than that one-man play Flying did last year. I’ve never heard an audience actually scream boo,” Lightning remarked as they stood waiting to cross the street.

“Well, whenever you spray the front row with a fire extinguisher while screaming the alphabet, it really kills the mood,” Predator quipped with a shrug.

“Hopefully the ‘Happy Holiday Special’ doesn’t have as many problems,” Lightning remarked as they began walking across the crosswalk together.

“The what?” Predator asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“You heard me,” Lightning replied with a small laugh.

“Lovely,” Predator said sarcastically.

"To be honest, though, Hawks, it feels like you and I don’t hang out as much lately," Lightning remarked, wrapping an arm around Predator in a friendly gesture. "We got a couple hours to kill and it’s a big ci- what was that?"

“What was what?” The blue hawk inquired, dumbfounded.

“Your feathers got all puffy for a second and your tail, like, wagged,” Lightning pointed out, a teasing smirk playing on his face.

“I was only adjusting my feathers,” Predator replied, feigning interest in reading a nearby sign as he struggled to hide the flush creeping up his face.

“Hm, alright then,” the lynx chuckled, not entirely convinced by his friend's explanation but choosing to let it go.

Eager to shift the focus away from the embarrassing moment, Predator quickly scanned their surroundings for a distraction. His gaze settled on a skyscraper about half a mile away, sparking an idea.

“Well,” he began, an implicative grin forming, “I bet the view from that skyscraper is breathtaking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lightning responded, intrigued.

“If you want, we could find out for ourselves,” Predator proposed.

“I’m down,” Lightning agreed enthusiastically.

With a swift motion, Predator spread his wings and took flight, with Lightning leaping up to grab onto his ankles. Carrying his friend effortlessly, they shot through the air toward the towering skyscraper, their destination in sight.

Upon reaching the rooftop, Predator landed smoothly, allowing Lightning to hop down onto the concrete.

“Wow…” Lightning marveled, settling on the edge. “This city may be a dump to live in but… you were right about the view.”

“I’ve... never seen anything quite like it,” Predator admitted softly, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily softened by the awe-inspiring sight before them.

The mesmerizing horizon held them in silent awe for several minutes. Sitting side by side, they absorbed the symphony of flying vehicles' gentle hum and marveled at the kaleidoscope of colorful city lights flickering below. Even in the daytime, the urban landscape sparkled as sunlight bounced off the polished surfaces of the towering skyscrapers.

Despite their shared knowledge that New Moebotropolis was far from utopian, in that moment, they felt a sense of detachment from its flaws. In the serene stillness of the sky, even the most sordid aspects seemed to fade away, revealing an unexpected beauty in the urban chaos.

In the presence of one another, they both found beauty where no one else could.

"I wonder what the view’s like from somewhere even higher?" Lightning mused, casting his gaze towards an even taller building.

“That’d be all well and good, Lightning,” Predator replied, “but I’ve a feeling you’d want to do more than just sightseeing…”

“Maybe I do,” Lightning responded, turning to face him. “What did you have in mind?”

“We freefall,” Predator declared as he rose to his feet. “As far down as we can.”

“And potentially splatter against an airbus?” Lightning quipped with a chuckle.

“Lightning Lynx, when did you start to fear risking your life?” Predator teased, lowering himself to Lightning's level, a smirk playing on his lips as their eyes locked.

“Who said I did?” Lightning shot back with a playful tone, standing up.

“Ah, yes. Because you know better than to forget who is looking out for you,” Predator remarked, rising to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lightning scoffed before playfully urging, “you first, Hawks!” and gave Predator a sudden push over the ledge.

Predator's eyes widened in surprise as he tumbled backward. Although he knew he had nothing to fear as a bird, he never expected his friend to push him off a roof in any circumstance. Moments later, as Lightning leaped after him, a mix of determination and smugness on his face, their eyes met, and Predator couldn't help but grin with a blend of amusement and camaraderie.

Adjusting his position in the air, Predator oriented himself downward, maintaining a vigilant watch for any potential obstacles as he descended rapidly towards the ground, with Lightning not far behind.

For Lightning, the sensation of detachment from solid ground was both exhilarating and liberating. As he ripped through the air with no fear, embracing the risk and the rush of adrenaline, he felt a profound sense of empowerment that surged through him, amplifying the thrill of the freefall.

As they descended closer to the ground, Predator turned towards Lightning once more and gestured for him to grab onto his feet. After aligning themselves, Lightning firmly clasped his ankles, and in a swift motion, Predator shot back up into the sky, narrowly evading the bewildered onlookers below.

Reaching the next skyscraper, they paused to savor the breathtaking view before Lightning, brimming with confidence, snapped a photo of the duo against the urban backdrop. Without hesitation, they plunged back towards the earth. As they neared ground level, they propelled themselves upwards to an even taller skyscraper, repeating the cycle from one building to another until they reached the tallest skyscraper around.

"This time," Predator announced, positioning himself at the edge with his hand extended towards Lightning, "we fall together."

With a warm smile, Lightning took Predator's hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with his trusted companion. "On three... one, two, three!" Predator counted before they both leaped off the ledge, their hands clasped tightly as they plummeted towards the ground.

The thrill of freefalling was intense, but the shared experience with one another made it all the more exhilarating. As they locked eyes during their daring descent, the rush of adrenaline was magnified by the bond of something more than mere friendship that united them in this extraordinary escapade.

Lost in the thrill of the moment, they failed to notice how rapidly they were approaching the ground. As Lightning turned his head to take in the surrounding view, his initial excitement swiftly transformed into a sense of urgency when he realized their perilous proximity to the sidewalk below. Reacting instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Predator's neck, gripping him tightly as he shouted, "Pull up, Hawks!"

Cursing softly under his breath, Predator swiftly extended his wings and ascended back into the sky, maneuvering them both safely back to the rooftop of the skyscraper they had leaped from moments before.

"Jesus, Hawks!" Lightning gasped, his heart pounding in his chest, momentarily forgetting that his arms were still wrapped around Predator.

"Sorry, Lightning," Predator responded, placing a comforting hand on Lightning's shoulder as the lynx sheepishly withdrew his arms.

"Don't worry... I still had a great time," Lightning managed to say between pants, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Me too," Predator replied sincerely, giving Lightning's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. With his eyes stuck on his companion’s grin, he felt compelled to speak up, "Hey, Lightning?"

"What's on your mind?" Lightning inquired, noticing a shift in Predator’s demeanor as he somehow seemed startled by his own question.

Retracting his hand and wiping sweat from his brow, Predator let out a deep sigh and gazed down at his feet before asking, "where would you like to grab some lunch from?"

"How does ramen sound? We can have it here," Lightning suggested, perched on the ledge.

"Sounds good. Wait here, and I'll bring it up, okay?" Predator agreed, gazing out at the horizon before spreading his wings and taking flight.

During his search for a ramen shop, his mind was tearing itself apart. Predator Hawk was anything but a coward, but he couldn’t bear the risk of jeopardizing the bond he had with Lightning. He treasured his relationship with him deeply, considering him one of his most cherished, irreplaceable companions. With only a few words, Lightning may never see him the same again. After all, he still held bitterness about his heart being broken by Conquering Storm several months ago. Would broaching this potentially sensitive topic cross a line with Lightning? Could it imply to him that their friendship was lacking in some way to Predator? Even if Lightning responded the way he dreamed, what then? With his lack of experience in that field, things could end badly, thus causing him to lose both what he has now and what he wishes he had.

Besides, he couldn’t risk revealing such a deeply personal and vulnerable side of himself. For years, he had meticulously worked to mask that part of his identity, a task he had undertaken since childhood, ever since his own mother had abandoned him.

