#motorcycles are dangerous enough with armor

[youareinacomawakeup]

They're probably more expensive than you think they are.

Full-face helmets are more expensive than half-helmets.

Half-helmets look like this:

But yeah also don't fucking ride a motorcycle without a helmet, jesus christ.

I don’t understand why people don’t wear motorcycle helmets. Genuinely.

Bicycle helmets? I understand why you wouldn’t wear one. It’s incredibly important to wear one, of course, but…

…I won’t blame anybody for not wearing one, though. I mean, look at it. It looks dorky as hell. I would also like to minimize my time wearing one.

But motorcycle helmets? MOTORCYCLE HELMETS?

Literally the coolest fucking accessory a human being can wear???

They make you look wicked. Kick-ass. Like a laser-shooting robot from the year 3000. It replaces your ugly mug with the sexiest face known to man: the tinted plastic visor.

I would wear one OFF the motorcycle. I would pay ACTUAL MONEY to have my head permanently transmogrified into a motorcycle helmet.

how on GOD’S GREEN EARTH can you participate in an activity where it is both socially acceptable and highly recommended to wear some SICK FUCKING SHIT and make the conscious decision to say “nah I’ll pass”??????

[spacedace]

Had a dc x dp brain worm, feel free to use as a prompt <3

Sidenote, I decided to get fancy with the Ancients titles because of course I did lol

Shifting Where = Space (Danny)

Eternal When = Time (Clockwork)

Ever Onward = Speedforce (Ellie)

---

Bruce watched the footage again.

And again.

Again.

It didn’t make sense.

A week ago every television, radio, computer, phone - even the LED billboards - had been taken over to deliver a message. Across the United States. In every territory it held. Every military base. Down in the depths of the oceans where American submarines tried to creep past Atlantian patrols. In the endless cold white of Antarctica. Even far above in the International Space Station. Any place the United States Government had control over, any place one of its citizens found themselves. There was the message.

The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the later glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely.

He named himself, jaw tight, expression serious.

High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms.

The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Bridge Between. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One.

King of the Dead. King of the Infinite Worlds. King of so much more than Bruce had ever even known was possible.

King who had declared war. Who marshaled his endless armies. Who spoke of warnings, of efforts to reach a peace, of trying again and again and again to find a way to not plunge into violence and bloodshed. All things living come to call him King in time, he had no want or need to go out and hurry that along. But there were no options left to him now. He had tried for peace. He had been denied.

He would not see his people suffer any longer. Would not see those he’d sworn to lead and protect imprisoned by fools who had sworn themselves enemies to all the afterlives. Would no longer permit the vicious cruelty to continue.

The message was a final warning.

A final offer.

Three days, Phantom said. The United States government would have three days to release their prisoners, to begin the process of dismantling the laws that made death itself an illegal act.

If they refused, he would lead his endless armies personally in the war to come.

It had not been an idle threat.

Three days after the message, after Bruce and the rest of the Justice League scrambled to try and figure out just what it was it was all about, after Justice League Dark’s members shakily took turns explaining just how powerful the being that had gave that message was and how much danger the world was in should he and his armies march upon their world, war came.

Of all places, it began in a town in Illinois.

The sky shattered like broken glass above, Lazarus Green beyond, and the Dead poured out.

It started in Illinois.

It did not end there.

Bruce watched the footage of it all, eyes burning as he watched every second of CCTV footage, every shaky phone camera video, every news broadcast.

Most of them looked human enough. Changed in death, but recognizably human once. A pair of glowing teenagers on a motorcycle, a writhing shadow twisting about at their command sweeping chaos upon the battlefield. A young woman dressed to perform with hair a literal flame, burning bright blue and snapping furiously as she played devastation upon her enemies with her guitar. A child with corpse gray skin and luminescent green hair, flickering in and out of Bruce’s ability to see as if fighting against a law of existence to be visible, screaming orders to a skeleton crew from his place on deck of a 1700s ship that sailed through the sky, disappearing into clouds before raining down attacks from above.

There was more. Glowing skeletons dressed in the fashions of war spanning every culture going back millennia. Robots with weapons far beyond the technology they had even in the League. Creatures of myth and legend. Things of nightmares.

Leading them all, as he had promised, was Phantom.

He looked younger, smaller. Just a boy, really, a gangly teenager that hadn’t quite finished growing into himself. One holding power beyond anything Bruce could ever imagine, but still just a child as far as he could see, no older than Tim who’d just graduated high school. Frantic research found Phantom appearing as far back as human history, but those sightings had to have been after his death. Bruce can’t help but wonder how young the boy had been when he died, how much of that youth still clung to him through all these eons.

It wasn’t something he’d let him self consider normally, not with something like this.

A dangerous unknown appearing without warning and attacking with unimaginable power and seemingly endless forces. It was something that would normally eclipse everything else. Something that would make Bruce put aside the ache at seeing a face so young twisted in rage.

But.

He watched all the footage.

Civilians were put in the crossfire. Were shot at and endangered. Were left terrified and scrambling for safety in buildings that were rapidly being torn away by stray artillery.

But never by Phantom or his armies.

The dead, in fact, went very far out of their way to ensure civilians weren’t harmed. Sweeping people up out of the way of falling debris. Shielding them from attacks that would have most certainly killed a normal human. Some dead even helped evacuate, ushering a frightened and panicked populous to safety as gently as they were capable of. Some of the less human creatures - giant bear-like beings with horns and fangs and ice edging their burly frames - even rushed forward to offer medical aid.

When the sky shattered open and the armies of the dead swept in, they ignored the town below. They focused instead on what was discovered later to be the base of a secretive government agency. The dead’s fight focused on those individuals in sharp white suits, bearing weapons capable of actually injuring King Phantom’s people.

It was these agents that brought the fight to the streets to Amity Park. That fired recklessly and without thought or care to the casualties they could inflict. That didn’t seem to care if they killed a hundred civilians if it meant hurting just one of Phantom’s soldiers.

Bruce watched all the footage.

And again.

Again.

Phantom had declared war.

Phantom spoke in his message of being out of options, of attempting peace. Phantom gave three days time for the release of captives. Phantom lead armies who fought viciously but never once willingly harmed civilians.

Phantom declared war, but he didn’t want it.

“Amanda Waller has reached out.”

Bruce didn’t turn his attention from the screens before him, eyes burning as he followed Phantom as the King dove away from the middle of locked combat to shield a child from a pulse of green energy from something like a grenade another agent in white had carelessly thrown. The child was crying but unharmed. The left pauldron of Phantom’s armor cracked and shattered from a direct shot from the enemy he’d just been fighting that he’d turned his back on, a glowing green liquid uncomfortably like Lazarus Water dripped down from a smoldering wound.

Clark stepped up to stand beside him as he watched, face worn and tired. The League had missed the first battle, but they’d been quick to appear at the rest. Phantom and his army ignored them unless they put themselves purposefully in the way of the fight. They were, as Justice League Dark had warned, vastly out powered by the entities fighting. A hulking giant knight made of shadow riding a nightmarish steed had driven Clark six feet down into the dirt when he’d attempted to make his way to Phantom directly to try and talk to the king.

The depth Clark had ended up felt like a warning of what would happen if he tried to get close to the king again.

It probably was.

“She said they have intel for us.” A faint twitch of fingers, jaw clenching, voice flat in that way that told Bruce his old friend was fighting back anger with everything he had. “That she has options for how to deal with the insurgence.”

Bruce shut off the monitors.

He’d seen enough.

Now was time to get answers to just what, exactly, Amanda Waller and the US government had done to cause the Dead to rise and rage.

---

Part Two Part Three Part Four

[asamiontop]

The mark of an excellent engineer is predicting the unpredictable. Anticipating how a user might misuse or abuse a product before they’ve ever laid eyes on it. Preempt the mistakes and the fringe use cases and design them into insignificance with failsafes and redundancies.

Lena is, by all accounts and conferred degrees, an excellent engineer. She designed the anti-kryptonite suit to withstand, well, everything. It’s built to handle abuse ranging from unplanned space flight to close contact with a nuclear warhead.

Most engineers don’t exactly take into account how their product might inadvertently abuse them, however. And in that respect, Lena is no better than the rest.

She watches Supergirl peel off that technically perfect helmet, not a splash of sickly green on her golden skin, and Lena expects to feel triumphant. Proud. Accomplished.

Instead, she feels affronted. There’s no other way to describe the physically oppressive tightening in her chest when the hero shakes out her hay-colored hair, helmet in hand. The headpiece comes off, gorgeously windswept curls tumble out of it, and Lena gapes as her last remaining brain cell goes up in smoke.

It’s like a goddamned motion picture. Down to the way Lena’s jaw hinges open, slack and completely outside of her control. Blonde waves cascade over the armor Lena hand-built for those broad shoulders and all her insides collectively squeeze. A wayward strand catches on a passing breeze and alights on a delicately flushed cheek, framing Supergirl’s handsome jaw. Lena huffs—at this point it’s just offensive.

She’s bordering on furious with herself for not considering the obvious danger in her design (irritatingly perfect hair, an ill-advised sapphic crush, and a glorified motorcycle helmet do not a productive match make). Unintentional harm or distraction to anyone—wearer or not—is simply an unacceptable failure mode in battle. Of course her irritation isn’t enough to keep her from raking her eyes appreciatively over everything that her suit emphasizes on National City’s beloved Kryptonian.

Lena’s debating alternative head coverings in her mind—throat still dry, eyes still roving, fingertips still itching to learn how soft those golden waves truly are—when Supergirl glances her way. She smiles and it’s like the sun catches on all of her at once. Light glints off her suit (Lena’s suit, that she made for her), illuminates her hair, dances in her smile and suddenly Lena understands why people worship her as a god.

The super is radiant as she walks over. “Lena,” she breathes, tucking the helmet under one arm. Lena’s sheer disgust with this entire cliché is the only thing that keeps her from moaning outright at the way her name sounds from that mouth. “You saved me.” Supergirl’s blonde head ducks bashfully and—oh, she gets to be cute now too? How dare she. A chuckle rumbles through the crest that Lena placed on her chest. “Again. You saved me again.”

Crystal eyes lock on hers and Lena’s awareness of anything outside those deep, searching blue flees her entirely. Struck dumb, Lena holds Supergirl’s gaze, chin lifted, until the hero finds whatever she’s looking for.

An irresponsibly cocky smirk curls at the corner of Supergirl’s mouth. It pushes her a step closer and the proximity shoots a wave of instability through Lena’s knees.

“Is there any way I can repay you?” The super says, voice low. Lena wonders briefly if she’s been transported to the set of a low-budget porno. As if on cue, her brain fires off three filthy responses in rapid succession. This cannot be happening. She swallows hard to keep those thoughts sequestered in her head where they belong.

Possessed by some force greater than herself (perhaps Luthor composure, roaring through her veins from a family she normally loathes to emulate), Lena straightens. One of her eyebrows arches and Supergirl’s smile grows.

She bites the inside of her lip thoughtfully and watches in delight as the Kryptonian stands up a little taller, expectant.

“There’s no need, Supergirl,” Lena purrs, right on script, reaching out to swipe her thumb over a smudge on the suit’s chest plate. Keen eyes track the movement, so Lena allows her touch to linger. She retracts her hand slowly and meets the hero’s eyes once more. They are eager, focused entirely on her, and a shiver of satisfaction bolts through Lena at the attention.

With a heavy flutter of her lashes, she drops her voice. “But now that you mention it, I would love to get my hands on that suit of yours.” She pauses, allowing the implication to swell in the air. “I have several ideas…” she casts her gaze down the Kryptonian’s front and up again, “for improvements I’d like to make. If you’d allow me, of course.”

Supergirl’s eyebrows near her hairline as she stutters, “Y-yeah, totally,” her voice a whoosh. Then she shakes her head, sloughing off her apparent stupor, and her grin is back in full force—sexy and blinding at once. “Seeing as this is your creation, I’d say I’m all yours.”

She pierces Lena with that clear-eyed stare. “Actually. Are you free right now, Miss Luthor?”

Lena bites down a smirk and savors the goosebumps that tickle the back of her neck. She nods once, quick and to the point. Supergirl’s smile blooms across her face, replacing the self-assured swagger with such genuine delight that Lena is battered twice with attraction and endearment. She mirrors the hero’s expression and loops her arm around the elbow offered to her.

They turn to leave at a leisurely pace, ignoring the long-suffering voice of Agent Danvers yelling after them.

“Hey. Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?! Ka—Supergirl! That suit is DEO property! Hey! Hey! Don’t you walk away from me!”

