#not many soldiers left who will race roche

[browniefox]

Anyway one of my theories/Headcanons for ffviir is that there’s not that many SOLDIERS left so they kind of let them do whatever they want bc they’ll probably degrade soon anyway, and trying to keep those guys under control is rough, which is why Roche just kinda does whatever seemingly.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Vernon Roche | Fights, Fangs And Fucking

Requested by Kayrash via Discord

Vernon Roche joins Geralt on a contract concerning vampires. When the fight proves more difficult than expected, Roche runs into a cave system to hide. Enter a powerful higher vampire, who hasn't seen such a handsome mortal in a long time...

Word count: 3900+ Relationship: Strangers

Vernon Roche was not one to pass a challenge soon. If anyone wished to test his skill, his worth of being a commander, his dedication, he’d never bat an eye. Tonight was no different.

Roche was seated at the Temerian Partisan Hideout, leaning on a makeshift bar a few of his men had come up with. In the haphazardly created camp, it was not bad. He was enjoying a bottle of ale, though it was stale and had lost most of its flavour. Around here, there wasn’t a lot to expect from luxuries like alcohol.

Lo and behold, Geralt of Rivia had dropped by. Vernon, he wasn’t half bad to offer said witcher a drink for the road. And thus, he found himself tipsily leaning on the wooden crates that sufficed for bar, and took a large swig.

“Tell you what I think, Geralt.” he said, “Slaying monsters can’t be that difficult, now can it? It’s like hunting Squirrels but less… Intelligent ones.” Though Roche had given up chasing the damn elves some time ago, mentioning them being intelligent still made him slightly cringe, even though said words came from his own mouth. Geralt smiled a little behind his ale, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Imagine a person of any race, but venomous and way quicker. Sharper teeth, too. And claws, not to forget.”

“You only have to slay a monster a handful of times before you learn its weaknesses, no? Besides, you’ve got bestiaries. Non-humans and other vermin prove to be quite unpredictable. No book can actually describe their next move, or their intentions.”

Geralt scoffed, humming in discontent. He reached for his pocket, taking out a messily folded piece of paper. “Then I believe you’d see no problem in joining me on my next contract, hm?”

Vernon Roche unfolded it, reading over the details of the job. He thickly swallowed, but held his unfazed posture. A flock of lesser vampires terrorized the outskirts of Velen. Strange, since when did these beasts move up north? “Of course not. We can leave whenever you want.”

The witcher smirked, finishing off his drink before slamming it down onto the bar firmly. Vernon slightly jumped at the loud sound. “Okay. Let’s leave right now, then.”

Roche was slightly taken aback by the sudden need for departure, but he couldn’t back away now. “Sure.” he hummed, taking a small sip from the bottle. “I need to get some supplies, but then we can go.”

Geralt was patient enough to let Roche gather some equipment before patting onto his trusty steed’s back, coaxing her to wait a little longer. “I have no horse available.” Vernon said, hoisting a bag over his shoulder. Estimating by the darkness outside and the faint glimmer of a star here and there, it must be far past midnight. Geralt held out his hand for him to take.

“Come on, then. Ride with me, it’s quicker that way. You can hold that lantern, too.” Vernon looked at the lantern he had strapped to his hip, a candle flickering inside of it. Geralt didn’t need the light, but he figured Vernon would enjoy the idea of being able to see in this dark night.

The commander held onto his friend, who brought Roach into a steady gallop soon enough. Even though Velen wasn’t too close to the hideout, it should only take them a few hours to get to the location mentioned in the contract. It was close to Crow’s Perch, but Vernon did not know who the current head of town was. He had caught wind of Phillip Strenger hanging himself, leaving him wondering how the disease-ridden the no-mans-land was doing.

“Lesser vampires,” Geralt mumbled, “should not prove too difficult if you carry the right amount of bombs and blade oil with you. Here,” he handed Roche a vial of a dark red liquid, “Grease your sword with this as soon as we arrive.”

“I spoke with the contract-giver, and there should be around five lesser vampires roaming about. Two-hundred gold I bargained, of which a hundred upfront. I will pay you twenty percent after this.”

The ride was long and pesky, but Geralt’s horse was fast and left Vernon Roche with just a dull ache in his thighs. He’d certainly feel that tomorrow, the commander thought, but what was that compared to the fight he was about to get into? He had to learn to not run his mouth so often. Lucky for him, the daze of the ale had already worn off.

Per Geralt’s instruction, Vernon coated his blade with the substance, handing the remainder back to the witcher. The White Wolf threw back a few potions Vernon did not know the name of – after all, Black Blood was not a commoner’s liquid – and chased away Roach. Geralt looked around with dark eyes, as if he had already sensed something in the air that any other could not hear nor smell.

“Get ready.” he growled lowly, the silver of his blade shimmering in the moonlight. “They’re creeping closer.”

The first one showed up quicker than expected and shortly left Vernon frozen in his spot, but he managed to deflect the lash aimed at him. Geralt soon intervened, slashing the head of the katakan clean off.

“Holy fuck!” The commander had to prevent himself from covering his mouth because of the stench – this was different up close. Sure, he had smelled corpses feasted on by ghouls on abandoned battlefields, maggot-filled men that had been dead for weeks, but being actually covered in blood and whatnot from a monster like this; it had him startled.

A loud cry from one of the creatures pulled him to his senses again, and he parried, managing to strike the beast across its snout. It certainly showed agony from the pain the oil caused, but it did not falter for long. Roche slashed off one of the katakan’s front paws before finishing it off by stabbing it in the skull.

Geralt on the other side had already killed a few of the agitated creatures, though confusion visible in the knitting of his brow. Hardly breaking a sweat, he turned to Roche, who was having a difficult time killing a weaker one than the one before.

“It’s way more than the contract stated!” “How many are there?!” Roche quizzed over the sound of screams and cries. “At least thirty! They spread faster than-“ Geralt momentarily paused to strike a fatal blow across one of the lesser vampires.

“They’ve spread faster than I expected.” From the distance, a new wave was already approaching, seemingly furious about their slain kin. “Will we manage?” “Not a chance. Not with this amount of blades and oil.”

Before Roche could ask on, he was already attacked once again. He dodged the blow, but stumbled back because of it. “Geralt!” he shouted, “What will we do now?!”