He had long known that she didn’t like him. She was constantly yelling at him for things including not making eye contact, swaying in his seat, fussing when things were too loud, or struggling to express himself. But it was the late-night arguments between his parents that truly exposed the depth of her resentment. As he lay awake in bed, he overheard her tirades, calling him a freak and resenting his father for not giving her a "normal" child. In comparison, his father’s disdain was more subdued until she left.

From that painful moment on, he resolved to improve himself so that no one would ever want to leave him again. Every day became a challenge to better himself and reach new heights. By his teens, he had become a fierce soldier in the Battle Bird Armada, learning to endure eye contact, sit still and quietly, manage overstimulation, and most importantly, mask the parts of himself that had previously been shunned by others.

Despite his fierce pride and genuine enjoyment of his achievements, his father rarely showed any pride in him. No matter how much he changed and grew, to Nigel Hawk, Predator would always be the abnormal child who drove his wife away. The day Predator was promoted in the Armada, he returned home, packed some essential belongings, and left without a single word to his father, severing contact forever.

For a time, his might and determination to be the best were his only constants. These traits saw him through being expelled from the Armada for attacking the Battle Lord's son and during his tenure with the Babylon Rogues. However, after joining the Destructix, despite its shifting leadership and affiliations, he found another constant.

Simon, Flying… and Lightning.

He knew what it was like to lose him. Even with his gratitude for the presence of Simon and Flying, when Lightning left the Destructix to rejoin the Raiju Clan—where he wasn’t nearly as valued as he had been among the Destructix—a part of Predator felt hollow. The empty chair at the table, the silence where Lightning’s words should have been, left an undeniable void.

Lightning had been back for quite some time now, and although Predator hadn’t shown it much, he was overjoyed by his return. It was because of this that he knew he couldn’t reveal his true feelings for Lightning. The revelation would inevitably lead to the displaying of a weak, vulnerable side of himself that may push Lightning away. Predator resolved to take these feelings to his grave.

No matter how foolish it seemed, though, he wanted it more than anything. The more he repressed his feelings, the louder they became. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to act on them, he couldn’t lie to himself—they were undeniably there.

"Predator?" Lightning's voice cut through the silence as the two gazed out over the urban horizon from the skyscraper, each holding a takeout lunch.

Lost in his thoughts, Predator had barely registered the last thirty minutes.

"Yes?" Predator responded, trying to collect himself after noticing Lightning's concerned expression.

"You haven't even opened your ramen," Lightning remarked, twirling his chopsticks in his bowl before taking a bite of noodles. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just waiting for it to cool more..." Predator replied, clearing his throat as he removed the lid, releasing a puff of steam into the air.

"Then why'd you keep the lid on?" Lightning inquired. "You know that just traps the heat."

"I guess I forgot," Predator admitted, absentmindedly taking a bite of his meal then wincing as he spat out piping noodles that had burned his beak.

"Slow down, Hawks!" Lightning cautioned. "You seem really out of it. You sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine, Lightning," Predator responded, wiping the mess with a napkin.

"I know you better than that. What's wro-"

"I said there's nothing wrong," Predator cut in sharply.

Taken aback by his tone, Lightning reacted with a scoff of offense before turning away, muttering, "fine."

The two lapsed into a bitter silence, finishing their meals before receiving word from Simon that his procedure had gone well and it was time for one of them to undergo it.

"Do you want to go next?" Lightning asked, his gaze locked on his phone rather than Predator.

"Fine," the blue hawk replied impassively.

As they flew back to the clinic together, the storm in Predator's mind raged on. He hadn't intended to be harsh with Lightning, but he couldn't let his inner turmoil spill out. Now, tension lingered between them. While he knew they could likely overcome it, the guilt of his treatment towards Lightning weighed on his heart. Concealing his feelings felt crucial, yet he pondered how far he would need to go to maintain that facade.

Above all, he questioned whether it would be worth doing so in the end.

…

(SO the surprise was revealed! It’s Ursula the Polar Bear!!!!! For those unaware, Ursula belongs to @ceoofdestructix and was written in with both their permission and guidance! Thanks for letting me use the mama bear, friend! I can’t wait to write more “surprises” with your help 😉)

[elzed9056]

Scavengers & Dragons: Setting Specific Backgrounds

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Talons of Peace Agent

You’ve never understood the fascination of other dragons with bloody warfare. In fact, at some point you became so disillusioned with the idea that you found common ground in a network of like-minded individuals. Members of this group keep in contact throughout Pyrrhia and work towards ending war at any cost. This marginalized counterculture stands against the militarism of the continent’s monarchs and so are often labelled rebels, cultists, terrorists, traitors, or possibly all of the above. Will you defy that stigma, or give them the monster they want so desperately to see?

Do you begin your adventuring career on a mission for the Talons, or have you chosen this new path to take up arms and leave them behind? Was there a specific event in your past that instilled conviction and drove you to join them to begin with?

Skill Proficiencies: History, Stealth

Tool Proficiencies: Disguise Kit, Forgery Kit

Languages: None

Equipment: The broken haft of a spear, a scroll detailing the War of Sandwing Succession, a counterfeit army badge, a propaganda infographic, and a pouch containing 10gp.

Feature: With Talons United

You know the subtle signs that indicate frequent haunts of pacifists in hiding. This allows you to attend such places within cities despite their intentionally obfuscated nature; Specifically, you could lead your adventuring party to underground bars, sympathetic inns, the tents of discredited soothsayers, and city watch barracks that “don’t get along” with the army. Regular inhabitants of these locations are inclined to aid you and will provide their assistance with tasks that fit your common peacemaking goal, assuming the task is not obviously hazardous to their wellbeing.

Suggested Characteristics

Members of the Talons of Peace often possess a startling conviction borne from personal experience or a deep understanding of Pyrrhia’s troubled past. They are fundamentally willing to accept a great risk for what they believe is right in joining such a group, but some do so simply because they find the alternative even more terrifying. Some would burn a city if it meant avoiding a war that they believe would burn more. Others are more idealistic. In general, they rarely get along with authority. 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I consider all my words carefully. When I finally speak, it is with total certainty.

2 - I hate bullies. They remind me of tyrants.

3 - I show my disdain through subtle signs and everyday slights rather than getting involved in arguments.

4 - I won’t shut up about the power of peace and friendship. 

5 - I hide my emotions because I don’t want to burden others with my grievances.

6 - I’m terrified of violence. Oh, Moons, why did I become an adventurer?

7 - I try to act as an impartial mediator between my companions. 

8 - Please let this be a normal adventuring trip.

D6 Ideal

1 - Pragmatism: Honour is a luxury we can’t afford when lives are at stake. (Chaotic)

2 - Pacifism: Violence is only a last resort. (Lawful)

3 - Kindness: Culture changes one step at a time. The first step is being nice. (Good)

4 - Payback: Anyone involved in warfare deserves to die. (Evil)

5 - Retrospection: We need to break this continent’s cycle and stop history from repeating itself. (Any)

6 - Rebellion: Viva la revolución! (Chaotic)

D6 Bond

1 - A portion of my income goes to the organization. I hope they put it to good use. 

2 - The second I turned my back to walk away, those bastards in the army tried to stab me in it. I intend to return the favor. 

3 - I fight so my family can have a better life untainted by war. 

4 - A seer once gave me a cryptic prophecy that foretold violent doom if I don’t prevent it. 

5 - The organization raised me from the moment I hatched. They’re my family, regardless of tribe.

6 - I was originally sent to infiltrate and destroy the organization, but they made some very compelling arguments. 

D6 Flaw

1 - I’ll betray anyone if it means ending or preventing war. 

2 - I demand constant dedication to the cause. No frolicking or shenaniganry will be tolerated. 

3 - I avoid conflict, so I have trouble standing up for myself. 

4 - Nobody can order me around. It’s what I joined the organization to avoid. 

5 - Lives are a number to me. Higher is better; nothing else matters.

6 - Anyone who disagrees with me is impeding world peace.

