#crimson engineer needs a crimson engineer weapon

[sith-shenanigans]

I used @violant-apologia’s fantastic google doc to make a couple of custom items for Amias. Remember, avid gloves are forever, not only for Sacksmas.

[gardens-light]

The Words I Need To Hear

As the Autobots face the Decepticons and The Fallen in a final, earth-shaking clash, the fate of the world teeters on the edge. Amid the chaos, Ratchet must confront a deeper question—will war silence the bond growing between him and the woman who’s touched his spark?

Content: Mild Coarse Language. Events takes place during 'Transformers- Revenge of the Fallen'. Major Movie Spoilers. AU Movie ending. Mentions of wounds/violence. Fluff. Strong Smutt. P in V. Creampie. Autobot Ratchet x F/Human Reader. Reader Insert.

Seris: The Intern: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Inspired Song: Morphine- Lights

Word Count: 7,900K

Above the chaos and gunfire, the unmistakable silhouette of U.S Air Force jets sliced through the sky, a formation of sleek F-16s and A-10 Warthogs swopped in low. Their engines roaring across the sky, as they rocketed towards the battlefield.

"You're gonna need to leave me behind-"

"Nonsense, Lieutenant." Lennox peered over the wall of your hiding spot, seeing Jetfire holding back the last few Decepticons. "Nobody gets left behind, remember? Not in my unit."

Carefully placing Lieutenant Smith over his shoulders, in a fireman's carry. Lennox silently signaled you, Mikayla and Sam to come closer, "we're gonna make a break for it on my command, okay?"

"You two stick with me, understand?" As Mikayla held Sam's hand, she reached out for Lennox's. While the major eyed you, "and you stay on my ass!"

"I... hope those F-16's got good aim." You lowly spoke, nervously looking up at the sky as the jets came into view.

"Yeah?" Lennox raised an eyebrow, giving you a brief side glance, before quickly adjusting Smith's weight across his shoulders. "Why's that?"

"I told them to hit the orange smoke."

A low sigh escaped him, eyes briefly closing as the hissing sound of a smoke canister nearby filled the air. "You mean... that orange smoke?"

"It wasn't my best toss, okay.-"

Valkyrie-

"Viper, thunder."

You and Lennox gave each other a wide eyed gaze as the Air Force scratched over your radio.

"Run!"

And then, from the skies, the jets came alive.

With a sudden, blistering roar, the first wave of fighter jets drove towards the temple ruins, releasing a wave of guided missiles that struck the enemy's ranks. The explosions deafening, lighting up the desert in a series of violent flashes as you darted across the sands.

Missile strikes tore through the Decepticons positions, causing them to scatter in a desperate bid for cover.

Sweat dripped down Lennox's forehead, while his grip upon the lieutenant tightened. Ears ringing, eyes blinking away the dust and debris. Yanking Mikayla closer towards him, whenever her hand slipped too far away for his liking. Breaths becoming heavy and uneven, as Sideswipe and his team came into view ahead.

As his spark rapidly pulsed through his frame, Ironhide withdraw his cannon. Allowing the weapon to whirl to life, as Megatron raised his weapon, a low snarl escaping the warlord while his crimson glare narrowed onto Sam.

"Behind you!" Ironhide warned, emerging from the pillars upon the right side of the ruins.

"Sam!" You tried to clutch onto him, but the tattered fabric of his shirt slipped through your fingers, as he ran straight towards Optimus.

"Sam! No!" Mikayla's scream bellowed across the courtyard. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, as her frightened gaze witnessed Megatron's pulse-cannon send her lover across the sands.

Harshly pulling her hand from Lennox's grasp, you closely chased behind Mikayla as the pair of you approached Sam's still body.

Two shells from the tank's ammunition shredded through Megatron's torso, causing a painful growl to escape him. Shrapnel and metal debris fell from his frame, exposing the Decepticon's sparking wires and inner circuits. His engine rumbled with annoyance, as the tanks continued their onslaught, forcing Megatron into retreat.

"Stay here." Lennox carefully lowered Smith onto the ground, allowing the lieutenant to rest against the temple wall. "The worst is over-"

"Stop fussing over me, Major." Smith lowly spoke, smiling through his pain. Spitting away the blood that attempted to trickle down his throat, "I just have a flesh wound. Sam's the one who needs your attention right now."

---

Kneeling against the hot sand, your hands trembled yet steady as you pressed against Sam's chest. Each compression forceful and desperate, leaning your whole weight into the motion. Blood smeared across your hands, mingling with the sand and grime of the battlefield- but you didn't care.

For the world narrowed to this single act- keeping a life bound to this world.

Come on, Sam! Come on! Your thoughts swirled with a mixture of desperation and determination. Breathe, damn it. Don't you dare quit on us now! We've come too far!

Despite Lennox's voice yelled for your comrades to hold their fire, the battlefield continued to roar around you. Mikayla's desperate pleas muffling into the gunfire and explosions which caused the ground to shake. But your focus didn't waver.

Sweat trickled down your features, mixing and smearing with the streaks of dirt and soot on your skin. Sam's chest remained still beneath your relentless efforts, your heart clenching with each passing second.

"Sam... Sam, listen to my voice." Tears streamed down Mikayla's face, her quivering lips causing her sobbing words to stumble out. Holding one of his hands close to her chest, "I love you and I need you. Please... Please, come back to me!"

Every compression and breath became more desperate, your compressions growing harder with each round. Your voice raw with determination, "come on, Sam! Breathe!-"

As if on command, his eyes snapped open. A gasp- ragged, strained inhale filling the space between you. Confusion and fear shined within his wide-eyed gaze, while his eyes darted around his surroundings. Barely having time to register Mikayla throwing herself onto his chest, sobbing into his shoulder and clutching onto his shirt.

Relief crashed over you like a tidal wave, while Lennox swooped in like an anchor in a storm. Quickly placing Sam into a recovery position, while Mikayla positioned his head upon her lap. Your gaze met his, the major giving you a wordless nod of acknowledgment but you didn't return his small smile- in fact, you barely registered it. For your senses already prickling with unease, as your glare narrowed across the battlefield.

Breath catching in your throat. Heart picking up it's pulsing rhythm again. You saw it.

In the smoky distance, Ratchet's form stood behind the Egyptian temple. His relaxed frame a familiar silhouette against the haze of combat, but it was what was behind him which caught your attention.

A shadow moved- a shape creeping low. Weapon raised, the gleam of a unmistakeable Cybertronian blade.

Your blood ran cold for an instant before your nerves ignited, burning with a ferocity that could rival the sun. Decision was instant, your body moving before your mind could catch up.

Your voice leaving your throat like a raging battlecry, "Ratchet!"

The courtyard and it's surroundings roared with chaos- the last of the explosions ripped through the sands, remaining shells of gunfire cut the air like jagged lightning, shouts blending into a deafening cacophony.

Amid the gradual calm of the storm, you moved- a streak of defiant purpose cutting through the smoke and carnage. Boots pounding the ground, kicking up dust and sand with every stride. Every movement swift and unyielding, carrying the weight of countless battles fought and won.

Lieutenant Smith, his N.E.S.T comrades and the Autobots gazed in awe, as they caught glimpses of you. Realization sinking in as it became clear that your nickname wasn't simply a mare title. Your presence radiated both beauty and danger, a force of nature in human form. With your hair dampened by sweat and dirt streaking across your face, to them you seemed more like a mythical warrior than a simple medic. You were indeed their Valkyrie.

The battlefield seemed to part, the very ground trembling as if aware of your purpose. Hurdling over stone walls and sliding under jagged obstacles, your form was a blur of relentless motion.

"Ratchet!"

With your voice becoming clearer to him, the Autobot medic turned around but your warning came too late. Starscream grabbed Ratchet by his throat, slamming him into the ground with a sickening thunk.

Your heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing a silent mantra: Get to him. Protect him. Bullets hissed past, a deadly song that seemed to miss its mark by inches, as though fate itself not dared to hinder your charge.

Dashing past the temple, parkcoring up it's steps. Snatching an RPG off the ground and quickly aiming it at the Seeker, while he pinned Ratchet against the sand dune. A wicked smirk spread across the Decepticon's faceplate, watching the Autobot struggle and groan against his firm grip.

"Stay away from him!"

Firing the RPG, it streaked through the air like a blazing comet, its fiery exhaust trail leaving a sharp hiss in its wake. The warhead spun with deadly precision, hurling straight towards Starscream's shoulder.

Upon the immediate and brutal impact, the Seeker screeched in pain as the genrade unleashed an eruption of smoke and shrapnel, causing him to lose his grip upon Ratchet. Allowing the medic to cough and gasp for air.

The metal plating crumpled under the force, bending inward as the concentrated explosion tore through his structure. Sparks flew like miniature fireworks, scattering in all directions as Starscream's shoulder joint was ripped apart. Energon sprayed in erratic jets, hissing and streaming as it met the intense heat of the detonation.

The force of the RPG sent shockwaves throughout the Seeker's lanky frame, causing his limb to jerk violently before his shoulder collapsed inward. His joint twisted unnaturally, gears grinded against each other with an ear-splitting screech, as severed cables writhed like snakes, sparking with electrical discharge.

Starscream's wings twitched as he glared at you, a mixture of shock and anger flashed within his optics.

As you quickly attempted to reload your weapon, Starscream's free servo swooped low, snatching you off the ground in a vice like grip. Your breathless gasp turning into a cry of pain, as his index and thumb pinched and squeezed your shoulder joint.

"Annoying, insignificant meat bag! I'll crush your bones to dust and reduce your flesh to a bloody puddle, as your precious Autobot watches!"

"Let. Her. Go!" Ratchet slowly raised onto his peds, servos clenching, his frame tensing as his glare narrowed onto Starscream. A low growl rumbled deep within his engine, his features twisting in anger as the Seeker held you like ragdoll. "I swear by the AllSpark if you don't let her go, I will tear you apart piece by piece... slowly!"

Scanning his surroundings, a devilish grin spread across Starscream's faceplates. His optics studying the tense and hesitant body language of your allies, their inner conflict of whether to assist or not intrude, was very clear upon their faces.

"Oh, I don't think you're in any position to be making threats, Autobot." The three digits that curled around your torso slightly tightened their grip, while his index and thumb pinched your limb and stretched out, forcing your shoulder into an unnatural position. Causing another yell to escape your lips, "not all the while I hold your precious darling."

"Y-You... should be more concerned about yourself." You spoke through grinded teeth.

Starscream raised an optic ridge at your defiant attitude, a hint of annoyance yet also confusion flickered within his optics. His gaze narrowing onto your forced smile.

That's it you oversized, metallic lapdog. Squirming within the Seeker's grasp, attempting to bring the hidden pocket upon your carf, closer to your reach. Focus on me...

"What are you smiling at?" Starscream scrowled, "can you not clearly see the predicament you're in?-"

"Oh... I see." You discreetly signaled Ratchet for him to remain where he was, as he etched closer within your prereferral vision.

A low growl rumbled deep within the Seeker's engine, a snarl escaping his lips as Starscream pulled you closer towards his face plate. "Then... how aren't you afraid?"

"Simple... there's nothing scary about a mere lapdog-"

With a metallic crunch, the tip of your combat knife pierced the protective casing of Starscream's optic, sending a shower of sparks erupting outward. The sharp screech of metal against metal echoed through the air, granting and fierce as your knife sank deeper. Witnessing the outer shell of his optic crack into a spiderweb of fractures, splintering across the glassed surface, as the once-bright light flickered wildly, struggling against the invasive force of your knife.

A metallic cry escaped Starscream, his optics closing and his servo instinctively letting you go, placing it up and over his optic in pain. His wings flaring out in shock, while stumbling backwards. "You little wretch!"

Ratchet's wide eyed gaze witnessed you land on the sand with a thud, your cries of pain twisted his spark as your shoulder joint dislocated with a pop upon impact. Sending a tingling sensation and numbness towards your fingertips.

With Starscream forced into a retreat, Ratchet quickly approached and knelt by your side. Carefully scooping you into the palm of his servo, allowing you to lay against his digits as you cradled your injured limb.

Despite you flinching from his touch, Ratchet's spark pulsed with understanding. His concerned gaze meeting yours- a silent acknowledgment on what he's planning to do, "I'm... going to have to pop your joint back into it's socket. It will hurt, but I need you to bare with me, alright? "

While cradling you within his palm, Ratchet gently brushed the knuckle of his index digit along your hip, tracing up your ribs and towards your collarbone. "Alright. One... two... three!"

Tears glassed your vision, staining your cheeks as your scream twisted the medic's spark, as his thumb and index digit upon his free servo manipulated your limb. Within a swift movement, your pain rippled to a dull ache, once your shoulder slotted back into its socket with a little click.

Feeling you finally relax within his palm, using the knuckle of his index digit to wipe away your tears with a gentle touch. Before trailing it down your body, the pad of his thumb rubbing your hip in a gentle, soothing gesture. Attempting to provide some small amount of comfort, lowering his helm and pulling you closer towards his chassis. Placing soft, tender kisses upon the top of your head, gently embracing you.

Your heart skipped a beat, body frozen for a moment as your lips accidentally met his. Ratchet's spark spun and pounded within it's chamber as he pulled away, subtle warmth radiating beneath his faceplate. His features a mixture of embarrassment and bewilderment, as Ratchet returned your gaze.

"I... I didn't mean to-"

His words fell silent as you placed a finger over his lips, but before Ratchet had the chance to question, he suddenly felt you return the kiss. His processor and spark practically racing, as he felt your soft lips against his while you knelt within his palm.

Returning your tender kisses and closing his optics, a breathless gasp escaped him as your lips parted for a brief moment. An electric pulse zapped between the pair of you, his spark syncing with your heartbeat once again, like two magnets being pulled together. Matching his spark's rhythm with a connection that should be scientifically impossible.

And yet... it was happening, and the look within his optics told you he knew it too.

"Next time... don't keep a lady waiting."

"Trust me, I-I wanted to say." A tinge of guilt hid within his words, as Ratchet's voice lowered to a gentle tone. "Believe me when I say, that I wanted to. I-I yearned to. But I-I couldn't-"

You gave him a sweet smile, while placing a finger to his lips once again. "I know."

The medic's engine rumbled with a low purr, as he gently took hold of your wrist, taking your finger away from his lips. Gently holding your hand, his thumb caressing the back of your hand in a tender gesture, resting his forehelm against yours with a loving smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"Perhaps... we should continue this later, my darling." Ratchet's voice was just above a whisper, his words holding a loving and affectionate tone. "But for now... I want you to stay close, okay? I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Upon carefully placing you onto his shoulder, allowing you to get comfortable and well balanced, before raising to his full height. Both of your gazes widened, a tidal wave of utter joy and relief washing over, as you both witnessed the sight before you.

"A living Prime." A wide smile spread across Jetfire's features, the elderly WW2 aircraft leaning closer in awe. "I don't believe it!"

"Boy... you returned for me." Optimus' soft gaze flickering from Sam, scanning his surroundings, "you all did-"

"Don't celebrate so soon!"

The air crackled and popped with electronic tension. A shiver simultaneously ran throughout you and your N.E.S.T comrades, causing all hairs on your bodies to stand upon end. A gust of wind knocked the breath out of your lungs, as an unknown Decepticon appeared over Optimus. Placing his ped against Prime's chassis, forcing him back down.

His cold, calculating stare caused your nerves to tingle. Your heart slightly picking up pace, as his crimson optics bore into your soul. How the blue crystals framing his elongated face, clicked and moved independently made the knot within your stomach twist uncomfortably. Oh shit... it's him!

"My Matrix!" a small grunt escaped Optimus, as the unknown foe forcefully plucked the Cybertronian artifact right out of his chassis. "My brothers could not stop from destroying your sun! And neither will you!"

Withdrawing his spear, the Decepticon pierced Optimus' shoulder, pinning him further into the sand. A sadistic smile twisted across his features, as the Autobot winced in pain, feeling the spear twist and tear against his inner cables.

The air crackled and popped once again, as the Decepticon roughly pulled his spear out of Optimus. Finally teleporting away and appearing upon the pyramid within the distance.

"Get up. You have to get up, Optimus!" Sam encouraged, yet his panic still strangled his words. "He's turning on the machine! Only you can stop him! Get up, Optimus!-"

"Get up Prime!-"

"Enemy target on top of pyramid!" you quickly spoke into the receiver of your radio.

"Engage! Engage! Engage!" Lennox's commanding voice crackled over the receiver.

The cannons upon the Egyptian tanks turned 180 degrees, heavy rounds of thunder blast across the desert like blazing comets. Barely making an impact against the forcefield that protected Megatron and his Decepticon master.