“Run and hide, Roche! Into these caves! I need to make some potions and oil!” was the witcher’s answer. Vernon had no time to respond to his friend – the White Wolf had already bolted. He cursed silently between gritted teeth, cutting the lesser vampire provoking him fatally across the chest.

He ran after Geralt, finding the cave-system easily enough, but navigating them proved way more difficult. “Geralt?” he called out, his voice echoing against the walls. Soon enough, he lost all vision.

“Geralt!” he spoke up again, but there was no response from the witcher in question. Vernon padded his sides for the lantern he had brought. In his pocket were a few matches. When blinded by darkness, lighting one was no easy task, but he succeeded after breaking a couple.

The small flame illuminated the cave, revealing its size. Vernon nearly forgot that he had to hold the match against the oil-drenched wick to prevent it from disappearing. The space was way larger than he had expected and a shiver ran down his spine. “Geralt?” he called once more. Loneliness crept up on him…

…Just like something else did… A pair of dark eyes peered at him from the ceiling, shimmering in the light of the flickering flame. Roche reached for his sword, but he froze when six other pairs of eyes seemed to aim at him. That same sound he had heard moments ago while fighting vampires rang in his ears.

So, this is it, then? Vernon thought as he saw the beasts approach, appearing way larger in the ominous space. The commander grabbed his blade nevertheless, taking on a fighting stance. It would be of no use.

Three of the beasts came at him simultaneously and Vernon slashed his sword through the air, haphazardly swinging it from side to side. He hit the vampires, but only hard enough to make them stagger momentarily.

The other four katakans took their chance and lurched forward, aiming for Roche’s neck. However, when they were about to give him the fatal blow, they halted in their actions, as if thoroughly distracted from their task and unknowing of his presence.

All seven katakans shied away like a scolded dog with its tail between its legs. They scurried off as if afraid of what was lurking in the shadows. Or better said… whom.

“What mortal goes there, dares to intrude?” A feminine voice pierced the air, clear as day. The hairs of his neck stood on end at the sound of it, fear immediately tugging at his conscience. He regained his cool posture soon enough, but the creature seemed to have already smelt it.

You approached from the shadows, eyes as dark and shimmering as the ones of the katakans had been. Your pupils were wide blown and showed no colour around them. “Who are you?” Roche asked, tone shivering and giving away his emotions.

“I could ask you the same, soldier.” As you spoke, Vernon could see the sharp fangs you momentarily bared. A vampire, but different. Roche frowned – a higher vampire?

“Who are you to enter my cave without any kind of invitation?” you hissed, inhaling his scent deeply. Slowly, you started to walk around him as if sizing him up, attempting to intimidate him. He was a rather delicious-looking piece of meat. It had been a while since you’ve had your fill of lust and blood.

To Vernon, it seemed as if you were floating around him, the padding of your bare feet inaudible, absent. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, wrapping his fingers around it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Of course, as a vampire, you took quick notice of his actions.

You halted in front of him, eyes resting on his face before falling to the heavy pendant around his neck. “Ah, the Blue Stripes… Tell me, how badly do you want to return to your Temeria?”

You were toying with him, and it was working. Roche swallowed thickly whilst your gaze pierced through him. “I… I can just head out if you show me the way.”

A dissatisfied tut left your heavily painted lips. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, no mortal should disturb a higher’s rest. Didn’t they teach you that at army school?” For a moment, you took the metal pendant in your hand, tugging at it firmly. It came dangerously close to snapping.

“I’m the fucking commander. Of course I know about the danger surrounding monsters.”

Putting a hand on your heart, you feigned hurt. In the dim light of the lantern, you made sure that he was seeing you pull down your gown a little more, revealing more of your cleavage.

“You think me a monster? Oh, I’m thoroughly offended, sir.”

Once again, you walked around him, but now halting behind his back. You stood on your tiptoes, breathing heavily in his neck. “Good thing I’m parched.” Vernon visibly cringed at the feel of your fangs scraping against the nape of his neck. “A handsome commander’s blood should just suffice.”

Before Roche could attack, you were already gone. He stood rather awkwardly and confused with his sword in hand, looking around frantically around him. A shiver of mist soon approached, accompanied by a giggle. “Oh, commander.” you basically purred, “You’re not getting it, do you?”

Suddenly, the sword was flung from his grip as if it was nothing. It clattered against the wall somewhere nearby. Roche was defenceless, now…

“Stop lurking in the shadows like a coward! Show yourself if you’re going to rob me of my belongings!”

“Oh, there is no shadow for me, sir.” you replied, circling around him in a misty cloud. He nearly dropped his lantern onto the ground from fear, shivering on his feet. Vernon Roche was never afraid – except now.

“I can see all. I can smell how scared you are of me. How endearing.” “What do you want to do with me?!” Roche spat, “There is a witcher nearby! He will find us and kill you!”

Soon, you turned into your corporeal shell again, your (h/c) flowing over your shoulders as you stopped in front of the commander. He slightly parted his lips at the sight, not able to talk for a moment. He wanted to shake the thought off but failed: You were absolutely gorgeous. It must be a trick, he fooled himself.

“Not only do you show disrespect by trespassing, you threaten to kill me and to top it all off you throw a witcher into the mix? Very interesting, commander.” You leaned in closer, bringing your face to his.

Vernon closed his eyes at the feel of your breath on his lips, entranced at your approach. “You know nothing about higher vampires, do you?” Your lips ghosted over his chin, softly brushing his stubble. “You’re lucky that it’s been awhile since I’ve… Been this intimate with a mortal. How about I don’t kill you… For now.”

His eyes snapped open at the suggestion but he was soon surprised by the feel of your fangs against his neck, scratching the skin slightly yet not to the point of breaking. Breath hitching in his throat, Roche braced himself against you, gripping your waist out of pure instinct.

You lightly giggled, dragging your tongue over the spot you’d damaged. “Tell me, commander. Ever done it with a monster before?”

“Stop playing your games, vampire. You should be impaled with a stake through the heart.” “You believe I have one?” he could practically feel your smirk. “A heart, I mean.”

“Don’t think I will tolerate this behaviour!” “Says the man who’s got his hands on my hips.”

Vernon realized where his hands had been resting and you pulled your face from his neck, giving him an endearing smile. He gazed down at you, biting his bottom lip while deliberating. A gentle reminder about what you wanted; you pressed your hands against his chest and ground your hips forward against his groin.