Supergirl laughs, eyes never leaving Lena’s as an agitated “motherfucker” echoes in their wake.

[xenodile]

While I still haven't gotten Elegg, by an unbelievable stroke of luck I've gotten Maxwell, Laplace, and Drake among my starting roster, and I love this fucking goon squad. This trio are Syuen's personal minions, whom she markets as the "heroes" and protectors of the Ark.

First up, the face of the squad is Drake, a scary, demon-looking lady in black and red armor, whose personality of what I can only call "a gijinka of those flaming, gun-toting, motorcycle-driving skeleton memes that say corny wholesome things, with the moral sensibilities of a Disgaea demon." She wants to form a "Villain Union" because being part of the most popular squad in the entire Ark isn't enough, so she'll surpass her reputation as a hero as a villain. Except her idea of villainy is the most harmless petty stuff possible, like walking in the bike line, buying out the entire stock at a food stall so no one else can get any, or paying for a meal at a restaurant with her autograph. These actions all ultimately cause more good than any harm, which only makes her more beloved as a hero, much to her frustration. She's kind of hilarious, being an effortlessly intimidating and charismatic figure that cackles like a supervillain while also being a goody twoshoes that needs help ordering a pizza because she gets nervous when talking on the phone.

Then we've got Laplace, who are respectively a hyperactive idiot that screams about justice and being a superhero while causing massive amounts of property damage with every "heroic" action she takes. She's got gold and blue armor, and embodies the "Good Is Dumb" trope, lacking any and all common sense. She jumps through windows rather than use doors, sees every situation as a chance for her to be a hero, and uses breaking things as her go to solution to any problem. Building on fire? Blow up the surrounding buildings so the fire can't spread! Naturally her popularity is mixed as while she means well, she ends up causing more problems with her rampant collateral damage and lack of sense, but having her status as a "hero" called into question is so emotionally damaging it physically paralyzes her.

And backing them up is Maxwell, an utterly deranged mad scientist that is openly manipulating you for the sake of testing her dangerous inventions and completely defies the ideas that Nikkes need to carry out normal human activities to maintain their mental health by having fully robotic legs and a railgun directly integrated into her spine. Uncommon for many, Maxwell freely talks about her life before she volunteered to become a Nikke and how convenient it is to be free from biological processes of being human. So she can spend more time working. She has no hobbies, no friends, and doesn't even think about things like food or drink, because all her time is dedicated to squeezing more power out of gun she refers to with the same affectionate nickname as the Commander. At this point I think she's trying to trick herself into falling in love to see if that will get an extra 1% energy output in her railcannon.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Gestation 1.5 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

Reaching inside the convex armor that covered my spine, I ran my fingers over the things I had buckled in there.  The EpiPens were meant to treat anaphylactic shock from allergic reactions to bee stings and the like, and likely wouldn’t do a thing to Lung, even if I could get close enough and find a point to inject.  Worst case scenario, the injections would supercharge his power by prompting a surge of whatever hormones or endorphins fueled his power.  Not useful, dangerous at best.  I had a pouch of chalk dust that was meant for climbers and gymnasts, I had seen it in the sports store when I was buying the lenses for my mask.  I had gloves and didn’t think I needed the dryness and extra traction, but I had gotten the idea that it could be useful to throw at an invisible enemy, and bought it on a whim.  In retrospect, it had been kind of a dumb purchase, since my power let me find foes like that with my bugs.  As a tool against Lung… I wasn’t sure if it would explode like regular dust could when exposed to flame, but fire didn’t hurt him anyways.  Scratch that option.

Of course, for all that Taylor is a planner, sometimes, she's just a person who makes mistakes, like with the chalk. Really no reason to buy it, but the thought occurs and it probably wasn't a huge issue.

Lung hauled himself over the edge of the roof.  I had him hurting… I just couldn’t do anything about it.  My bugs were officially useless, there was nothing left in my utility sheath, and I would hurt myself more than I hurt Lung if I attacked him.  Making a mental note to pick myself up a concealable knife or baton if I managed to live through this, I bolted for the fire escape.

Given how methodical Taylor's planning and prepwork was presented earlier, this chapter does a lot to show that... honestly, no, she really didn't actually plan things out as much as she thought. Which makes sense. It's early yet. Presumably she gets better.

“Muh… Motherfucker!”  Lung screamed. 

I mean, that is valid Lung, I'll give you that.

“Cock.  Sucker,” he growled in his heavily accented voice, his cussing interrupted by his panting for breath, “Move.  Give me something to aim for.”

Real "come out so I can kill you" energy here. Does that ever work?

With no warning, a massive shape landed atop Lung with an impact I could swear people heard at the other end of the street.  The size of a van, the ‘massive object’ was animal rather than vehicle, resembling a cross between a lizard and a tiger, with tangles of muscle and bone where it ought to have skin, scales or fur.  Lung was now on his knees, holding one of the beast’s sizable claws away from his face with his own clawed hand.

Enter Player 2: Bitch and her Dogs

I stood, aware I was shaking like a leaf.  I was so unsteady on my feet, from the mixed relief and fear, that I almost fell over again as two more impacts shook the roof. 

A nice touch, that not every author/story would include.

Two more creatures, similar to the first in texture, but slightly different in size and shape, had arrived on the rooftop.  These two each had a pair of riders.  I watched as the people slid off the backs of the animals.  There were two girls, a guy, and a fourth I identified as male only because of the height.  The tall one approached me, while the others hurried to the edge of the roof to watch Lung and the creature duke it out.

And thus come the Undersiders, changing history by deciding to help this random cape out.

“You really saved us a lot of trouble,” he told me.  His voice was deep, masculine, but muffled by the helmet he wore.  He was dressed entirely in black, a costume I realized was basically motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle helmet.  The only thing that made me think it was a costume was the visor of his helmet.  The full-face visor was sculpted to look like a stylized skull, and was as black as the rest of his costume, with only the faint highlights of reflected light on the surface to give a sense of what it was.  It was one of those costumes that people put together out of what they can scrounge up, and it wasn’t half bad if you didn’t look too close.  He reached out a hand towards me, and I leaned away, wary.

...how does one sculpt a visor?

Still, a complete, if a bit clinical, descriptor of Grue/Brian.

“Pepper spray, wasp and bee stings, fire ants and spider bites,” the second of the girls said, answering the question for me.  She was dressed in a skintight outfit that combined black with a pale shade of blue or purple – I couldn’t tell in the dark – and her dark blond hair was long and windblown.  The girl grinned as she added, “He’s not holding up too well.  Gonna feel a helluvalot worse tomorrow.”

Oh, Tattletale, obviously I only know you from discussion, excerpts and fanfic, but my urge to punch you remains, though there's nothing objectionable here.

Also, Tattletale's outfit does seem pretty stereotypical supervillain, tbh.

“Fuck you, Grue,” Regent retorted, with a chuckle and a tone of voice that made it clear he wasn’t really that offended.  He was wearing a white mask, not quite as decorative or made up as the ones I associated with the carnivals in Venice, but similar.  He’d placed a silver coronet around his short black curls, and wore a ruffled white shirt with skintight leggings tucked into knee-high boots.  The outfit was very renaissance faire.  He had a build that made me think more of a dancer than a bodybuilder.

Let's see if Alec is as much fun as he is in the fanfics :P But I do have to respect the theming for his outfit. Probably goes pretty hard to see it in person.

I stared at her.  My voice caught in my throat before I was able to get the words out, “I don’t… I haven’t picked one yet.”

Taylor, no! Don't let them label you with Skitter! NO! :P :rofl:

When I realized what had just happened, I could have cried.  It was easy enough to pin down Regent, Tattletale and Bitch as teenagers.  It wasn’t much of an intuitive leap to guess that Grue had been one too. The ‘children’ Lung had mentioned, the ones I had gone to so much effort to save tonight, were bad guys.  Not only that, but they had mistaken me for one, too.

I mean.... Ooof. She put her whole self, her entire hope, the only reason, or at least the main reason, she fought through the last few months, in becoming a hero. In saving lives, in beating villains... and here she is saving villains and getting mistaken as one. And then Armsmaster is about to make it worse.

I wonder if he'll read quite as much of a dick as the fandom seems to think he is.

[iamnoprogram]

>Muse Info

>Sam Flynn

Gender: Female (Trans MTF)

Pronouns: she/her

Appearance: Short light brown hair and gray-blue eyes. Late Uprising-Post Legacy Era has a large horizontal scar across her left cheek, and a burn mark like scar on her right arm up to her shoulder that is in the patterns of her grid suit’s circuitry. 

>Grid Inventory:

Identity Disc

Custom Lightcycle Baton

Data/Upgrade Drives

>User World Inventory:

Keys (Arcade, Dad’s Motorcycle)

Phone

Switchblade

Occasional Trans Pride pins on jackets

——————————————————————————

After her father’s disappearance and the death of her grandparents, Sam goes off to live under the care of Alan and Lora. 

(More info under #//about muse tag)

General basis/story for different eras (can alter details for rps):

>Entering The Grid (Tron: Uprising Era): #uprising era Sam

Sam is around 17-18 and had entered The Grid by accident upon finding her father’s computer behind the Tron machine when she snuck off to visit his arcade late one night. She didn’t have much time to freak out though, for as soon as she exited the replica arcade building of The Grid she was spotted and pursued by an Occupation patrol that had come to check out the disturbance of The Portal being opened.

 By pure coincidence, an undercover Tron had been nearby and was able to help her avoid capture, properly syncing a disc to her and getting her the hell out of Occupation territory to his spire in The Outlands where she meets Beck. Since the activation of The Portal The Occupation has increased security around the exit hub, and not having enough resources or members of the Resistance at the time, Tron is unable to get Sam there before it closes, trapping her in The Grid for the time being. 

Determined to make the most of her situation, and inspired by Beck’s drive to fight for his friends and home, Sam decides to buckle down and develop her User abilities and combat skills, training with Beck under Tron. When moving around outside The Spire and around other Programs besides Beck and Tron, Sam usually keeps her helmet on and is undercover, posing as a Program, and will give a fake name when asked.

Sam in this era is still learning how to use her User abilities, and is typically only capable of less taxing feats. She can’t create anything massive or too complex from scratch yet.

>End of Uprising-Legacy Era: #legacy era Sam

Sam is in her early twenties. A significant battle in Argon occurs near the start of this era where a disc thrown by Dyson shatters her helmet and slashes her cheek, the bleeding wound exposes her as a User. The entire battlefield shifts as suddenly the Occupation forces priorities are redirected to her. Tron orders Beck to get her out, and subsequently ends up getting captured and eventually rectified into Rinzler. 

Sam is shaken and filled with guilt, fully blaming herself for Tron’s rectification. It doesn’t help that now that her User status and name are well known, nearly all the Programs of the Resistance are looking to her to lead, a task for which she is nowhere near mentally equipped to deal with. Luckily, she still has Beck by her side, helping her with the responsibility of leading the Resistance and being a shoulder she could actually lean on for some emotional support, which helps to an extent. But constantly trying to push back and hide her mounting stress causes her patience for those in the Occupation to run dangerously thin.

Sam is more experienced with her User abilities and combat and has found a way to combine both, creating a unique, sometimes unpredictable fighting style. 

Sam at this time has a large scar on her left cheek and a few other scars that her Grid Armor covers up.

>Post Legacy Era: #post legacy Sam

Sam is in her twenties. The Grid is now rebuilding in the aftermath of The Occupation, and Sam is splitting her time (maybe a bit poorly) between helping in The Grid and her life in the User World. She told Alan and Lora everything when she came back from The Grid, and they now help aid her a bit with her Grid responsibilities, though she still feels obligated to take it upon herself to bear the brunt of these responsibilities. She’s either taking college classes online, (at Alan and Lora’s persuasion), interning at ENCOM (also from Alan and Lora’s persuasion), or taking a much needed gap year. Sam’s place of residence is the loft in her Dad’s arcade, having inherited it.

Despite things looking up a bit, Sam isn’t taking a step back to process everything that’s happened to her, instead opting to continue to bottle up her emotions and traumas of fighting in a digital revolution at such a young age. Her social life outside The Grid is also still lacking, and could use some work. 

Sam’s scar on her cheek has faded more, and she wears long sleeves or jackets in The User World to cover up other scars. 

[rpwithroxy]

۞

Blasting down the highway, the motorcycle blazed through the traffic, finding gaps between moving buses and the handful of speedier lussi providing transport between the respiteblocks, towering communal hives where packed in lowbloods lived their daily lives. But she wasn't like them, her vehicle was custom built for her by her moirail and had been as finely tuned as he could arrange for.