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Gladiator

You spent much of your life fighting to entertain an audience. Whether you were in the grand arena of the SkyWing crown or an obscure fight ring amidst the alleys of the Scorpion Den, this experience has left you no stranger to combat - it’s no wonder you might choose to try adventuring after violence became all you knew. Though not all gladiators come to the same conclusions that define their stay in the arena; did you fight with everything you had to ensure your survival, or did you coordinate with your opponents to put on a show without anyone needing to die? 

In terms of origin, did you hatch directly into the arena, or were you someone else before being captured and forged into a weapon? Did you recently earn your freedom through conventional methods, or did you find a way to escape? 

Skill Proficiencies: Athletics, Performance

Tool Proficiencies: One musical instrument of your choice

Languages: None

Equipment: A prop-knife with a blade that retracts into the handle, an impractical but frightening metal helmet, a metal clamp for restraining wings, the scale of an arena rival with whom your history is “complicated”, a pouch containing 15gp.

Feature: Pull Your Swings

Your time in the arena taught you how to look violent - regardless of whether you actually are. Whenever you make an attack roll, you can choose to have the attack deal 0 damage while still appearing as if it were a vicious blow - perhaps you leave a shallow cut that looks remarkably deep from a distance, or exaggerate your motions to create the appearance of force where none exists. When you use this feature, any enemies within 10 feet of your target  (potentially including the target themself) that can see you must make a Wisdom saving throw against a DC equal to your attack roll or become frightened of you until the start of your next turn by your dramatic aggression. 

Suggested Characteristics

Long-time gladiators have little exposure to the world outside the arena and as a result tend to be a bit rough around the edges, with things normal to them being an oddity to the rest of society and vice versa. Many are extremely proficient at creating an emotional separation between their circumstances and their relationships, able to stab friends or be stabbed without hard feelings when the situation demands it. 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I’m very physically communicative even with people I don’t know very well, often punching or hugging.

2 - I’m all bark and no bite, acting tough until confronted.

3 - I’m extremely grateful for simple respect and kindness that most people take for granted.

4 - I’m perpetually dramatic, moving and talking with constant exaggerated flair like some kind of actor in a play. 

5 - Fighting is my life and is what I love talking about, so I have a difficult time finding other hobbies or friends outside my team; I suppose they’re all I have…

6 - Rather than holding grudges, I respect those who outplay me. 

7 - I stubbornly refuse to back down, and I encourage my friends not to do so either. 

8 - I believe conflict is normal and try to make friends through rivalry. 

D6 Ideal

1 - Empathy: Those who stand against me surely have their own reasons to fight. We’re in this cruel arena of a world together. (Good)

2 - Hierarchy: Freedom is not a right. It’s earned through strength. (Evil)

3 - Opportunism: I’ll ally myself with whoever is on the winning side. (Chaotic)

4 - Thrill: Excitement is what I live for, and there’s nothing more thrilling than a good duel. (Any)

5 - Choice: Fighting should be a choice, not an obligation. (Lawful)

6 - Priority: I’ll protect the people that I’m emotionally closest to above anyone else. (Neutral)

D6 Bond

1 - My old nemesis defeated me in the arena and earned their freedom. Now that I’m out too, I want a rematch. 

2 - My old nemesis intentionally lost a championship match in the arena to give me freedom. I hope to one day become strong enough to return to favor by breaking them out. 

3 - I had a family before I was captured and forced to fight. I want to find out what happened to them while I was gone. 

4 - The arena ran out of opponents who could put up a fight against me. I hope adventuring involves greater foes to test myself against. 

5 - Every day I saw the Queen staring down at me. Let’s see how entertaining she finds it when she’s the one fighting to survive. 

6 - I once killed a friend with a blow that was supposed to be fake. I’ll never forgive myself. 

D6 Flaw

1 - I haven’t learned many social norms and often mistakenly come across as rude or insensitive.

2 - I have a short temper and tend to demand duels with those who upset me. 

3 - I mentally associate people with any similar individuals that I fought against in the arena and am often unfairly biased against them. 

4 - Being watched makes me feel as though I’m back in the arena; I get stage fright. 

5 - I’m almost always presenting a facade rather than my real emotions. 

6 - Violence isn’t the answer. It's a question, and the answer is yes. 

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Enchanted Identity

At some point in your past, an animus spell was cast upon you that fundamentally altered your identity, rendering you someone else entirely. You’ve since regained your original memories… but the experience of being a different person never completely faded. Now, you aren't certain who you truly are; an unusual amalgam of two conflicting identities layered into one body by magic that didn’t quite work as intended. This might even be reflected in your physical appearance, with small parts of the person you were enchanted to become remaining - for instance, hints of a SkyWing’s orange tones over what would normally be pale Icewing scales. These days none of the people you used to know look at you the same way anymore, and it’d be difficult to go back to your old life or career. Perhaps an adventurer’s nomadic way is the only path that remains for you.

Skill Proficiencies: Arcana, Deception

Tool Proficiencies: Disguise Kit

Languages: None

Equipment: A locket containing a mirror, a weapon that you aren’t proficient with, the business card of a physician, a block of incense, and a pouch containing 15gp.

Feature: Amalgamation

For better or worse, you are more than what you once were. Choose one feature from a race other than your own that relates to the identity magically placed upon you. You gain access to that feature. 

Suggested Characteristics

Experiencing a completely different worldview and set of memories, however temporarily, is no mere stroll in the hunting grounds. People who go through such an ordeal are likely to be particularly introspective, contemplative, and generally considerate of beliefs not their own - but they’re also almost certainly filled to the brim with conflicts and turmoil that might make them a tad bit (understandably) irritable towards the people who whisper about them behind their back. In short, life with an Enchanted Identity is a constant struggle to answer a simple poignant question: Who am I really? 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I try my best to fit in, but often all I can manage is a pained or weak smile.

2 - I’ve found that I can solve most problems if I consider them from enough perspectives, so I’m constantly absorbed in introspection or planning. Other people say I have my head in the clouds. 

3 - My conflicting perspectives mean that I frequently contradict myself, claiming to love something on one occasion then despising it the next.

4 - I can remember being in situations that I once would’ve considered alien, so I always try to be understanding towards others. 

5 - I tend to be a bit despondent, low-energy, and generally melancholy, rarely showing much excitement. 

6 - I have a wide range of life experiences and like to provide anecdotes and advice in every situation. 

7 - I pretend to have an impossibly wide range of life experiences and like to provide made-up anecdotes and dubious advice in every situation. 

8 - I’m overflowing with the whimsical energy of two dragons in harmony!

D6 Ideal

1 - Memory: That person in the past was not yet entirely me, because people are their memories. To lose them would be the death of me and the beginning of someone else; to take them is to kill. (Lawful)

2 - Consciousness: People are their consciousness, no matter what happens to it. I’ve always been the same person, and always will be even if I am changed again; My values are tied to my soul. (Lawful)

3 - Connection: People are defined by their relationships to others. I will reforge my shattered identity through camaraderie and love. (Good)

4 - Adaptability: I lived through alteration by magic, so why not alter myself if it befits me? I’ll assume any values that I find useful. (Chaotic)

5 - Open-mindedness: What happened to me was not a curse but a gift; everyone has something valid to say, so two perspectives are smarter than one. (Lawful)

6 - Relativity: The truth is what you make of it; both the original and the new “me” are equally real. We’re in this together! (Chaotic)

D6 Bond

1 - I was such an idiot before this new perspective knocked some sense into me. Now I need to fix all my old mistakes.  

2 - I want to reconnect with an old friend, but I’m not sure how to approach them now that I’ve changed. Maybe my party can help?

3 - My family believes that I’m a different person now, not theirs. But I send money home anyways. 

4 - I want to find the person who enchanted me so I can thank them for this blessing. 

5 - I want to find the person who enchanted me so I can “thank” them for this curse. Violently.

