[Whumptober prompt, Oct 19: Living Weapon]

They don't have a name. They don't need one. Just a glimpse of their distinctive blood-red cloak is enough to terrify their enemies. They are "the Blade" and that is enough.

They walk down the halls of the ship their group has boarded. Their footsteps echo as they stalk their prey.

A door opens. A cowering human shoves himself further into a corner. "Please," he begs.

The Blade lifts their own blade. One movement, and blood begins to pool as they walk away.

The next door takes a moment to open. "Ugh, outdated fascist technology," mutters a voice in the Blade's earpiece. But it does open, and more blood is spilled to the sound of screams.

Slice. Stab. Move on. Dispassionately, the Blade dispatches one after another of these pathetic creatures. Will anyone mourn them? Certainly not the Blade.

Now for the commander. Surely, he is terrified: he knows the legends; he's seen his whole crew killed one by one. The Blade waits for the door to open and walks in.

"Don't get any closer," a man's voice warns. He is obviously terrified, his voice wavering. The Blade follows the sound and sees a gun aimed at them. They roll their eyes.

No one uses a gun in a spaceship. Does this sad lump of cells /want/ to die?

"Put it down," they call, taking a cautious step forward. "Death by vacuum is very unpleasant. You want to die by my hand instead."

"I don't want to die at all!" the man insists, hand shaking. At this rate, his finger will slip before he intends it.

The Blade sighs. They brace themself, then flick their wrist.

It happens very quickly. The blade, thrown faster than most humans are capable of, slices through the commander's hands and embeds itself into his throat. The gun goes off. The Blade reaches out, and the bullet embeds itself into their forearm.

"Ugh," they groan. With their uninjured hand, they touch their earpiece. "It's over. I will need medical attention when I get back."

They ignore the chorus of scolds as they retrieve their blade and stalk back to the airlock.

"Again?!" Perl sighs as the airlock opens. "What is wrong with you?"

"Bullet wound," the Blade says.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Why must you always get injured?"

"Part of the job," the Blade tells him. Perl is already tugging them over to the medical bay.

"It doesn't have to be," Lia argues, emerging from the medical bay. "Come here. One of these days, you're going to get injured in a way I can't fix."

"I'm careful," the Blade insists. They scrunch up their nose as Lia brings out the anaesthetic. "That's not necessary."

Lia rolls her eyes and ignores them, as usual. As she works, Mar stomps in.

"Take better care of yourself!" they yell. "Oh, sorry, Lia."

"No, I agree," Lia says absently, beginning to extract the bullet. "Yell at them all you want."

The Blade sighs. Having friends who care about you is so inconvenient.

-Cedar

#ForestOCs #Whumptober #TheBladeAndFriends

Considering... maybe making an OC of my own? (Or multiple OCs?) In the past, I've felt a little alienated from creative fandom since I'm aromantic and not into shipping. I LOVE fandom, I love seeing people enjoy their blorbos, I love that my headmates are into it, but I don't see *myself* in the blorbos very often.

But. I could make my OWN food. :o I could make any character I want. I could make them a cool fantasy species. A cool fantasy species that is aroace by default because they reproduce differently from humans...  Some members of the species have romantic/sexual relationships recreationally, but doing that is like being queer. But friendships are a thing!!

-Cedar, they/them

Edit: I wrote something!! https://blorbo.social/@forestsystem/115401955105764513

#ForestOCs

I'm actually really liking Ivy's pixie world. (https://blorbo.social/@forestsystem/115324506116162274) I'm sure fae won't mind if I join in instead of making my own OCs!

Thinking about pregnant Dandelion... all the other pixies are so glad that *they* don't have to get pregnant in this context, they pamper Dandelion and bring them the most luxurious food and clothes they can find. It's more of a gesture, since they all have more and better food, clothes, etc. than they could ever want, but Dandelion still values that gesture.

-Sage, they/them

#ForestOCs #DandelionAndMay

Too many things in the world are depressing. I need an OC or multiple to put in Situations.

I think I’ll start with a nonbinary pixie, Dandelion, trapped in an artificially created meadow. It seems endless, but if they go too far, they find themself back where they started. It’s really a very nice meadow, with everything they could possibly need - there are even other pixies, one of them their best friend, May - it’s just that they can’t leave, and also every so often, a human comes to harvest the meadow’s fairy dust.

Unfortunately, the collection is a pretty invasive process. The human gently catches each pixie - most of them have learned not to struggle and get their wings crumpled; it takes several days for them to straighten out again - flips up their skirts and/or tears apart whatever else they’re wearing (human fingers are too big to be more delicate than that), and gathers their “essence” with a cotton swab.

They’re told that elsewhere, that essence is dried and turned into powder, then used for powering various machines. A tiny bit of fairy dust goes a long way! But they’re still short on pixies (because of the endless grind of human greed), and this meadow needs to produce more. The company that owns the meadow, the human tells them, is looking into breeding programs.

The human leaves, and the pixies breathe a sigh of relief and help each other get dressed again. One voices worry about the breeding program. Dandelion glances over at their best friend, and finds her already looking back.

(I do not like certain aspects of pregnancy, so Dandelion’s probably going to give birth to a seed or something.)

-Ivy, fae/faer

#DandelionAndMay #ForestOCs