And yet it was just barely enough to keep her ahead of the Drones pursuing her. They hadn't been fast enough to stop her escape when she'd taken out the database, removing another year's culling roster from going official, but that didn't mean that they were not chasing her down to make an example of her.

To show the price of rebelling against the system.

Didn't matter to her. Not in the least. She knew she could get away from them, if she just got herself enough room to work. And that required a few steps first. Step one?

Hit the breaks.

The moment the roadway was clear, she dropped the speed, opening a gap that made her a far too tempting target. Spend a moment, let them come in too close. Come in to strike.

Come within arm's reach.

That's when the claws could come out, monofilament dicoat edge too sharp for even their armor. One strike each, snapping out her arms in a moment she could barely sacrifice, strike deep.

Leave tumbling bodies in her wake as she gunned it for speed, the cybernetic monstrosities exploding behind her. Race to the more open lawnrings, while the drones were distracted with the destruction.

And out into the freedom of the beautiful night, Hours before the day and the dangers of the sun. Time to get away, get some rest.

Even an Apex Predator deserved a nap in the sun, like any other good little purrbeast.

[klcthebookworm]

WIP Wednesday

The group has reached the town of Promontory, and a quiet morning has already been interrupted.

“Go get dressed!” Meryl ordered. Milly dashed into her bedroom. Meryl cracked the window so she could hear better. Two lines of townspeople formed across the street, ringing in the hotel and its opposite building.

“How dare you!” An older man’s voice yelled back. He was out of sight, maybe he was under the window? On the hotel’s sidewalk porch perhaps? “You have a lot of nerve, you impenitent scoundrel,” he continued.

An older woman’s voice yelled next. “We’re not dumb enough to be scared by you and your rotten friends!” She couldn’t see that woman either.

The next voice made Meryl’s heart stop. “Oh yes, it has become clear to me now.” Vash’s voice floated up. “There’s a lot of meaning behind those words, friends. So stand up with your heads held high and say what you want to say!”

“Milly! Hurry! Vash is involved already!” Meryl snatched up her cape and pulled it on as she ran down the hall to the stairs. Milly’s longer legs caught up with her while they descended and she pulled out her stun gun when they reached the lobby.

An old man and woman were crouched behind the red coat wearing man, whose arms and legs were akimbo to cover the older people. The old man was shouting again. “Mistake my ass, you fat-lip golem!”

The young man perched on the center door of the armored truck. “What? What did you say? A golem? Ha!” He straightened up and aimed his pistol at Vash and the older couple. “I’m laughin’ so hard my pistol’s twitchin’.”

Meryl could feel Vash’s resolve through the open doorway and the lobby the insurance agents charged through. His right hand dropped onto the large silver gun and yanked it up. The old couple dodged, the old man covering the shorter old woman.

“Stop!” Meryl and Milly yelled in unison as they ran through the doorway, across the sidewalk porch, and slammed their elbows into Vash’s back. Vash wasn’t braced for that blow. He fell into the street and skidded across the dirt to the middle.

Meryl winced internally because Vash didn’t deserve to be plastered to the ground like that, but they had to put a stop to this before the damage became catastrophic. Her hand grabbed a derringer but she didn’t need to pull it out. Milly aimed her stun gun at the truck and fired twice. The bolts slammed into the side of the armored truck, knocking it over onto its side. And it took out a second story support of the building behind it. The young thug went over with it.

The crowd murmured and exclaimed over the violence. Meryl focused on the young thug climbing back on top of the turned-over armored truck. “You have no idea how dangerous that was!” She pointed to Vash, who hadn’t gotten up off the ground yet. “If you make this broomhead mad, I guarantee he will leave you with a lot more than injuries and property damage. Good god!”

The opponent stared down at her and Milly. “You’re the ones who are dangerous! Clotheslining him from behind like that.”

Hannah made a noise like a buzzer had been pressed. She and Chuck sat sideways on the parked motorcycle like it was a bench. “That move was not clotheslining him. Get the terminology right if you’re going to pick a fight with people.”

The young thug turned his attention to them and he still had his pistol in his hand. Meryl inhaled. How could she or Milly keep the children or any other bystanders from getting shot? But the thug only looked bewildered. “Terminology?”

“Demonstration time.” Hannah told Chuck before she extended out her left arm in front of him. Chuck stretched his neck and tucked his chin and the chin guard of his helmet over her arm. “Now this is clotheslining. What they did was battering down a door.”

“And Vash was the door,” Chuck added.

The building across the street groaned as it cracked. The thug leaped from the armored vehicle’s side and landed safely in the street, but didn’t have time to run as the stone crumpled and fell. He dodged back against the undercarriage of the vehicle and the rock slide that had been an entire building covered him and the truck.

Milly grinned. “Meryl, that’s a small sacrifice for a great cause.”

Meryl grinned back, using it to hide how embarrassed she was that they dropped a whole building. “I know, that’s right! Way to go, Milly!”

“Who’s protecting who?” Chuck demanded.

“That’s what I want to know.” Vash said, loud enough to carry.

The orange-haired girl hopped off the motorcycle and grabbed his arm as he rolled over to sit up. “Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

He peered up at the hand she held in front of his face. “Two. Happy now?”

“That you don’t have a head injury? Mildly pleased.” Hannah gave Vash a yank and he rose to his feet with a slight wobble. “I’d be happier with the breakfast you promised before things,” she peered around him at the destroyed building, “escalated.”

[ivyleatherwriting]

One Curiosity Too Far

Starlight City glittered just like any other Saturday night. The streets were filled with people leaving work as the neon came to life and the synthale started to flow. Everyone was ready for a good time, at least those who stuck to the brightly lit streets and well-traveled thoroughfares. Like anywhere else, Starlight City has places the average person doesn’t wander. But of course, these places are where the real power lies. Some cities it’s drugs, others it’s illegal gambling, but here it was organized crime. Powerful people owned businesses, ran “insurance” companies, and in a state where distractions abound, they were the true power. A lucky citizen could catch a glance; cybernetically enhanced bouncers or armored vehicles passing through wearing a legitimate disguise. But no one was foolish enough to go looking for them, whether they knew who they were or not. Yet for some, the curiosity was just more than they could bear.

Cassandra put down her glass and paid her tab. She almost felt like a bounty hunter, looking for the women whose motorcycles dominated the streets in the Northeast Quarter. People turned their heads away at the sound, but Cass just couldn’t look away. The feminine figures clad in dark purple leather on large, powerful street bikes going well over the speed limit enthralled her. But it was fascination, mere fancy, until she caught a glimpse. A rider slipping into a building from an alley, her helmet obscuring her face and two machine pistols strapped to her thighs. The dull, purple leather didn’t reflect the light, but Cass was drawn in as if she was glowing.

It was only a few weeks later of paying off bartenders and asking risky questions before her lead took her to The Bloody Whip. It smelled of synthale and sweat. Cass felt out of place; she knew she wandered somewhere people like her didn’t go. It wasn’t a private club, but the kind of place where strangers didn’t just happen by. She sat and ordered whatever was cheap as she took in her surroundings.

A woman took note of Cass before she even hit the door, she didn’t look like a bounty hunter but she could tell she didn’t come in here without some kind of reason. She took the radio from her jacket pocket.

“New girl. Black jacket, jeans, sneakers. Ordered a glass of Meyer’s. Unarmed. No visible enhancements. She’s not a pro but she’s here for something.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes never left Cassandra.

“She looks like the one who’s been asking around. Leave her alone unless she goes for the back, if she goes for the alley inform us but let her go.” The voice from the radio seemed as if it couldn’t be less interested. Cassandra wasn’t a threat to anyone but herself.

“Yes ma’am.” She went back to observing the new girl and watched the clock.

20 minutes passed without incident and the sound of the bikes leaving the alley was her cue. Cass waited a minute or two and paid her tab.

“She’s moving. Alley.” The woman’s report was finished, and she watched Cassandra walk to the side of the building.

Cass followed the purple light and opened the door to the alley, only to find absolutely nothing. The smell of rubber was still in the air, but they were long gone leaving absolutely nothing behind. This was likely their base, and she could start to figure out who they were. It wasn’t a total bust, but this was getting dangerous, and she knew at some point she would be too deep. But the night was still young; Cass decided to call it a night and start the long walk back to her place.

The woman watching her was now in a back room watching the cameras outside. “Leaving the alley.” Her voice perked just a bit.

“Capture and interrogate. Await further orders.”

“Yes ma’am.”  The observer and a few other women at other parts of the club got up and headed to another private area in the back.

It was about a half mile to her place now, and Cass was too busy thinking about the riders to pay attention to her surroundings. She was hoping to see them for herself, but perhaps the purple would make them stick out too much. You can’t say “Hi, you’re so cool! What’s it like being a badass who works for a crime lord?” It only took a few minutes more until she heard a whistle.

“Hey, you.” The voice was low and powerful but even.

Cass turned to the whistle, and she dropped her bag on the ground. A woman wearing black leather save for the skin below her halter top leaning against that telltale, black motorcycle.

“Come.”

Cass was always a bright girl and knew she was in trouble. But she didn’t follow out of fear. She completely forgot her bag and followed to get a closer look. A teased, short haircut and glossy black leather almost made her skin glow under the lighting. She walked a bit more until she was about 20 steps away.

“Stop. Hands where we can see them.” She approached Cassandra with intent and raised her hand.

She took note of the word “we”. Cassandra put her arms up as the sound of boots filled her ears. 8 bodies came from the shadows, and she had to catch her breath at the sight. She didn’t find them, but they found her instead. 8 feminine bodies with similar builds and height, wearing that telltale purple leather with a curious sigil on the back. Jet-black helmets covered their heads with glossy, opaque visors that completely hid their faces. Tall black boots and black gloves gave some contrast while the pistols strapped to their thighs and belt loaded with magazines showed their purpose.  8 nearly identical women took her hands and surrounded her. She didn’t sense any… murderous intent but instead let them pat her down and check her for weapons. To no one’s surprise Cass was unarmed and of little threat. The riders stepped away and the woman in black took the stage again.

“You’re Cassandra Phasal, correct?” Her voice was now more curious than intimidating.

“Yes. That’s correct.” Cassandra couldn’t keep her eyes on the woman, the riders still surrounded her and she couldn’t help herself.

“Why have you been looking for us? You spent a lot of money bribing people to find out where we are.”

“I was… curious. I wanted to see… this.” Cassandra didn’t know where to go. She was afraid that she was going to upset her or that it wouldn’t ease her suspicions. She just couldn’t read the woman at all, and the riders showed nothing except their readiness protect their leader. The fear crept in, and the smile across the woman’s face didn’t help either.

“Wanted to see what the underworld is like? Or maybe our girls caught your attention? Curious about what it’s like to ride one of these?” The woman quickly closed the gap, and one look in Cass’s eyes confirmed her suspicions. She placed a finger under her chin. “You have potential. Tell you what Cassie. Tonight is your lucky night. Can you ride a motorcycle?”

“Y-yes. I’ve done it before.” Her voice wavered. She had completely lost control of the situation but at this point the tunnel vision set in.

“Good. My mistress at the club might have some interest in you. If you’re passive and do as you’re told, you just might get the chance to serve Madame Irina.” A snap of her fingers followed as the riders started to move. They produced gear for her, boots to replace her sneakers and a proper jacket.

Cass struggled to keep up. The riders never spoke but firmly moved her and even took the liberty of prepping her themselves. She tried to follow their implied orders but at this point she was along for the ride, so to say. The riders dressed her and had a bike prepared for her. The woman who commanded them returned to her view.

“Are you ready for your test?”

Cassandra was completely on autopilot. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Will you obey my orders without question?”

Not a single thought interrupted the wave that was sweeping her away. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Another snap as the riders produced a helmet identical to theirs. “We can’t have you getting hurt now, can we? Put it on.”

Cass was intoxicated at following the woman’s orders. She quickly put the helmet on and it was just the perfect fit. Her hair came out of the back but otherwise she looked just like the other riders from the head up. The visor was tinted slightly, but her eyes showed nothing except being completely in the moment. She didn’t have time to think. She didn’t have time to do anything but follow the woman’s orders.

“Good. I think you’ll be a natural fit.” One of the 8 riders stepped forward as the others spread out to the bikes. “177 be taking you there. You will follow her until we get there and obey all commands that come through, can you do that?” Her head tilted as if she didn’t know Cassandra was theirs.