The commander groaned lowly and allowed you to press your lips to his. Yours were surprisingly cold but showed passion nevertheless. He was hungry for more and let you know by pushing his tongue forward, attempting to roll it into your mouth.

Interesting and needy, you thought to yourself, smirking at the swell of his erection in his underpants. Mortals can be so easily coaxed into anything.

Vernon Roche tasted unlike any other you’d ever tasted. It caused a pool of heat to course through your abdomen and the numbing spot between your legs. His hands carded themselves through your hair, feeling each strand carefully as if it was the softest material he had ever felt. It had been so long ago since he’d touched someone like this that he couldn’t help himself.

An experienced kisser like you must’ve been with many men before, Roche shortly speculated. Your nimble fingers showed no sign of struggle with undoing the belt around his waist, letting it fall to the floor with an echoing thud. Vernon slightly jumped at the sudden noise, but you showed no such reaction.

Instead, you dragged your fangs across his throat, enough to leave marks that did not bleed, as if a cat had scratched him. They stung a little, spurred on by cold air. “Is this what you want, commander?” you purred, voice not louder than a whisper. Roche opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly you evaporated into mist right in his hands.

You circled him, starting around his ankles, all the way to his face. “Tell me…” you whispered in his ear from behind, causing him to confusedly look around. “Oh, your body tells me enough. And your heartbeat…”

As if there was magic involved, Roche’s trousers became undone. Invisible hands tugged it down to his ankles and he was unable to respond properly. Ashamed, he closed his eyes when his erection popped from his underwear, throbbing and swollen with need.

“What a sight.” you sincerely murmured, sneaking your hands around his armour to push it off his shoulders. Roche was entranced by the feel of you so effortlessly unclothing him, clouding him completely. He shivered from the cold hitting his skin, and when you reappeared in your tangible shell, it only intensified. You were stark naked, your body unlike any he had ever seen.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a man so handsome.” you mused, sinking to your knees. Experienced, quick and nimble fingers wrapped around the hilt of his cock, testing the waters. Roche groaned, almost too overwhelmed to be able to stand on his legs. He kept his ground and simply watched when your dark red lips wrapped around his tip.

You always enjoyed the flavour of human sperm on your tongue, giving it an extra swirl around his foreskin before pulling it back around the sensitive circle around his shaft. An extra treat; not better than blood, but just as enticing.

He slipped further into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat. You didn’t gag, looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, his face a blur through your lashes. He was thoroughly liking this, you noticed in his composure.

Vernon bit his lip, deliberating whether it would be appropriate to put a hand in your hair. He decided against it, putting it to his side instead, figuring you a creature that liked to be in charge. Never before had he felt a mouth so soft and refined, yet so demanding.

He gritted his teeth, hissing when you mouthed the sensitive spot under his head, making it tremble against your bottom lip. A small laugh left your lips, but Roche couldn’t figure out if it was meant as playful or mocking.

“You… You’re pretty.” he said within grunts. Momentarily, you paused your lapping at his cock to laugh. “A man gets blown by a total stranger and all he can say is that she’s pretty.”

You stood up, releasing the weight of his erection to put your hand against his chest instead. A hungry kiss, animalistic, needy. Vernon dared to put a hand behind your neck to pull you closer. When your teeth clashed together, you pulled back, frowning with a smirk forming at the corner of your mouth. “You’re amusing, commander.”

“Roche.” “Huh?” “Roche. My name.” “Oh. Roche. As in…  Cockroach?”

Vernon scoffed humourlessly. “My friend has a horse named Roach. Same pronunciation. Different spelling though.”

Long fingers rested at the nape of his neck where you put your hand. For a second, you scraped your nails against the scruff where his stubble began.

“Enough trivial talk.” you whispered. “Roche.”

You looked as if you were hovering over the cold floor when you slipped past him, leaning against the wall with your hands. You bent forward slightly, looking over your shoulder at him. “Down to business, no?”

You allowed him to rest his hand on your hip, his fingers soon exploring the (s/c) skin of your flesh. His gaze halted at your core, dripping with need. “You haven’t told me your name.” he replied, moving to stand behind you. In a complete state of trance, he guided himself inside of you, slipping past your folds without a lot of effort.

Biting your bottom lip, you breathed out a moan. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Just feel nice inside me, alright?” You didn’t have to repeat yourself, your simple request spurring the commander on to start fucking you. Though his thrusts were slow, testing out your depths, you enjoyed the girth of his cock moving in and out of you.

When he found a steady rhythm of his hips, Vernon Roche tried maintaining the pace, earning a few moans from you. You braced yourself against the wall, throwing back your head in enjoyment. Judging by his movements and the way he twitched inside of you, it was clear that he hadn’t gotten action in a long time.

It was wrong to blame him for it – you were just as touch-starved. It had been ages since an attractive human had dared set foot near your hideout, let alone cross paths with you. And thus, you found yourself joining in his movements, rolling against him to the point his skin slapped yours with every thrust.

“Make sure your witcher friend won’t notice us!” you teased. “What would he think of walking into us like this? Seeing you balls deep in a higher vampire.” You had to prevent yourself from bursting out into laughter. “Oh, you’re twitching… Are you close, commander?”

His cock once again throbbed inside of you and you moved your hand between your thighs to stimulate your clitoris. “What a man you’d be if you wouldn’t let me cum first, huh?’ you taunted, soon chasing after your high. Roche’s grip on your ass tightened whilst he quickened the speed of his stuttering hips. Your cunt clenched around him, drawing him closer, closer, closer…

And then he burst inside of you, stilling in his movements, eyes snapped shut. A groan escaped his throat, one that had been building deep inside his lungs ever since the build of his release. Your orgasm was quieter. Why would you give him the satisfaction? You’d seen what such pride could do to mortal men… It was a nice pulsating of your clit accompanied by the heat of his cock still buried deep inside of you.

Roche sighed, sweat trickling down his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, removing himself from your heat. Seed trickled down your thighs. The air was immediately colder again. Perhaps it was the sweat on his body cooling off, Roche thought.

And as to where your clothes had so quickly disappeared, so quickly they had returned to your form. You moved over to the commander, who was still standing with everything out for all to see. You leaned in and kissed him chastely on the lips, smiling while pulling back.

“Thank you, commander Roche. Tell your witcher friend I said hi.”