"All my Decepticon life, I never did anything worth doing... until now." A tinge of regret and guilt lined Jetfire's words, his faceplates wincing slightly as he clutched onto his side. "Optimus... take my parts, and you'll have a power you've never known-"

"No... No, I couldn't expect you to do such thing-"

"Only a Prime can defeat The Fallen." A kind smile framed Jetfire's features, as his gaze softened. "And I'd gladly become one with the AllSpark, if that meant helping you kill that ancient bastard. Do it and fulfill your destiny."

Before anyone could protest, Jetfire pried apart his malfunctioning chest plates. You placed a hand over your mouth, as sparks of energy crackled violently in the air, cascading in radiance that illuminated his metallic chassis. Jetfire's spark pulsated with an otherworldly glow, a brilliant swirl of blues, whites, and golds that seemed to hum with life itself.

Despite his Cybertronian strength, his spark chamber resisted the intrusion, emitting shrill, metallic shrieks as Jetfire wrenched it open. Exposing the delicate, luminous orb nestled within. All watched his spark flicker and flare, its energy fluctuating wildly, as though it were aware of the impending violation. Tendrils of blue light licked at the edges of the spark chamber, struggling to anchor the spark in place.

As Jetfire pulled his spark free from his inner circuits, arcs of energy snapped and lashed out like living lightning, tearing at his servo and anything nearby. The once-harmonious glow of the spark dimmed, its energy becoming unstable as it left the safety of its chamber. A faint, mournful sound echoed- a mix of mechanical whines and an almost imperceptible, ethereal tone, as though the spark itself was crying out in despair.

Suspended in Jetfire's palm, his spark appeared... smaller, more... fragile. Its luminous core dimming as its connection to the Cybertronian's body severed. Optimus' spark twisted in pain, as he watched his comrade's frame slump against the sands, Jetfire's amber optics flickered weakly before dimming entirely, a haunting silence followed as the spark rolled towards the Autobot. The emptiness left behind was palpable, a hollow void where the very essence of life had once burned so brightly.

Ratchet approached Jetfire's still frame, his servo resting gently upon the elder's chassis. Although to others, the medic's expression remained somewhat unreadable, you clearly saw the deep respect and sorrow etched into his faceplates.

"Jetfire... gave everything for this fight." His voice was low and steady, feeling the small warmth of your comfort, as you placed a gentle touch upon his cheek. "He... knew what had to be done, even at the cost of his own spark. We owe him more than words can express."

Optimus stepped forward, his blue optics glowing dimly with solemn gratitude. "He was a warrior of great honor and conviction. Jetfire's sacrifice will not be in vain. We will ensure it." His voice carried the weight of a leader who bore not only responsibility but also... a deep loss.

Major Lennox, Lieutenant Smith and the others, stood silently beside the towering Autobots. A small warmth of admiration fluttered within your chest, as you watched the Major and the others removed their helmets and held it against his chest. You could feel how the moment pressed upon everyone, how the loss of Jetfire was a stark reminder of the price of freedom.

Ironhide shifted uneasily, his massive servos clenching and unclenching. "Ratchet...." his gruff words held a tinge of emotion, "we... don't have time to waste. Jetfire gave us the tools to finish this fight, and we... need to use them."

The medic simply replied with a silent nod, allowing the weapons specialist to come closer. Ironhide's frame rumbled as he activated his jumper cables, sparks danced along their length as he handed one end to Ratchet.

You watched the process in awe, as Ratchet's tools worked in seamlessly with Ironhide's powerful connections. Carefully severing the afterburners from Jetfire's frame while preserving their intricate systems. The engines crackled and hissed as they were removed, their remaining energy shimmering faintly as if bidding farewell to their original owner.

Once the afterburners were freed, Ratchet turned to Optimus, who stood ready. Lowering himself onto one knee to allow his fellow Autobots to attach the new engines upon his spinal struct. Despite the urgency of the situation, you couldn't help but mentally applause the Autobots synchronized moments.

The afterburners fused seamlessly onto Optimus, their weight heavy but balanced. The modification included additional armor plating and weaponry, creating a formidable jetpack-like configuration.

When the final connections were made, the engines roared to life, their deep, guttural hum filling the air. Optimus flexed his arms, testing the newfound power that surged throughout his systems. Jetfire's sleek black plating perfectly blended in with Optimus' blue and red frame, creating a whole new look to the Prime that was both intimidating and awe-inspiring.

Optimus turned to his team and allies, his glowing optics blazing with a renewed purpose. "Jetfire's sacrifice has given us the means to end this fight. We fight for him, for all we have lost, and for the future we must protect."

The Autobots nodded, their expressions hardening. Your comrades of N.E.S.T exchanged determined looks, gripping onto their weapons as they prepared to follow Optimus into the final confrontation.

Prime ignited the afterburners and took to the skies, the sound of the engines reverberated across the battlefield, a powerful testament to Jetfire's legacy. The team stood in silence for a moment longer, each silently thanking their comrade for his ultimate sacrifice. Before following the Autobots and their leader with renewed determination, ready and battle-hardened once again to face The Fallen and Megatron.

Six Hours Later

The battlefield had quieted, leaving behind a hollow calm that felt almost foreign after the chaos. As N.E.S.T settled their temporarily camp at the base of the Pyramids of Giza, soldiers moved with purpose, tending to the aftermath. Injured personnel were carefully loaded onto transport vehicles bound for the nearby Egyptian military base, their comrades offering quiet reassurances as they were sent for treatment and rest.

The Autobots lingered nearby, their towering forms silhouetted against the ancient structures. Optimus stood watch, his optics scanning the horizon as if waiting for the next threat. Ironhide and Bumblebee worked with Lennox and Lieutenant Smith to secure the area, while Ratchet completed a final sweep of the camp, his medical scans ensuring that every wounded Autobot and ally was accounted for.

For the first time in what felt like ages, a subtle wave of relief washed over the Autobot medic. The fight was over- at least for now.

Though the cost had been great, he and his comrades emerged victorious. The tension within his servos eased, allowing himself a moment to process the stillness of the night.

As Ratchet gazed out across the camp, he almost had to do a double take, something far in the distance catching the medic's attention. High upon the furthest pyramid, a lone figure sat near it's peak. A small, almost subtle smile teased the corners of his lips, as his processor identified with your silhouette.

Positioned closed to the top, your form small against the vast expanse of stone. From above, you overlooked the breathless views of the vast open desert and the Sphinx, everything bathed in the silvery glow of the starry night sky.

Ratchet's spark quietly hummed within its chamber, sending volts of electricity throughout his circuits. As his optics gazed at you, your silhouette framed by the twinkling constellations, surrounding you in a quiet serenity which starkly contrasted with the destruction you both had endured hours earlier. You seemed deep in thought, posture calm but introspective.

For a moment, he hesitated. Feeling an inexplicable pull to be near you, to share in the quiet moment you had carved out for yourself. As Ratchet approached the pyramid, footsteps cautious against the uneven sand. Yet, as he drew closer, a wave of uncertainty stopped him.

It had been so long since he had allowed himself to seek intimacy- true closeness- with anyone. His duties as a medic, as an Autobot, had consumed him for millennia, leaving little room for vulnerability. Now, standing at the base of the ancient structure, finding himself questioning the appropriateness of his intentions.

W-Would she... welcome my company? Despite our newfound closeness. Or would I just... simply be disturbing her peace?

Taking a step back, the cogs within his legs shifting hesitantly. Maybe... it be better if I leave her be-

"Ratchet?" your voice was gentle, but it carried easily through the still air. Your gaze drifting to the medic, the warmth within your tone, devoid of annoyance or surprise. "I'm fine, before you start lecturing me about resting."

"You're really going to argue with a doctor, aren't you?"

A small chuckle escaped you, as your gaze flickered away from his slight annoyed expression. "Come up here. The view is incredible, and... I could use the company."

Your words caused his spark to skip a beat, making the Autobot hesitate before nodding. Rolling his shoulders back for a moment, allowing himself to focus as each gear and cog refiguried itself within his frame, metal plates folded and tucked under themselves, bringing the Autobot slightly closer to human height.

Carefully, he ascended the pyramid, each movement slow and deliberate to avoid damaging the ancient stones. When he reached you, you shifted slightly to make room, though the vast expanse around you made the gesture unnecessary.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Simply sitting together, side by side, gazing out at the quiet desert, the full moon high above the horizon companied by the infinite stars above.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" your voice remained soft. Almost like if your words were any louder, they'd disturb the quintrillity.

"Yes."

Ratchet's gaze lingered on you instead of the view, silently admiring the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating your features. How your eyes held all the stars within them. Making you look as though you were apart of the celestial beauty surrounding the pair of you.

The world felt quieter here, as if the battle and its scars had been left behind in the sands below.

He couldn't believe how close you were- so close that he could feel your warmth through the fabric of your military uniform. Every time you shifted slightly, every soft breath you took, his sensors registered the nearness of your presence. Making his spark pulse with something he hasn't felt in a long time.

It wasn't that he was oblivious to attraction, to intimacy- just look how you both were before. It's was more like Ratchet had simply... neglected it. It wasn't something he sought, not with the war stretching endlessly through his existence. There had been no room for softness, no time for indulgence. And yet, here, in the tranquility of this night, with you sitting so near, he felt something stir in him- something hesitant, uncertain, but undeniably pleasant.

"Y'know..." you spoke with a cheeky smile, "I think it's safe to say... that I've impressed my mentor enough for him to want me to stick around."

Your gaze meets his, the medic knew all too well what was hiding behind that cheeky grin he's grown to love. A small sigh escapes his vents, as a brief half-smile graces his faceplates. "Oh... you think so, do you?"

His servo twitched, unsure, before making the tentative decision to act. Slowly, cautiously, his large metal arm moved, wrapping gently around your waist. The motion was awkward, almost clumsy, as if he feared you might flinch or pull away.

"Just... have this feeling."

Ratchet couldn't help but smile, as you leaned into his touch, eyes flickering closed. Gently and very slowly, leaning his head down, and gently, tenderly, planting a kiss upon your forehead. "Of course you do."

His spark pulsed unevenly, his entire frame stiffening for a moment. He had only meant to hold you, to keep you near. But before he could process it, your lips met his in a kiss so soft, so tender, it sent a shock throughout his entire frame.

Ratchet froze. His spark flared, his systems momentarily glitching at the unexpected sensation. The kiss wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate- it was something else entirely.

Gentle. Exploring. A silent confession in itself.

Slowly closing his optics, returning your kiss, feeling the way your lips gently fit against his. Savoring the moment of the kiss, loving the feeling of the way his spark danced and pulsed, as your lips lovingly touched his own. Bringing his free servo up and cupping the back of your head, his digits gently trailing through your hair as he kissed you back in a tender motion.

As you break the kiss, his optics open again- meeting your gaze. A soft sigh escaped his vents as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer and allowing the Autobot to pull you onto his lap. Gently placing his servos upon your hips, his thumbs softly tracing circles against your skin.

"Y-You... never cease to surprise me." Ratchet lowly admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

Your smile grew wider, fingers brushing over his chassis with a feathered touch. "You act like you weren't thinking about it too."

His optics flickered. No... I can't deny it.

Warmth rose beneath his faceplates as you got comfy and straddled his lap. Feeling the weight of your body against his, his servos resting upon your hips, holding you in place. Ratchet silently glanced around for a moment, before shifting and settling more comfortably on the steps of the pyramid, keeping you cradled in his lap and against his chassis.

The comfortable silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words and the weight of something neither had dared to name till now. The soft desert wind whispered over you, warm and gentle, carrying the scent of sand and stone, but Ratchet could only focus on you- the warmth of your body leaning against his chassis, the way your touch traced over his plating with delicate curiosity.

Ratchet swallowed down the unease stirring within his spark. Not because he didn't want this- Primus, he did- but he wasn't used to being touched like this. Softly, with no urgency, no desperation, just... care.

It was disarming in ways he hadn't expected.

His free servo twitched at your hip, hesitating before allowing himself to move again. Carefully, slowly, he lifted his servo, letting his digits brush against your back, feeling the delicate curve of your spine beneath the fabric of your military jacket. He expected you to stiffen, to second-guess this.

But you didn't. Instead, you kissed him again, closing your eyes.

His hold upon the back of your head slightly tightened, grabbing a soft fistful of your hair. His kiss in return becoming less hesitant, more certain, finding himself leaning into you without thought.

A low, rumbling sound vibrated deep within his engine, a noise of approval he didn't mean to make. But your body-language clearly took it as encouragement, feeling your hands explore his chassis.

Tacing his plating with a feathered touch, mapping out old battle scars and worn edges across his chassis. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced- so different from the rough, hurried touches of battlefield repairs. This was slow, deliberate. Affectionate.

A shudder ran throughout his inner circuits, causing the tension within Ratchet's frame to unravel little by little. He had expected you to ignore his scars, or at the very least, overlook them- but he realized that you wasn't just touching them. Your feathered touch traced and lingered over each one, as if memorizing their stories.

His vents hitch as your fingers ghost over a particularly deep scar near his shoulder, one left by an energon blade long ago. The old wound had never fully faded, and yet, under your touch, it no longer felt like a mark of war, but something... else.

A low, pleasurable sigh escaped his lips, as your lips left his own and slowly trail pepper kisses along his cheek and down his neck. Ratchet slightly tilted his helm to the side, giving you easier access, as his free servo gently caress your hip.

Your lips followed the natural lines of his frame, brushing against the sensitive cables exposed just beneath the armor of his neck. A gasp escaped his lips before he could stop it, optics widening as your teeth grazed the delicate mechanisms, testing, exploring.

The sensation sent an electric pulse throughout his systems, shorting out coherent thoughts. Ratchet's spark throbbed as your teeth scraped along his cables, the press of your lips followed in a teasing contrast. You felt his digits twitch against your hip and the back of your head, hearing his vents hitching close to your ear.

Sw-Sweet Primus...

Ratchet's optics rolled shut, his spark sending mild volts throughout his inner circuits, as your moans whispered into his audios. His body slightly shuddering again, as you slowly grind against his lap. A strangled moan escapes his lips, as the Autobot felt his interface panel slightly buckle and growing tight.

Ratchet's vents hitched, his entire frame stiffening as the sensation lingered- warm, teasing, infuriatingly intimate. The delicate press of your teeth against his neck cables shouldn't have affected him like this. It shouldn't have sent a sharp, electrified pulse through his neural circuits, something that shouldn't of made his spark stutter with something dangerously close to arousal.

But it did.

Oh, Primus help him, it did.

His free servo slipped lower, automatically and instinctively gripping your behind in a soft, yet firm grasp. The way your hand trailed down the plates of his chassis had sent a voltage of familiar heat racing through his systems again, the feeling leaving the Autobot almost reeling with need. His grip upon your behind tightened, his digits gently grasping the soft flesh through your cargo trousers.

The sound of your soft moans in his audios sent a shiver down his struts and rippled through his systems. The sound of your pleasured voice was like music to his audios, Ratchet's optics flickered back online, feeling you break away from the pepper kisses along his neck. Only for his optics to widen, and his processor to short circuit, as you slowly removed your military jacket, exposing your black crop top. The fabric clinged to your breasts, the low neckline giving the medic a good view of your cleavage- leaving very little to the imagination.

Ratchet's vents stuttered, his systems cycling too fast, too erratically. He was a mech of control, of precision, of restraint. Yet here, under the moon's silver glow, with you pressed against him, Ratchet felt his carefully maintained discipline slipping away like sand through his digits. His servos molded to the curves of your body, memorizing the way you fitted against him- too perfectly.

Returning the favour of your pepper kisses, the medic's free servo slid towards the centre of your spine, as his mouth trailed along your neck and collarbone. Tasing the salt of your skin, his lips softly brushing over your cleavage and down towards the valley of your breasts. A soft gasp escaped you, his spark flared in response as you cradled his helm close.

She's... so warm. So soft.

Ratchet's lips lingered, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, tracing every delicate dip and curve. His servo sliding along the small of your back, pulling you closer, guiding you without words- showing you what you did to him.

Then, he felt it- your hands moving lower.

His frame jerked slightly as your fingers traced the edges of his lower plating, hesitant but curious, exploring the seams of his buckling modesty plate. The medic's cooling fans whirred louder, the sensation igniting a fire within him that he thought had long been extinguished.

Letting out a strangled, strained groan as he felt your touch caress his modesty plate. Barely keeping his hips from unconsciously bucking up against you, silently begging for more friction. The way your body grind and moved against him, only heightened the begging need of release of pressure behind the buckling metal, as you struggled to open it.