Cassandra couldn’t put it together. Before she even saw the number stitched on the rider’s breast she focused only on the order. Her mind didn’t have time to wander. She nodded slowly as 177 sashayed to her bike. “Good girl. Follow and obey.” The woman walked away into the alley, and she heard a strange sound as she followed the rider.

“Follow me, candidate.” The voice was inhuman. It was robotic but utterly feminine. It had the modulations of a human voice but as if you passed it through a filter. She mounted her bike and Cassandra wasn’t far behind. She took the back seat and had to catch her breath as she put her arms around her. She felt the pistol magazines under her fingers and the danger set in...  but once again, before she could think the engine started and the bike immediately began to move.

The lights blew by and her vision was fixed on the rider in front of her. The rider wasn’t taking any sharp turns or going too fast, and it helped Cassandra calm down a little bit. She began to think for the first time in a while. She really walked into a club owned by some powerful underworld figure, tried to tail armed motorcycles, let herself be called to a dangerous place, and now she was on her way to see if she was a fit to join them. It was wild, it was intoxicating. It was…

It was too good to be true.

She knew there were stories about this. Kidnapping and human trafficking weren’t common, but they weren’t unheard of. The soft hum of the rider’s voice in her ear kept her mind occupied but now the dull fear that she felt throughout turned to something more… fundamental. She tried to adjust her grip around the rider…. Only to find her hands had thick cuffs on them, instinctively she tried to move her feet only to find them cuffed to the pegs below. Her breathing quickened and she started to sweat. She didn’t struggle with her whole body but moved a bit more. It was only when she tried to voice her objections that she heard 7 other motorcycles rev loudly around her, falling into formation that she couldn’t hear her own voice. Her internal monologue began to race until the soothing robotic voice of the rider faded away slowly, giving way to a beat. A slow, throbbing beat with an arcane hum underneath.

“Beginning pacification.”

Cassandra’s mind started to calm as the world started to slow. She rested calmly on the rider’s back. The lights passed by as they grew slowly dim, the visor was darkening and Cassandra’s vision went dark. The black visor was now utterly black on the outside, but looking at it on the inside would show a fractionated but consistent spiral that ensnared Cassandra’s vision. The speakers in her helmet and the spiral in her visor had full control of her mind, and while she was conscious, she was completely out of touch.

The voice had no more modulation, still feminine but completely flat and empty. “Pacification complete. Subject ready for processing.”

The bikes eventually came to a stop, and they pulled into the underground garage. The bright lights reflected on their leather suits as a cadre of women in suits came down the stairs. The woman in leather from before carried Cassandra’s limp body and laid her down before the woman in front.

“This is the intruder?” Her voice was even but she couldn’t hide her confusion.

The woman in leather had a smug, wicked smile. “That’s her. She wanted to see what our bike assassins were all about. That’s why she was following them. I could tell how badly she wanted to join them; she just needed that little push.”

“Fine work Geneva. Did she come willingly?”

“Yeah, mostly. She didn’t say no and when they put their hands on her it was all over. She almost came to on the ride over, but she took to the programming very well. Her mind is a soup right now and she’ll make a fine servant for Madame Irina.”  She tried to hide the smile, but this was just too much fun for Geneva.

The women looked at each other. The one in the center looked at the assassins carrying Cassandra. “Take her to processing.” The women replied in a unified voice. “Yes, Executive”. The robotic voices followed the riders picking Cassandra up and taking her away. The door closed behind them and the executives turned back to Geneva.

“Well done. Maybe we should reconsider having them publicly visible. Others like her may get curious and want to find out what it’s like to be like them.”

“With all due respect, Executive, I think this one was just a little strange. I’m sure if she was being honest with herself, she loved the idea of being a sexy little soldier for the group. She went on a wild ride, and I bet she’d be secretly happy it turned out this way.” The smug smile came back even in front of her betters.

“Don’t get any wild ideas then. We’ll have to find some way to make them come to us, then. Ensure her processing goes smoothly and get her on the streets. Phillip and his men are ready to move, and we need all the assassins we can get.” Her tone was terse but not directed at Geneva.

“Yes, Executive. I will find as many suitable candidates as possible until all of Starlight City is in her grasp.” Geneva couldn’t help but raise her voice. That was the difference after all, between her and Cassandra. She was obedient and loyal but wanted to experience it for herself. Cassandra wanted to be swept away by the waves of fate controlled by people infinitely more powerful than her.

“Your loyalty is noted. Continue the good work and Madame Irina will have no choice but to reward you with more responsibility. Obey, serve, and dominate in Her name.” The executive crossed her arms, and it was no surprise to her that Geneva responded so earnestly.

“Yes, Executive. Glory to Madame Irina!”

A thin, wry smile from the executive. “Dismissed.”

One Month Later

The doors in the garage opened to the darkened streets beyond. Drone 403 strode to her bike and prepared it for an eventful night. She was fully loaded, armed to the teeth, and the comfortable hum in her speakers was turned down ever so slightly. In one short month, the accountant Cassandra was remade in Irina’s dark image. A powerful and lethal cyborg assassin, with what remained of her conscious mind addicted to Irina’s nefarious brainwashing. “Cassandra” was still in there, but utterly dominated by the conditioning. You can’t replace a human with machinery *yet* but you can make it as docile as possible. Thankfully Cassandra welcomed her conditioning and was honored to be a mindless drone in service of Madame Irina… at least until that pride was buried under the obedience programming and performance protocols. She was another identical drone, only the number “403” printed in black above her left breast.

Her helmet’s visor flashed with information about her target, she checked her bike one last time, and loaded the machine pistols strapped to her thighs. She mounted her bike and started it up. Her visor displayed all the important information about her bike as well as her ammunition count and display for new orders. The speakers in her helmet came to life beyond that constant hum as the dispatching system came to life. “Drone 403, commence mission.”

That familiar, robotic voice was all that answered. “Drone 403, executing mission.” The bike revved to full power as she tore out of the garage at full speed. Starlight City had another dangerous woman on the streets and Madame Irina was one step closer to utter domination of Starlight City.

[captainbragd-personal]

to be fair most vehicles are dangerous enough that you need armor to drive them. Its just that in an enclosed vehicle like a car that armor is the chassi, seatbelt, the explodey inflatey bag thingie (I dont know what its called in english), and deformation plates in the chassi leading force away from the passengers.

Motorcycle dont got an enclosed space, so you gotta stick the armor on the you.

i love that motorcycles exist. like i'm genuinely so glad that someone was like "what if bikes were as fast as cars and could turn you into roadkill if you hit a pothole"

[planetdsg]

Safety First: Key Features to Consider in Men’s Riding Jackets

Riding a motorcycle comes with inherent risks, making it crucial to prioritize safety when selecting gear, particularly riding jackets. Here are key features every man should look for in a biker riding jacket to ensure maximum protection on the road:

Armor Protection: Look for jackets with CE-rated armor inserts in important impact zones including the shoulders, elbows, and back. These protectors absorb and distribute impact energy, lowering the chance of harm from a fall.

Abrasion Resistance: Choose jackets made of high-quality leather or abrasion-resistant textiles like Cordura or Kevlar. These materials provide improved protection from road rash in the case of a slide.

Visibility Enhancements: Choose jackets with reflective panels or piping to improve visibility, especially when riding in low light or at night. This allows other motorists to see you more clearly, lowering the danger of an accident.

Weather Protection: Look for jackets that include weatherproofing features like waterproof membranes or removable thermal liners. Staying dry and comfortable is critical for maintaining concentration and control while riding in inclement weather.

Ventilation Systems: Check that the jacket has enough ventilation alternatives, like as zippered vents or mesh panels, to enhance airflow and reduce overheating during hot weather rides. Proper ventilation helps to regulate body temperature, keeping you cool and comfortable.

Adjustability: Look for adjustable straps, cuffs, and waistbands to provide a snug and secure fit. A well-fitted jacket not only improves comfort but also guarantees that armor remains in place where it is most needed in the case of a collision.

Absorption Technology: Some jackets include advanced impact absorption technology, such as airbag systems built into the jacket. While these may be more expensive, they give an extra degree of security by deploying in milliseconds when a crash is detected.

Durability and Construction: Examine the jacket’s stitching and overall construction. Double or triple stitching in high-stress places increases durability, ensuring that the jacket lasts for a long time and may be used repeatedly.

Certifications: Look for jackets that have met or exceeded safety regulations, such as CE (Conformité Européenne). This signifies that the jacket has been rigorously tested and fulfills the set safety standards.

Fit and Comfort: Finally, consider comfort without compromising safety. A well-fitted jacket should provide mobility of movement while riding without being overly tight or loose.

By paying special attention to these aspects, men may confidently choose a riding jacket that promotes safety while maintaining style and comfort. Remember that purchasing high-quality safety equipment is an investment in your safety while driving.

[bike-safety]

Why is Motorcycle Protection Gear Important for Riders?

As an experienced powersport bike rider with many miles under my belt, I can't stress enough the importance of motorcycle protection gear. In this comprehensive 1500-word blog, I will delve into why motorcycle protection gear is essential for every rider, blending my personal experiences with factual information to underline its significance.

Introduction

Riding a motorcycle is an exhilarating experience, offering a sense of freedom unmatched by any other mode of transport. However, with this thrill comes a level of risk that cannot be ignored. This is where motorcycle protection gear steps in, playing a critical role in ensuring a rider's safety.

1. The Harsh Reality of Road Risks

Understanding the Dangers:

Overview: Motorcycle riders are more exposed and vulnerable compared to car drivers. Without the protective shell of a vehicle, a rider is more likely to sustain injuries in an accident.

Statistics: According to various traffic safety reports, motorcyclists are significantly more at risk of fatal or serious injuries on the road.

2. Helmets: Lifesavers on the Road

Essential Head Protection:

The Facts: The helmet is arguably the most critical piece of protective gear. A substantial amount of research indicates that helmets reduce the risk of head injuries by a significant margin.

Personal Insight: I’ve had close calls where my helmet undoubtedly saved me from severe head trauma.

3. Jackets and Pants: More Than Just Clothing

Protecting the Body:

Materials and Design: Motorcycle jackets and pants are designed to protect the rider from abrasions and impacts. They are made from durable materials like leather or advanced textiles, often reinforced with armor.

Why It Matters: In my riding years, wearing these has prevented road rash and lessened the impact during falls.

4. Gloves: Essential for Hand Safety

Guarding Your Hands:

The Need: Hands are often the first point of contact in a crash. Motorcycle gloves protect against cuts, bruises, and fractures.

Key Features: Look for gloves with reinforced palms, knuckle protection, and a snug fit.

5. Boots: Anchoring Your Safety

Protecting the Feet and Ankles:

Critical Protection: A good pair of motorcycle boots protects your feet and ankles, which are particularly vulnerable in crashes.

Design Aspects: They’re designed to offer stability, grip, and protection against impacts and abrasions.

6. The Role of Body Armor

An Extra Layer of Safety:

Protection Coverage: Body armor in jackets, pants, or as standalone pieces covers vital areas like the back, chest, elbows, and knees.

Impact Absorption: High-quality armor absorbs and distributes the force of an impact, lessening injury severity.

7. The Importance of High-Visibility Gear

Being Seen is Being Safe:

Visibility Factor: High-visibility gear makes you more noticeable to other road users, reducing the risk of accidents.

Added Elements: Reflective strips and bright colors on gear enhance visibility, especially in low-light conditions.

8. Weather Protection: More Than Just Comfort

Shielding Against the Elements:

Weather Hazards: Protection gear also shields against environmental elements like rain, wind, cold, and sun, which can affect a rider’s ability to control the bike.

Adaptability: Gear with weather protection ensures riders can focus on the road without discomfort from the elements.

9. The Psychological Aspect: Confidence and Focus

Mental Comfort Equals Better Riding:

Confidence in Gear: Knowing you’re well-protected can boost confidence, leading to better focus and safer riding practices.

Personal Experience: Wearing full gear has always given me the peace of mind to enjoy the ride more fully.

10. The Legal and Insurance Perspective

Compliance and Coverage:

Legal Requirements: In many places, certain protective gear like helmets is legally required.

Insurance Implications: Wearing proper gear can affect insurance claims post-accident. Some policies offer benefits for riders who wear full protective gear.

Conclusion

Motorcycle protection gear is an indispensable part of riding. It's not just about complying with the law or looking the part; it's a fundamental aspect of rider safety. From helmets to high-visibility jackets, each piece of gear serves a purpose in safeguarding the rider. As an experienced rider, I regard these gears as vital companions on every journey, essential for anyone who takes motorcycle riding seriously. Remember, when it comes to riding, safety should always be your top priority.