Before he could ask what you meant, he heard footsteps around the corner. “Roche? I've slayed the remaining vampires! Roche?!” Geralt’s raspy voice sounded, out of breath though concerned.

With a giggle, you moved away from the commander, your final question to him a whisper. “Will you come to visit me again one day?”

You blew him a kiss, and he didn’t get the chance to reply, because you had disappeared before he knew it.

“There you… What the fuck?”

Geralt shielded his face from the naked commander, who was hastily looking for his undergarments. Getting lost in a cave system and then being found in the nude like that, smelling of sex? Vernon Roche definitely had some explaining to do, over a cup of cheap wine on their way back to receive the contract’s pay.

[holdin-out-for-a-hero]

Creep- FFVII Biggs X Reader Ch.6/?

Summary: you get on the bad side of one of Corneo’s men and now you have a target on your back

A/N: sorry it took so long! I hope to post a chapter at least once a week but we’ll see how if works out...

The sound of a revving engine could be heard from behind, as well as a maniacal laughter. It grounded you back into the present reality; a reality where you weren't safe and neither was your team.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath before looking behind. This new threat didn’t look like any typical Shinra troop, for troops were stripped of their identities and forced to wear the same uniforms. But this man was different. He wasn’t wearing one of those ugly helmets or uniforms, and his bike wasn’t typical either. Instead, the man wore his hair in a long mullet with the front slicked back. His outfit still seemed military-grade but personalized. And to top it all off, he rode a vibrant red bike. He held his sword out in front of him, size comparable to cloud’s buster sword. Could be be another soldier?

You stared a second too long, for he met eyes with you and sent a wink. You turned back around and sped up. Please, not another weirdo.

"Who's that?" Jessie asked.

"A SOLDIER," Cloud answered her. You were correct, then.

You pulled out your gun, ready to take out the man's tires and send him flying off the back of his bike just like you did with some of the previous troops. As you turned, though, he sped past you.

"Well, hello!" The man greeted your group, a sickening inflection to his voice.

"Who's this?" Biggs asked.

"Too quick for the eye, you cross him, you die!" The man replied. Oh, he was definitely a weirdo. He turned his head to look back at Cloud, "Now, mind if I cut in?"

He waited just a moment for an answer, and upon not receiving one, answered the question himself.

"Splendid, I've been looking for a new dance partner!"

The man spun his bike backwards and with the swing of his sword sent some sort of long-range attack your way. Whatever projectiles his sword had just formed, they mimicked beams of light. They were surely from whatever materia he had equipped, but you couldn’t tell which one.

Cloud swerved them effortlessly. You and Wedge: not so much. You had slid past one at the last second, and you could feel the white-hot warmth pass so close to your face.

"Private party, huh? That's fine. I'll settle for a race then. Just one."

"You talking to me?" Cloud asked.

"I most certainly am," the man said, his smirk could be heard in his words.

"Then no."

"Ah, so terribly sorry! Your words fail to reach my ears, sluggish and slow as they are!"

Yes, the man was a threat, but it was hard to see him that way since he was so... peculiar. He knew his was around both a motorcycle and a sword, surely he had many fatal tricks up his sleeve, and yet you couldn't help but cringe at everything he had to say. He took a real interest in Cloud, you noticed, probably because he recognized him as another soldier. You hoped Cloud would hurry up and take him out.

"What's this guys deal?" Jessie asked.

"The lady's curiosity has been peaked!" He replied, "My name is Roche, but you can address me by the more accurate appellation: Speed Demon."

"Heard that, huh?"

Roche laughed, "My ears are attuned to the feminine voice!"

You looked over to Jessie, who shared the same expressions as you: shock, discomfort, a little disgust. So he was a creep, too. Great.

"Ewww," slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. You hoped he didn't hear.

"Ugh, this guy is the worst!" Jessie seemed to agree with you.

Upon hearing that, Roche sent more light projectiles back towards your group, you dodged again, slightly smoother this time. Cloud dodged effortlessly just like before, and sent his own flying attack to the man.

"Yes, this is the contest I've been waiting for!"

Cloud caught up to him, readying the buster sword. Upon seeing this, Roche smiled and readied his own weapon. With one strike, cloud had become the catalyst of their sword fight. Sparks flew as their swords scraped against each other, the clinks of metal deafening.

Then Roche sped up again, creating distance between him and using his long-range light attacks. These ones were only focused on cloud; he couldn't dogde them. Instead, he held up the buster sword as a makeshift shield. The force of the attack made cloud's bike shake as the light splintered off of his blade.

Roche has completely forgotten about you, Wedge, and Biggs. His focus was on Cloud and Cloud alone. Maybe because he was a SOLDIER? You didn’t know for sure. But since he was busy, it meant that meant the three of you were safe from those long range attacks. 

Cloud sped up to meet Roche, sword ready to take him out. A maniacal laughter bubbled from Roche's chest as their swords met again. It must have been the thrill of danger or rush from speed that had him so giddy. Maybe he got off on it or something... But if he was fighting with cloud, he was gambling with his life. You hadn't known the mercenary that long, but he could handle a sword; that was abundantly clear.

You worried for Jessie, though, she was caught in the middle of it all. You hoped she hadn't gotten hurt. If she got hurt on Cloud's watch, you'd tear him a new one. But she was probably fine, she could handle her own. Besides, she had her own sub-machine gun. Wait, why wasn't she helping cloud using her gun?

Wait, why weren't YOU helping cloud and using your gun? Roche was distracted, you could easily speed up and take out his tires or something.

So that's what you did. As you sped towards them, you noticed Roche's demeanor. He was slouched, breathing heavily and holding onto his bike. Maybe cloud didn't need any help after all. You hand didn't let up on the throttle, though.

"You had enough?" Cloud asked.

"Don't be absurd," Roche looked up, flashing a nasty smile, "As if I could ever grow tired of your company." You were beside him now, aiming your gun at his front tire. Before you could shoot, though, he turned to look at you.

"I really hate to do this, but you’re being awfully naughty.” He said, same devious inflection as before.

And then, before you even had a chance to think, he had knocked you off your bike with his sword.

"Y/N!" Jessie yelled.

One second you were in control of the situation, in control of your bike, and the next, you were headed towards the wall. The first part of your body to make impact with the wall was your hip, nerves igniting like fire as the rest of you ungracefully met with the wall.