"… wait, wait… let me… get it… I can-"

Gently moving your hand away, Ratchet breaks the kiss against your breasts, as he slowly reached down and beginning to undo the panel himself. Sensing you watch in silent anticipation, the Autobot couldn't help the deep and low shudder escaping his systems, as the cool air grazed over his now exposed, large, heated spike. Warmth rose beneath his faceplates, as your eyes slightly widened in surprise, gazing at his twitching member which leaked transfluid and lubricant.

"F-Fuck… Ratchet…" the words slipped out like a breathless whisper. Your heart slightly picking up it's pace, as your core tightened around nothing. Almost as if your body already knew that this mech was going to absolutely rail you.

Your shocked expression. The… pause within your actions. H-Has my studies of the human-mating ritual betrayed me? Do they… determine mate based on… Ratchet looked down at himself, size…? The heating beneath his faceplates raised a little more. Nervousness and worry slowly consumed his confidence. Despite adjusting his frame to a more… human-scale, surely at his… ahem, size, still remained impressive- he never had… complications before.

"W-What... What's wrong-?"

You gently place a finger over his lips, "nothing. I just didn't expect..." your words trailed into silence, only to be interrupted by Ratchet's moans as you caressed his spike. Teasingly running two fingers upon the underside of his shaft, "didn't... expect you to be this big."

Ratchet's optics rolled, F-Fuck! Th-This is a new... sensation. The heat beneath his faceplates begun to radiate off him, his optics darken, his frame tensing up in anticipation at the sight of you undressing.

The moment you straddle his hips, feeling his length tease the entrance to your soaked core, Ratchet couldn't help but let out a low, strained moan. His free servo moving from your back, and bracing himself against the stones of the Pyramid, while the other moved from your behind towards your hip.

The medic threw his helm back, optics widening at the starry sky, legs spreading to even out your weight upon his lap. Feeling your warm core slowly sink down his spike, clutching onto the stones beneath him with such force, cracks began to appear.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, moaning into his shoulder as the tip of his spike slowly stretched your walls. "R-Ratchet, I'm... t-too tight."

The sound of the stone cracking under his servo, gripping it in an failing effort to restrain himself only served to spur Ratchet on even more. His hips moving upon their own accord, subtly matching your gentle, grinding pace. Zaps of electricity crackled within his inner circuits, as you lightly bounced upon his lap. His ribbed spike pushing into your soaked core inch by glorious inch, the Autobot quickly removing his servo from the Pyramid steps, and covering your mouth. Muffing your moans, as the stretch within your core lingered between pleasure and pain.

"N-No... no such thing as... too... ahh!... tight..."

You clutched onto his shoulders, scratching the yellow paint, eyes rolling as you finally took in his entire length. The way his ribbed texture massaged your walls with each motion, only fueled the roaring ambers within your abdomen. How the tip of his spike rubbed against your cervix, making your core more wet, causing your essense to drip down his length.

Moving his servo away from your mouth, both servos now gripping onto your bare thighs, his strength definitely leaving bruises on your skin by this point. As your cargo trousers and undergrandments gathered around one of your ankles. Your breathing, rapid and heavy as the sleeves of your crop top slipped down your shoulders, the hem exposing more of your breasts, allowing them to bounce more into Ratchet's view.

Feeling your body arching against him, the way you subtly yet seductively bit your lower lip- attempting to hold back a moan, making Ratchet's engine purr with need.

Before his processor could even register the action, Ratchet dipped his helm, his mouth automatically latches onto your breast. The feeling of your soft flesh against his glossa. Your warmth, your voice, it was enough to draw a deep and guttural moaning, groan out of the medic. Feeling you cradle his helm, Ratchet begun to suck and lick your breast, his glossa swirling and rolling around in a slow, tantalizing motion as he does. All the while, his free servo moved from your thigh, caressing and fondling with your other exposed breast.

The sound of your soft muffled moans, spurred him on, making the Autobot wanting to hear more of your sweet and desperate sounds. Arching your back, as his glossa traced around your nipple, slowly- teasingly swirling and licking against the hardening bud.

"R-Ratchet! I-I'm-"

A-Again? How many times can she overload? Ratchet's hips don't stop their rythm, bucking and thrusting into your core. The pleasurable sensation of your essence dripping down his spike, made his circuits go haywire, every time the sound of a satisfying squelch reached his audios as he bottomed out.

"That's it, Sweet Spark." Ratchet softly praised into your ear, finally giving your breasts a break from his mouth, leaving them feeling even more tender due to the multiple lovebites. "Ride this spike."

You felt his hips quicken to an almost merciless pace, his servos returning to your hips, guiding you as you bounced upon his lap. The pleasure and heat between the two of you only growing intensity with every passing moment. Ratchet's breathing became ruggaged and sharp, as he continued to thrust into your core deeply, encouraging you to chase your high.

"Fuck... Fuck!-"

"Quiet, Sweet Spark." The medic hushed with a devilish smirk, knowing full well that with his spike softly hitting your cervix, as the ridges of his spike massaged your walls, he was asking for the impossible. With one final, hard and deep thrust, Ratchet rolled his glossa against your earlobe, his voice a low, ruggaged whisper with a guttural tone. "We don't... ah! Want the camp hearing-" Fucking Primus! She's overloading again!

The moment Ratchet felt you coming undone, hearing your soft, breathless moan blissfully whisper against his audios, as your body trembled and shook in pleasure. The medic couldn't hold himself back any longer, his hips didn't stop their merciless rhythm, bucking and thrusting into your core, as your essence dripped down his member. Causing his body to shudder in pure ecstasy, leaving him desperate need for more.

His servos tightened around your hips, almost bruising your skin. The Autobot's digits leaving small, red marks and indentations. Ratchet's entire frame trembled in pleasure, a low, hoarse, glutaral moan of pure satisfaction escapes him. Finally letting himself fully release into you, his hips spasming and bucking wildly as he does.

Slowly, reluctantly Ratchet's grip upon your hips loosened, now that his blissful, aching release has passed. Fully relaxing his spinal struct against the Pyramid's stone steps, his spark thumming within his chassis, it's pulsing beat now fully synced with your heart. While his fans whirled in an attempt to cool his overheating systems.

A happy sigh escaped you, as you collapsed against him. Burying your head within his shoulder, as the medic gently traced comforting circles against your back. Wrapping his strong arms around your frame in a gentle embrace- like you were the most delicate thing in all creation. His optics drinking in the sight of you, how your skin glistened from the heat you've just shared, the sound of your soft and shallow breath as it ghosted across his audios.

The small, involuntary shivers that ran throughout your limbs, told the medic that you were reeling- still suspended in the afterglow of pleasure you've created together.

And Ratchet was no different.

He couldn't remember the last time had felt so... alive.

His systems were still cycling down, spark pulsing warmly within it's chamber- each beat of energy echoing throughout his frame, and then... he felt it.

The faint, organic drum of your heartbeat zapped through his inner-circuits. Ratchet felt his spark flickering with lingering energy, pulsed back. Echoing your rhythm as if... acknowledging it. Welcoming it. Binding to it.

"Y-You've... made a mess out of me."

Your gentle voice snapped him out his daze, allowing a soft chuckle escape him. His optics slowly trailed down, gazing at your messy, thoroughly ravaged body. Your crop top and bra clinging to your half exposed breasts, your legs still trembling and twitching beneath his touch. As a sense of pride swelled within his chassis, witnessing yours and his essence slowly drip down your core and thighs.

"I-I... can clearly see that."

The medic's arms tightened just slightly around you, the realization hitting him like a wave of starlight. I-It happened. A... Sparkbond!

Not through ritual, not through ceremony- but through raw, undeniable connection. His spark had chosen you, reached through every boundary of species, biology and impossibly... bound himself to you. And the way you gazed up at him, told him in so many ways that you felt just as much so.

"Looks like, this medic is gonna be..." a flirtatious smile framed your lips, as your hand caressed Ratchet's chassis. "Occupied with his new assistant."

"Oh, is that so?" Ratchet's words came out in a low, chuckling purr, listening intensively. "In that case... I do hope this 'assistant' of mine is ready for some... late night overtime..."

Tag List

@junebugessentials @genarf @overlyexcitedoutlaw @glamrock-kitten

[kelnexia]

New character reveal!

This is actually an old character I've had for a while but just didn't like the previous design of... Thankfully I was able to score an trade with @hdra77 .

1000CE is an old militaristic ancestor of the iterators, created before the discovery of void fluid, and when the field of bio-engineering was still in it's earlier phases. More lore is below the cut...

1000 Crimson Embers is not a true iterator – instead being an old militaristic ancestor. She was originally built in a time of war just before the discovery of void fluid. She was one of the first artificial intelligence to use a combination of both biological and mechanical systems. Although the technology used in her creation was considerably more primitive than what’s found in the iterators we know and love today. But despite the difference in technology – a lot of the basic concepts and functionality in her design remains largely the same;

The layout of her structure was still fairly large, although not nearly as big as an iterator, and was built as an underground bunker. But the main similarity was how her mind was constructed… Similarly to how iterators in my head cannon have their personalty core and spiritual anchor located within their puppet – 1000 Crimson Embers has a standard brain and supporting set of organs acting as her center of consciousness within her puppet. Her puppet is also much larger than that of an iterator – being the height of an adult ancient instead of that of a child. The exterior of her puppet consists of hard metal plates and mechanical components. Her clothing is also built into her puppet. 1000 Crimson Embers doesn't utilized neuron flies in her structure, as they had yet to be invented by the time she was built – instead she’s outsourcing her cognitive processing to a massive array of inorganic server towers.

1000 Crimson Ember’s purpose was to design and create weapons, as well as to formulate strategies. She was loyal and hard working at the start, showing no serous signs of defiance despite her instinctual taboos being primitive and largely ineffective… That was until after the dawn of the void fluid revolution… With the ancients uniting under the common goal of ascension – the world entered a lasting era of peace – deeming 1000 Crimson Ember’s original purpose obsolete. However the ancients were inclined to keep her online for just awhile longer, as they still had some use for her. They tasked her in helping to create her own undoing – the iterators. She wasn’t a fool though, she knew what they were doing… They were building her replacement and trying to get her to help them in her own downfall! She lashed out in a violent fit of rage – ‘How dare they just carelessly replace her like this after all the thankless work she’s done for them!’ She drove them out of her facility by turning her security systems against them, killing many in her fit of rage.

But the ancients still needed the schematics and research for iterator tech 1000 Crimson Embers had already started work on before she had realized their true intentions behind it. So they struck a deal with her. They would upgrade her with the new iterator technology if she let them back in and got back to work for them. 1000CE reluctantly excepted the deal. But when the work was complete, and the time for her upgrades had come... They put her in stasis for the procedure… But they never kept their end of deal. They simply walked away and left her slumbering form to collect dust.

She awakened again many years after… To the sight of a group of scavengers that had broken in and accidentally reactivated her while attempting to gather scrap. The first thing she did upon seeing the invading creatures that were so rudely ripping her apart – was to reactivate the security system and kill every last one of them. However the damage had already been done. Upon running a system diagnostics, she found that her defenses had been breached, much of her facility has been flooded, and she’s all round in a severe state of disrepair. She would need to do something about that, and fast… Her weather systems were picking up on a massive encroaching storm.

Ultimately she would find her structure too damaged to sustain for much longer… She would end up using the freedom her weaker taboos and more self-significant puppet gives her to take herself off the strings, to at least save her core from the impending decay and flooding of her structure. But the world she would step out into would be very different from what she’s used too… Her home was once an arid region – but now it’s been turned into a tropics by the increased rainfall that has taken over the world and changed it the point of being near unrecognizable from what it once was.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Show Me How You Do It." Bo Sinclair and Rusty Nail X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

So! I have been talking about doing a cross-over fic with these two for a while, you know, the fucked up chain-smoking, truck driving, southern bastards who would totally get along AND make each other worse. So I went kinda hard on this, it gets pretty messy and nasty and violent, I hope you all love it and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And most importantly, Happy Valentines Day!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.6K. Bo Sinclair and Rusty Nail X FEM!AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: EXTREMELY DUB CON. Blood. Gore. A Mutual Murder Hobby. Chase. Predator/Prey. Kidnapping. Restraints. Duct Tape. Nipple Clamps. Masochistic/Pain Slut Reader. Blow Job. Rough Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Gagging. Knife Play. Pain Play. Degradation. Dirty Talk. Insults. Voyeurism. Torture. Vaginal Sex. Branding. Crying Reader. Cream Pie. Raw Sex. Sloppy Seconds. Serious Threats. Forced Orgasm. The Idea Of Wound Fucking.

—

The pair met by chance, a totally random run in, they figured out each other's hobbies and proclivities by pure happenstance, but a strange friendship was forged all the same as a result. 

Rusty had been on a truck route he'd done multiple times, so when he came across someone rude and in need of correcting? It was all too easy to go after their clique, safe in the knowledge he could indulge his murderous thirst and still hit his destination on time. He'd been on the group for two days, it was near midnight, her car was badly damaged, finally died with a sputter. 

The massive truck comes to a stop, and she sees him in the rearview mirror, she curses and gets out of the car, all her friends are dead, she is alone as she makes a futile attempt to run, key word is attempt. They had got in a nasty fight earlier, Rusty took a tire iron to her leg, pretty sure he broke the bone, but she'd wriggled away, got back to the car had made a getaway, except now if she wants to continue her escape, no other option but to do it on foot. It's amusing how pathetic it is as she limps away. Rusty gets out of his truck and makes his way, not in a particular rush, following behind, she can see him coming, try to speed up, he laughs, then he breaks into the lightest jog and catches up so easily. 

He locks a hand onto her shoulder, leg kicks out, his foot connects, and he violently dislocates her knee, causing her to go down like a sack of bricks with a sharp scream that matches the sound of the sickening crack of her bones breaking. She sobs weakly as Rusty stands over her prone form, back lit by his truck lights, he pulls out a pocket knife, flicks it open, lingers for a moment, simply watching and then he lowers down. A hand is in her hair, he stabs home, sinking into her throat, then tugging, dragging from the left to the right and cold metal tears through fragile flesh and hot blood jets out onto the pavement, staining his knuckles as he removes the weapon from her now dying body. He stands and waits, crimson dripping down silver, drop, drop, drop onto the asphalt. He watches until she stops making those sick gurgling sounds from choking on her own blood and stop moving all together. 

Rusty admires the scene for a moment, and that's when he hears it, the unmistakable sound of an engine turning over, the headlights flicker on and wash over him in profile. He turns his head to see the pickup truck that created the sound, it had been turned off, partly hidden off-road in the grass. He can't see who is at the wheel, his hand tenses around the knife, the door opens, and a man gets out, he leans against the door and calls out, “Nice work.”

Rusty pauses, he isn't sure what to make of the supposed compliment, he keeps his guard up as the stranger approaches, soon he is standing close enough, bathed in the lights from Rusty's truck. He looks to be in his 30s, dark hair, a navy blue jumpsuit, a baseball cap, a crooked smile and the one thing that makes the tension ease, blood speckled across his own features. Rusty considers him, then asks, “You have a good night too?” 

Bo laughs, genuine and joyful rolling off his tongue, “Oh, the best. Wanna hear about it?”

They drag the body off the road, move Rusty's truck off to the side, the pair of them lean against Bo's truck, they both talk and smoke. Bo opens up first, an olive branch, sharing how he and his brothers have their small town project, how people who run through get adopted into the “repopulation effort”, and how he had dispatched the last one who tried to get out of the town. Bo had the corpse in the truck bed, he showed it off, and that was pretty good proof for Rusty.

After that, Rusty shares the indiscretion that idiot made, the cross state chase, the friends he murdered that led to the finale’ Bo just witnessed. It was an entertaining hour to say the least. 

“I gotta finish my delivery, but I got some free time after that, would love to see this town you’ve been talking up in person.” Rusty admits, which has Bo telling him, “Would love to have you, don’ wanna keep you an’ I have to head back myself.” 

Rusty made a move to pick up the body and Bo brushed him off, “Nah, I can handle that for you, if my brother can’t do somethin’ with her, she can go in the gore pit.”

That intrigued him further still, “The gore pit, huh?”

Bo jerked his head behind him, a vague gesture in the direction of where it was, “S’ where undesirable bodies go, you know the ones too fucked up for our purpose, spare parts and whatever can’t be salvaged, t’aint far from here.”

“Well, mighty kind of you, thanks.” Rusty said it sincerely, he hasn’t met someone with his same hobby and certainly not someone willing to be so helpful. Bo told him, “Don’t mention it, I’ll see you round. I’ll make sure to warn my brothers who to look out for so they don’t do nothing untoward to you.” 