[clockworkdragonffxiv]

So it's a tie! Which means we fall back on the scientific method of flipping a coin. And the winner is...

Motorcycles!

I'm imagining a sort of steampunk/fantasypunk version of the Moto Terminators from Terminator: Salvation (Sam Worthington is perfectly cast as a robot wearing a human skin) with halberd-lances and shields. They're dangerous because they'll do drive-by attacks and slash you with reach weapons while not staying close enough for the heavy melee to nail them down. They're meant to keep the heroes off balance while the main big bad, a Warforged Titan Forge Cleric and pound them down and the wizards try to lock down their casters.

What's happening is a counter-ambush to one the players are laying, because the baddies aced their Stealth checks. Also because the players are laying in wait directly in front of where the 18-foot tall killing machine is hiding. The whole terrain is at the base of a waterfall with islands, so mobility is limited and I imagine the bikes doing leaps between the areas and generally trying to keep the heavily armored guys stuck in the difficult terrain.

Also the Titan routinely lays Word of Recall before doing anything because I need him for my final fight since he's meant to be the endboss. But I'll let 'em fuck the guy up. :D

Quick D&D Poll:

Which should I torment my players with: warforged bears or warforged motorcycles? Some of these might be wizards.

[jeonbunnie]

stand by me

pairing: reader x yoongi

anonymous requested: “could you do some min yoongi fluff with stand by me by ben e king?”

summary: yoongi becomes your knight in black leather.

genre: slight angst; fluff;

soundtrack: stand by me—bene e. king

content/warnings: childhood friends to strangers to friends again; gang!au; biker!yoongi/ cat calling; sexual harassment.  

a/n: I’m sure you weren’t expecting bikergang!yoongi for this request lol but that’s where my brain went I’m sorry lol. I hope it’s still cute for you ♡ 

word count: 1.5k

♪ No, I won't be afraid. Oh, I won't be afraid. Just as long as you stand, stand by me ♪

Five minutes into your walk home and you already regretted the decision.

Girls night had started to turn into girls morning, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to stay out. Not wanting to ruin their fun, you bid your friends goodnight and made your way home. At first, you weren’t concerned about walking by yourself; The bar was only a couple blocks from your highrise apartment, and you’d be home in no time—fifteen minutes tops.

But now that you were alone with a cat-caller on your trail, you thought you should never have left in the first place. The man eyeing you from across the street put a shiver down your spine.

“Where you going, baby?”

In your head, you cursed your decision to wear a crop top and short dress tonight now that you’d been unlucky enough to gather unwanted attention. Fear told you not to respond. You did your best to keep your head down and avoid eye contact.

“Oh, come on, don’t ignore me, beautiful!”

It was so dark out; not even the sliver of moon could light your path home. Only one street light blinked on in the distance, but it was at least a block away.

You could hear his footsteps behind you, and your heartbeat quickened. You sped up your pace, too.

For a second, you were afraid. Your mind filled with all the terrible ways this night could end. So much could go wrong before you reached the safety of the light. More than anything, you wished you weren’t alone.

“I’m just trying to pay you a compliment!” said the stranger, persistent in his pursuit.

If you had to defend yourself, you would. You reached inside your purse, finding your pepper spray and gripping your keys between your fingers like talons, just in case.

And then suddenly, as if the universe heard your silent plea, you weren’t alone after all.

A deep voice rang out nearby. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

You’d know that voice anywhere.

Yoongi. Your Yoongi. The kid in your neighborhood who used to be your friend and your fiercest defender. At once, all your fears ceased. With Yoongi by your side, you’ve never had to be afraid.

He looked different now. Older. Serious. But undeniably handsome as he leaned back against a motorcycle. You don’t know how you missed it, too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice his bike parked on the side of the street. But you couldn’t be happier recognizing the sleek ‘7’ decal that marked the vehicle as belonging to one of the notorious gangs in the city.

“In fact,’ continued Yoongi, “I know she’s not interested.” Others might have been scared to have a member of Bangtan approach them, but relief washed over you as Yoongi came to stand by you, shielding you with his body from the unwelcome stranger. “But if you’re interested in keeping your pathetic excuse of a life, I’d suggest you walk away now.”

Maybe it was the look in Yoongi’s eyes, dark gaze glinting something dangerous as he stared down your offender. Or perhaps he, too, had noticed the warning sign glinting on the bike, but that was all it took for the man to run off, leaving you with your savior.

He wasn’t exactly a white knight, switching out the shining armor for a black leather jacket and jeans, but still, he left you breathless. Upclose you’re struck by the details of change: the piercings in his ear, the long shaggy hair, and most noticeably, the long, red scar that ran down his eye. So much about him had changed, but his dark gaze still seared you when your eyes met.

For a minute, it’s just quiet as you take each other in. Awkward silence sets in as you’re unsure what to say or where to begin. You’d thought of Yoongi many times and always imagined you’d be better put together the next time you met. So much time had passed, yet here you were, still a damsel in distress and seemingly no more confident.

Yoongi broke the silence first. “It’s been a while, huh? I see you still need me to look out for you.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your heart lightened hearing his usual banter. “For the record, I didn’t need your help back there. I was prepared to defend myself—”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“—But I’m glad I didn’t have to. Thank you,” you said, offering him a genuine smile.

Yoongi didn’t respond, shrugging off your thanks with a cool nod as he broke eye contact. But if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the pink warming his cheeks wasn’t just from the cool night air.

When his eyes returned to you, he cocked his head to the side, gaze flickering over your figure in a way that made you squirm.

After a long pause, he said, “You still look the same.”

You looked down at your hands, heart racing for the second time tonight for an entirely different reason. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good. Definitely, good.”

The silence that slipped over you now didn’t feel awkward anymore. You looked back up at Yoongi, feeling comfortable in his presence, warm like the orange glow of the overhead streetlight. And just like that, you’re slipping into the time before. Memories of scraped knees, black eyes, wiped tears, and pastel bandaids. All the pain, laughter, and childhood nostalgia breathing in the space between you.

You know your family moved away with the best intentions: safer neighborhoods, better education, more opportunities. Maybe moving was for the best, but you’d left your heart with the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Because you never really got over it—losing your best friend.

You wonder if it’s just you, all in your head with your one-sided feelings. But then Yoongi’s eyes softened, and you know it’s not all in your head. He felt it, too, the affinity that somehow lingered after all these years.

“Let me take you home,” said Yoongi, lips lifted in a half smile.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can make the rest of the way by myself.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I get it. Too good to be seen with someone like me on this side of town, huh?”

He’s teasing. But still, you panic a bit at the implication. “No, no!” you said, waving your hands. “That not— I just meant you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to put you out. I don’t mind being seen with you, honest—”

“Y/n,” he said, cutting you off. “Don’t you think I know you better than that? I’m just messing with you.”

You huffed out a sigh, both relieved and annoyed that he still could work you up like that. Yoongi just chuckled.

“You’re not a burden to me,” he said, leaning in to look you in the eyes. “I only asked to take you home because I wanted to.”

Yoongi walked over to his parked bike only to pause when he noticed you hesitating behind him. “What?”

You couldn’t help yourself; you had to ask: “Why are you being so nice to me?”

At that, Yoongi laughed, turning back to face you. “I’m sorry, should I not? Would you prefer it if I were an asshole?”

“It’s just,” you started suddenly feeling self-conscious. “You have no reason to be. It’s been years since we last talked. . .and I—”

Guilt kept you from saying what you were thinking out loud.

I left you behind.

You always felt ashamed you didn’t keep in touch with your friends from the past. Yoongi had every right to resent you for that, yet there was no animosity in his eyes as he looked at you.

Yoongi shook his head, seemingly reading your mind and all the doubts. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how far you go. I’m always going to stand by your side. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Something about the sincerity of those words stunned you to tears. “Yoongi…”

Of course, he noticed the twinkle in your eyes. “You’re such a baby,” he reproached. But despite his admonishing words, you heard the grin in his voice.

“Come on,” he said, swinging a leg over his bike.

You could only watch him in awe, wondering how you could be so lucky to have someone like Yoongi return to your life.

“Darling,” he said, voice dipping low as he held up the helmet to his bike. “I’m not asking.”

You bite your lip, barely containing your grin, as you take the helmet from his grasp and hop on behind him.

“Give me your phone.”

You obeyed his command, watching as he saved his number in your contacts.

When he finished, Yoongi looked over his shoulder at you. “The next time you’re in trouble, call me, yeah?”

You nod, smiling softly to yourself as he checks the strap on your helmet. When satisfied with the fit, he turned around and started his bike, the vehicle roaring to life.

“Hold on tight,” he shouted, voice booming over the engine’s purr.

So you do. You wrapped your arms around Yoongi and rested your cheek against his strong back, breathing in his scent: leather, mint, and something else that reminded you of home. This time, no matter what curves life throws your way, you know you won’t let go.

[jackrrabbit]

Sidekick /// Dabi x f!Reader x Shigaraki (18+)

Summary: During a rescue gone wrong, a rookie sidekick catches the attention of two villains.

A/N: Thanks for 1k followers!! This is the fic that made me create a smut blog/lowkey inspired this. imho this might be the spiciest thing I’ve ever written 😳 also wanted to call out @kazooli​ because this is highkey inspired by her lol thanks queen

Tags/warnings: quirk kink, reader’s quirk makes other quirks stronger, noncon, threesome, lots of foreplay, outdoor sex, mild overstimulation, degradation, mild violence, threats, chronological/temporal inaccuracies, fucking long

You can hardly be blamed for not recognizing them. It’s only been three weeks since you debuted as a pro, and you’re not even really a hero. You’re a sidekick, and apparently you’re not important enough to have been briefed on the major villains you need to look out for. You’re just…doing your duty. Rescuing civilians indiscriminately. Stupid, naive little sidekick. It’s not your fault that the lives you just saved belong to the two most notorious villains around.

Still, Shigaraki can’t wait to see the look on your face when you find out.

///

The disaster you ‘rescue’ them from—the League’s bar crashing down, the result of a small-time villain’s poisonous gas quirk—isn’t even a disaster. It’s a minor annoyance, sure, but Shigaraki and Dabi would have been fine without you…even though both of them missed Kurogiri’s warp gate and ended up trapped under a wooden beam in the wreckage of the building… Okay, it’s more than a minor annoyance. Shigaraki hacks violently as the cloud of foul-smelling steam and powdered debris enters his lungs. The poisonous quirk doesn’t seem to be having the same acid-burn effects on his body as it did on the building, but he can’t assume it’s harmless.

Father… Shigaraki took Father off his face to drink at the bar earlier before the gas hit, and now in the confusion the severed hand is either buried underneath the rubble that used to be the League’s main base or somewhere else out of view. “Father? Father!” Shigaraki calls out, attempting to shift under the crushing weight of the beam.

“Shut up,” Dabi says from somewhere to Shigaraki’s left. “Kurogiri took it in one of the portals, I saw it.” He looks worse than Shigaraki feels—something hit him in the face as the bar collapsed, and a few of the staples (piercings? stitches? whatever) on his right cheek are torn open and bleeding.

“Are you lying to me?”

Dabi sneers and rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.” His palms glow blue and Shigaraki follows suit, letting four fingers sit on the wood that’s pinning both of them to the ground. It’s too heavy to lift, so they’re going to have to get rid of it…a task that seems significantly more difficult when it becomes clear that neither of them are positioned at the right angle to touch it.

Shigaraki tries to wrest his arm out enough for his thumb to touch the wood, but it’s impossible. Beside him, Dabi’s having the same issue. “Shit, I can’t reach—“

“Is someone there?” Confident, clear, and oddly robotic, your voice cuts through the din of gurgling water from cracked pipes and police sirens like a lit flare in the darkness. Shigaraki tenses and halts his attempts to get free from the beam, and a second later Dabi mimics him.

“I heard voices.” The same unfamiliar voice rings out through the half-light, now accompanied by a body—your body, taking a series of awkward jumps down the piles of rubble to land in front of the two of them. The outfit you’re wearing is ridiculous: a pair of metal boots that clang against the cement wherever you step, matching braces on your arms, and a space-age chrome motorcycle helmet to top it all off.

A hero. Shigaraki’s lip curls in disgust as your head turns his way.

You scan the scene quickly, eyes resting on the two men trapped in front of you for a moment before you turn back to the opening in the wreckage. “Found two civilians!” you call out to the rescue workers just in case they’re within earshot, although it’s unlikely.

Dabi snickers under his breath. Civilians? Even in the chaos, you should’ve known the second you saw them who you’re looking at. Are you faking ignorance? Got something up your sleeve?  It’s either that, or you genuinely don’t recognize them. Priceless.