For a moment, you couldn't process anything. The white-hot pain in your hip and shock of the moment completely shut down your mind. But then you opened your eyes, and you saw the sky again. Those swirling blues, you wished you could look at it forever...

"Y/N!" A voice called, it was Biggs. Wedge had thrown a U-Turn as soon as he saw you get knocked off the bike.

Your awareness came back to your body, mind processing what had just happened. You were thrown off of a motorcycle, and now you lay on the ground. Your hip hurt like hell, and you were sure you had a few scrapes as well. You could feel them burning...

"Y/N!" Biggs jumped off the back of the bike and ran towards you, kneeling down by your side. He glanced up and down your body, looking for any sign of injury. And then he looked into your eyes, “Are you ok?”

The words met your ears, but you couldn’t seem to form a response. That was until you heard more bikes, coming in as backup for Roche. It tore you from your daze, and with your hands you pushed your torso up from the ground. Biggs looked towards the source of the sound, noticing how quickly it was getting louder.

“Im fine,” you said, panicked, “We gotta go!”

He jumped up, lifting you off the ground too, before checking to see if you could stand. Although your hip still hurt, it wasn’t enough to keep you from walking. Once he had established that you were actually ok, he grabbed your wrist and ran for you bike. It was a good couple yards from where you had landed. He lifted it up from the ground, cranking the throttle to see if it still worked. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when it revved to life. He took the front, and you hopped onto the back.

"Hold on," he said before taking off. And you did, you held on for your life. Your hands dug into the fabric of his shirt and your face pressed against his back, breathing in that familiar scent in a futile attempt to calm yourself down. It wasn't helping very much on its own, but the warmth of his body seemed to aid it in calming your breathing.

He sped across the tracks, trying to catch up with the others and avoid those troops. The rush that riding a motorbike once gave you had left, being replaced by dread and fear. How could you have possibly enjoyed this before?

But it was Biggs, he knew what he was doing, you reminded yourself. You trusted him.

Still, you didn't dare look back up.

Eventually you both reached your friends; Cloud had just beat Roche and then quickly took out the troops trailing you and Biggs. And that was the end of the danger, for now at least.

"Y/N, you ok?" Jessie asked, and you turned to look at her for a moment and nodded, which was a mistake, as you immediately got anxious noticing how fast you were going.

The rest of the ride was done so in silence. It didn't take long to get to Jessie's stop. You finally felt the bike slowing down, which you were grateful for, and eventually it came to a full stop. You unlatched from Biggs' back before anyone could see how tightly you held onto him.

He got off of the bike first, turning around to help you up before thoroughly checking for injuries. Jessie and Wedge approached you, too. The mercenary watched the scene from a few feet away, his arms crossed. Wedge kept some distance. Biggs and Jessie, however, didn't seem to take personal space into consideration. You understood they were worried, but you felt suffocated by their gazes and proximity.

"You didn't hit your head, did you?" He asked, taking your face in his hands and turning it to the sides to check for any injury. You swatted his hands away, hoping he didn't see your red face.

"No, Just my hip, but I think it'll be ok."

"Are you sure?" Jessie asked, placing her hand on the uninsured hip to see if it was the one. You stopped her before she touched your other hip.

"Well, I'm standing on it right now, so I think so," you couldn't help the attitude seeping into your tone. You were just in a traumatizing accident, heavily embarrassed because of it, and now being smothered by your friends. Not to mention everything that happened that morning and the day before. The past 48 hours have been hell...

"Watch the 'tude, missy," Jessie said to you, and you had to bite the inside of your cheeks and take a deep breath to keep from snapping. A chuckle escaped Biggs' chest, he must have seen your reaction. His laugh seemed to ease some of the forming tension.

"My mom's got stuff to patch you up," Jessie said, taking you arm into her hands as she looked at your scrapes, "But how are we gonna explain this to her?”

"I tripped?" You suggested.

"That'll work. She might pry, though, so you better get your story straight now."

After you assured them that you were fine and that you could walk, the five of you headed out into the sector 7 business quarters. You really hoped they hadn't noticed your slight limp... it couldn't be too noticeable. After the initial impact of your hip against the concrete wall, the pain died down to a manageable ache. And though you knew it wasn't all that serious, you knew there would be a big, purple bruise there tomorrow.

The business quarters were immaculately clean, with real roads and concrete instead of the dirt grounds of the slums. There was a car in every driveway; a luxury that no one under the plate had, for there weren't even streets to drive them on. The differences between the slums and topside were so astounding that you, biggs, Wedge, and even Cloud had to look around in amazement. Jessie was used to it, though.

Biggs stopped in his tracks to stand in front of a pro-Shinra sign, crossing his arms as he read the words; they were all lies. You stopped by it too, cringing at the propaganda.

"Disgusting," you said quietly, and he hummed in agreement. There was a moments pause as you both glanced closer at the sign, taking in the pictures and their irony. It was a moments pause made much longer because you were both painfully aware of it.

"So... how are you holding up?" He asked, turning back to you.

"What?" You looked up at him.

"Emotionally, I mean. How are you holding up?" You glanced at him for a second, taken aback by the question.

"Well, uhh... I just got thrown off of a motorbike. I have a gang after me. Could be better," you averted your gaze, looking to the street lamp instead, "It's been a hectic 48 hours..."

“Tell me about it.”

“It just feels like its never gonna end.”

"Look," he began, and you looked him in the eyes, "It's a lot right now, I know. But we're gonna get through it together, ok? This will all pass."

Your heartbeat quickened, his kindness was fueling that stupid little crush of yours.

"We better head back to Jessie," you said. So the both of you turned to walk away. Then he took your hand in his own and squeezed. How could he be this kind, this caring? And why was he so dead set on not letting you suffer alone? You had to ask. You took a deep breath. "Why are you putting up with this? With all the trouble I've caused us both recently?"

"Because I-," he stopped himself, and instead chose to rephrase whatever he was about to say, "Because that's what friends do... Let's go, can't keep Jessie waiting."

So the two of you walked towards Jessie's childhood home, hand in hand, like friends do. Just friends. But you wondered what he was about to say just a moment ago...

"Took you two long enough!" She said, hands on her hips. Wedge stood beside her, and Cloud was... leaning on the left side of the house? Was he not invited in? Knowing him, he probably didn’t want to go in, so you didn’t mention it.

As you two approached, Jessie turned around and walked up to the house. She stopped just steps away from the front door. Turning around, she made eye contact with you and Biggs.