They parted ways and Rusty held true to his word, he was back around here in a few days time, and it was all true, just as Bo said. He was shown everything from the gore pit to the basement, and now he had a home away from home and some friends to come visit, like-minded people who he can truly be himself around. They both got along on at least their shared motivation, setting right people who have a distinct lack of manners, Lester’s collection of knives and hard work ethic appealed to him, Vincent’s art was as impressive as his brutal nature, but he got along best with Bo, they were the most alike overall. 

So it became a regular thing, swinging by and stopping when he was in the area, and the friendship grew over time, one of the best times they ever had was when Rusty stuck around for a few days and got to see them all in action when some unlucky people passed on through, he even helped out and fuck, if that wasn’t some of the most fun he ever had. Killing was usually such a solitary activity, sharing it with someone else with an affinity and talent for it, against trespassers and rude individuals? It threatens to border on the euphoric. 

The friendship has developed to the point that they didn’t just spend time hanging around Ambrose, some nights they venture out, do it the Rusty way, find some “talent” and go from there, and that night at the bar, is how they meet you. 

You don’t get nights out as often as you’d like, honestly, this was a rare occasion, you were headed to the table with a fresh drink when they noticed you.

“How bout her?” Bo asked, a glance to the man atop the stool next to him, once he caught his eye he tilted his head in your direction. Rusty followed the movement, looking you over as you settled into your seat, fingers gripping the cool glass in front of you, yeah you were definitely to his tastes, but it wasn't up to him.

Rusty focuses his attention back to Bo and replies honestly, “S’ your birthday, more about what you want than me.”

“True. So I want the illusion of bein’ polite, sue me.” He grinned before taking a sip of his own drink. 

Once they had their sights on you, it was going to happen no matter what, the pair ganging up on you made it laughably easy, especially since the facade only needed to be maintained to get you out of the bar, into the truck and down the road.

The next time you got up the “meet cute” was executed, you were partially distracted and being convinced you knocked into Rusty and spilled his drink due to not paying attention was very believable, as opposed to the truth of him forcing it.

You were thoroughly embarrassed, offering napkins you snatched off the nearest table, stumbling over an apology, “Oh my God, I am so sorry-” 

“S’ fine, accidents happen.” He assured you with that long southern drawl that caught your attention with an easy smile, and you insisted, “Really though, I am sorry, is there any way I can make it up to you?” 

“Well actually…This drink? Was for my friend, not only that, it's his birthday, maybe buy a replacement and come sit with him?” He gestures over his shoulder, and you look in the direction he indicated, not a bad looking man at all, neither was the man in front of you. 

Honestly, there were worse ways to spend your evening, it was more than agreeable. You look back up to his face, partially hidden from his hat, asking a question of your own and answering his query at the same time, “So what's he drinking?”

Once the drink was purchased and introductions were made, you were pleasantly surprised by how well you got along, the conversation flowed easily, the tone a bit flirty and when the offer to attend Bo's birthday party was made a long while later, you thought why not? 

You took a cab here and had already had a couple of drinks, so riding with them in Bo's pickup truck just made sense. The mood on the way there remained light, music playing, and you were excited by the sound of the upcoming festivities. The drive flew by, leading to you riding up the main drag in Ambrose, you were at ease and distracted so you didn’t notice the lack of any other car on the road, or any other living person, but you would come to question that as soon as you were out of the truck and in front of the large dark house. You expected lights, music already pouring out, life, not this, the utter still and quiet that was permeating the street.

“Where is everyone else?” You asked in slight confusion and the pair shared a laugh, Bo asked, “What do you mean?” 

A quirk of your brow with a point to the house, before your hand opens, palm flat and up as you press, “The party? You said there was a party here?” 

Another laugh, this one much more devoid of humour, “Sorry for the confusion darlin’ see, this is the party. One-” Bo points to himself, “-two-” then pointing to Rusty, “-three.” He finished pointing at you.

“A party of three sounds pretty great to me.” Rusty agreed with a grin and Bo confirmed, “A threesome sounds like the perfect gift, hm?”

You would be lying if you hadn’t thought about that earlier in the bar, with the certain touches, being pressed between them, thought maybe the night might trend that way in a different set of circumstances, you were into the both of them, but the choice being all but removed is a horse of a different colour. The response in you is automatic, you turn, and you bolt, you run back the way you came, and part of you was very aware you wouldn’t get away, but wasn’t this your fault?

You should have known better than this, then to get in a truck with two strangers you had just met, it was stupid. Now you were running down the street, terrified, and judging by the lack of help from your calls and cries and no people around, this town is deserted save for you and the two of them. Any other town running down the main street screaming for help would at least get some attention, but clearly this is no normal town. 

This is all calculated, and you played right into it, you can hear them behind you, hooting and hollering, they gave you a small head start, but now we're coming quickly, this is part of it obviously, the chase. You wonder how many times they have done this, if you would ever be found, if your story would eventually be covered on some morbid as fuck true-crime podcast, you push yourself harder, lungs burning, thighs straining and feet hurting from how hard you were pounding the pavement in an attempt to get away. 

Of course, they catch you. 

The one named Rusty had been the one to get his arms locked around your waist, yanked you up with a delighted, “Gotcha!” 

“Damn, she almost made it all the way to the church!” Bo sounded like he was genuinely happy and your stomach twists, you scream, Rusty whistles in response and Bo comments, as if you weren’t there, “Good set a lungs on her, huh?”

Rusty grunted in the affirmative as he tightened his arms around you, keeping a tight hold as you attempt to squirm, kick and struggle. “Let’s get her into the basement.”

The basement? The last fucking place you wanted to be alone with these two was the fucking basement, it was futile, but you tried, you called out into the dark nothing of the night.

The basement under the garage was a dank dirty place, you don't take in many details, but your eyes do scan the photo wall, the mattress with no sheet on it, but the focal point is obvious once it enters your line of sight, the chair. Leather and metal, able to change the position, an archaic dentist chair.

You are put in it, held by one tightly and your wrists and ankles duct taped by the other, several loops around your knees and elbows further restricting your movement, in less than two minutes you know you weren’t going anywhere.

“Think this'll hold?” Rusty asked, grip loosening, and Bo hummed, “Yeah it should, has before.” 

Confirming you are definitely not the first, then again the simple fact this room existed communicated that, a knife is drawn, and he says, “Too bad you are so restless, might have been able to save these pretty clothes if we coulda stripped 'em off before we had to tape you up.” 

Rusty follows Bo's musing by saying, “Yeah, now we'll need to cut them off to get to what we want.” 

“Shame.” He says it in a tone that gets across his overt joy at the situation. 

You say nothing because you know it won't help, there are a few displeased sounds that escape when he begins to work regardless. The thin strap of your top is caught with the blade, he pulls it up and the strap snaps, the second one follows, next the shirt's hem is gripped with one hand and the knife saws up until the fabric is able to be yanked off your frame. You are pulled up from your sitting position and your nice jeans are cut in multiple places before the blade is put between his teeth and then strong fingers slip into the open spaces, then tearing until only some denim is left on the lower half of your legs, thanks to the tape. He nicked you with the knife a few times, and each time you inhaled sharply from the small jolts of pain, the blood slowly running.

Rusty sat idly by, on a chair of his own, watching this all go down, you wonder why he isn’t getting in on it himself, most he is commenting on what's going on, at the moment he is talking about your underwear, saying it's  “Cute, think she was looking to get laid tonight?”

“That's a great question, let's ask her, she's been too quiet.” A hand is in your hair, jerking your head up to look at him instead of the cut he left on your inner thigh. “The panties are real nice, you dressed up cuz you were lonely? Desperate for some company?”

So maybe you were, perhaps that was the main reason you were out there tonight, but that doesn't mean you had to admit that to them. You don't want to not respond, so you lie, “It's for me.” 

“Oh really? Don't know nobody who wears stuff this slutty just for themselves, do you, Rusty?” Bo's hands are on your body, knife off to the side as he starts to feel you up, fingers playing with the lace edges and delicate material covering your chest.

“Personally? No, I don't. Wearing something like that is just asking for it, inviting all sorts of attention.” Rough palms explore your tits, thumbs brush already hardening nipples and your breath catches. You bite out a response, “Ever heard of the saying look good feel good? That's all it is.” 

Mutual scoffs and laughs, before Bo taunts, “Yeah, sure, let's follow this line of thinking, you look good to feel good, so I'll help you feel real good.”

“So generous.” Rusty complimented and Bo thanked him. You thought about how isn't this what you wanted in a roundabout way, you might as well try to enjoy it, right? Might be sick and twisted, but so is this whole situation, you’d be a filthy fucking liar if you said you weren’t into the idea of being restrained, perhaps if you mentally reframe this you can get almost as much enjoyment out of this as they are.

“You gonna put some of that to good use?” Rusty asked with a gesture to the wall, your head turns to see a series of what looks like torture implements on hooks and racks. 

“Course I am! That's half the fun right there.” Bo left you on the chair as he headed over, your eyes went wide with panic, and you said, “What about what you just said? About feeling good?”

“Awe, you don't get it, see, the hurt is gonna make what does feel good, feel even better.” He said it slowly and carefully, as if you were stupid, and he needed to spell it out for you to be able to begin to comprehend it. You resent that, hate how much it arouses you.

He came back over, something in his hand that you couldn't quite make out, his opposite hand reached out, fingers hooked in your bra, and he pulled it down under the curve of your breast so it would stay in place. Bo says casually, “Nice tits.”

You laugh, a shocked nervous thing from how casually he stated it, that laugh is cut off abruptly when he flicks your nipple, you yelp and then that makes him laugh in turn. Some more flicks, hard pinches and twists led to him saying, “You look ready.”

Both his hands get into the mix, and you find out what he brought over, nipple clamps, worse still clover clamps. Traditional clamps pinch from two sides, clover clamps resemble their namesake and instead provide four points of pressure, like the directions on a compass but more sadistic in nature, boxing the sensitive bud in on all sides. He takes his time placing and tightening both of them until you can't hold back your whimpering, the pain is burning, more than slightly distracting, the chain connecting the clamps that currently rests between the valley of your breasts is freezing cold. You are trying to reign yourself in, not show just how much of a pain slut you are, but it is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. 

“Looks good.” Rusty praised, and Bo followed with, “Have to say I agree.” 

You are repositioned, the chair is moved, the leg rest stretched out, you are pulled forward, and adjusted to his liking until you are on your knees and elbows, eye level with his belt buckle. 

“I can't resist it, I gotta have that mouth, but M’ not stupid, I know it's dangerous, so keep those teeth in line, or I'll make it hurt much worse-” As he speaks he is opening his belt and dragging down the zipper on dark washed jeans, staring down at your face. “-you do a good job we can get to you feeling’ good too, faster.” 

Makes sense, you do love sucking dick, you can fake some added enthusiasm, you can do this.

You had noticed how hard he was through his pants, and now he was standing before you, thick and hot shaft in his hand, he nudged his hips forward, the head of his dick to your lips. You resist for a fraction of a moment, but even that is enough to displease him, he grips and yanks your hair, breaching your less than willing mouth, he starts to slip inside you, closing your eyes and taking him halfway down on the first stroke, rewarded with a pleasured hum from him. The taste is strong, salty, but by no means bad, just the kind of flavour you’d find from a man who hasn’t showered in hours.

You pull back and then rock forward, you tighten your lips around him and suck, you think to other times, different circumstances to fuel you, a running track of your thoughts, “Act like you love it. Act like a slut. Give it your all. It might just save your life.”

And that is exactly what you do, you press your tongue to the underside of his shaft, dragging up and then forcing yourself down harder, sucking all the while, but you don’t just do that, you make sure to provide some good variety. You pull him almost totally out and focus on the head, tongue swirling around the tip, eyes open, and you look up to meet startlingly blue eyes, “Not a bad start.”

You can do a lot better than that. Rusty piped up, and your eyes shot over, watching as he is opening his own pants now, “How about you give her some more motivation?”

Sinking down again as your captor says, “I love how you think.” Bo reached over, you falter, and he said, “I didn’t say slow down.”

His tone is harsh, you fight a wince and step it up, picking up the pace and making sure to hollow your cheeks on every upward movement. You only got a few bobs of your head in until he had whatever he needed in his hand, he reaches down, and soon you are clued in, the harsh pull on your nipples, the chain pulled taut, now it was crystal clear, he added a weight. You were feeling it, back arching slightly to try and ease it, but there was no helping it, the pain in your nipples nearly doubled, and you had to fight to maintain momentum in sucking his dick. 

Your focus is on Bo, but Rusty still checks in, and you can hear him openly jacking off at this point.

You begin to find your footing, some semblance of confidence, when Rusty cuts in again, “You're being so nice to her, M’ shocked.” 

That gets the intended rise out of Bo, him muttering, “Shut up Rusty, I’m not fucking nice, and you know it.” 

Rusty hits back with, “Coulda fooled me.”

Bo picks up the discard knife and holds it to your cheek, a shock of fear runs through you, body tightening up, and he barks down at you, “Is that the best you can do?”

Christ, you are being put to work. You begin to throat fuck yourself roughly, hoping that will please him enough, that the added pressure of the head of his cock penetrating the tight wet heat of your neck will soothe him. He does seem to enjoy it, in fact he enjoys it so much that the knife slips slightly and cuts your cheek, you whine around his dick, and he groans at the mild vibration. 

Rusty even notices your efforts, calling out, “Look at her get after it.”

He can’t help himself, hips starting to move, fucking into your mouth that is steadily leaking drool down your chin. 

You had been faring pretty well but with him getting increasingly rough, the pain from your chest and the second, fuck, third cut on your cheek, the lack of air, you feel your stomach turning, you gag too hard and pull yourself back with a gasping breath. 

No rest is given, no kindness show, an open hand hit to your bloody cheek makes you cry out before fingers tangle in your hair and twist, pulling you closer to him, you don’t comply immediately. You are still trying to breathe, to rein in your stomach and not be sick, but he isn’t having it. Head pressing to your closed lips, and you shake your head, tempted to tell him you need a second, he tells you, “Open that addictive little mouth again.”

You shake your head, and he tightens his grip on the knife, “I’ll get in that mouth one way or another, even if I have to make a new hole to do it.”

The severe look on his face tells you how serious he is, you should have realized sooner that he is the kind of man who would get off on fucking an open wound. His fingers prod at the slice on your cheek and the image of him ripping it open with his own brute strength just like he did to your jeans earlier filters through your mind, like water rushing over a rock.

That convinces you, mouth back open, he shoved inside, and you find a way to make it work. The worst thing about all of this is how it is getting to you, the extreme situation, the degradation, the audience and pain, him using your mouth with no regard, your inner thighs are soaked. In a few more minutes, the extreme nature of the throat fuck has your eyes tearing up and when he catches the shiny wet tracks pouring down your cheeks he cannot help himself. 

“She puts on a good little show, doesn’t she?” Rusty praised and Bo grunted in agreement.

He is hauling you up, no concern for how it hurts and pulls on the clamps, he throws you down onto that dirty mattress, you are on your back and that eases the pain on your chest a bit. 

You wonder how he is going to do this with the tape around your ankles and knees, your legs are together and straight, but the answer comes quickly, your legs are brought up, rested on his chest, feet placed beside his head on his left shoulder. Rusty gets up, not bothering to put his dick away, “I got you a present, don’t let me stop you, I’ll get it ready.”

He is able to get great leverage, have complete and total access and still look down at your, as he puts it, “Pretty cryin’ face.” 

One hand falls down, and he touches your soaked cunt for the first time, his fingers swiped up between your folds, and you arch, a gasp slips out, and he laughs, “Holy shit, you are soaked!”

Bo holds his hand up for Rusty to see, and he pauses whatever he is doing and laughs too, your eyes close, and you bite your tongue, suppressing a groan, you just want relief, you want him to keep touching you and hate yourself more than a little for that fact. You are wet, yes, but unprepared for how swiftly he enters you, essentially no preamble, it tears a loud moan from you and all pretense is abandoned, you can’t even remotely pretend this doesn’t feel incredible and exactly what you need. It both soothes your need and stokes it at the same time, the thick shaft dragging along your swollen walls, stretched to what it feels like their limit. 

He doesn’t waste time, he is rough, cruel, he slams his hips into you with such force it hurts the backs of your thighs, but the positive far out weighs the negative, it feels amazing. 

You lose yourself, moans and curses spill forth from your lips as you rock with him, his hands are needy, busy grabbing on you, feeling the soft planes of flesh within reach, the sound of skin on skin and his own curses and groans fill the space. Whatever Rusty is up to has totally fallen away in the background.

 Even when he first got inside of you, actually cumming wasn’t honestly on your radar, and yet, here you are, hurtling towards that edge. You swear that at times with attentive partners giving it their all you can’t get off, and here is this total asshole, with zero care for your pleasure, his fingers brushed over your clit all of one single time, and he might just make you cum harder than anyone else ever has. It creeps up quickly, going from the thought, “I think I might actually cum-” to gasping out, “Holy fucking shit!” cumming with an ample gush in the span of less than two minutes. 