You kneel down in front of the fallen beam and give a half-hearted attempt to pick it up. It doesn’t budge. No surprises there—if it were light enough for you to lift by yourself, the two men held down by it would have no problem getting out with their combined strength. You’re going to have to use your support gear to get it off them.

But first—you search for a memory of your rescue training. Reassure the victims. They’re probably panicking.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell them, your voice coming out mechanical and distorted from the helmet you’re wearing. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here to save you.”

This time, Dabi has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Ah, yes…they’re so lucky that there’s a do-gooder little hero around to rescue them, because they’d be helpless otherwise. The laugh is still audible, though, and Shigaraki shoots him a glare.

You raise an eyebrow at their expressions. Did he just laugh? Well…you’ve heard that people sometimes have inappropriate reactions in times of crisis. The dark-haired man seems more badly hurt, so you creep toward him first, careful not to disturb any of the debris and trigger an avalanche reaction. “I’m going to check your injuries now,” you tell him, and your gloved hand brushes away a sweep of spiky hair to examine the sizable red bump growing on his forehead.

Ouch…there’s no way that doesn’t hurt, but the man’s not letting any of the pain show on his face. Instead, he looks disinterested at best, and at worst? You almost get the feeling that he’s eyeing you up under your hero costume. Not that you can blame him. Damn this skin-tight bodysuit—it leaves basically nothing to the imagination.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask him. “I don’t think this is too serious, but they’ll look you over for a concussion when I get you to first aid.”

Dabi shrugs and you frown. Is the non-verbal response because of the ripped stitches in his face? Is it too painful to talk? Or could there be brain damage? Or maybe he’s just a man of few words or something…?

“Can you get on with it? Pick up the fucking beam already,” Shigaraki hisses.

Startled, you pull your hand away from the other man’s forehead. That ungrateful little…nope, nope, don’t get annoyed, he’s just in shock. “O-Of course, sorry. Just gotta make sure it’s okay to move.”

Luckily, the beam doesn’t look like it’s supporting anything else that’ll fall if you pick it up. You crouch down next to one end and steady your feet against the cement, lifting up with all your strength while activating the effects of the support items you’re wearing. When you feel the metal on your arm braces grow warm, you remind yourself again to thank the developer of your costume. You may not be a fan of the way-too-tight bodysuit that clings to everything, but the strength-enhancing armor that you wear on your arms and legs more than makes up for it.

A second later, you hold back a grin. It’s moving! You try to ignore the unpleasant screech of metal against stone as the beam slowly lifts into the air. As soon as the men get out from under it, you pant and let it crash back into the ground. “You guys okay?”

“Mm…yes,” Dabi replies, running a hand over the torn piercings in his cheek. “Got any more gas masks for the poison mist?”

“Don’t worry! The Commission is familiar with the villain who created it, and the gas isn’t harmful to anything living. Only buildings. It’s a troublesome quirk, but we’ve got it under control.”

“Then what’s with the helmet?”

He can hear the hesitation in your reply, even distorted and tinny through the metal speakers. “Uh…I, well…”

Now that you’re getting a good look at them, the two scarred faces in front of you seem weirdly intense, considering you’ve just saved them from a collapsed building. The dark-haired man’s eyes are…very, very blue next to the burned-looking skin underneath, and the other man’s greyish-blue hair isn’t quite long enough to obscure a pair of red irises that are scrutinizing your face with obvious hostility.

You give a nervous shake of your head to clear it. “Um, the helmet is…it’s dangerous if I take it off. I should get you guys back to the rescue area, I need to meet up with my hero…” Without thinking, you take a step back and then one more, not knowing exactly why you’re backing away when you’re supposed to be escorting them. “I’ll just lead the way?”

With your third step back, though, you bump into something hard. What was that? Your head jerks around but before you can identify what it is that stopped your retreat, you feel the faint sensation of something tapping lightly on the back of your helmet.

And then…it just…crumbles.

What just happened?

You cough and shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of dust. A breeze whips through your hair, sending a chill through you in more ways than one. How? No one pulled the helmet off; you would’ve felt it if they had. More dust sticks to your face, and you rub your eyes so you can open them.

Behind you, Shigaraki waits with outstretched fingers an inch away from your neck. If he had to explain the decision to decay your helmet strategically, he could—you’re a hero, a potential threat, and he wants to know what you’re hiding under that outfit just in case you figure out who they are and decide to turn on them.

But really? He didn’t think about it that much. It was an impulse reaction to you walking away from them; a tantrum. Child-like.

Once your stunned face is exposed, Dabi has to wonder what you were even trying to hide. You’re…surprisingly ordinary. Young-looking—a rookie, fresh from hero school graduations a few weeks ago maybe? Large, expressive eyes, lips parted in shock, but nothing particularly interesting. Shigaraki cocks his head to the side to study your face too, and both of them are so focused on your appearance that it takes a moment for them to notice the feeling.

Well, feeling isn’t really the right word, but there isn’t a word for the way your quirk works. Dabi’s eyes widen when it reaches him and behind you, Shigaraki stiffens. You notice.

There’s an involuntary quiver in your voice as you break the silence. “Y-You guys must have strong quirks if you can feel it just from that.”

Dabi sucks in a breath. So this is your quirk? It’s different…he’s never felt anything like it, not that he’s exactly sure what it is. There’s some kind of energy in the air around you that he’s breathing in, a feeling like taking a shot of espresso after days of sleep deprivation.

No, it’s stronger than that. The head rush after doing a line of cocaine would be a better metaphor.

Either way, he’s awake—more awake than he can remember feeling in a long time. Heat rises to the surfaces of his palms unbidden, his quirk appearing without him calling it. “What is this?”

“…It’s called Boost,” you say, licking your lips as a dry wave of heat radiates out from the man in front of you. “I can strengthen other people’s quirks. That’s why it’s dangerous—if the villain finds us—“

“It must have been hard to get through hero school with a quirk like that,” says a raspy voice from behind you.

What—? Your head twists around. When did he—

Shigaraki grips your shoulder with three fingers, holding just tightly enough to keep you from stumbling forward and away from him. His pinky and ring finger hover an inch over your costume, careful not to disintegrate the fabric he’s touching—although with the power sparking through his veins at the moment, it almost feels like three fingers would be enough.

“…Doesn’t really seem like the kind of quirk a hero has.” His voice, soft and pondering (a weird contrast to the harsh architecture of his facial features you’d seen earlier), feels very close to your ear. Something soft tickles your cheek. His hair?

A voice (an instinct?) deep inside of you is telling you to run. You ignore it. This is normal, right? It’s not uncommon for civilians who’ve just suffered a traumatic villain attack to have questions, even if those questions seem irrelevant to the situation at hand. You have to answer, even if your gut is churning. “I’m not really a hero. Not yet. For now, I’m a sidekick to one of the pros—and speaking of which, I really need to find—“

“But how does it work?” Dabi doesn’t notice himself making a conscious decision to step forward, but he does anyway and being closer to you feels right. He can see the trepidation on your face as he gets close enough to reach out and touch you, but you can’t really ask him to stay back, can you? Not when your quirk feels this good?

“I—“ Is it unreasonable that you think you’re being trapped right now? They’re just a couple of civilians, right? The question itself is common enough. People often wonder how you can be a hero. It’s a concern you’ve had to address dozens of times over the years. “Well, I work with rescue operations, especially with other heroes who have healing-type quirks. I can also assist in combat in some situations.”

“In combat? If you’re with a hero and a villain, you’ll enhance both quirks. Seems counterintuitive,” Dabi says, half aware that his voice is getting lower.

“And you clearly don’t have physical abilities. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have…these.” Shigaraki taps three fingers on the metal brace on your right arm.

“The effects can be unpredictable. And I can increase the degree of the enhancement with physical contact.”

“Contact?”

“Yeah. The gloves of my costume come off. My quirk is way stronger when it’s skin-to-skin.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Shigaraki’s ring finger and pinky, which were hovering over the arm brace, come down to rest on the cold metal. The effect is instant: no crumbling, no slow decay—it’s there, and then it’s dust. His quirk in action, boosted by yours.

“What—What are you doing? What did you just do?” You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tight by your collar. His other hand comes up to grip your chin, and in one long sloppy stroke, he licks you from your neck up to your jawline.

You shudder. So does Shigaraki.

“It’s my quirk,” he tells you slowly. His breath is steamy warm on the cold, wet trail of saliva painting your throat. “Decay. Have you heard of it?”

You flinch away from his hand and your back falls against his chest. Of course you’ve heard of the Decay quirk. You might be a rookie, but even civilians know about the young, impetuous head of the League of Villains. Jesus, how had you not recognized him earlier? White hair, red eyes…you should have known. You should have left him under that beam. “Shigaraki…Tomura.”

“So you’re not completely clueless. Do you know me, then?” Dabi asks. He would think he’s the more noticeable of the two (the burn scars usually identify him), but you just stare up at him with the same deer-in-the-headlights look as before. Smirking, he lights a blue fire in his palm and it jumps up toward your face—not just the small spark he intended, but a bright, high flame. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

“The Forest of Beasts incident. You’re the one who started that fire,” you whisper. You’ve seen the TV coverage of the attack on UA’s training camp, the abduction of that teenage student, the forest lit up blue from wildfire. No wonder his skin looks burned.

“Dabi,” he corrects you.

Breath is coming out of your mouth in shallow puffs. Are you hyperventilating? Is this what hyperventilating feels like? You’re definitely panicking. They’re so close to you, caging you in between them. The smoke from the blue fire is uncomfortably hot over the exposed skin of your face, and Shigaraki’s lethal hands are still touching you. If they want to kill you—and why wouldn’t they?—you’re fucked.

The flame goes out and Dabi’s hands come down to squeeze your wrists. His palms are hot like he was holding them in front of a lit stove. It’s not painful, but it’s a threat.

“I’ll fight,” you say.

Your voice is trembling, and Shigaraki likes it. The effects of your quirk, the way he felt when he licked your face… And you’re afraid. He can see it in your shoulders, the quivering of your torso pressed into him. It’s nice. He wants to feel it more.

You’re struggling against their hold, and Dabi feels the urge to laugh. “You’ll fight…the two of us.”

“If you try to kill me, I’ll—“

Before you can finish your sentence, Shigaraki’s hands flit down to your metal support gear and disintegrate it. Shit. He’s fast, and you’re helpless.

Dabi releases your wrists and cups your face in a mockery of intimacy. His eyelids flutter closed as his skin meets yours… Fuck, he could get used to this. You smell so good, sweet and soft and clean, like fruity shampoo. What is that, watermelon?

Life must be difficult for you, hm… Everyone around you must want to touch you constantly. It seems like Shigaraki enjoyed licking you—maybe bodily fluids are an even stronger conductor of your quirk? Pushing easily past your resistance, Dabi forces your jaw upward and kisses you.

Oh…yesyesyes, just like that. Perfect. Dabi has to bite down a groan as his tongue enters your mouth. It’s ridiculous for someone else’s spit to taste this good, but he’s right—your quirk is amplified by the contact from the kiss.

After a moment he has to break it to regain focus and make sure he’s not burning you. You cringe away from him, your cheek brushing against Shigaraki’s neck, but Dabi tangles his hand in your hair to pull you back. He runs a finger against your closed lips, letting the pad of his fingertip heat up until your mouth drops open in response to the threat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, voice laced with revulsion. Privately, you agree. What’s going on? You were sure you were about to be either burned to a crisp or decayed into the equivalent.

Dabi laughs under his breath. “Try it. It feels crazy good.”

Curious now, Shigaraki wrenches your head around and tilts your jaw up to repeat Dabi’s action. When you refuse to open your mouth, he taps your jaw warningly and a hiss of fear escapes you. Would he really kill you? He decayed your support gear so quickly—would it be the same for your body?

Well, what’s going to stop them?

You open your mouth.

Shigaraki’s lips are harsh and unsentimental against yours. His tongue sweeps over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He grips you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold with your head twisted toward his. You’ve never been kissed like this before. His spit—it’s in your mouth.

And Dabi’s hands are on your waist. “How do you get this thing off?” he murmurs, pinching the fabric of your bodysuit.

A surge of panicked adrenaline gives you the strength to pull back away from Shigaraki. “What? No, you can’t!”

“Are you going to stop us, little sidekick?” Dabi mocks. “I think I can burn it off without too much damage.”

“Let me.” Shigaraki takes hold of the cloth, careful so when it dissolves into dust his hand isn’t touching you, and within a second—a second—you’re left shivering in just your underwear and boots.