6 - I was enchanted to be loyal to a specific person or group… but clearly that Darkstalker-wannabe screwed up the wording of the spell, because I’m getting the hell out of dodge!

D6 Flaw

1 - I hate and fear magic and refuse to let anyone cast spells on me. Never again. 

2 - I have a hard time distinguishing between my imagination and my real memories. 

3 - The identity layered atop my own had a knack for making reckless decisions. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I sometimes follow its impulses.

4 - I often argue with myself out loud about what to do. 

5 - I’m concerned that others will find me strange or frightening, so I try to hide the way I am.

6 - Clearly, being a package deal makes me inherently worth more than everyone else with their single paltry identity. 

--------------------------------------------------------

Dragon Associate

Prerequisite: Humanoid

Some believe scavengers and humans to be entirely the same. You’re living proof of the opposite. Dealing with flying firebreathing reptiles capable of biting you in half has given you a unique perspective on the world that sheltered citizens in the rare untouched cities lack. So the real question is… was your experience shaped by primal fear towards a predator, awe towards people of a different kind, or some mix between the two? What drove you to interact with those overgrown lizards to begin with? Was it by some incredibly brave or greedy choice, or simply because it was necessary to survive? Did you trade with the beasts, steal from them, or even somehow live alongside them? Whatever the case, adventuring will be a breeze compared to dodging careless talons every Tuesday. 

Skill Proficiencies: Insight, Stealth

Tool Proficiencies: One musical instrument of your choice, which you can somehow manage to play even when the instrument was made for a dragon. 

Languages: None

Equipment: Simple clothing fashioned from curtains or a tablecloth, a massive ring that you can only wear as an armband or perhaps belt, a kitchen utensil taller than you are that counts as a weapon of your choice, a sketch of a dragon that you either love or hate, a stick of charcoal, folded parchment, and a pouch containing 10gp. 

Feature: Visual Cues

You are used to finding ways to communicate with creatures that don’t always understand your words, and have even managed to pick up some of their culture. You know your way around the customs and cities of dragons even if you don’t speak the Dragon language, and can extrapolate any person’s occupation or social role after a minute of observing them. Additionally, your effective nonverbal communication allows you to always get across relatively universal ideas without sharing any language with the target - for instance, you can use exaggerated motions or drawings to convey that you want someone to follow you or dig up treasure, but you couldn’t silently explain the entire plot of Wings of Fire. 

Suggested Characteristics

To better illustrate the effect living perpetually surrounded by dragons might have on a scavenger, it might help to imagine a wild deer. These creatures were shaped by an era of incredible danger during the ice age when the abundance of predators forced them to adapt. Now, even with those predators gone, they bolt in terror at the sound of a twig snapping and rarely dare let their guard down for even a second. This is the mental state a scavenger might find themself in. Of course, that’s all assuming they’re one of the rational ones rather than an adrenaline junkie who hangs out willingly with people who could incinerate them. Either way, both are completely stable and healthy situations. 

…That was sarcasm, to be clear. 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I’m always trying to butter up people who seem to hold power. 

2 - I speak softly, rapidly, and distractedly as I watch my surroundings.

3 - I’m perpetually tired because I’m often too afraid to sleep.

4 - I empathize with anything that moves.

5 - I’m unused to speaking and prefer to communicate with gestures or drawings.

6 - I try not to be noticed if I can help it. 

7 - I make sure everyone notices me despite my size. 

8 - I sometimes attempt to make noises more typical to dragons than humans, such as growls or roars. 

D6 Ideal

1 - Helplessness: The only chance the powerless have is to gain the favor of those who hold power. (Lawful)

2 - Universality: People are people, no matter the species or anything else. If it thinks like I do, I care about it. (Good)

3 - Reckless Trust: The surest way to effective teamwork is trusting in the good intentions of others, even if said others could eat you alive. (Lawful)

4 - Relative Abundance: One dragon’s trash is another scavenger’s entire livelihood. If only dragons would share with us, the world would be perfect. (Neutral)

5 - Self-Righteous Underdog: Dragons have always had the upper talon. Anything is just if it evens the playing field. (Evil)

6 - Ride the Wave: Just go with the flow and those lizards will barely notice you; It’s a dragon’s world out here in Pyrrhia, so sit back and enjoy the ride! (Chaotic)

D6 Bond

1 - My family lies among dragons, by bond if not blood. 

2 - Plants are friends, our cover from the hunters. 

3 - A dragon considered me its pet for a long time. I’m not sure how to feel about that.

4 - Dragons are out to get me for stealing something important.

5 - Dragons are out to get me for supposedly stealing something important, but I’m innocent.

6 - I accidentally caused a war among the dragon tribes (whoops). I must atone for that bloody mistake.

D6 Flaw

1 - I’m paranoid and have a hard time trusting anyone. 

2 - I’m greedily obsessed with treasure, mainly due to dragon coins being the size of my head. 

3 - I hate humans, including myself. 

4 - I act as though I’m invincible and seem to either hold no fear for my life or place little value in it. 

5 - I have little to no concept of property and simply take what I want. 

6 - Dragons call me Stabby. I regret nothing. 

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link back to main post

[deadprocess]

Resurgence

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Proposition

Learning that there is no war, Shockwave and Soundwave take residence with an over eager Rust Dust who informs them of certain legalities involving their unexpected stay on Cyberonica.

Soundwave stood in silence for a few clicks, digesting the information as best as he could. He was well acquainted with traveling through a space bridge, but dimensional travel was not something he was expecting to encounter, least not experience himself. 

“Decepticons: eradicated?” 

“No. One cannot eradicate something that has never existed. Our war has not happened, nor will it. At least, that is what I was informed,” Shockwave turned his helm towards the door, “Rust Dust has informed me that we are currently located in a rural town called Primatonta, which is located near a city called Univiron. It was mentioned that it is the hub of scientific endeavors. If we were to travel there, It could be possible to utilize their advancements to return home. Though It is unknown to me whether or not this planet has adequate enough components to pull off such a feat.” 

“Natives: Will let Shockwave into their labs? Use their research and tools?” Soundwave’s body language was incredulous, helm tilted and arms crossing in disbelief. Not being immediately attacked was one thing, but letting two outsiders into their labs and accessing research was an entirely different thing. No bot would be that stupid. 

A flash of a Vehicon’s face passed through Soundwave’s processor.

Well…some would but those were few in between.

“I do not have a clear answer, but there is no indication that they would consider us a threat. However, persuasion will be applied as necessary should the situation call for it,” Shockwave turned towards the door, his purple bitarlueus biolights flickering in an ominous pattern. His arm cannon was a staunch reminder of what he had lost long ago, but it also served as a reminder that he was not to be trifled with. Many enemies had been felled by him and many would fall if they should dare get in his way, “come, Soundwave. Let us suggest this idea to our host.”

—-

Rust Dust’s residence…was far messier than what one would think for a fellow bot. Numerous trinkets lay scattered across counters and pictures of unfamiliar faces decorated the walls of each corridor. A plethora of luminescent flora hung around her residence, all in various states of living, if one could call it that. Soundwave could almost picture one poor plant calling out desperately for sustenance as its leaves lay limp and dying. It was shocking how much stuff one could have, though it was possible that he just never had the luxury to own anything besides Lazerbeak. He, however, would hardly call her something he owned, as she was as much a part of him as his own spark.

Shockwave cleared his intake, causing Rust Dust to look up briefly from her display screen. Sounds of gunfire ceased as the screen displayed the word “PAUSE”. She was playing a game that appeared eerily similar to the ones that humans occupied themselves with back on Earth. 

“Oh, hey guys. Was that en-...oh. Primus, I’m sorry! I forgot to get that energon for you! Here, one second.” The femme jumped up, rushing around a corridor into a room before rustling through something. No doubt a supply closet as she reappeared with a bright, neon cube. “Here, sorry about that again!” Handing the cube to Soundwave, who tentatively grasped it, she sat back down glancing at them expectantly. “Well…? You guys can take a seat, no need to be so formal!” 