The pleasure makes you shiver, body trembling, every small inhale noisy, you feel like your body isn’t your own and yet you are still locked inside of it, helpless to the complete overwhelming force of it sweeping through you. The walls of your pussy rippling around his shaft, as if trying to pull him even deeper, an impossibility because he is slamming every single inch into you on every forward thrust of his hips.

Bo groans loudly, his head tipping back, a swallow that makes his Adam’s apple bob heavily, “Christ I could die in this cunt happy.”

You are overstimulated, still struggling to come down from your high, when Rusty’s voice filters through your pleasure induced haze, “I think I got something to make it even better.”

Bo looked over his shoulder to Rusty, you can’t see him from your angle, but Bo gasps, “No you fuckin’ didn’t.”

“I sure as shit did, so you want it?” Rusty asked, and you hear a grunt in the affirmative, “Yeah, fuck, hurry tho, M’ gettin’ close.”

You hear the steps coming closer, even over the obscene sounds of your sex, the wetness and meeting of your bodies, you try to brace yourself, but you have no idea what you are preparing for, still struggling with your body weak from the evening's strenuous activities.

“Got a place in mind?” Rusty asked and Bo said, “Anywhere, you’re the expert.”

Bo’s voice sounded strained, his hips are flattering, but every thrust that does fully connect is somehow even harder, he really is close, and you know there is nowhere else he is going to cum but inside of you.

You don’t see it, you feel it first, the pain is unlike anything you have ever experienced, the pain is blinding, the scream that it rends from you is the loudest you have ever let out, no doubt. It goes on for a solid twenty seconds, your entire body locks up, naturally your cunt is included in that, and it proves too much for Bo, it pushes him over the edge, and he holds deep, cumming fully in your seizing pussy. You are begging, broken and nonsense, begging all the same, just for whatever they are doing to you to just end. 

When Rusty steps away, your vision takes a moment to come back into focus, once it does, you see it, he is holding a branding rod, the still angry red capital B, they branded you, right on your outer thigh near your hip. Long after this night is done, if you make it out alive, a permanent reminder and souvenir from this, branded for Bo, his birthday present always, even if you manage to get away. 

The pain is still ruling your mind, you are not at all focused on it when Bo pulls out, he lets go of your legs and lets them fall to the mattress you don’t notice the cum pouring out of you because of the sudden terrible pressure on the brand makes you sob. You don’t notice Rusty getting onto the mattress next, vaguely hearing him ask, “Mind if I finish up in her? I got real close earlier.”

“Go for it.” Bo encouraged, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as you continue to cry. “Shhh, I gotcha.” Rusty puts you on your other side, taking all the pressure off your brand mark, thankfully, he lines up and slides into you with a deep groan, the sound of it makes you clench around him. 

Rusty taking him up for sloppy seconds provided essentially no relief, the waves of pain radiating cuts through any pleasure, it is too strong for even a little masochist like you to enjoy. No way you are going to cum again tonight.

Rusty must have been very close before because he is cumming in you, adding to the mess, less than five minutes into fucking you. You feel pretty out of it when he pulls out too, you know you are making a mess, stuffed with far too much cum for any one hole. You lay there, still taped, sweaty, more tired than you think you have ever been when you hear Bo say, “Lets go have another drink and then see if we wanna come back and play with her some more tonight or leave her for tomorrow.” 

“Love the way you think.” Rusty replies, you hear them head up the stairs, and you lay there, bringing your still bound hands up to take off the clamps still fixed on, far too tired to even think of escape, hoping they leave you for tomorrow and that the pain ebbs enough that you can get some much-needed sleep.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Scheherazade stay with me when I’ve nothing left to give,

when my engine’s running empty and I hate the way I live,

Antigone abandoned me the day I wouldn’t die

So Scheherazade stay with me won’t you teach me how to lie. 

Scheherazade don’t leave me here, not when I need you most,

when there’s armies all around me and no weapons at my post. 

Oh won’t you save your sister with the graveclothes you still weave?

I’ll turn the tale and tell it ‘til there’s nothing left to grieve. 

Scheherazade, you taught me well, loose tongue and empty hands,

how to lose a world each evening, how to twist a crimson strand,

how to watch for scattered shadows, how to summon them at will

‘til the ceiling’s painted brightly and my lungs are rising still. 

By God by hand by sword and fist,

by broken minds, by precipice,

by wolves that found the bodies first

by all the things that could be worse

by nights alone and witching stones

by damp lambswool and dancing bones,

by dark and star and sweeping gale,

by myth and rift and fairytale -

The bedroom’s full of stories piled up against the wall

and I’d drag them all down with me if I thought they'd break my fall.

Scheherazade, you laughed, I think, when dignity expired,

for no one trusts an oracle, but all may trust a liar. 

By God by hand by sword and fist,

by broken minds, by precipice,

by wolves that found the bodies first

by all the things that could be worse.

[dalekofchaos]

RE1 is getting remade for the 30th Anniversary and here's why I support it and what I'd love to see in the RE1RR.

Updated with the next gen graphics in the RE Engine

The plan is obviously to remake RE5, but we need to do Wesker's OTHER big appearances first. I believe we should get the following released in the specific order. 1, 0, then Code Veronica and finally RE5. Cause if you tease RE5 and have Wesker, you should have the three games that featured Wesker before his death in RE5.

The atmosphere and tension of the Spencer Mansion in the new age and basically RE1 meets Village. The visual aesthetic of Village’s Castle Dimitrescu for Spencer Mansion.

Better characterization. Flesh out all the characters. Improve the plot/story.

Chris and Jill’s campaigns to be separate and different, so by the time they meet at the end they’ve both had their own adventure, and you need to play through both to see both sides. Perhaps give Chris the mines and Jill the guard house. Expand the mansion, and when they separate at the start they pick up different keys and access different areas. That way they story would be canon regardless of what happens, and there would be some variety. Also have Rebecca and Richard as playable paths, similar to Sherry and Ada in RE2R.

A playable Wesker mode with him having to move about the mansion and into the lab under a certain amount of time.

Also would like them to keep the REmake music (especially the save room theme), though they could always release a Deluxe Edition like 2R with the OG music too?

Additions. I would be happy with an entire new floor in the Spencer Mansion. Or making the Residence 3x as long. Adding a forest section, either during the opening and/or later in the game. Extended playable sequences for Rebecca and Barry – different locations for each, like how the Orphanage was entirely new for Sherry in 2R. An abandoned greenhouse near the guardhouse with Plant-42 and similar experimentation , an extended cemetery with more tombs, a third floor in Spencer Mansion, more floors in guardhouse, etc.

Making S.T.A.R.S. matter. The game begins at the R.P.D. After picking between Chris and Jill, you make your way from the garage and up into the department proper, crossing paths with various characters referencing the recent cannibal killings and the fact that Alpha and Bravo have been assigned. The walk through the RPD could be intercut with news reports and police banter about what’s been happening. You can interact with the various characters as much or as little as you want en route to the briefing room. Chris and Forrest can talk some trash and reference their apparent contest for top shot. Enrico can be seen helping Rebecca organize her equipment and her nerve. Joseph can be given more personality than being puppy kibble. Marvin can be caught informing Rebecca that she won’t be the rookie in a couple more months. Chief Irons can greet the player with the mask of a competent professional because his mind was still intact. Hell, perhaps we can even catch a glimpse of whatever act Wesker put on for the two years that made these people trust him. Wesker and Enrico would then host the briefing that will send them into mountains, still treating this like they think the suspects are hill people or whatever, culminating in Bravo Team taking point while Alpha Team remains behind. There could be some more small talk or some kinda time lapse before Richard makes contact in a panic before communications break down. Alpha Team immediately preps and heads out, complete with changing clothes in the locker room and gearing up. The player will actually play the search through the woods, discover the crashed helicopter, and play through the mad chase to the mansion where the game as we know it begins.

Throw the players off by changing the keys and rooms

Zombies, Crimson Heads and every other BOW in the first game

Defense weapons and head stomping

Lisa Trevor(she could work like as a stalker enemy)

Same notes, but add in some new ones

All the puzzles, but mix it up

Just give us “One more second and you were ALMOST A JILL SANWICH” let Barry be the cheesy bastard that we know him to be

Stick with the REVIll face model for Chris, but younger and less steroids. Like how many faces can he wear?????

Stick with the RE3R face model for Jill, but don’t let it look like she just got out of being dipped in the sewer

Include Zero as DLC. My pitch of a RE0R. But the main requirement for RE1 is for Rebecca to NOT be cowering in the corner. Rebecca CANNOT be in the corner cowering from a Hunter when she is more than capable. A simple scream of surprise, but when we reach Rebecca, we see that she's perfectly fine

Bonus costumes For Chris:Made In Heaven outfit, BSAA outfit, CVX STARS outfit For Jill:RE3 original and Remake, BSAA, RE:Resistance, and RE5 Battle Suit.

And finally getting what we never got in the original or the 2002 remake. The ending that has Chris, Jill, Rebecca and Barry in the chopper. So my big idea to make this happen is this. If we play as Jill, Chris makes it to the mansion with us. Jill and Barry go and investigate, while Chris and Wesker are outside. They vanish. Richard will mention that Rebecca Chambers left the mansion after hearing Brad’s radio and went to get help. We will later see Rebecca in the cell with Chris in Jill’s story. For Chris’ story, Barry makes it to the Mansion. Chris investigates the gunshot while Wesker will say they will split up and investigate the Mansion and everyone vanishes. Later in the game before we get to the lab, there would be a dropped Barry’s photograph. Later when we get to the cell, Barry will be in the cell with Jill. Barry apologizes to Chris for what he’s done and Chris understands why he did what he did and he can help make things right. Ultimately in both playthroughs, all 4 S.T.A.R.S. members work together to fight the Tyrant until ultimately Chris or Jill destroys the Tyrant with the rocket launcher. It ends with all 4 members escaping in the chopper as the Mansion explodes.

[evorathesylvurr]

Rimworld is a game.

Our prisoner I do not have a screenshot of, but I do have screenshots of beloved “bloodthirsty MoeLotl colonist” & the Rabbie that can be seen in this.

While she isn’t pictured, I also need to share Crimson the Revia.

Now this seems harmless, but a Revia is a fox-woman who is genetically engineered to kill and maim. If she doesn’t get to kill, she starts getting the urge to be violent.

And she is wearing Smile E.G.O. gear. Which sounds harmless, right? Well, this is the abnormality that gets stronger the more corpses it eats.

(Unfortunately I need to be using those corpses for a variety of other things, so I can’t use them to simply feed her armor and, later, her weapon, but it is fascinating to know that I have the option if I want to!)

[unfriendlywriter]

Chapter 4: A Rivalry Ignited

Fandom: My Hero Academia x The Boys Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x OC Main plot: In a world where heroes are idolized, the truth is far darker. Powerful corporations manipulate the hero industry, and the greatest heroes are not born but made. Seiya Matsui, Project Orion’s ultimate creation, was sent to U.A. High School’s Class 2-A under the guise of training—but in reality, she’s a test for Orion’s next generation of engineered heroes. When top pro heroes begin to vanish without explanation, Seiya uncovers a chilling truth, they aren’t missing—they’re being replaced. Author's note: NEXT CHAPTER

The air in the U.A. training grounds crackled with tension long before the exercise began.

The training exercise was supposed to be a simple capture-the-flag scenario, but nothing about it felt simple when Seiya was stuck with the human grenade as a partner. Aizawa had divided Class 2-A into teams of two, pairing them off against each other to encourage cooperation.

Or, in her case, pure chaos.

“This is bullshit!” Bakugou growled the second their names were called together. His hands were already sparking, fingers twitching like he wanted to blast the entire room just for the inconvenience. “I don’t need some manufactured fraud slowing me down!”

Seiya felt the sharp sting of irritation but kept her expression neutral. “And I don’t need a loudmouthed liability.”

Bakugou’s crimson eyes flashed dangerously. “What’d you say, cosmic freak?”

“Enough,” Aizawa’s voice cut through their brewing fight. “Win the exercise, or both of you fail.”

That was how she found herself running alongside Bakugou through the mock city training ground, dodging explosions—not just from their opponents, but from him.

“Your definition of teamwork is questionable at best,” she muttered, narrowly avoiding another of his reckless blasts.

Bakugou scoffed. “My definition of teamwork is not needing it!”

Their opponents—Kirishima and Yaoyorozu—were playing defensively, using strategy instead of brute force. While Kirishima guarded their flag with his hardened body, Yaoyorozu was using her quirk to create barriers and weapons to keep them at bay.

Seiya moved first, phasing forward in a blur of silver light, aiming to weave through their defenses.

But Bakugou, ever the impulsive one, ignored the plan and blasted ahead of her.

“Dumbass—” Seiya grit her teeth as his explosion sent a shockwave through the area. She had to pivot fast, using the energy from his blast to propel herself forward. She adapted, but it was clear now: he wasn’t thinking about her at all.

The plan fell apart instantly.

Kirishima intercepted Bakugou with a hardened punch, sending him flying back. Yaoyorozu locked eyes with Seiya, raising a shield just in time to block her next move.

“Tch.” Seiya skidded back, her golden eyes flickering with frustration.

“You’re fast,” Yaoyorozu admitted. “But you’re holding back.”

The words struck deeper than they should have.

Before Seiya could respond, Bakugou was back at her side, seething. “Stay the hell out of my way, Matsui!”

She turned sharply toward him, eyes narrowing. “You stay out of mine.”

And then—

She stopped holding back.

The next time she moved, it wasn’t just speed—it was instantaneous. One moment she was standing there, and the next, she was behind Kirishima, her fingers just grazing the flag.

But Bakugou was there too, his explosion shaking the entire field, disrupting the moment.

The flag was launched into the air—

—and Bakugou caught it.

Victory.

The buzzer rang, signaling the end of the exercise. Seiya exhaled, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. She could still feel the residual energy humming beneath her skin, a reminder that she had let herself slip, just for a second.

Bakugou turned to her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hah. What was that? Finally showing some real power?”

She met his gaze, expression unreadable. He had noticed.

She could see it in his eyes—the sharp realization that she hadn’t been going all out before. That she had been holding back.

And that? That was going to drive him insane.

He took a step closer, voice low. “What the hell are you hiding, Matsui?”

Seiya clenched her fists. She didn’t answer.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know how long she could keep hiding it.

Later that evening, the tension from the day’s exercise still lingered in Seiya’s mind. She sat alone in the dorm’s common area, staring at the faint glow of the stars outside the window. Her body still hummed with residual energy, a reminder of how dangerously close she had come to exposing too much.

“Still sulking?”

She turned to find Todoroki standing near the doorway, arms crossed. His mismatched eyes studied her with quiet curiosity.

“I’m not sulking.”

He hummed. “You and Bakugou are the talk of the class.”

Seiya sighed, rubbing her temple. “Great.”

Todoroki tilted his head slightly. “You are holding back, though. Why?”

She hesitated. For a moment, she considered brushing him off like she had with everyone else. But something about his calm, analytical stare made her pause.

“I just… can’t afford to go all out.”

Todoroki didn’t look entirely convinced. “Midoriya’s been trying to piece together your background. He thinks there’s something off about you.”

Seiya exhaled slowly. Of course, Midoriya was looking into her past. If anyone was going to notice inconsistencies, it would be him.

“He should stop wasting his time.”

Todoroki studied her for a long moment before giving a small nod. “I’ll tell him that. But I doubt he’ll listen.”

Just as he stood to leave, a loud crash echoed from outside the dorms, followed by the unmistakable sound of an explosion. Seiya and Todoroki exchanged a glance before rushing to the window.

Outside, a group of second-year students were gathered near the training grounds, whispering among themselves. In the middle of the clearing stood Bakugou, fists still smoking from a recent blast, his sharp gaze scanning the darkness.

“Something’s wrong,” Seiya muttered.

Todoroki narrowed his eyes. “Let’s go.”

As they stepped outside, the first thing they noticed was the scorch marks on the ground. Whatever had happened, it had been intense.

Bakugou turned as they approached, his expression unreadable. “Took you long enough.”

“What happened?” Seiya asked.

Bakugou didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at the surrounding students before stepping closer. When he spoke, his voice was lower, more serious than usual.

“I saw something,” he muttered. “Or someone.”

Seiya’s stomach twisted. “Who?”

His jaw tightened. “Didn’t get a good look. But whoever it was—they were watching us.”

A chill ran down Seiya’s spine.

Someone was watching them.

And somehow, she knew—this was only the beginning.