"Just remember, my mom thinks me and you are dating," she said to Biggs, before looking back at you, "So none of that sexual tension stuff, ok?"

Your heart skipped a beat when she said that, and you took your hand out of his grasp. "What do you mean?"

"Don't act dumb," she rolled her eyes at you before knocking on the door.

You took a step away from Biggs, crossing your arms and looking in the other direction. His gaze hit the concrete below him, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“But there’s nothing between us,” Biggs said. Causing Jessie and Wedge to laugh.

“Whatever you say,” Wedge replied.

The front door swung open, revealing Jessie's shocked mother. Her expression changed to a smile as soon as she laid eyes on her daughter. You felt sorry for Jessie, you really did. Because she had to live a double life, lying to her ever-supporting mother who was blissfully unaware of Shinra's sins.

"Jessie, what a surprise!" She said, looking from her daughter to the many other faces on the other side of the doorframe, "And you brought your friends! Here, come inside!"

[loqis]

kunselxsoldier​:

“There’s a boss monster around here, we called it The Black Wind when we were kids.” Thought it was a scary story the adults of the Slums told them to keep them from playing in the old scrapyard, but Kunsel had seen it. He had seen it coming and taking away his friends when he was nothing more than a scared kid with his knees knocking together.

“It shows you memories to try and lure you to it.” Eligor. Now he was older and had studied some classes of monsters, Kunsel knew what it was and its power level - it was a boss. “We can’t take it with just the two of us, so we’re gonna avoid it okay?” Moving behind Loqi so he could keep eyes behind them, Kunsel followed the blond into the next platform suspended above what had once been a station many years ago.

‘A SOLDIER …’ Loqi’s whisper was loud in his mako-enhanced hearing and Kunsel immediately dropped down into a crouch too, pulling out his issued broadsword and trying to mentally run through who was left in the ranks for Shinra to send after them. There was Roche, but he doubted the company would send the 3rd Class after them - he was a loose canon.

Seeing the silhouette under them and he let out a sad breath, something catching in his chest when he saw the familiar build. There were a hundred-and-one memories running through his mind, but all Kunsel felt was a sadness. “It’s another trick, move on ahead.”

Pressing a hand to Loqi’s back, the 1st Class couldn’t quell the disappointment in his gut. For a tiny split-second he had almost believed the apparition. He wanted to believe it. It wasn’t fair. ‘Loqi, come quickly! Your brother’s home, your father and I are off work. We’re going out for a family dinner.’ A woman’s voice, clear and faultless in her elocution; she sounded familiar to him for some reason. The silhouette of a little blond boy raced over to the woman and she planted a kiss on his forehead. “It’s just a trick Loqi, don’t fall for it.”

What Kunsel told about this Black Wind monster sounded like it was perfectly cut from one of these horror movies that Loqi and his comrades had sometimes enjoyed going to after a shift.

But that these things existed in reality...

It had Loqi become tense. The self-sure confidence he had had at the beginning of the train graveyard had vanished completely. He did not like it here at all, finally he could understand the former SOLDIER's opinion of this place. He just wanted to get out as fast as possible.

Watching the illusion, Loqi knew it was not true. Kunsel reminded him of that, too. And yet he had to look at it for a little while longer. His mother... she would be caught up in this mess. So would his father. Reno was already tangled in it and probably tried to figure out which strings to cut and which to connect.

“My family is in shit because of me.”

Mumbling that, Loqi shook his head before continuing his lowered down walk across the platform, away from the illusion of his mother and his own younger self.

In that way Kunsel had it easier, he did not have to care for anyone besides himself. But only now did Loqi realize the burden he had loaded onto his family with what he had done. There was a silence following after them, across the entire hall. Another room to go through, just as messed up as the last. Some glowing handprints and paintings here and there. Another platform – and finally a ladder down to the ground again. The exit wasn't that far from here.

Jumping down onto the ground, Loqi looked around – and froze when he saw someone walking just behind the next container. Vanishing there.

For a moment he had seen a black suit. A signature relaxed stride. And a metal electro-mag rod being tipped against the man's shoulder. Reno. Definitely Reno. No transparent look to him. No glow.

Looking to Kunsel quickly, eyes wide and with the question whether he had seen that man, too. Could he hear the footsteps, too?

[forsoothsayer]