There were a few different options; a lengthy cushioned slab, a few metal chairs and a singular cushioned one. Shockwave moved to sit on the slab, his weight shifting the furniture slightly. It was a shock that the furniture even fit a bot like him. Were there others that rivaled his size? Or did the femme simply prefer roomier options? Soundwave remained in place, gaze fixed on the swirling substance he held in his servo. It looked like energon, smelled like it too, but it had a thicker consistency that he remained unsure about as his tentacle emerged to probe at it. Shockwave took it upon himself to speak for the two of them as the other officer occupied himself with the foreign energon.

“After speaking to my companion, we find it best if you were to show us to that science capital you were telling me about earlier. Univiron, was it?” His servo moved to direct attention to the window nearby, attempting to appear casual in the conversation so as to not raise any suspicions, “We make it a point to engage ourselves with fellow scientists. Collaboration is imperative within the field, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yeah, Univiron! I can absolutely show you two around there! I’m sure Lancer and Crosswire would love to hear about your work too. There is a transport system that runs through here every cycle, “ Rust Dust stood from her current lounging position, optics wide with enthusiasm before a realization dawned on her, “but, we’re going to have to visit the actual capital first. I know this might be odd, but we need to get you two registered.”

“We do not intend to stay long term.” Shockwave quickly interjected and Soundwave raised his helm to stare at the femme. Rust Dust held her servos up, sensing the shift in tension. 

“Oh no! I didn’t mean for you two to register for permanent residency or anything. When we have newcomers, it’s just standard procedure to get their information and issue them temporary residence if they are staying for more than a solar cycle. It helps the government keep track of resources, spending and who is currently on the planet.” 

“Soundwave and Shockwave: will be watched and escorted?” Soundwave’s purple optic bore a hole into the smaller bot. Shockwave had never seen his compatriot’s face before but the striking optic that glowed under the shade of his helm was certainly unnerving. This much was apparent as Rust Dust shifted nervously under the scrutinizing gaze.

“Excuse him. We are just interested in how the council proceeds with situations like this. Will we be treated as guests or as unfavorable characters?” Shockwave quickly diverted attention away as Rust Dust’s ever present smile twitched downwards as her discomfort became palpable.

“Primus no! You won’t be like under surveillance or treated like criminals but you’ll definitely be escorted around. Cyberonica is huge and traveling around can be difficult since you don’t know much about our transportation system. On the bright side there is plenty to do, so think of it more like having a personal chauffeur that will take you to the best spots before you guys leave! You guys are super lucky too. We have some major events coming up!” Rust dust’s upbeat attitude returned, contrasting starkly to the brewing impatience from Shockwave and Soundwave. 

“Very well. How long does it take to get to your capital? And once we have an audience with your planet’s officials, will we be granted approval to travel to Univiron?” 

“Well…Generatium is five cycles by air transport, so if we leave now we can be there by nightfall. I don’t think you’ll be able to see Univiron for a few days though. Everyone is preparing for the Spark Festival. A lot of our scientists and engineers head to Animatrix to collaborate and make sure the artists are following safety protocols, so there won’t really be any higher ups in the labs.” Shockwave’s antenna twitched, his digits tapping against his tibulen. Patience was a virtue but time was of the essence. This Spark Festival was going to derail his time schedule... 

And Primus, ”Spark” festival? What an uncreative name!

“Surely we could engage with those remaining in the lab? Have they not been trained well enough to offer a tour and collaborate? Forgive my impatience, but our trip was meant to be relatively short and we really should be trying to repair our device.”

Trip? Soundwave’s helm tilted slightly. What had Shockwave told the femme about their current circumstance? 

“Oh, I think they have, but I’m sure the lead scientists wouldn’t want excess hands in the lab because of safety issues. A lot of the lab personnel left behind are there to make sure that any running experiments are going smoothly and to clean up. You know…basically making sure nothing explodes as Lancer says.” 

Soundwave placed a servo on Shockwave’s shoulder plating, signaling for his EM field to retract as the scientist's growing frustration heightened. Exasperated, Shockwave yielded. There would be nothing to gain from threats of violence or impatience. They were not deemed a threat yet, so that is how it should remain until they could find a way home. Any unnecessary actions could prove to be consequential after all.

“That is sound reasoning. Let us travel to Generatium at once then. Soundwave, are you well enough to depart?” 

Soundwave silently sipped at the cube through his tentacle, his intake lurching at the odd texture that greeted his fuel lines. His exposed optic shut as he repressed a shudder. He could not taste anything but he was sure that the flavor would be unforgivably nasty. 

“Affirmative: Intake levels optimal for short trips.” Shockwave rose, nodding at his fellow officer before turning his attention to Rust Dust who was grabbing a small data pad. 

“Perfect. I have my pass right here so we can get going. I’m sure our council members will be able to expedite things including medical care. Those dents and vizor of yours should be easy to fix for our experts!” Rust Dust gave another enthusiastic thumbs up before turning on her heel struts towards the door. 

Soundwave’s optic flickered down. To fix his vizor meant for their medical personnel to remove it entirely. He would be exposed. Perhaps he could request the tools and proceed with fixing it himself? Perhaps he could find a way to shield his facial-...

A servo found its way to his shoulder pad. Looking to his side, his gaze met Shockwave’s. A small gesture of comfort. A silent promise.

We will deal with that when the time comes. 

—--

The transport station was huge. For as small as Rust Dust described Primatonta to be, the station was a hive of activity. Bots of all sizes rushed to different designations as a femme’s voice announced arrivals and departures. There were large screens that displayed various things above them with one depicting three separate transportation methods; air, water, and land. All with symbols next to them. Prices? It was an educated guess as it was all written in a language that Shockwave was unfamiliar with. 

“Soundwave, do any of your databases have information regarding this language?”

“Negative: databases are unable to be accessed at this time. Language: unfamiliar regardless.” Soundwave let a bitter edge seep into his voice. Shockwave had to be aware of the damaged state he was in and yet here he was, being asked nonsensical questions. Though he supposed his irritation was more linked to the vulnerability he felt rather than the scientist being naturally curious. 

Shockwave had always been a bright mind that was eager to sponge up any information he could. It was something he had always admired about the mech and it was good to see that he retained that even after all these vorns.

“Alright gentlemechs! I have three tickets for Generatium. We are departing from platform X, and it is leaving in a couple of breems so let's get going!” The femme began bounding towards in a direction that was assumed to be where this platform X was. Shockwave cursed inwardly as he quickened his pace to catch up with the femme, his servo placing itself on Soundwave’s back plate, urging him to follow as best as he could in his current state.

He could only hope that this trip would be over in a timely fashion, but with how many surprises there had been, it was doubtful.

Xx Author's Note xX

Thank you very much for reading! Lots of dialogue and world building coming up.

I'll be posting a peak at the different cities involved in this story. It will include their functions and important events tied with them! Let me know your thoughts!

:)

[benjaminvox]

Benjamin knew he'd been played: but was it a small price to pay, knowing he might (and it was heavy use on the word might) be able to get some sleep without having to worry about sleeping with one eye open. Still, he took the bags as instructed, but his head snapped to the left as he was offered another, and snorted. "Free drugs? Never heard of that before." Also said with a jokey laugh following. "Right." Benjamin didn't waste time as he began to rack up on the side, rolling the note. "Do the honours," offering one of the two lines he made.

It was customary to share the first.

"So, Roman -- " guess this was probably as friendly as they were going to get, but he wasn't going to give up that easy. Would he be Melissa Lin's boy if he did? "What exactly do you do? Work, I mean."

He really must have wanted to get along because Roman was absolutely sure there were others with stuff that didn't cost as much. And yes, Roman definitely did hype up the price. Why the fuck not? It was his, so he could make whatever price he wanted to.