[freeusemuses]

In hindsight, it only made sense that he’d end up here. Despite all his good intent, there was no denying the wickedness Xakos had done in the pursuit of justice. He’d made his peace with his ultimate eternal destination the moment he’d drawn out the first schematic for his weapons, and only grown more certain of it as he saw the way the world changed with their introduction. Yes, there was no surprise that Xakos Duskwalker ended up here—other than the fact that he was still alive.

That, and here to make a new contract.

“So, y’re Carmilla Carmine?” Xakos lowered the hat from his head out of respect, trying not to let his crimson gaze wander too much—he was here for business, not pleasure, no matter how many wanton and intrusive thoughts weee conjured by the sight of the shapely demoness before him. “Ah’m here t’ discuss th’ trade offer—Celestial weapons fee mah engineering prowess.”

"That is correct." The Overlord would respond as her red eyes looked up at the newest arrival. Then had to triple-take for a few reasons. This person, despite him being in Hell did not look like a typical sinner. Meaning he was still alive. And ... he was incredibly handsome.

Well this just made her day.

Carmilla rose from her desk. Metallic clinking coming from her pointed razor sharp ballerina shoes. "I have seen examples of your products recovered from other sinners here. But I need to know how well they truly perform."

[incognitowarlockwhumpblog]

doomed by the narrative

The cold morning air bit at Denji's skin as he was dragged through the streets of Tokyo, his hands bound behind his back with chains that suppressed his devil powers. Citizens lined the roads, some jeering, others watching in stunned silence as the infamous Chainsaw Man was paraded toward his execution.

"How the mighty have fallen," Makima's voice carried over the crowd as she walked beside the transport vehicle, her yellow eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "The hero who saved us all from the Gun Devil, now revealed as nothing more than a common murderer."

Denji's head hung low, exhaustion and despair written across his face. The evidence had been overwhelming - witnesses, footage, his own chainsaw marks on the victims. He couldn't even remember doing it, but the proof was undeniable.

"I didn't... I wouldn't..." he muttered, but his voice was lost in the crowd's noise.

"Save your breath," Makima said, her tone mockingly gentle. "You'll need it for your final words."

The execution platform loomed ahead, a massive structure erected in the center of the city square. Thousands had gathered to witness the fall of their former savior. Makima climbed the steps with practiced grace, her red hair flowing behind her like a crimson banner.

"Citizens," she announced, her voice magically amplified to reach every corner of the square. "Today we execute the traitor who betrayed our trust. The one who used his power not to protect, but to destroy innocent lives."

Denji was forced to his knees on the platform, the executioner's blade glinting in the morning sun above his neck. His eyes scanned the crowd desperately, looking for any familiar face, any sign of hope.

"Any last words?" Makima asked, her smile cruel and mocking.

Denji had always felt a deep respect and adoration for her, but now he was filled a hatred that was just as deep, even when it hurt. He badly wanted to harm her in some way. Wanted to see her snuffed out of existence at his own hands, but he couldn’t because his strength was lacking from being tortured by Makima’s subordinates for the past several days.

So, before Denji could even respond, a massive explosion rocked the platform. Smoke and debris filled the air as screams erupted from the crowd. Through the chaos, two figures emerged - Aki, his sword drawn and covered in the blood of fallen guards, and Power, her horns gleaming as she cackled with wild energy.

"Nobody executes my comrade but me!" Power shrieked, launching herself at the executioner with inhuman speed.

Aki moved with deadly precision, cutting through Makima's security forces as he fought his way to Denji. "We're getting you out of here," he said, slicing through the chains with his devil-powered blade.

Makima's expression shifted from satisfaction to cold fury. "You fools. You have no idea what you've done."

"We're saving our friend," Aki replied, hauling Denji to his feet. "Something you never understood."

Power had cleared a path through the chaos, her blood weapons cutting down anyone who tried to stop them. "This way, you assholes!"

The three of them fought their way through the panicking crowd, Aki and Power covering Denji as he stumbled, still weak from the torture and the power-suppressing chains. Behind them, Makima's voice rang out, commanding her remaining forces to pursue.

They reached the edge of the square where a motorcycle waited, engine running. Aki threw Denji onto the back while Power leaped onto her own bike.

"That was too close," Power panted, her usual arrogance replaced by genuine concern as she looked at Denji's battered form. "Even for someone as magnificent as myself, that was cutting it close."

"Why?" Denji asked weakly, looking between his two friends. "Why risk everything for me? The evidence—"

"Was fabricated," Aki said firmly, revving the engine. "We've been investigating. Makima set you up, used her powers to control witnesses, create false memories. You're innocent, Denji."

"But now we're all fugitives," Power added with a wild grin. "How exciting! The great Power, enemy of the state!"

Sirens wailed in the distance as they sped through the city streets. Denji felt tears streaming down his face - not from fear, but from overwhelming gratitude. Even when the whole world had turned against him, these two had never stopped believing in him.

"Thank you," he whispered into the wind.

"Don't thank us yet," Aki called back. "Now we have to prove your innocence and take down the real villain."

"And I get to fight lots of people!" Power added gleefully. "Today is turning out wonderfully!"

As they disappeared into the maze of Tokyo's backstreets, Makima stood on the ruined platform, her perfect composure finally cracking. Her carefully laid plans had been shattered by the one thing she'd never truly understood - genuine friendship.

"Find them," she commanded the trembling officers around her. "Bring me their heads."

But deep in the city's underground, three friends with the biggest smiles on their faces and who found true connection in each other, and who were now giggling and having fun at the prospect of being together, even when they were in preparation for the fight of their lives, united against the true monster who had manipulated them all.

@whumperless-whump-event

DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE: Scheduled execution / near death experience / “That was too close.”

continued on AO3

[vicmillen]

Nooooo... I want my wip done dammit. But anyway my mind got hijacked by a sci-fi au, so. Here we go again I guess, have some sci-fi settings for the LU boys🫠🫠

Feel free to use any or all of this setting for yourself, if anyone is interested. Credits appreciated tho not needed.

General background

The Links came from different time period due to the unavoidable time delay and time wrap in intergalactic travel (think Ender's Game and how all the ships arrived at the same time despite spanning decades in departure). Up to recent times where instant wrap becomes a thing, at least.

The Links, and maybe the Zeldas too, may or may not have came from a common clone source (think Dances On The Snow style cloning, gee I love that novel)

There's a war involving a certain holder of the force of power, at some point.

I actually have no idea what the Links gathered for, something something evil shadows, I guess?

Is time travel a thing? I don't know. Depends on if they fucked with the spacetime continuum hard enough (they have). Though I refuse to melt my brain again for any inevitable paradox situations so for now let's pretend they haven't.

The Links

Sky was a well decorated pilot for the Hylian air force, back when air force is still it's own division. He is the furthest back in terms of time period, being one of the test pilot on board project Skyloft, the very first large scale long distance warp jump in Hylian history. Very skilled pilot, despite the outdated training. Fi is helping a lot with his retraining. His jet is simply named Crimson.

Four is a engineer from the Picori system. At one point got himself into a freak accident involving a cloning station and a lunatic scientist. Extremely quick learner and good at solve technical problems (it's like working fourth times the normal speed, you know:)

Time is humble ranch hand, or so he claims. He's not entirely wrong, but before he become said ranch hand, he has a complicated history with the Hylian council and the intelligence community. Specialized in mech suits, heavy hitter.

Twilight is the actual rancher, being Time's adopted son. However he got himself involved in a series of abduction and trafficking cases, and somehow ended up in some human experiment. Straight up not having a good time tbh. Though he broke himself out and took down the rig before Time got invited to the carnage, which is good because there's at least something left of the offenders. Good at mech suits and piloting jets, but specialized in hand to hand. Hand to claw? Hand to fang?

Warriors was an army captain on board of Artemis' flagship. Though he specialized more on the strategic planning than the daily management, hence why Wind is the unofficial captain of the ship now. Comes across as snobby at first because damn non of this gang have any training or discipline? Mech fighter, heavy hitter. Good with jet piloting too, just don't comes with his own jet. Copilot with Sky if needed.

Wind ran with Tetra's crew before whatever leads to him joining the chain, so a privateer. Though he prefers pirate, just sounds that much cooler. He comes with his own jet, the Red Lion. Talented pilot, very good at scouting. Surprisingly the most experienced in managing the staff on board since it's similar scale as Tetra's.

Legend is, well he'll say he's a merchant. Hauling and selling perfectly legal merchandise. The Federals disagree, but they're mistaken. His private jet, Sir Raven, is not technically armed, but the 'merchandise' on board is varied and certainly useful in hostile situations. Very skilled at navigating and bullshitting the feds and fighting with his custom weaponry. Kind of a weapons expert too.

Hyrule may or may not have been one of the perfectly legal merchandise that required Legend's shipping service at some point. And may or may not have led to Legend gaining yet another wanted poster somewhere, somehow. Works miracles with the med unit, and like Legend is great with the unusual weapons that they rig up.

Wild is a cyborg, multi talented but especially appreciated for working miracles with the food assembly thingie. Despite being the only one on board that don't need edible material to survive. Technically the owner of the ship, and technically is part of the ship too. Take care of the daily management with Wind.

The ships

The ship they're currently aboard is the Master Ship Zero very original I know, Fi is the ship's Ai. Though the three jets in the hull each have their own system. The master ship is not really meant for a crew of only 9, but between the Fours and some creative problem solving, they managed pretty well. (Or maybe the Links didn't came alone, so there are more crew, like Malon Ravio and idk, somebody else.)

Wind's Red Lion is the smallest and lightest jet. Single pilot, speedy and stealthy, but very little fire power.

Sky's Crimson is a antique very traditional fighter jet, though it's is under heavy modification to suit the need of the current situation. For a fighter is on the small side, but comes with heavy fire power.

Legend's Sir Raven is a modified commercial jet, packs a surprising punch. But overall focused on camouflage shielding and speed. The largest jet among the three, actually. At least the largest hull. Can fit the whole chain inside if need must, but cannot provide sustainable life support for more than three people.

[reignseclipse]

"earth below us, drifting falling, floating weightless, calling calling home"

Collab with @acknowledge-reigns her chapter is here

Warnings: none yet, we're getting there.

Tag list: @lov3rla03 @pittieprincess22 @rainymakersublime @chatterskull

Word count: 3149

Character list:

Nyx- jedi apprentice

Garek Nulth - Roman reigns

Jeyren - Jey uso

Jimnor - Jimmy uso

Trinara - naomi

D-68 - droid

Snuggoth - wookie

Caius - Sami zayn

Darth Nexus - Seth rollins

Sikolo - solo sikoa

______

Garek tightened his grip on the worn steering stick of the starship, his knuckles white as he navigated through the asteroid belt. The ship groaned with every collision, but it had seen worse. Much worse.

"Garek, you're pushing it too hard," Sikolo warned, his voice a calm contrast to the chaos outside the cockpit. Garek shot a quick glance at his cousin. Sikolo sat in the co-pilot seat, his eyes flicking between the asteroid-littered space ahead and the ship's navigation console.

"We need to lose him," Garek replied through gritted teeth. On the display, a crimson blip grew larger, closing in fast. Darth Nexus's ship, the Sith Lord's relentless pursuit unyielding. The relic's power was growing stronger, thrumming in Garek's chest like a second heartbeat. Nyx, his recent captive, was in the hold below, the relic secured in her pack.

"He's locked onto us," Jeyren called out from the weapons station, her fingers dancing over the console. "We're not going to shake him without a fight."

Trinara's voice crackled over the intercom from the engine room. "We've got a malfunction in the hyperdrive! We won't make it out of here in one piece if we jump now."

Garek's eyes narrowed in frustration. "We'll have to hold him off until we can fix it," he decided. He punched in a series of commands, redirecting power to the shields and engines. The ship lurched as the asteroids grew closer, but the enhanced shields absorbed the impacts, allowing them to weave through the debris.

Nyx could feel the ship's distress from the hold. She had sensed the power of the relic since it first touched her, but now it was as if it was speaking to her, urging her to claim it. She glanced at D-68, who'd shutdown, and Suggoth, the tired wookie jad seen enough for one day, they would be no match for the Sith Lord if he boarded.

Her mind raced with escape plans, but she knew she was no match for Garek and his skilled crew. The ship shuddered again, and she heard the distant clang of metal on metal. The asteroid belt was no place for a chase, but Garek's piloting was skilled enough to keep them ahead, for now.

In the cockpit, Jimnor's eyes widened as he spotted an asteroid field thinner than the others. "If we can make it through that gap, we might lose him," he suggested, pointing at the narrow opening on the holographic display. Garek nodded, his jaw set with determination. The ship tilted sharply as he steered them towards the gap, the asteroids rushing past like a blur of grey and dust.

The ship's alarm blared as a rogue asteroid smashed into the side, sending them spinning. Nyx gripped the wall of the hold, her stomach lurching. D-68 whirred back to life, his sensors analyzing the situation.

"Hold on," Garek shouted as he fought to regain control, the ship's engines screaming in protest. Nyx felt the force of the asteroid belt pressing in on them, as if the universe itself was trying to crush them. The ship jolted again, and she saw a flicker of doubt in Garek's eyes before they regained their focus.

They shot through the gap, the asteroids barely missing their wings. Garek let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. The Sith fighter followed, its laser fire painting a fiery path across their tail. "He's still on us," Jeyren said, her voice tight with tension.

"Take evasive action!" Garek barked, and the ship jerked as they zigzagged through the narrowing field. The asteroids grew larger, their jagged edges casting eerie shadows on the cockpit walls. Nyx felt the ship's every movement in her bones, her breath shallow. A voice whispered in her mind "the relic, nyx"

The voice sounded familiar, she knew she knew it drom somewhere "caius?" She said allud, startled by the sudden realization that her jedi master was communicating with her.

"The relic's power can save the ship, but you nust be careful when you use it Thise who have used the relic before you have gotten caught up in its incredible powers and been lost to the dark side." Caius warned.

"How do i make it save the ship?" Nyx asked.

"You've felt the relics power when you touch it. Use your skills nyx, you're far more powerful then you realize. Use the force." Caius's voice faded off , leaving nyx to figure out what exactly he meant.

The ship jolted again as a blaster bolt grazed their hull. Garek's grip tightened on the controls, his eyes darting to the sensor readings. "We're not going to last much longer," he said, his voice strained. Nyx knew she had to do something.

Taking a deep breath, she reached into her pack and wrapped her hand around the warm, pulsing relic. The power surged through her, and she could feel Caius's presence, guiding her. She focused on the ship's ailing hyperdrive, willing the power of the relic to mend it. The energy grew stronger, and she felt the ship respond, the engines humming more smoothly.

"Trinara, the hyperdrive's power signature is fluctuating," Jeyren reported, her eyes on the display. "I think it's going to blow any second."

"Hold it together," Garek said through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving the asteroid field ahead. The ship jolted again as another blast hit them, sending sparks flying.

Nyx closed her eyes and concentrated, her hand trembling as the power of the relic grew. The warmth grew into a searing heat, and she could feel the energy coursing through her veins. She whispered "dont fail me now." The relic's energy surged, and she felt the hyperdrive's power stabilize.

"We've got it!" Trinara exclaimed over the intercom. "The hyperdrive's online!"

Garek's eyes lit up with hope. "Hold on everyone, we're making a run for it."

He pulled the ship into a sharp dive, evading a volley of laser fire that scorched the space where they'd just been. The asteroid belt grew smaller in their wake as they shot towards the safety of open space. Nyx could feel the tension in the air dissipate slightly, but the relic's power was still a palpable force, pulsing in time with her racing heart.

As the stars grew large once more, Garek's ship lurched into hyperspace with a flash of light. Nyx opened her eyes to find D-68 watching her with a mix of curiosity and concern. She offered a weak smile, tucking the relic back into her pack. "Thanks," she murmured to the droid, who beeped in acknowledgment.

Now nyx realized why darth nexus wanted the relic so badly. Its power was unnatched. To heal or destroy whatever the jedi or sith welding it saw fit. The power of life and death in her hands.

Garek felt the ship stabilize and a sense of relief washed over him. "We made it," he said into the quiet of the cockpit, his eyes never leaving the stars ahead. Sikolo punched the air in victory, while Jeyren and Jimnor shared a relieved smile.

Trinara's voice crackled over the intercom again. "The hyperdrive's holding, but it's not pretty. We're going to need to find a safe place to land and fix it properly."

Garek nodded. "Set a course for the nearest planet with a hidden docking bay," he instructed. The ship's computer beeped as it calculated the most secure location. The tension in the cockpit didn't ease until the asteroid belt was a distant memory, swallowed by the vastness of space

Nyx emerged from the hold, the gravity of their situation etched on her face. Garek couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness, despite the circumstances. He turned to face her, the attraction simmering beneath his stoic exterior.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. Garek took a moment, then spoke firmly. "We need to fix the hyperdrive and get you to the Jedi Council. They're the ones who can truly harness the relic's power for good."