The Plague Column by Jaroslav Seifert

To the four corners of the earth they turn: the four demobilized knights of the heavenly host. And the four corners of the earth are barred behind four heavy locks. Down the sunny path the ancient shadow of the column staggers from the hour of Shackles to the hour of Dance. From the hour of the Rose to the hour of the Dragon’s Claw. From the hour of Smiles to the hour of Wrath. From the hour of Hope to the hour of Never, whence it is just a short step to the hour of Despair, to Death’s turnstile. Our lives run like fingers over sandpaper, days, weeks, years, centuries. And there were times when we spent long years in tears. I still walk around the column where so often I waited, listening to the water gurgling from apocalyptic mouths, always astonished at the water’s flirtatiousness as it splintered on the basin’s surface until the Column’s shadow fell across your face. That was the hour of the Rose. You there, young lad, do me a favour: climb up on the fountain and read out to me the words the four Evangelists are writing on their stone pages. The Evangelist Matthew is first. And which of us from pure joy can add to his life’s span one cubit? And what does Mark, the second, write? Is a candle bought to be put under a bushel and not to be set on a candlestick? And the Evangelist Luke? The light of the body is in the eye. But where many bodies are thither will many eagles be gathered together. And lastly, John, the favourite of the Lord, what does he write? He has his book shut on his lap. Then open it, boy. If needs be with your teeth. I was christened on the edge of Olsany in the plague chapel of Saint Roch. When bubonic plague was raging in Prague they laid the dead around the chapel. Body upon body, in layers. Their bones, over the years, grew into rough-stacked pyres which blazed in the quicklime whirlwind of clay. For a long time I would visit these mournful places, but I did not forsake the sweetness of life. I felt happy in the warmth of human breath and when I roamed among people I tried to catch the perfume of women’s hair. On the steps of the Olsany taverns I used to crouch at night to hear the coffin-bearers and grave-diggers singing their rowdy songs. But that was long ago the taverns have fallen silent, the grave-diggers in the end buried each other. When spring came within reach, with feather and lute, I’d walk around the lawn with the Japanese cherries on the south side of the chapel and, bewitched by their aging splendour, think about girls silently undressing at night. I did not know their names but one of them, when sleep would not come, tapped softly on my window. And who was it that wrote those poems on my pillow? Sometimes I would stand by the wooden bell tower. The bell was tolled whenever they lifted up a corpse in the chapel. It too is silent now. I gazed on the neo-classical statuary in the Mal Strana cemetery. The statues were still grieving over their dead from whom they’d had to part. Leaving, they walked slowly with the smile of their ancient beauty. And there were among them not only women but also soldiers with helmets, and armed unless I’m mistaken. I haven’t been here for a long time. Don’t let them dupe you that the plague’s at an end: I’ve seen too many coffins hauled through this dark gateway, which is not the only one. The plague still rages and it seems that the doctors are giving different names to the disease to avoid a panic. Yet it is still the same old death and nothing else, and it is so contagious no one alive can escape it. Whenever I have looked out of my window, emaciated horses have been drawing that ill-boding cart with a gaunt coffin. Only, those bells aren’t tolled so often now, crosses no longer painted on front doors, juniper twigs no longer burnt for fumigation. In the Julian Fields we’d sometimes lie at nightfall, as Brno was sinking into the darkness, and in the branches of the Svitava the frogs began their plaint. Once a young gipsy sat down beside us. Her blouse was half unbuttoned and she read our hands. To Halas she said: You won’t live to be fifty. To Artus Chernfk: You’ll live till just after that. I didn’t want her to tell my fortune, I was afraid. She seized my hand and angrily exclaimed: You’ll live a long time! It sounded like a threat. The many rondels and songs I wrote! There was a war all over the world and all over the world was grief. And yet I whispered into jewelled ears verses of love. It makes me feel ashamed. But no, not really. A wreath of sonnets I laid upon the curves of your lap as you fell asleep. It was more beautiful than the laurel wreaths of speedway winners. But suddenly we met at the steps of the fountain, we each went somewhere else, at another time and by another path. For a long time I felt I kept seeing your legs, sometimes I even heard your laughter but it wasn’t you. And finally I even saw your eyes. But only once. My skin thrice dabbed with a swab soaked in iodine was golden brown, the colour of the skin of dancing girls in Indian temples. I stared fixedly at the ceiling to see them better and the flower-decked procession moved round the temple. One of them, the one in the middle with the blackest eyes, smiled at me. God, what foolishness is racing through my head as I lie on the operating table with drugs in my blood. And now they’ve lit the lamp above me, the surgeon brings his scalpel down and firmly makes a long incision. Because I came round quickly I firmly closed my eyes again. Even so I caught a glimpse of female eyes above a sterile mask just long enough for me to smile. Hallo, beautiful eyes. By now they had ligatures around my blood vessels and hooks opening up my wounds to let the surgeon separate the paravertebral muscles and expose the spines and arches. I uttered a soft moan. I was lying on my side, my hands tied at the wrists but with my palms free: these a nurse was holding in her lap up by my head. I firmly gripped her thigh and fiercely pressed it to me as a diver clutches a slim amphora streaking up to the surface. Just then the pentothol began to flow into my veins and all went black before me. There was a darkness as at the end of the world and I remember no more. Dear nurse, you got a few bruises. I’m very sorry. But in my mind I say: A pity I couldn’t bring this alluring booty up with me from the darkness into the light and before my eyes. The worst is over now, I tell myself: I’m old. The worst is yet to come: I’m still alive. If you really must know: I have been happy. Sometimes a whole day, sometimes whole hours, sometimes just a few minutes. All my life I have been faithful to love. And if a woman’s hands are more than wings what then are her legs? How I enjoyed testing their strength. That soft strength in their grip. Let those knees then crush my head! If I closed my eyes in this embrace I would not be so drunk and there wouldn’t be that feverish drumming in my temples. But why should I close them? With open eyes I have walked through this land. It’s beautiful -- but you know that. It has meant more to me perhaps than all my loves, and her embrace has lasted all my life. When I was hungry I fed almost daily on the words of her songs. Those who have left hastily fled to distant lands, must realize it by now: the world is terrible. They do not love and are not loved. We at least love. So let her knees then crush my head! Here is an accurate catalogue of guided missiles. Surface-to-air Surface-to-surface Surface-to-sea Air-to-air Air-to-surface Air-to-sea Sea-to-air Sea-to-sea Sea-to-surface Hush, city, I can’t make out the whispering of the weir. And people go about, quite unsuspecting that above their heads fly fiery kisses delivered by hand from window to window. Mouth-to-eye Mouth-to-face Mouth-to-mouth And so on Until a hand at night pulls down a blind and hides the target. On the narrow horizon of home between sewing box and slippers with swansdown pompoms her belly’s hot moon is quickly waxing. Already she counts the days of the lark though the sparrows are still pecking poppyseed behind frost-etched flowers. In the wild-thyme nest someone’s already winding up the spring of the tiny heart so it should go accurately all life long. What’s all this talk of grey hair and wisdom? When the bush of life burns down experience is worthless. Indeed it always is. After the hailstorm of graves the column was thrust up high and four old poets leaned back on it to write on the books pages their bestsellers. The basin now is empty, littered with cigarette stubs, and the sun only hesitantly uncovers the grief of the stones pushed aside. A place perhaps for begging. But to cast my life away just like that for nothing at all -- that I won’t do.

[allspark]

IDW Publishing have released their solicitations for their Transformers and other Hasbro Universe titles due for release in August 2018. Read on to check them out!

After reading the solicits below, head over to the Allspark Forums to discuss them with other fans!

As with the July solicitations, be aware that the below solicitations contain MAJOR SPOILERS for Optimus Prime #17.

Cover A – Alex Milne

Cover B – James Raiz

Cover RI – Guido Guidi

Transformers: Unicron #3 (of 6)—Cover A: Alex Milne—SPOTLIGHT

John Barber • Alex Milne (a & c)

Unicron approaches Cybertron, so Windblade enacts a desperate plan—one neither Optimus Prime nor Starscream agree with! Has Windblade outmaneuvered Shockwave’s machinations—or played right into his deadly hand?

FC • 32 pages • $4.99

Transformers: Unicron #3 (of 6)—Cover B: James Raiz—SPOTLIGHT

John Barber • Alex Milne (a) • James Raiz (c)

FC • 32 pages • $4.99 

Bullet points:

Variant covers by Nick Roche, and Francesco Francavilla!