Taking the money, Roman slowly counted it before giving him a bag and a five-pound note from the stash. "Have another." Discount, he meant, in more of a joke style.

[sugurouge]

ding ding ding!!!

you and sylus get the travel bug...!!! PLS TELL ME ALL THE PLACES YOU'D TRAVEL TO. TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU DO. how is he with travelling? does he enjoy it too? do you guys have an itinerary or do yall wing it? and is it glamourous? (i alr know the answer to this one >:3 so i should say HOW GLAMOUROUS IS IT??) any fun hcs?

bonus points if you include pictures

ok, ok it doesn't matter too much for sylus where we go, the more important thing is that we are together and as much as possible undisturbed!

he's a planner, so he is obviously meticulous about travel itineraries as well. anticipating any circumstances, overpacking for any occasion and because he simply can't decide on just a few fits . . . diva

we have a combination of glamour and casual travels. he's a big fan of weekend trips as well and tried his hardest to convince me to go camping with him (i hate camping and he loves nature) but his idea of camping is considered glamping regardless with the luxury tent and all its treasures inside, so i guess it wasn't too bad and we'll go again 😵‍💫

else it is either a spin of the globe he keeps in his study and wherever my finger lands we go, or we will find something through a travel magazine or a video online that spikes our interest

he's quick to act, doesn't like to wait for months for our trips and makes them happen as soon as possible. each and every one turns out amazing... mostly because i get to entirely shut off my brain while he handles everything (he wouldn't have it any other way no matter how hard i try)

a common theme in all these pictures is the solitude while still being around people (unless it's the locations in the heart of nature with no other house around) we are in metropoles and hot spots but sylus always has a house on the upper areas or the best spots cast away on the side with a great view of everything and everyone while we get to enjoy time alone

he's also great at making the impossible possible (no surprise) so guided tours are only for us two no matter the location and he also gets entry to any area he wants to discover

[morganaseren]

Snippet Sunday (Arranged Marriage AU)

Tagged by: @blackjackkent

Tagging forward: @illusivesoul, @this-is-something-idk-what, @noeldressari, @chaosroid, and anyone else who wants to participate!

Pairing: Leliana/Niamh Cousland

Rating: Teen

AU: If You'd Cross An Ocean for Me

Note: Honestly, you could consider this scene to be a continuation to this one I posted a while back.

---

Following dinner, Leliana found that the tent she was meant to share with her new wife had already been pitched up. It was domed in its design, and as expected as one of the leaders of the nomadic coalition, it was larger than many of the others that darted the valley. As La Louve brushed aside the tarp entrance to allow her through, Leliana couldn't help the sudden nervousness that settled over her as she wandered into the darkened space.

With their wedding ceremony and the feast that came afterward, the consummation of their marriage was, of course, to be expected.

Leliana was hardly new to sharing her body with another, whether for romantic intent or to satisfy a carnal curiosity. Despite the abruptness of their arranged marriage, La Louve had so far shown herself to be rather courteous--enough that Leliana wouldn't have been opposed to laying with her.

Still, after Marjolaine, Leliana knew all too well that the persona one presented in public could be so very different when behind the privacy of closed doors...

Before her thoughts could darken upon that memory, her breath hitched when she heard the snapping of fingers behind her. Her startlement had less to do with the sound but the fact that the act itself had instantly lit the candles that were lined in various locations within the tent. It brought a comforting warmth to what had been an unknown space to her.

Leliana could see the clean reed matting placed over the ground, providing a clear separation between the outdoors and one's personal sleeping area. Given how nomadic the Fereldans were, she expected the tent to be rather sparse, which was proven true. Save for a collapsible writing desk and chair along with the bags that held their clothing in the corner, the majority of the space was taken up by the pile of furs that Leliana realized was meant to be their bed.

She found that she had wandered over to it without truly meaning to, and as she reached down to touch a large, silvery pelt, she found that it felt just as soft and luxurious as she had expected. Looking over her shoulder, Leliana found that her wife was still standing at the entryway and hadn't bothered to close the distance between them. From the sheepish expression on the other woman's face, she couldn't help but wonder if La Louve was perhaps just as nervous about the expectations of their marriage as she had been.

Soft lips parted to speak, but before La Louve could voice a single word, a shout--a summon perhaps?--from outside had the woman frowning. In response, La Louve poked her head out of the tent briefly, and Leliana could just barely hear the muffled conversation outside. Before long, her wife flashed a look of apology her way. She didn't understand the words that followed either, but she also didn't miss the way La Louve gestured emphatically toward the bed before she left the tent entirely, her dark cloak sweeping behind her.

All in all, it was... not quite how Leliana expected to end her evening.

With nothing left to do, she began to undress, leaving herself only in her smalls before she tucked herself under the covers of the bedding. She couldn't help her sigh of relief as she sank into the soft furs, grateful for the chance to simply relax after such an eventful day.

An eventful month in general if she were being completely honest.

Exhaustion weighed heavy upon her, but she felt it polite to at least wait for her wife before succumbing to it. However, as the candles around her gradually lowered and dimmed, and with La Louve still nowhere in sight, lethargy settled more quickly into her bones.

A few minutes, Leliana thought to herself, barely suppressing a yawn. She could rest her eyes for a few minutes before continuing her vigil. She curled up more comfortably beneath the covers to take a brief rest, but despite her best intentions, her breathing soon slowed as she transitioned into deeper slumber.

---

When Leliana next awoke, it was to the sound of gentle clamoring outside the confines of her tent along with the scent of food being cooked. Much closer, however, she could hear the repeated scratching of quill against parchment. Blearily shaking off the lingering dredges of sleep from her mind, Leliana slowly sat up in bed, causing the sound of writing to be stopped.

"Leliana."

She recognized her wife's voice immediately. Common was perhaps a coarser language than her native Orlesian, but Leliana had quickly noticed that La Louve and her siblings had a distinct inflection--different from the linguistic standard found in Ferelden--when they spoke. Her wife in particular was rather soft-spoken, and it added a pleasing... lyricality when she uttered the syllables of Leliana's name.

She looked up to see La Louve standing from her desk to deliver two bowls to her: one filled with an arrangement of freshly picked berries while the other held the remnants of the ram they'd had last night but in a stew-like form. Energy for the day ahead, she supposed.

Leliana took the food from her wife gratefully, and if her wife appeared at all discomforted by her current state of undress, the other woman didn't show it, offering only a friendly smile, which she recognized to be genuine.

"Thank you, but did you not eat?"

As expected, her inquiry drew confusion in that gaze even as the smile across from hers remained politely in place. The language barrier was likely going to be a continual test for their marriage, Leliana thought, as she carded a hand tiredly through her hair in an attempt to make it more presentable.

"This," she said, pointing to the bowls atop her lap that were barely half empty. She gestured to La Louve then. "Surely, you need more sustenance than this to get yourself through the morning."

Thankfully, the other woman caught on quickly to what she was trying to ask and responded in kind, saying something in Common as she gestured to the bowls and then back to herself before holding up two fingers.

Two... Leliana's brows furrowed, trying to make sense of what was being conveyed to her. Her second bowl then?

"You already ate?"

La Louve seemed to confirm as much with a nod although it was done hesitantly, as if she wasn't sure if she completely understood the question.

"I see." Leliana huffed out a small laugh at the early morning charades before picking up the spoon in the stew bowl. "Thank you then."

With a relieved smile, her wife wandered back over to her desk to begin working anew on the various missives atop it. With the way the other woman's cloak was so casually draped across the back of her chair, it didn't seem she or the Fereldans were in any rush to leave the area anytime soon. Still, there was likely work to still be done, and she didn't want her new wife and clan to think she was a layabout. As such, she ate her fill before preparing her mind for the rest of the day ahead.