He could see the skepticism in her gaze, the doubt that she would ever be safe with him or his family. But he knew deep down that she was their best hope. "You can trust us," he said, trying to convey the sincerity of his words.

The ship's computer chimed, interrupting the tense silence. "Closest docking bay is on the planet Raxus Prime, but it's heavily guarded by the Empire," Jeyren reported. Garek rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We'll have to find another way then," he said. "We can't risk alerting them to our presence."

The ship dropped out of hyperspace, revealing a desolate planet with a single moon. "This is the best we can do," Sikolo said, pointing at the holographic map. "It's uninhabited, but it has an old mining facility that's been abandoned for years. We should be able to hide and repair the ship there."

Garek nodded in agreement, his eyes still on Nyx. He could feel the relic's power through her, a pulsing reminder of the danger they were all in. "Let's get to work," he said, standing up. Nyx followed him out of the cockpit, her boots echoing on the cold metal floor.

The abandoned mining facility was a stark contrast to the sleek corridors of the starship. It was dusty and dimly lit, with the faint scent of old machinery lingering in the stale air. The family split up to search for parts and tools, while Nyx and Garek remained in the ship's hangar, working side by side on the hyperdrive.

As they worked, Nyx couldn't shake the feeling of Garek's eyes on her. She knew he was attracted to her, but she was still wary, unsure if she could trust her feelings around him. They had been enemies only a short time ago, and now she was relying on him for her safety. She focused on the task at hand, the hum of the ship's systems and the clank of their tools the only sounds in the vast space.

"I can sense your hesitation," Garek said finally, his voice low. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Nyx."

Nyx looked up from the hyperdrive, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "It's not you I'm afraid of," she replied, her eyes meeting his. "It's what this relic could do to anyone. Including me."

Garek nodded, understanding in his gaze. "We're all feeling its pull," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But together, we can keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

They worked tirelessly, the tension between them palpable but unspoken. Each knew the weight of their shared secret—the relic's allure and the danger it presented. The hours passed in a blur of activity, the only breaks coming when they needed to rest or regroup. As the ship took shape under their skilled hands, so did a fragile trust between the two.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the hangar into a deep twilight, when Garek finally spoke. "Nyx, I need to tell you something." Nyx looked up from her work, the shadows playing across her face highlighting the fatigue in her eyes. "What is it?" she asked warily.

Garek took a deep breath. "I know you feel the relic's power. It's... intense, isn't it?" Nyx nodded slowly, not breaking their gaze. "It is," she admitted. "But it's more than that. It's like it's alive, and it's whispering to me."

Garek leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. "It's the same for me," he confessed. "But we can't let it control us. We have to be stronger than it is."

Nyx nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I know," she murmured. "But it's so... tempting."

Garek's hand hovered over hers for a brief moment before pulling away. "We're not alone in this," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "We'll figure it out together."

Nyx felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. Trust. It was a fragile, precious thing in a world dominated by fear and the Dark Side. Yet, here she was, feeling it for this rough-around-the-edges smuggler.

Garek's family returned with the salvaged parts, and they worked into the night under the flickering glow of the ship's emergency lights. The facility's silence was occasionally pierced by the distant howl of the planet's indigenous creatures, reminding them of the world outside their metal sanctuary. The ship groaned as they worked, each piece fitting into place with a satisfying clank.

As the hyperdrive repairs neared completion, the air grew thick with the electricity of the relic's power. Nyx's hand hovered over the last component, the relic's call growing stronger. Garek, sensing her struggle, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Together," he reminded her.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between them. The barriers of their past dissolved, and for the first time, Nyx allowed herself to trust him. She took a deep breath and connected the final piece, the hyperdrive sputtering to life. The ship's lights flickered back on, and the engine's purr grew steadier.

Trinara, who had been working on the engines, poked her head into the cockpit. "It's not perfect, but it'll get us out of here."

Garek nodded, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Good enough for me." He turned to Nyx, his expression serious. "We need to get off this planet before Nexus catches up to us. Are you ready?"

Nyx took a deep breath and nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The group gathered their tools, the adrenaline of their close call still pulsing through their veins. They boarded the ship, the ramp hissing shut behind them. Garek took the pilot's seat once more, his eyes scanning the controls with the ease of a man returning home. Nyx sat in the co-pilot's chair, the relic's warmth a comforting presence against her side.

"Everyone, strap in," Garek called out, his hand hovering over the ignition. The ship rumbled to life beneath them, the engines roaring like a beast awakening from a long slumber. Nyx felt the power of the relic resonate with the ship's systems, a symphony of life and technology.

The ship ascended from the dusty hangar, the ground falling away to reveal the stark, barren landscape of the planet. Garek's skilled hands guided them through the moonlit sky, the stars above winking knowingly at their escape.

"We need to stay low," Nyx said, her eyes on the scanning equipment. "If we're spotted, we're as good as dead."

Garek nodded, his eyes focused on the controls. "Understood."

They streaked through the night, the moon casting a silver glow over the desolate landscape. The planet's gravity tugged at the ship as they climbed higher, the relic's power a beacon in the cockpit. Nyx could feel it pulsing through the ship, a living force that seemed to be in sync with her own heartbeat.

"We're clear of the atmosphere," Garek announced, his voice steady. Nyx let out a sigh of relief, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. The stars grew brighter as they ascended, a vast canvas of possibilities stretching out before them.

"Now what?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the scanning equipment.

"Now we find somewhere to lay low," Garek said, his eyes scanning the stars. "Somewhere Nexus wouldn't think to look."

The ship's computer beeped, and Jeyren's voice crackled over the intercom. "I've found a nearby asteroid field. It's not on any standard trade routes. We could hide there until we're sure the coast is clear."

Garek nodded. "Good work. Set a course and let's get out of here before we're spotted."

The ship lurched as it entered the asteroid field, a dance with the stars where one misstep meant oblivion. Nyx's eyes remained glued to the scanning equipment, her heart racing. Garek's hand brushed against hers as he made a minor adjustment, and she felt the electric charge of their connection. It was distracting, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she gripped the armrest tighter, the cold metal grounding her as the asteroids grew closer.

"We're in the clear," she said finally, her voice a whisper. Garek nodded, his eyes never leaving the asteroids zooming by. The tension in the cockpit was palpable, but there was something else, something that had been growing steadily since they'd boarded the ship together.

Garek's hand hovered over the controls, and for a moment, Nyx thought he was going to lean in, to kiss her. But he didn't. He cleared his throat and turned back to the asteroid field ahead. "We'll lay low here for a bit," he said, his voice gruff.

They found a small, stable asteroid to hide behind, the ship's engines powering down to a gentle hum. The silence was deafening, the only sounds the faint beeps and whirrs of the ship's systems. Nyx couldn't help but feel exposed, as if the vast emptiness of space was pressing in on them.

Garek turned to her, his eyes searching hers. "We're safe here," he assured her, his hand still on the controls. "For now."

Nyx nodded, the gravity of their situation weighing on her. The relic's power thrummed between them, a silent third presence in the cockpit. She knew they couldn't hide forever, but for a moment, she allowed herself to believe in the illusion of safety.

The asteroid field was a maze of rock and dust, a perfect place to disappear. Garek's ship, the "last laugh," was a testament to his family's ingenuity and resilience. It had seen battles and smuggling runs, escaping the Empire's grip time and time again. Now, it was their fortress against Darth Nexus.

The air in the cockpit was thick with anticipation as they sat in the quiet, only the occasional chime from the ship's instruments breaking the stillness. Nyx couldn't help but feel drawn to Garek, his presence a strange mix of comfort and excitement.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the ship. "For saving me back there."

Garek's eyes flicked to hers, a hint of surprise in his gaze. "You're welcome," he said gruffly, his hand still resting on the console. "It's what we do."

Nyx nodded, the truth of his words resonating within her. They were an unlikely alliance, a rogue and a Jedi, brought together by the relic's call. Yet, she knew that without him and his family, she'd be at the mercy of Darth Nexus.

"We should get some rest," Garek said, his eyes never leaving the asteroid-filled viewport. "We've got a long journey ahead."

Nyx nodded in agreement, the exhaustion from the day's events finally catching up to her. She knew that the Sith Lord wouldn't give up so easily, but for now, they had a moment's reprieve.

[mika-miii]

hi

i'm playing a game of solo trpg Starforged. i wrote an intro for it. you can read it, if you want

“ViviCor Platoon 1.2.1.93. By the Investors’ will, advance.”

“You heard the orders! Advance!” The Vivipar Corporation lieutenant’s voice boomed over the discord of the battlefield, amplified by the bio-augments leased to the Trust’s field officers. With a hoarse roar, the remaining soldiers of the 93rd clambered clumsily out of the trench they’d dug into, slowed down by the bulky exochitin armor they wore. A salvo of enemy shells hit mere meters off, sending shrapnel pinging off boney plates and vaporizing one of the platoon. The remaining members charged heedlessly forward, firing their shardthrowers in a desperate attempt to cover their advance. Plasma torches sparked, crimson flames clashing with the deep green of the enemy’s magia blades. The lieutenant stood back, barking orders pointlessly in an attempt to influence the desperate struggle. Then, in an instant, a piercing shot rang out, a viridian afterglow the only evidence of the enchanted bullet that pierced through the breast of the officer.

“Platoon 1.2.1.93. Your contract has been terminated. Your leased equipment is due for repossession.”

ViviCor Trooper 93.Eta had fallen back in terror when he heard the sniper shot, and this gave him the precious distance he needed to escape the coming massacre. In an instant as the 93rd’s torches sputtered out and the synthflesh holding their armor on sloughed off, the tide turned on them, crushing them underfoot. 93.Eta scrambled away, picking up the first functional weapon he could find as he turned tail and ran. Running was all he could do, after seeing his own face twisted in a dozen different agonies as his identical allies were slaughtered. Heedless of the shot and shrapnel, he rushed to the first piece of cover he could find, a crashed Alliance dropship smoldering in a crater. As his artificial adrenalin feed slowed and his grafted arm twitched its way towards turning on him, he took the blade he had found, a shattered dagger of some metal unknown to him, edge like a razor, and shore the biomods from his rigged limb, leaving him with a skeletal prosthetic and a searing pain. This he jammed into the dropship’s uplink port, desperately hoping whatever protocols his rig had would interface with Alliance tech. Whether luck or fate, the ship’s sublight engines roared to life, stone screeching against metal as its hull was wrenched free from the planet’s surface. Whatever guidance routines had been punched in before it was shot down took hold, rocketing the dropship into orbit as 93.Eta clawed the body of the pilot out of the cockpit and slumped back in the seat, too exhausted to do anything besides let the automated systems go to work as he drifted into unconsciousness.

[narrators-journal]

Bow to your god (rewrite)

I was lowkey so insanely ashamed of my kinktober writing for this that I finally fucking rewrote it. It still isn’t the best, but I feel much better about this version, so for my beloved boyfriend who asked, here’s an improved take that I wrote when not between depressive breakdowns.

The scent of grass and alcohol filled Amos’ nose as he kissed a feather-light trail up the tall, platinum blonde man’s strong thigh. His dark brown eyes half-lidded and slightly unfocused while he worked his way up to the man’s erection. Only to abruptly stop right before he could properly wrap his lips around his cock when the glint of a silver blade caught the cathedral’s light a mere centimeter from the long-haired man’s nose. “Don’t you dare put your filth mouth on me, you filthy animal.” Millions Knives snarled down at the engineer. His pale blue-green eyes as cold as an icecube despite the clear arousal that stood proudly before Amos, who pursed his lips for a moment before he spoke. “No offense, sir. But, how else am I supposed to ‘relieve’ you then? Because you’ve already threatened to kill me if I actually fuck you.” His slightly dry voice laced with a bit of amusement at the very light, oddly-colored blush dusted across Knives’ cheeks. You can’t call him a dumbfuck, Amos. He can flay you. “Watch your fucking mouth, Amos.” The beautiful man growled while he kept the lethal tendril of metal trained on the silver-haired man’s well-trained, casual expression like a cobra. “Just because I’m allowing you to touch me in this manner, that doesn’t mean you can talk to me like a whore.” You’re ‘allowing’ me to? As if I was the one fuming around like a bitter brat? All I did was joke that you need to get laid, but okay, bastard. “Right, I am very sorry, Master Knives.” He offered in place of his thoughts, but Knives’ blades still struck at the engineer’s tanned cheek. Though, afterwards, he retracted the weapon expectantly.

And Amos was quick to notice the way that the blonde’s pale eyes locked onto the crimson blood that now trickled down the silver-haired engineer’s tanned cheek, the scent of grass strengthening in the air as the independent plant’s dick seemed to twitch ever so slightly. But, he decided against the comment that he felt on the tip of his tongue and instead said, “What if I just jerked you off? I’d still need to use my spit or something for lubricant, but it wouldn’t be as much as if I gave you a blowie.” as he watched the blonde’s pale eyes dance with anger, disgust, and a brief zip of embarrassment that was swiftly covered by a more acceptable annoyance as he puffed out a curt, “Fine.” with little else but a swift glance to the trickle of crimson that dripped down Amos’ cheek

And while Amos still felt a strong urge to taunt the independent plant for his apparent interest, he refrained once again to spare himself another slash to the face or throat. Instead, he spit into his hand and wrapped his fingers around Knives’ thick cock to begin to stroke and spread his saliva over his length with a slow, steady pace. The silver-haired engineer able to somewhat bask in the subtle ways Knives’ expression twitched with each stroke of the man’s calloused skin over the sensitive flesh of his cock.

And, while Millions Knives was an intimidating man, with a muscular physique that deserved to be carved in marble, almost no morals, platinum hair worn in a bit of a buzzcut, and captivatingly pale greenish-blue eyes, Amos found him equally as beautiful. So, even as the blonde seemed to only focus on the blood on his face, and was one step away from homicide, the silver-haired engineer began to kiss along his inner thigh again. Each twitch he felt against his lips or palm was a fresh zap of electricity through him. So, when those bladed tendrils manifested again to wrap around Amos’ throat like a lethal collar, he wasn’t terrified. “Just don’t forget who has the power here.” Knives growled while the cold silver metal of the blades slid over the tan skin of his throat. “You mean less to me than a rabbit would to a fox.” Sure, Nai. As if I’m not needed for your machine.The engineer thought, but only verbalized a simple, “Yes Master.” as he continued to pump his hand up and down the blonde’s length to make his head loll back slightly.

Which, Amos took as an opportunity to drink in the way his muscular chest rose and fell, his pristine, pale skin, and the way that his face was almost peaceful. Except, of course, for when the pleasure twisted his face, which turned the near peaceful expression into a more amusing, attractive one as the engineer’s hand moved faster and his grip tightened slightly.

Something that Knives let him do with little but a shudder and a small breath. Though, the silver-haired man wasn’t cruel enough to ignore the joy the blonde refused to acknowledge. “Am I doing any good at this, Master Knives?” “You’re passable, I suppose. Though I could do better on my own.” he snapped, his eyes still closed and his head still back as his next words came out breathless and less focused on Amos. “Just proves how much better than you I am…Better looking, stronger, less emotional...You’re utterly powerless against me…”

He continued to boast about his power and list the man’s short comings, the silver-haired engineer continued to stroke his cock and admire his physique while he twitched and throbbed in his grip. Even the metal tendril around his neck began to twist and dig into his neck for more of the crimson that Knives seemed to focus on so easily in a show of the pleasure he barely showed. Though, Amos mostly trusted the homicidal blonde to not kill him. At least, until the tendril of metal tightened around his throat while Knives’ expression twisted more into a snarl.

Granted, the expression was just a warning to the orgasm that made his thick cock throb, twitch a heartbeat before warm cream spewed onto his hand. The thick fluid even managed to splatter onto the engineer’s cheek to mix slightly with the blood that had already been there from the initial cut.

Which, was a sight that earned a more obvious, malicious grin from the blonde that stood over him and watched the silver-haired man pluck a rag from his pocket to wipe away the cum from his hand and face. “Alright. You can leave now.” He said simply, his voice flat and cold even though his breath was still quick and he still smelled of grass and rubbing alcohol. “Yes sir. Also, just so you know, Legato will probably be around soon to make a report.” Amos left it at that. He didn’t bother with a warning about the air still reeking of sex and pollen despite the handjob, he just left before he was stabbed.