“Help!” The plea squeaks out and you hope blindly that there’s a hero close enough to hear you. But is there even anyone who can fight them? You certainly can’t. “Help me! Somebody!”

“Shut up.” Dabi sends up a tongue of flame from a fingertip and you shriek as the heat sears against you. “Oh, come on. You should feel lucky. Bad guys like us usually don’t hesitate to take heroes out.”

“I don’t— Please, I’m just a sidekick, I’m a rookie— What do you even want from me? Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone! Please let me go.”

“Well, I think I know what I want.” Dabi traces circles over the tender skin of your hips, playing with the elastic of your underwear. He meets Shigaraki’s eye over your shoulder. “I think he wants that too. Right?”

“Yeah, I want…I want to fuck her,” Shigaraki hums. This isn’t like him, but he can’t help himself. You’re different. Leaving you here and never feeling this stimulant again isn’t an option. He buries his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, bites down on the soft skin there, and sucks.

You whimper, half from his answer and half from the sensation of his chapped lips on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you smell like something I want to eat. Especially this.” Dabi kneels down in front of you and hitches one of your legs up over his shoulder so you feel his hot breath washing over your clothed pussy.

You whine and attempt to wriggle back away from him, but Dabi’s grip on your thigh holds firm. His other hand brushes against the fabric of your panties to rub up against your slit and another surge of panic jumps up your throat. You can’t let him do this.

You kick your foot against his back, desperately attempting to make contact using the heel of the high boot that’s the only piece of outerwear still left on your body. It hits him awkwardly and he growls. “Damn it. Can’t you keep her busy?”

“Ahh…” Shigaraki ceases his oral assault on your neck and scratches a fingernail against one of the bright red marks marring your skin. He feels almost dizzy from the way your quirk is affecting him. Behind him, the broken expanse of wall digging into his back is the only thing keeping his focus. “Behave, sidekick.”

Before you can respond to the mocking title, Shigaraki’s face is against yours and his tongue is in your mouth again. Rough fingertips work up under the band of your sports bra and pushes it up over your tits. You screw your eyes shut at the sudden feeling of cold air on your nipples, and you know without looking that they’re standing up. Shigaraki gropes you thoughtlessly, keeping one finger lifted off of your skin, and you gasp on his tongue.

“That’s better.” Dabi’s mouth returns to brush against your panties. To be honest, eating you out isn’t the first thing on his mind. What he wants—what he really wants—is to shove you up against the wall and fuck into you and find out what your quirk feels like when you’re wrapped around his cock. But you’re probably not wet enough for that, and it’s not like Shigaraki is going to do anything to take care of you. Dabi would be surprised if the other man’s ever eaten pussy before in his life.

Besides…you smell good. It’s not even just the feeling of your quirk exciting him. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy is inches away from him, and Dabi is dying to make you cum in his mouth.

A moan curls up from deep in your throat as Dabi caresses the lips of your pussy through your underwear. You don’t bother protesting—at this point, it’s unlikely that any plea you could muster would stop them. Your earlier begging didn’t do much besides spur them on, but you still cry out as softly as you can when an unnaturally warm fingertip slips under the cloth of your panties to dip into your slit.

“Oh? You’re wetter than I expected. Are you enjoying this?”

Your frantic denial falls on deaf ears. Shigaraki rasps out a laugh and bites down on your neck again. He’s supposed to be keeping you still, but he can’t help enjoying the way your almost-naked body feels as you press yourself back into his chest, trying to force some space between yourself and Dabi.

Your squirming is no problem for Dabi, though—you’re so soft and vulnerable and the velvety skin of your inner thigh looks so delicious… He nuzzles against the area of bare skin and latches on to it, sucking until he’s sure you’re going to have a mark in a few minutes. The thought of leaving hickeys on you like a teenager is sickeningly nostalgic. You’re probably going to try to forget this when they’re done, aren’t you? But you won’t be able to, not when you’re covered in love bites and bruises. You’re going to be marked up for weeks.

Fuck, he’s hard.

Too impatient to bother taking off your panties, Dabi just pushes them aside to gain access to your damp cunt. His fingers feel hot—too hot, almost unbearably hot; you feel like you could melt into a puddle and your pussy is certainly slick enough as he pets your clit and slides one finger in, then two… You whimper and shake your head, silently denying what’s happening to you. The intrusion is uncomfortable, but Dabi’s fingers quickly find that rough patch inside of you that makes you want to beg like an animal. You hate it, but it feels good.

“She’s so tight,” Dabi says with something like awe in his voice. You can hear Shigaraki panting behind your back.

“Get on with it,” Shigaraki says.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

For a second you just feel Dabi’s humid breath against your dripping cunt before he closes the space between the two of you and his tongue slides onto you, laving over your cunt to come to a rest on your clit. A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before forces its way out of your mouth as Dabi eats you out in earnest, rubbing his tongue against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gives you no time to catch your breath.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Your head rolls back onto Shigaraki’s shoulder. You feel like crying for a million reasons at once. Maybe you’re already crying—the sounds you’re making are almost like sobs. You want him to stop. You never want him to stop. Your hands twitch as you fight the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your thighs.

“Fuck, oh fuck, no stop please stop, ah…!” The stream of gibberish coming out of your mouth crescendoes into a real sob as you feel your climax coming. No—you can’t—you can’t cum here, in this broken-down bar, on the tongue of a villain, but it doesn’t matter that you can’t, because you’re going to cum anyway.

“Please don’t, please let me go—“ You writhe uncontrollably as the desire to cum sweeps over you, but Dabi just curls one arm around your thigh and pulls his face away so he can push his fingers back in, angling his palm to grind roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm wet softness of his tongue is enough to push you over the edge and you cry out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Dabi’s fingers as he works them in and out of you.

Unable to support yourself, you crumple like paper, and only the two villains you’re sandwiched between keep you upright.

“Fucking finally,” Shigaraki growls, and he pushes you down so your knees scrape painfully into the rubble. Your earlier resistance was cute, but so is your dazed compliance as he pulls your hips up to meet his.

“You’re going first?” Dabi asks incredulously. After he did all that work getting you off? No way.

“You can use her mouth,” Shigaraki tells him. His cock is straining against his pants and he groans as he releases it and rubs it over your panties. He could decay them, but…they’re cute. Pale pink, peach-pink, except for the wet spot over your cunt. Precum is already dribbling out of his cock as he pulls your panties to the side and lines it up with your pussy. Jesus-fucking-christ, you’re wet, sopping and slimy. Doesn’t that mean you’re begging to get filled up? Shigaraki hears himself sigh as he slides the head of his cock up and down your slit so it’ll be wet enough to go in.

You’re still out of it, dizzy from your orgasm and the tension of the situation, but you snap back to your senses with the feeling of something hard pushed up to your entrance. “Wait!” you yelp for what feels like the hundredth time. The gravel scattered over the wreckage where you’ve been forced onto your hands and knees digs painfully into your flesh as you pull away from Shigaraki, but he holds fast to your hips with pinkies raised.

“Uh-uh,” Dabi admonishes with a grin, as if he’s reprimanding a dog for not coming when called. He settles himself in front of your front and kneels again. Your hair is mussed but still silky soft and he takes a moment to enjoy the way the strands slip over his skin before he tangles his fingers close to your scalp and yanks your head in his direction, forcing your cheek to chafe against the crotch of his pants. It’s not difficult to tell what the the thick bulge is through the fabric, and you try to flinch away only to be caught again and immobilized.

“You’re going to take care of us,” Dabi tells you. “Like I took care of you. Okay?”

No, it’s not okay, it’s absolutely not okay, and you would say so if you didn’t see Dabi’s expression darken at your obvious denial and feel a wave of acrid heat coming from his hand in your hair. The smell is worse than the feeling, honestly—you’ve had enough run-ins with hair curlers and flat irons to recognize the smell of hair when it’s three seconds away from burning. “Okay! Okay,” you answer, panicked, voice muffled by the fabric of Dabi’s pants.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and the heat fades.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Shigaraki says from behind you.

“Then don’t.”

You whine, too scared to try to get away again or even plead with them to let you go, but it doesn’t matter. Shigaraki’s cock presses into your pussy, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him as he slides into you, inch by inch, torturously slow. Is there anything to bite down on? You need to do something, anything to distract from the pain of Shigaraki’s cock stretching you out. He’s big, impossibly big.

Eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip until you can taste copper and scrabble around blindly until your hand finds loose fabric to grip. It’s something of Dabi’s, probably the coat he’s wearing if you remember correctly, but your brain isn’t exactly working right at the moment—

“You were right…shit, she’s…she’s so fucking tight.” Shigaraki’s voice is low and labored with the effort of not thrusting into you all at once. “Feels like…she’s trying to push me out…”

Fuck it, he thinks. Would it really be so bad if he did push all the way into you in one stroke? It’s better to just get it over with, isn’t it? Yeah…you’d probably prefer him to do it quickly. And besides, he can’t wait another second to feel you all the way up to the base of his cock.

Your strangled whimper is drowned out by his satisfied groan as he shoves the rest of the way into you in a single sudden thrust. The pain knocks the breath out of you in a gasp, and your eyes fly open as you clutch Dabi’s coat like a lifeline.

“It hurts—!”

“Yeah…yeah, I bet it does,” Shigaraki pants, holding your hips steady as he thrusts in and out of you. The bored nonchalance of earlier is gone, replaced by a feral intensity as his cock carves its way through your pussy. If you didn’t know better, you’d think there’s something affectionate in his voice.

For Shigaraki’s part, he can hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped over his dick. It’s taking every vestige of concentration he has left to make sure he’s holding a single finger on each hand away from your skin. It’s pure bliss. Your body was made to be fucked like this. He wants to live inside your pussy, he wants to do this every day, every minute. Fucking you raw is the best he’s felt in months…years. And it doesn’t hurt that your quirk is still working on him, still sending pleasurable shocks of energy that make him feel simultaneously like he could keep you pinned down for hours and like he could cum any second.

“Oh, she’s crying,” Dabi says, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes. You flinch and try to jerk your head away, but his hand is still holding you by your hair and he’s so much stronger than you are. They both are, even without using their quirks. “Look at me.”

You comply, more by reflex than any real desire to obey. It’s pretty striking to Dabi how cute you look as Shigaraki pounds into you so fast and deep you can hardly catch your breath. Your eyes are glittering with unshed tears, your tits bounce with every thrust, and you’re still holding onto Dabi’s coat like your life depends on it. It’s almost like you’re pulling him closer. Adorable.

“She can…take it,” Shigaraki responds breathily between thrusts. “Such a good whore, taking my big cock in her tight little pussy…”

The backhanded compliment jars you and you feel hot tears spill over your cheeks. “I’m—not—a—whore,” you manage to say, each word punctuated with Shigaraki’s skin slapping against yours.

“Really?” Shigaraki’s pace slows and he leans closer to you so he can reach an arm around and swirl two fingers against your clit. You mewl like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation and he laughs rudely. “Feels so good…can’t believe the heroes don’t want to fuck you like this all the time…”

You shake your head desperately and bury your face in Dabi’s chest, barely noticing him stroking your hair and then reaching down to unzip his pants.

“No, no, I bet that’s what you do as a sidekick, right?” Shigaraki’s thrusts are back to frenzied jerks, and he rubs over your clit just as roughly. “Spread your legs for your hero…you’d make a great personal cocksleeve. Or maybe they rotate you around so every pro hero gets a turn…?”

“No, I don’t! No! Ah— ahnnn…” The denials pierce the air uselessly as the villain’s cock fills you up again and again. You’re not a whore, you’re not…even if it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the growing pressure of Shigaraki teasing your clit in time with his cock rubbing against your sweet spot. It still hurts—he’s so big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had sex with before, but there’s no way you’re going to admit to yourself that it’s starting to feel good.

“…Is my cock better than All Might’s?” Shigaraki’s words are cut off by his own grunt of pleasure as your cunt twitches around him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi cuts in. “I’m sick of hearing a guy’s voice moaning. I’m going to get soft.”

Past the point of comprehending the situation, you look up at him gratefully, only to reel back in shock as Dabi frees his own cock from his pants and it brushes against your cheek. Trying to pull away from him is more instinct than rational thought, but he holds you just as easily as before and forces two fingers into your mouth. You tense, ready to bite down, (and hopefully take a few knuckles off) but he sees it coming and suddenly your mouth is horribly burning hot.

“You’re going to suck my cock now,” says Dabi conversationally, extinguishing the flame almost as soon as he started it. It’s not so bad—probably more like a coffee burn than anything else—but you’re coughing and spitting anyway. “Say yes.”