---

It was on her second week with the Fereldans that Leliana found herself growing increasingly perplexed, but it had little to do with the differing customs.

No, that had long been expected.

Rather, her bemusement came with her wife's continual disappearance from their tent whenever night fell. It wasn't as if her wife was avoiding her, Leliana knew. La Louve was always at her desk when Leliana awoke in the morning, rode at her side when it was time to travel, and joined her for every meal.

Yet, Leliana still went to bed alone.

Frowning as she stared at the empty pile of furred pelts, she finally wandered out of the tent to seek an answer. Of course, she soon realized that trying to find one was quickly turning out to be an exercise in frustration.

She had tried to speak with a group of returning hunters to find the whereabouts of La Louve, but, as always, the language barrier proved to be too much. They were hardly rude as they stood there, struggling to understand what she requested of them. As the wife of one of their leaders, perhaps they were wary of showing anything less than the proper deference to her. Still, after a time, one of them--a mage if the staff over her shoulder was any indication--motioned for Leliana to follow her.

She sound found herself led to one of the campfires dotted around the area. As luck would have it, both of La Louve's siblings were there. The mage shouted a greeting, drawing the attention of the two warriors, who saw Leliana and grinned widely in greeting. Both rose to meet her, but the mage who led her there got to them first.

A rapidfire conversation followed that Leliana had no chance of understanding, and the two leaders' gazes darted to her every few seconds, but from the puzzlement in their own gazes, it didn't seem they were any closer in offering her the answer she desired either. The mage could only offer a smile of apology to her before she quickly left to find the other hunters and help dress and preserve their catch of the evening.

Weary, Leliana was all but prepared to return to her tent at that point, but she tried yet again with a small sigh. "Do you know where La Louve is?"

The two warriors glanced at one another for a long moment before the blonde woman spoke to her.

“Neev?”

Of course, the word itself meant nothing to her, so Leliana couldn't help but stare blankly in response.

“Lah… loov?” the woman asked haltingly, trying to form the Orlesian words. She then drew her head back to emit a low pantomime of a wolf’s howl before raising her brows in question at Leliana, who recognized at once what she was trying to tell her.

“Yes! La Louve!" she replied excitedly, relieved at having finally gotten a lead. "Do you know where she is?”

The woman could only grin smugly at her brother, who rolled his eyes before waving her off. “Neev,” she said profoundly before escorting Leliana away.

Neev?

Leliana tossed the word around her mind for several minutes as La Louve's sister led her through the throng of tents. The way the other woman had said it seemed important however--at least in relation to her wife.

She blinked then.

Was it La Louve's actual name?

Before long, they had gotten past the settlement and were making their way down a grassy incline towards the riverbank. The fires of the camp didn't encroach as far out, but with the twin moons hanging overhead, there was little concern about losing their way in the dark.

Or finding La Louve as it turned out.

The woman in question was sitting at the edge of the water atop a bedroll with a sketchbook in hand, determinedly filling in the details of something or other on the page. Leliana knew she always carried it about when they were traveling. Her wife was apparently quite the artist, one who could often be found documenting the flora and fauna around them when her duties as the clan's emissary weren't needed.

"Neev!" the warrior beside her boomed out humorously, causing that dark head to turn toward them.

Moonlit eyes were surprised to see them there although La Louve seemed less than pleased to see her sibling if her expression was any indication. Although Leliana didn't understand the words being spoken between them, the rapport of sibling banter was as universal a language as anything. She bit her lip to keep from laughing when she saw La Louve's eyes roll so hard in exasperation at her sister's comment that she was almost half-convinced they were going to roll right out of their sockets. Having had her fill of the teasing, La Louve clicked her tongue and summoned the mabari pup that had been laying next to her.

In response, the white-furred puppy rose to his paws and immediately placed himself between the warrior and his mistress, bristling and yapping with infantile fury even though his current foe was several times his size. It was so adorable that Leliana almost couldn't resist cooing at the sight. La Louve's sister laughter was a deep, bellowing sound, but she held her hands up placatingly while backing away from the pup. Still, the little mabari insisted on herding the woman away from the two of them, tail wagging all the while--likely pleased at protecting his favorite human--while barking at the warrior's ankles in a vain attempt to get her to move faster. The sounds of them both soon faded away as they passed the perimeter of the encampment.

"Leliana is... okay?"

Leliana turned to see La Louve looking up at her with concern, but she smiled. "I'm fine, yes. I was just curious as to where you've been all these nights." As expected, all she received in return were dark, furrowed brows as her wife tried to piece together what she was saying with little success. Leliana shook her head, unbothered. "But never mind that. Is Neev your name?”

Ghostly-grey eyes lit up toward the end of her sentence, and Leliana felt she was making progress with communicating with her although perhaps not quite enough to bridge the language together just yet. She glanced down at her wife's sketchbook and found the woman had been drawing a flower of some sort but had also written some notes next to it. As she eyed the writing, she found Orlesian and Common shared a similar alphabet although the latter seemingly lacked any diacritics.

Leliana gathered her cloak more tightly around herself to ward against the night's chill before crouching beside the bedroll, motioning for the sketchbook and charcoal pencil in La Louve’s hands, who gave them away without much protest. In little time at all, Leliana had her own name written on a fresh page, which she showed to her wife.

"Leliana." She pointed to the page emphatically before gesturing to herself. "Leliana," she repeated again, watching as more understanding filled her wife's gaze. With the connection made, she proceeded to write what she assumed to the other woman's name just below her own. "Neev," she stated then, pointing to her writing.

After a brief inspection, Leliana could see her wife was very clearly trying not to laugh at her if the smile threatening to curl at the edge of her lips was any indication. Clearing her throat, La Louve gestured for the sketchbook back. From there, the other woman proceeded to cross out the attempt at her name before writing something else down in a neat, flowing script that she finished with a flourish, which she presented to her.

"Niamh."

It was... clearly not spelled as Leliana had expected, and when she looked back up with suspicious eyes, La Louve--no, Niamh--merely smiled.

"Are you just teasing me now?"

Niamh bit her lip, shoulders shaking silently, before writing down another name on the page. “Fergus,” she announced, pointing to her brother in the distance, who Leliana could see was helping another clanmate set up a tent. The spelling was more or less what she had anticipated it would be, but when Niamh pointed to her sister, who was currently wrestling with an absolute beast of a mabari--and was laughing maniacally all the while if her ears were to be believed--the arrangement of letters that had been revealed to her was even more complex than Niamh's own name.

"Saoirse."

Silence.

"Now you are teasing me..."

Leliana doubted her wife completely understood what she'd said, but she supposed her expression said enough for the both of them because the laughter that spilled from her wife's lips then were akin to the wind chimes that hung along the stables back at her mother's estate--airy and beautiful in their tinkling sound.

"Alright then, Niamh," she said with some measure of humor once her wife's amusement faded on the breeze. "Why are you sleeping out here--" She tapped at the bedroll the woman was sitting on. "--and not in our tent?" she finished, gesturing toward the Fereldan encampment.

As her wife's gaze following her outstretched arm, Leliana wasn't expecting any answer she would truly comprehend, but the pensiveness she saw settling on Niamh's features had her curious as the woman turned back to her.

"I sleep here to..." A jaw worked itself thoughtfully as she struggled to find the words. "...To give Leliana comfort alone."

Leliana blinked as she turned Niamh's answer about in her head.

If she understood correctly, her wife had taken to sleeping out beneath the stars every night because of her. It wasn't far from her initial assumption. Their marriage was still new, and with them both being of different cultures, perhaps Niamh hadn't wanted to overstep any boundaries Leliana might have had. Rather than inadvertently risk making her uncomfortable, Niamh had stayed away to allow Leliana to acclimate to her new surroundings alone.

It was... very thoughtful, Leliana could admit. Unnecessary but thoughtful all the same.

"Well, if you won't join me in our tent, then may I at least sit here?" she asked, tapping the bedroll repeatedly with her request.