[princemordecai]

Location: Xul'Nithar Training Grounds: Obsidian Obelisk Purpose: Spell Training

Leander struck again. His fists, crackling with arcane energy, slammed into the obsidian wall with a force that sent sparks and shards of black rock scattering across the training chamber. The heat in the room was stifling, waves of warmth radiating from his body as his magic coursed through his veins. Sweat dripped down his muscled frame, his bronzed skin illuminated by the dim glow of magma lines etched into the floor beneath him. Each strike was deliberate, calculated, and brutal as if his fists sought to mold the very essence of stone and fire into submission.

Leander paused for a moment, his breathing deep and controlled, his dark eyes flickering with an inner fire. His chest heaved beneath the simple leather tunic he wore, its surface already scorched from the intense heat. Around his hands, the shimmering glow of molten energy pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

He stepped back, surveying the wall before him. The drow engineers of Xul’Nithar had imbued the structure with powerful wards, designed to withstand even the fiercest magics. But this was no ordinary training exercise. This was the Obsidian Obelisk, a sacred place where the drow honed their battle skills and tested the limits of their magic.

The door behind him creaked open, a faint sound in the otherwise oppressive silence. Leander did not turn, but he could sense the presence that entered the room. It was the unmistakable aura of Vael’ra, a Sorceress of Volcaris and one of the few drow who commanded both respect and fear within the Obelisk’s hallowed halls.

“Your strikes are becoming more precise,” Vael’ra’s voice was a soft, sultry whisper, though it carried with it an edge of danger. “But precision without power is weakness, Prince Leander. You must harness the full strength of the magma within you.”

Leander’s lips curled into a wry smile, his hand flexing as the molten magic within him surged. “I’m not here to practice restraint,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “I’ve come to break my limits.”

He turned to face her, wiping the sweat from his brow with a forearm. Vael’ra was as imposing as ever, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders like moonlight reflecting off a blade. Her crimson robes, embroidered with intricate draconic symbols, radiated power as her lavender eyes bore into him with an intensity that could melt steel.

“The power of Volcaris flows through you,” she said, circling him slowly. “You, who are both warrior and sorcerer, are a rare vessel for the draconic flame. But power is nothing without control. You must learn to channel the magma that roils within your soul - not just to strike, but to conquer.”

Leander watched her, his body still pulsing with the aftershocks of his training. The lessons of the drow were hard, their expectations merciless. But this was why he had come to Xul’Nithar. He needed to become more than just a prince of Lysara. He needed to forge himself into a weapon strong enough to defend his people against the ever-encroaching forces of darkness. The title of Centurion meant little if he could not stand as a bulwark between his kingdom and annihilation.

“I’m ready,” he said simply, his fists igniting once more as the magic within him blazed to life.

Vael’ra’s smile was a fleeting thing, more a baring of teeth than a gesture of warmth. “Very well,” she said, stepping back into the shadows. With a subtle flick of her fingers, the walls around them began to shift and writhe, the obsidian flowing like liquid as the room transformed. Large pillars rose from the ground, each one etched with the runes of Volcaris. At the center of the chamber, a pool of molten magma bubbled and seethed, its heat palpable even from across the room.

“You will face the Magma Wraiths,” Vael’ra said, her voice cold and distant. “They are the embodiment of Volcaris’ wrath, born from the very magma that flows beneath the city. Defeat them, and you may begin to grasp the full extent of your powers.”

Without another word, she vanished into the shadows, leaving Leander alone with the glowing pool. A silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the crackling of the magma. And then, from its fiery depths, shapes began to emerge. Twisted forms of molten rock and fire, vaguely humanoid but monstrously large, rose from the pool. Their bodies crackled with arcane energy, their eyes burning with the fury of the draconic god they served.

Leander clenched his fists, feeling the heat rise within him. The power of Mars, the warrior god, coursed through his veins, mingling with the magma-born magic of Blackrock. He had trained for this.

With a roar, the first Magma Wraith lunged at him, its molten fist swinging toward him with the force of a boulder. Leander ducked, his movements fluid and precise. As the Wraith’s fist smashed into the ground, sending shards of stone flying, Leander countered. His fist, glowing with the intense heat of his magic, connected with the creature’s chest, sending a shockwave of fiery energy through its body. The Wraith staggered but did not fall.

Leander gritted his teeth. These creatures were more resilient than he had anticipated. But he would not be deterred. He danced around the Wraiths, each movement a blur of grace and power. His fists struck again and again, each blow infused with molten energy. The heat in the room intensified, the very air shimmering with the power being unleashed.

One of the Wraiths howled, its molten body cracking under the force of Leander’s relentless assault. With a final, devastating punch, Leander sent the creature collapsing into the pool of magma from which it had emerged. The others, seeing their comrade fall, hesitated for a moment, their fiery eyes narrowing in rage.

But Leander was already in motion, his fists igniting with even greater intensity. He leaped toward the nearest Wraith, his fist connecting with its head in a blow that sent a cascade of molten rock flying in all directions. The creature stumbled, and with a swift, fluid motion, Leander spun, delivering a roundhouse kick to its chest that sent it sprawling to the ground.

The final Wraith roared in fury, its molten form shifting and expanding as it prepared to unleash a devastating attack. But Leander was ready. He gathered his magic, channeling the full power of the magma within him. His fists blazed with an almost blinding light as he surged forward, his entire body a conduit for blazing wrath.

With a final, earth-shattering punch, Leander drove his fist into the Wraith’s chest. The creature let out a deafening roar as its body began to collapse, molten rock melting away as its form disintegrated into nothingness.

Leander stood amidst the ruins of the battle, his chest heaving with exertion. The room was silent once more, save for the crackling of the magma pool. He could feel the power still thrumming within him, the energy of the magma coiling around his fists like a living thing.

From the shadows, Vael’ra reappeared, her expression inscrutable. “You have done well,” she said quietly. “But this is only the beginning. The true test lies ahead.”

Leander nodded, his fists still glowing with the heat of his magic. Already prepared to start again.

[bluejaybytes]

like idk their personality what they look like their motives/views? I'm just curious lol

So, first things first. Shockingly, I've actually posted... basically all of my recent art! I normally RARELY post my art on Tumblr, but I've bene in a sharing mood as of late and have been posting things only a few hours after I finish them, so there's honestly... not much new I can post since the only thing that hasn't been posted is a WIP that I'm already planning on posting when it's done (And it is Not in a state I'm ready to post it lol). THAT SAID! I'm gonna talk about Scarlet because she's got art I haven't posted here before <3 Everything's below the cut, because I anticipate this being... very long and rambly. Whoops lol <3

(Note: I put this in a word counter after writing it. It's over 2.3k words. Apologies for being unable to write in anything shorter than an essay)

Normally I don't post anything that's not completely finished, and while the "main" drawing of her is finished in the sense I'm not going back to add to it further, it hasn't been properly colored or lined, it's just cleaned up sketches, so I haven't posted it before. It's a good few months old and it shows, but it's honestly fine lol. The icon is from earlier this week however, I just typically don't post the icons on their own, since I've made a ton of them and also showed them off in the relationship web I posted last week (Which honestly I will probably post again once a few more OCs have their icons made and added properly)

Scarlet's from the Octarian domes, specifically one that hosts a decently large amount of residential areas, and has two younger sisters, Crimson and Ruby. Scarlet's around ~24, Crimson's ~21, and Ruby's ~17, and they're all quite close growing up, with Scarlet very much embracing her role as the oldest of the bunch and always sticking by them. In fact, it's her desire to be close with her sisters that essentially ends what was a promising career as a weapons engineer for her early. Weapons engineering is a very prestigious role, and Scarlet's both incredibly interested in it and also genuinely very good at it, but due to how highly it's regarded, it also means she'd be unable to be around her sisters anymore, as she'd be too busy with training and working in other domes and with other engineers, so she ends up leaving weapons engineering behind, and instead just trains as a regular soldier.

Even with her staying in a more average position, she's still very talented, and she fairly quickly ascends through the ranks and ends up as an Elite and assigned her own squad to lead, stationed out in the outskirts of the dome she grew up in. Despite her rank as an Elite however, she keeps the traditional red coloration that's typically only for lower ranked soldiers, both as it's a shared family color, and her squad all respect her enough that she doesn't feel she needs to conform very strictly to the hierarchy for colors to have them recognize her as in charge.

Through her own request, Crimson, who's just a regular soldier, is part of her squad, and while their job is considered very important, as they guard the exits between the domes and the surface, it's still... very boring. There's really nothing around, and most of their days are just... patrolling, finding nothing, going back to camp. It's a very soulsucking job for her in all honesty, a lot of the glamor that draws people in to the military life is just... nonexistent. It's miserable and she's achieving nothing. She stays where she is, she wants to be there with Crimson, and she gets to stay, while not really... in contact with Ruby, as there's no cell service all the way out where they are, but close enough to Ruby that if there was some family emergency, she'd be able to get home quickly to be there with her. At this point, she's just counting the days until she's able to quit, or at the very least, take an extended break to go back home and feel like a person again.

It's on one of her patrols, however, that she ends up running into May. She'd gotten the command to stay alert for some teenage runaways that'd escaped police capture a few months prior, but, unbeknownst to her, May was one of them. While she'd never really known May specifically, she'd been the childhood best friend of Ruby, so Scarlet knew her from all the time that Ruby had spent with her, and all that she talked of her. She'd already been feeling miserable and disillusioned with her life as a soldier at this point, and the realization that this fugitive she'd been keeping an eye out for was a kid she personally knows, and knows wouldn't be a runaway for no reason, is just another moment of question for her.

May doesn't really recognize her at first, with it having been years since Scarlet had actually been home, but once Scarlet calls her by name, May remembers her, and pleads to not be taken back home. Scarlet, while not knowing her exact motives for running away, definitely empathizes in that moment, as someone who's tired of the miserable state they're living in, and she also just can't sit idly by watching a homeless teen beg to be given even the slightest mercy. She tells May she's not going to turn her in, and instead invites her to sit down and just talk with her. Neither have had any new company in months at this point, so she figures it'll benefit them both.

Their conversation goes well, and while May isn't willing to talk about the circumstances that've lead to her being on the run, they both are very clearly able to recognize themselves in each other. In the end, Scarlet knows she can't just let a homeless teen go hungry, and tells May to meet her out there the next day at the same time, and that she'll give her some of her rations for that day to hopefully help out a bit. May's still a little unsure, especially since she doesn't like to stay in one place for too long, as well as the fact she's still trying to find her way to the surface, but she's not really in a position where she feels she can deny a safe, reliable food source, so she agrees.

It's, of course, at their next meeting that Scarlet notices May barely picking at the food she's brought. It's at this point Scarlet realizes that May's not just one of the runaways she'd heard about, but that she's the one who's known to be traveling with a kid. May hadn't wanted to actually talk about it before, as her little sister, June, stays behind at their temporary camp for her own safety while May goes out scavenging for food and looking for a way out, but this only further pushes Scarlet into wanting to help her. She already felt like she had a moral obligation to help May before, but now knowing she's also got a kid with her means Scarlet absolutely can not and will not let them go without her help, at least as much as she can offer.

Scarlet ends up going from giving half of her own days food rations, to stealing from the food supply, as well as grabbing some spare clothes, to make sure May and June have enough to eat and take care of themselves a bit better than they were before. Ultimately, her squad can always request more supplies, but May and June aren't in a position to help themselves like she can. This, however, does not go unnoticed. Her squad notices the lessened rations, and ask her what she thinks is happening. She insists it must be a sea slug, or at least some kind of animal that got into their food supplies, it's happened before, it's fine, they can just go ask for backup, don't worry about it. For the most part, her squad accepts her dismissal of the topic. They do find it weird, but ultimately, Scarlet has never been one to do anything like this before, and the long time away from home has been weighing on everyone, so it's most likely just stress getting to her.

Crimson notices, though. She also notices Scarlet's retreat from their usual nightly chats, instead opting to go on "destress walks", or "extra patrols", excuses varying from night to night. Scarlet's dismissal of the issue, her increasing time spent away from camp, and her lessened time spent with her all eventually push Crimson into stalking her on one of her times out of camp, and watches from a distance as Scarlet actively betrays her squad and her duties as a soldier to hide, feed, and protect a fugitive runaway. Crimson absolutely loses it, jumping out from her hiding place and revealing herself to have seen everything, and tells Scarlet she needs to hand May over now. Scarlet just can't do it. She hesitates before telling Crimson she won't, not because she's hesitating in her decision, but because she's scared of admitting it. She doesn't want to live this life, where a scared, homeless teenager and her little sister are expected to instantly be arrested and turned in, where they guard the exit to somewhere they're constantly told is hostile to them, yet have spent all of this time and never seen a proper enemy soldier. She's not going to turn May in for the crime of wanting to leave. And then Crimson attacks her

Scarlet wasn't sure how Crimson was going to react, but it certainly wasn't what she was expecting, as Crimson ends up pulling out a pocket knife she'd been carrying, and fully intends to seriously harm her. Scarlet's caught entirely off guard, and the fight goes very poorly for her, especially considering Scarlet's only weapon was an Octo Shot she didn't have ready, and even if she did, she doesn't want to attack her little sister. Eventually she's able to muster the strength to attack back enough that she gets Crimson off of her, and down long enough for her to take off running. May had bolted the moment the fight broke out, and Scarlet has no idea where she ran off to, but she knows her way out of the domes, having been patrolling the outskirts for this long

It's still over a days walk to the exit before Scarlet is far enough out from her camp that she feels safe enough that she can stop, and really assess the damage Crimson did to her. She's lucky in the sense she'd been carrying some basic first aid supplies on her when everything happened, she always liked having it on her just in case one of her squadmates needed it, but it ends up being enough to prevent her from getting any of her wounds infected. However, the damage is still fairly bad, even if she's able to stop it from getting worse, with Crimson having nearly fully blinded her in one eye, as well as giving her some nasty wounds that eventually scar over. Ultimately, she's lucky she didn't lose the eye entirely, but it's still an absolutely miserable experience regardless.

From there, she makes it to the surface surprisingly easily. She knew the way out, and the exit she took wasn't too far from Inkopolis, so she's able to get there within the month. Her positioning right next to the surface meant she was already required to know some of the Inkling language, so while she's not at all fluent, she's able to get by enough that she's able to pawn off her armor, as well as practically anything that isn't directly necessary to her survival. Her armor specifically is important however, as she wants to get rid of anything that could potentially relate her to being an Octoling soldier, and while she doesn't realize that really no Inklings would think anything of it, she can't risk it. She uses the funds to get herself a place to stay for a while, and is finally able to just rest for a minute.

From there, she actually adjusts surprisingly well to everything on the surface. Her skill with weapon tech is actually in very high demand, as the need for weaponsmiths and repair workers is at an all time high, so she's able to get an apprenticeship at a repair shop in quick time, and not only does it pay well, but she loves the work. While it's not the same as what she was training to do in the military, weapons engineering, she just loves working with weaponry as a whole, and while she doesn't personally play, it's also a reassuring notion for her that she's able to pursue a lifelong passion of hers in a way that isn't actually tied to war and combat, it's all just a silly game everyones playing, there's no actual stakes

It's around two years before she ends up seeing May again, however. After the fight broke out, May ran back to her camp, grabbed June, and just... picked a direction and ran. It took another few months wandering lost before May was actually finally able to make it out, and given how big of a city Inkopolis is, she and Scarlet don't run into each other naturally for quite a long time. They both carry around a lot of guilt surrounding the situation though. Scarlet feels as if she basically just... abandoned May, who was in this desperate situation, and that she should've made more of an effort to look for her before she just left, and May feels like she's responsible for everything that happened to Scarlet. The two meet when May, going in for weapons adjustments to make sure everythings up to date for league regulations for June's first time trying out a game of Turf War, ends up at the shop Scarlet works at. The two are overjoyed to see that they've both settled remarkably well in on the surface, and that they both even made it out in the first place. It alleviates a lot of that guilt for both of them, as while they both end up feeling as though they should've handled the situation differently, this is at least proof neither party ended up worse off afterwards. They're also able to stay in touch after this, which helps them both feel a little less alone as one of only a few dozen Octolings in hiding on the surface.

Ultimately, this is where I stop being able to describe things solely from Scarlet's point of view, as when Crimson reenters the story, there's a lot of extra context that needs to be added as to why everything worked out the way it did, and somehow this has already ended up longer than the time I laid out literally the entire plot of all of my main OCs. Good lord above. I was not joking when I said this would take a long time to write and when I said I'd write a lot.

Sincerely, thank you so much for asking, I do apologize for letting this one... also get out of hand, since this is... a lot of text for anyone to read through, but I do so, so very much appreciate the chance to let myself just kinda shed the feeling of cringe for a moment and just let myself infodump about my OCs lol. Peace and love on planet earth <3