Cover B – James Raiz

Transformers: Unicron #4 (of 6)—Cover A: Alex Milne—SPOTLIGHT

John Barber • Alex Milne (a & c)

Unicron sets his sights on Earth… but is anyone left to defend it?

FC • 32 pages • $4.99

Transformers: Unicron #4 (of 6)—Cover B: James Raiz—SPOTLIGHT

John Barber • Alex Milne (a) • James Raiz (c)

FC • 32 pages • $4.99

Bullet points:

The destruction continues! We’re halfway to the end and Unicron is winning. Will Optimus and his allies be able to save anything?!

Connecting B covers by James Raizfeaturing destruction at the hands of Unicron!

Covers by fan-favorite Transformersartists of the past decade!

Variant covers by Guido Guidiand Francisco Francavilla!

Cover A – Kei Zama

Optimus Prime #23—Cover A: Kei Zama—SPOTLIGHT

John Barber • Priscilla Tramontano (a) • Kei Zama (c)

The battle against Unicron forces Optimus Prime’s colonist soldiers to contend with a brutal reality—they have no homes to return to. But when they make a move against Trypticon, the human-controlled home of the next generation of Cybertronians… can the end be far behind?

FC • 32 pages • $3.99

Optimus Prime #23—Cover B: Priscilla Tramontano—SPOTLIGHT

John Barber • Priscilla Tramontano (a & c)

FC • 32 pages • $3.99

Bullet points:

Tie-in to the Unicron event!

Part of the summer of Transformers—all building up to the end of the universe as we know it!

Variant cover by Kei Zama!

Cover A – Jack Lawrence

Cover RI – Jack Lawrence

Transformers: Lost Light #23—Cover A: Jack Lawrence—SPOTLIGHT

James Roberts • Jack Lawrence (a & c)

The final battle is here! Bots will live, bots will die, and the craziness can only increase! We’re halfway through a finale six years in the making! And if you’ve ever loved a bot, you won’t want to miss this.

FC • 32 pages • $3.99

Transformers: Lost Light #23—Cover B: Geoff Senior—SPOTLIGHT

James Roberts • Jack Lawrence (a) • Geoff Senior (c)

FC • 32 pages • $3.99

Bullet points:

Lost Light’s grand finale kicks into high gear!

Bringing the story to a close at long last—and everyone’s involved!

Don’t miss the B cover by beloved Transformersartist Geoff Senior!

Variant cover by Geoff Senior!

Cover – Nicoletta Baldari

Transformers: Bumblebee—Win If You Dare

James Asmus • Marcelo Ferreira (a) • Nicoletta Baldari (c)

Life can feel rough when you aren’t the fastest, or the bravest, or the tallest Autobot, and Bumblebee’s feeling the pressure. When he’s hurt, Bumblebee takes it upon himself to prove his worth to his fellow Autobots. Things get tense as ‘Bee and his new human companion race into action hunting down dangerous foes and a devastating device. It’s ready, set, go in this new exciting ’80s adventure packed filled with laughs and thrills!

TPB • FC • $9.99 • 72 pages • 6” x 9” • ISBN: 978-1-68405-227-1

Bullet points:

Advance solicited for September release!

The first Bumblebee original graphic novel!

Bumblebee: The Moviepremieres in theaters December 21st, 2018.

Transformers: Bumblebee Movie Prequel #3 (of 4)—Cover A: Andrew Griffith

John Barber • Andrew Griffith (a & c)

Energon is Forever. It’s war in the streets of swinging 1960s London, baby—and it’s freaking Bumblebee out! The Decepticon scheme to lure the world’s top espionage organizations into war shifts into high gear—so Bee and his super-spy friends call in some international help!

FC • 32 pages • $3.99

Transformers: Bumblebee Movie Prequel #3 (of 4)—Cover B: Fico Ossio

John Barber • Andrew Griffith (a)• Fico Ossio (c)

FC • 32 pages • $3.99

Bullet points:

The prequel to the new Bumblebeefilm (coming this winter), geared toward a younger audience!

Sometimes serious, sometimes campy action spy adventure for fans of James Bond or Mission Impossible!

Black and white variant cover by Andrew Griffith!

Transformers: Lost Light, Vol. 3

James Roberts • Alex Milne, Brendan Cahill, Jack Lawrence (a) • Jack Lawrence (c)

Crammed into a dead Decepticon astropod that’s 10 sizes too small, the displaced crew of the Lost Light faces their most serious threat yet: each other. No worries though, Rodimus can save the day! Or maybe they’ll all die… Plus, the Scavengers have never had it so good. The war is a receding memory, their patchy service records have been forgotten, and the five of them can roam the galaxy as they please. All’s well that ends well? Not quite. Collects issues #13–18.

TPB • FC • $19.99 • 144 pages • ISBN: 978-1-68405-331-5

Bullet points:

Advance solicited for September release!

Winner of the Comixology Award for Best Ongoing Comic Series of 2017 as well as Best Writer for James Roberts!

Offered Again!

Transformers Lost Light, Vol. 1 • FC • $19.99 • ISBN: 978-1-63140-992-9

Transformers Lost Light, Vol. 2 • FC • $19.99 • ISBN: 978-1-68405-148-9

Cover – Loston Wallace

Rom: Cold Fire, Hot War

Chris Ryall & Christos Gage • David Messina, Ron Joseph, Paolo Villanelli (a) Loston Wallace (c)

The evil Dire Wraiths have escaped to Earth but are hounded by a Knight of the Solstar Order, the one feared more than all others. He is Rom, the Wraith-slayer. Rom, the Spaceknight!

Having followed the Dire Wraiths across the galaxy to Earth, Rom finds they have infiltrated all levels of society, hiding in plain sight. Replacing many humans in key leadership positions, the Wraiths’ plan to dominate the planet—and everyone in it—is gaining momentum. But Rom finds resistance from the humans as well, who fear he is just another alien invader. He is joined in the battle by two other Solstar Knights… but are they here as friends or foes?

Collects all 14 issues of the series, the 2017 Annual, and the Rom: Revolution one-shot.

TPB • FC • $29.99 • 312 pages • ISBN: 978-1-68405-278-3

IDW Publishing Solicitations for August 2018 IDW Publishing have released their solicitations for their Transformers and other Hasbro Universe titles due for release in August 2018.