Her wife's gaze turned to Leliana and the bedding several times before her eyes widened in seeming realization. The other woman nodded rapidly with her consent, making room for Leliana, but she scooted herself over so much that Leliana couldn't help but laugh when Niamh nearly ended up on the grass.

"Come here, Silly!" she said, reaching out to steady her wife before she needed to fish her out of the river. She tugged her closer across the bedroll and marveled at the warmth emanating from the mage's body even on such a cool night. She smiled. "There's space enough for both of us, no?"

---

And that's it for now! I always love writing soft things about these two! If you liked this, please leave me a like or comment, and consider checking out the other AUs I have!

[loopstagirl]

Shot in the Dark, Chapter 15

The room was dark and murky, a swirling mist hovering eerily above the floor and shielding anything on the floor. Not that the man noticed, however, pacing angrily back and forth, muttering restlessly under his breath as he did so. Clouds of dust were shot into the air with every step he took, but the Hood didn't notice. His eyes were closed in concentration, yet his feet knew the path well, for never once did he falter. Lining the walls, a group of men stood in silence, watching their master's pacing with bated breath. Whenever he was in a mood like this, one of them nearly always lost their life. It was just a matter of seeing who would be the unfortunate victim this time.

"How are they still alive?" the Hood suddenly barked, but no one dared answer him as he refused to even slow down in his pacing. Everything had been set up perfectly. The two accidents in Canada should have killed the two rescuers involved. Hell, the first rescue alone should have done the job for him. Whilst not there himself, the Hood now just cursed his foolishness at thinking his man would be able to complete the task. He was below him, nothing more than primitives, but even the Hood had to admit they had come close. His man had filmed the whole thing before running, showing how only the actions of the third member of the team had stopped the others from being crushed. Believing it had just been misfortune, the Hood had given the man one last chance, sending someone to help him who he knew the members of International Rescue wouldn't be able to resist. But even that had failed, despite the spark of delight he had felt in hearing that the man had been unconscious when he was pulled from the freezer.

He should have known that his minions wouldn't be good enough for the job. This was International Rescue they were talking about. The Hood had been outwitted by them more times than he would like to recall, something made even worse by the fact that his own half-brother was in their midst, and yet was too resistant to the man's control to finish them off for him. When he had heard about the landslide in Malaysia, he thought his dream had just been handed to him on a plate. The location was practically on his doorstep and, armed and ready, he had been more than prepared to bring down International Rescue once and for all. And yet they had still thwarted him, with nothing more than sheer dumb luck.

Lashing out in frustration, the Hood plunged his fist into the wall, the crumbling plaster giving way under his knuckles. Here he was, in a temple that was falling down around him, and yet they were still out there, living in luxury and bathing in the love of the entire world.

"They will not escape me again," he whispered quietly, his threatening tone causing the men to shiver. They wouldn't have heard him any better had he shouted the words, for even the atmosphere surrounding them seemed to hold its breath as it waited for the Hood to speak again.

"They are getting too alert on their feeble rescue attempts."

"Master?" one of the men said tentatively, taking a small step out of the shadows. He knew that the Hood rewarded loyalty and devotion. If he could see that this man was prepared to die for him, then the solider knew he would be well rewarded. Providing, of course, he hadn't just set himself up as the next victim of the Hood's anger.

"We're having a change of plan. We're not going for International Rescue anymore." The Hood smirked as he spoke, pieces falling to place in his mind as he began a new plan.

"We're not?" It was a different man who spoke this time, unable to hide the relief in his voice. He could cope with his master wanting jewels and riches, maybe even the odd murder here and there. But this constant obsession to bring down International Rescue was beginning to irritate him, especially considering the organisation stopped them at every turn. Fixing him with a cold gaze, the Hood let his power build up inside him before his eyes flashed yellow and the man dropped to his knees with a cry.

"No, we're not. Instead, we are going to bring down the Tracy family."

More ->

[hyunjeonglim]

Exhibition view : Hyunjeong Lim Solo Show <Trip West> , Gallery 4Culture, Seattle 2025

Otherworldly Detail: In Trip West, Hyunjeong Lim sets the scene for extraordinary stories

Hyunjeong Lim never imagined she’d live in the United States. But when her husband got a tech job here in 2018, she suddenly found herself in San Francisco, some 5,600 miles from her home in Busan, South Korea. Right away, the couple set about exploring their new home on a series of road trips—and discovered a California landscape that felt very foreign.

“It was really magical—the sunshine and palm trees,” she says. “Outside of San Francisco, it’s so dry and sunny that it’s like an alien environment to me.”

Lim had been painting “realistic, imaginary worlds of the mind” since working on her MFA in London at Central Saint Martins more than a decade ago. But in California, the color and tone of her paintings began to change. “What affects my work most is really the nature and the climate environment around me,” she says.

Then the pandemic hit, and Lim was confined to her apartment. “The depths of my painting, the amount of detail or the time I put in increased a lot,” she says. “I felt like, if I make this painting more realistically or with more abundant details, I could feel like I’m in the outside world, traveling through nature all over again. Foliage, leaves, grasses, trees—I just gave extra, more.”

With her husband able to work remotely, he and Lim decided to seek out a more familiar setting, and wound up in Seattle. “It has four seasons, lots of mountains and forests, so it’s very similar to Korea,” she says.

Again, they hit the road.

In time, Lim had visited many of the most celebrated sites in the Western United States: Yosemite, the Oregon Coast, the Olympic Peninsula, the canyons, Utah, even Hawaii. These experiences became the material for her current Gallery 4Culture exhibition, Trip West, a collection of 31 surrealistic landscape paintings inspired by the places she’s been and the people she’s seen on her travels. Made using oil and acrylic paints, they include individual smaller paintings as well as diptychs, triptychs, and various combinations thereof.

Lim has been exploring this kind of imagery all her life. As a child, she spent a lot of time drawing things like mushroom houses and forest creatures. While in London, she returned to the National Gallery again and again to study the works of Renaissance masters, which she loves.

“The layering of thin, sparkling oil colors to build the landscape with tiny brush strokes—it really gives me a lot of joy to just to look at it,” she says of the Flemish paintings that live large in her mind.

When making one of her paintings, Lim synthesizes Renaissance influences with elements of Chinese or Korean screen painting and the idealized landscapes they present. She composes her works through a combination of compositional sketches and spontaneous, intuitive drawing, using her own photos as references and drawing on her own fragmented memories.

The paintings in Trip West not only contain worlds within worlds individually, their juxtapositions conjure even more imaginary places, which is why Lim labors over the way they’re arranged, using her computer to puzzle them together. Paintings may depict far away locations, but “put together, they make another context,” she says, explaining that she sees herself as the conductor of an orchestra. “Like, this painting makes pop sound and another one makes a bass tone.”

Though there’s a lot going on in each piece, Lim says she doesn’t have a specific narrative in mind for any of them. She leaves that for each viewer to fill in themselves, hoping the imagery will trigger their memories of the places they’ve visited in their own lives. “I really believe that strangers—each of us—could slightly understand each other better because we are looking at the same things,” she says.

“Sleeping in a tent is kind of a luxury to Koreans. We make a pastime of going to a camp site and enjoying nature,” Lim says. In contrast, in cities on the West Coast today, tents can indicate homelessness. “Those simple drawing can tell the different story to each viewer depending on where they’re from.”

For viewers at Gallery 4Culture, the scenes in Trip Westmay be full of familiar locations. But how might audiences elsewhere respond to them? Lim will find out this fall when she shows these works again as part of a solo show in Seoul. She laughs, “When I show my photos of these places to my friends in Korea, they’re like, where have you been?”

photo credit : Joe Freeman (https://www.joefreemanjunior.com)

[okanaganglamping]

Yurt Glamping in Okanagan – Off-Grid Luxury with Lake Views

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