“…Yes,” you whisper, voice barely intelligible.

“Good little sidekick. And you’re going to be very careful. You’re not going to use teeth.”

You nod, unable to mount a defense with Shigaraki mercilessly fucking you from behind.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeal as Shigaraki finds a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

“Good.” Dabi drags your head down to hover over his cock and massages your jaw until it falls open. “Suck.”

One of his hands falls to your shoulder to try to stabilize you, but you can’t help feeling the threat in the motion. You quickly duck down and attempt to ignore the heady smell of sweat and precum as you trace your tongue up the underside of his dick. He’s big too, maybe thicker than Shigaraki, and you hate yourself for feeling lucky that it’s not this cock inside your pussy right now.

The stunt Dabi pulled burning your mouth made you salivate, and you let drool coat your tongue as you lick around the head. But it’s not working—you rock forward every time Shigaraki stuffs his dick back in your aching pussy, and Dabi’s cock smears over your mouth haphazardly.

“I said suck. Not lick.” Suddenly (although you don’t know why you keep expecting some kind of warning before these villains find a new way to violate you), Dabi grabs the back of your head and shoves his cock into your mouth. Your throat constricts involuntarily as the thick head triggers your gag reflex, and all three of you shiver in unison.

“Do…do that again,” Shigaraki says, voice strained. “She tightens up…when you do that.”

Dabi smirks and thrusts into you again, relishing the warm, humid cavern of your throat around his cock along with the pure swell of energy from your quirk enhancing his. His rhythm matches Shigaraki’s and his cock hits the back of your throat with every rapid pump, making you gag and clench like you’re trying to milk the cum out of him. What a perfect little slut… He can see from Shigaraki’s sloppy movements that you’re squeezing around his cock every time too.

The feeling of having one villain cock buried in your pussy while another ravages your throat is unthinkable, even more so with Shigaraki’s fingers on your clit coaxing out an earth-shaking orgasm. But you’d almost be able to forget what’s happening—god knows you’re delirious with sensation, barely able to keep track of who’s doing what to you—if not for the sound. The wet slap of Shigaraki’s hips against your ass, the horrible squelching from your (dripping wet, even if you don’t want to admit it) pussy as his cock pistons in and out of you, your choked moans and gagging noises, and above it all, the unrestrained voices of the villains fucking into you.

You feel like a fuck toy, a sex doll, used without mercy by the two most evil people you can think of…and you’re about to cum.

Your voice is getting louder by the second, and the pulsing of your cunt around Shigaraki’s cock is telling him exactly how close you are. He curls his body over yours to get a better angle to rub your clit, enjoying your high-pitched whine in response. “Yeah…that’s right…good girl. Cum on my cock…like a good little sidekick.”

You keen and goosebumps rise on your skin as Shigaraki licks at the sheen of sweat on your back. He feels your climax almost as soon as you do… If your scream wasn’t stifled by Dabi’s dick in your mouth, everyone within a one-mile radius would know you were getting fucked silly, yeah? The walls of your pussy clamp down on Shigaraki’s cock, your body begging for his cum, and he grips your ass to make sure you can’t get away as he comes to his own orgasm inside of you.

Fuck… Shigaraki could die right now and be happy. He keeps stroking your clit, knowing it’s cruel, knowing you’ll be overstimulated and sensitive and that it’ll hurt to keep touching you like this after you already came, and not caring because every time the tips of his fingers push that little magic button, you shiver and squeeze him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

Shigaraki gives a few last thrusts, pushing his cum deeper into your body, fucking it into you so you’ll be dripping white for hours, and then finally pulls out. The slurping sound your cunt makes as his cock leaves your pussy is obscene. So is the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connects your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulls it away. He loves it.

Knowing that Shigaraki came—inside you, no less, the inconsiderate bastard—Dabi grips the back of your head and tugs you down to deepthroat him. Your walls twitch involuntarily and Dabi groans, letting himself shoot his load down your throat. “Yes…yeah…yeah…just like that. Swallow.”

You don’t swallow. You don’t do anything but gag on his cum and gasp as he thrusts into you. Dabi pulls you off of him, annoyed and ready to threaten you into submission again…until your head lolls to the side and he can see that your eyes are closed.

“Shit, she passed out.”

“…What? Are you kidding?”

Dabi slaps your face lightly. You wince in your sleep but don’t wake up. “Nope. Must’ve been when she came the second time.”

“Is she…” Shigaraki trails off, not sure how to end the question. ‘Okay’ isn’t exactly right.

“She’s breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The two of them wait for a moment, but you don’t move. When he catches his breath, Shigaraki wipes off his dick and pulls up his pants. Dabi does the same. Without them holding you, you flop down into the fetal position on the broken concrete. “What now?” Shigaraki asks.

Dabi wipes the sweat from his forehead. “You tell me, leader. I’m surprised Kurogiri hasn’t opened another warp gate to get you back. Guessing you don’t have your phone either?”

“…We can go to Giran’s place to meet up. They’re probably waiting for us there,” Shigaraki says, scratching at his neck.

“Do you have cab fare?”

“I don’t have my wallet on me. You?”

“Not enough for a cab. We’ll have to take the train. You can owe me.”

Shigaraki looks down at you. You make a pitiful scene, naked except for your boots, sports bra, and cum-soaked panties. Your neck is bruised red and purple, and you’re shaking, shivering in the cool air now that the sun has sunk further toward the horizon and you’re not being touched. “Are we going to leave her here?”

“What, you want to bring her on the train with us? You don’t think that’s gonna look suspicious?”

“Well…” Their eyes meet and Shigaraki knows Dabi’s thinking the same thing he is. You have a lot of potential as an asset. They haven’t even had the chance to see how your quirk boosting works in combat, but Shigaraki almost wants to pick a fight just to give it a try.

And fighting power aside, Shigaraki isn’t a fan of the possibility that he’ll never get to fuck you again.

“Yeah, I know. But she’s a pro hero’s sidekick. She can’t be too hard to find.” Dabi shrugs off his coat and crouches next to you. You’re limp enough that he has no trouble lifting you into his lap and guiding your arms through the sleeves of his coat. Once you’re wrapped in the black fabric, he does up the buttons, combs through your hair with his fingers, wipes the mixed cum and spittle off your chin, and admires his handiwork. Sure, anyone looking closely at you will know at least a little about what happened—you’re still sweating in the cold, you have that undeniable ‘just got fucked’ look all over you, and the smell of sex is overpowering. But at least you won’t have to walk back to the rescue tent in your filthy underwear.

In your sleep, you nuzzle into Dabi’s chest, reaching blindly toward the source of warmth. He grins and strokes the back of your neck, soothing warm fingers over the bruised skin there and enjoying his last opportunity to touch you and feel your quirk working…for now, at least. “You know, I wonder why villains don’t get sidekicks. Seems a little unfair, right?”

Shigaraki’s sneer matches Dabi’s as he bends down to run his fingernails over your cheek, almost hard enough to hurt. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

[strangeinvader9]

Retrograde: Megatron’s Death

Optimus POV

“Wait, don't go anywhere yet. Sandra's still up there,” Sam alerted me once he was secure on my chest.

What? I thought frantically as my spark began to hum painfully. My partner, my dearest friend is up there with him? I heard Megatron shout out in pain, followed by a feminine scream of agony, and suddenly, Sandra jumped off the Primus forsaken building! Thankfully, I was quick enough to catch her as well before I began to fall back to the ground. She was shaking. Badly. Though from pain or terror, I couldn't tell. After Megatron jumped after her and we both hit the ground, I wanted to scold Sandra. She had promised to be safe and then did something so incredibly reckless, I thought my spark was going to stop. And yet at the same time, I wanted to pick her up and smother her in kisses, relieved that she was actually safe; harmed in some way, but safe.

Sandra POV

I ached all over which told me I wasn't dead after all. My body seemed to spasm in pain and terror before a familiar voice called out, “Sandy, you're alright.”

Eyes snapping open, I sat up and looked around to spot Sam alive. “Sammy!” I exclaimed, launching myself at him in a hug. “You're alive! But how?”

“Optimus saved us.”

I looked down and realized that Sam and I were sitting comfortably on Optimus's chest. I felt relief and joy momentarily wash over me before dread sank in. “Oh, shit I'm in trouble,” I grumbled.

“What'd you do?” Sam asked, knowing it was something reckless.

I looked down, poking my indexes together and blushing faintly. “I may have pissed off a warlord by denting his plating, pulling out a few wires, throwing a metal pipe at his face, and flipping him the double birdie.” I actually heard Sam facepalm. “You're an idiot, Sandra.”

I was about to reply when I noticed Megatron getting up. “I'm out!” I quickly scrambled off of Optimus and ran for cover, Sam not far behind.

“It's you and me, Megatron,” Optimus said as he stood and prepared to fight the Decepticon leader.

“No, it's just me, prime,” Megatron argued.

“At the end of this day, one shall stand, one shall fall.” “You still fight for the weak! That is why you lose!” Megatron grabbed Optimus and threw him to the ground.

“Fighter jets in 60 seconds,” I heard one of the soldiers say.”We got friendlies mixed with bad guys. Targets will be marked.” “Hey,” another soldier replied. “Bring the rain. All right?” “All right, let's kill these things. Move, move, move!” “Remember, aim low. Armor's weak under the chest. Target marked. Still waiting.”

I watched as Megatron and Optimus battled it out. Another Decepticon began to creep up on the two, looking like a Blackhawk helicopter. Oh, this doesn't look good. Is that a flail? I wondered, noticing something on the other Decepticon's arm was rotating dangerously. The Blackhawk noticed one of the green lasers on its arm and turned to the soldiers.

Before I could really think, I picked up a nearby brick and threw it at it. It turned quickly and shot some sort of cannon.

“Fuck!” I yelped, barely able to jump out the way. Hearing a motorcycle startup, I noticed one of the soldiers driving towards the helicopter Decepticon. I watched as he got up to speed, dropped the bike, skidded beneath the 'con, and fire under the chest plate so it could die.

I turned my attention back to Megatron and Optimus to see Optimus getting his ass handed to him. “Optimus, get up! C'mon, you can't lose like this!” I called out.

Multiple shots fired at Megatron distracted him from attacking me as I ran to the Prime. I grabbed one of his exhaust pipes and shook it slightly. “Prime, you have to get up! We can't win this fight without you, get up!”

Optimus didn't say anything. Simply lifted a hand to gently caress my cheek with his thumb. I knew this was his way of saying goodbye. Heart clenching painfully, I kissed his cheek before stepping back. I couldn't say the actual words, but hopefully, he knew I was accepting his decision. F-22s began firing at Megatron and he stumbled a bit. The Decepticon leader went after Sam, but Optimus swung his arm out to trip him.

“I'll kill you!” Megatron hissed out at Sam, crawling after him. “Mine! All Spark!” “Sam! Put the Cube in my chest! Now!” Optimus ordered, rolling to his stomach.

Sam ignored him and ran to Megatron.

Wait a minute.  Is he going to-? “Sam! No, Sam!”

Sam thrust the cube up and it separated and fused into his chest. Megatron choked, gurgled, and spazzed a bit before collapsing to his back, dead.

I collapsed as well, wanting to cry in relief. Noticing Ironhide and Ratchet walk up, I did cry when I noticed Ironhide was carrying the dismembered body of Jazz. “You left me no choice, brother,” Optimus commented to Megatron, removing a piece of the cube from his chest. “Sam, I owe you my life. We are in your debt.” “Prime, we couldn't save him,” Ironhide commented. “Aw, Jazz. We lost a great comrade but gained new ones. Thank you, all of you. You honor us with your bravery.” “Permission to speak, sir?” Bumblebee suddenly spoke up, shocking several of us. “Permission granted, old friend.” “You speak now?” Sam asked. “I wish to stay with the boy.” “If that is his choice.” “Yes.”

With the All Spark gone, we cannot return life to our planet. And fate has yielded its reward, a new world to call home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight, but watching over them in secret, waiting, protecting. I have witnessed their capacity for courage. And though we are worlds apart, like us, there's more to them than meets the eye. I am Optimus Prime and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars. We are here. We are waiting.

I stood in my house, cleaned up a bit, and the scratch on my back stitched up. My father was ranting at me about disappearing for a few days like I had, but I wasn't listening. My mind was drifting elsewhere. Catching a spot of color in the corner of my eye, I glanced over and smiled, noticing Optimus watching over me a few houses down so he'd be slightly inconspicuous. I said slightly, he's a red and blue Peterbilt for Pete's sake, it's hard to miss.