#does it suddenly throw into stark contrast the life she’s leaving behind for a duty she will never escape from

[morganafayes]

the thing that bothers me most about the whole exile arc isn’t even that arthur exiles gwen necessarily (though i maintain that the way it was done was still absolutely unnecessarily cruel) but it's more so the way that the narrative presents it. like the narrative framing the writers chose to go with is essentially that what he's doing is wrong because WE, the audience, know that she didn't actually cheat - therefore he’s overreacting about something she didn't do. instead of it being that a) regardless of whether she cheated or not it would STILL BE WRONG for him to exile her even if she did - because she’s a commoner without status and a single woman being thrown out of the only home she’s ever known without provisions or a place to go on the pain of death, and that he’s abusing his power without realising it. (like what happened to all that about class equality... ok!!). and also that b) regardless of whether she cheated she would still be sympathetic and that one mistake doesn't define you and that relationships are messy and people have flaws. idk it is just so ridiculous to me that she’s not allowed to make even one mistake before he exiles her after all that talk about how he would give up his kingdom for her. its a choice!

like ultimately regardless of whether she did it or not. how he responded was still wrong and it really bothers me that that ENTIRE arc (which did nothing but traumatise her!!!!) is made to about arthur and him deciding to take his mistake back and realising he regrets it. like SHE GETS EXILED and somehow the story is still only interested in arthur…. like truly what the fuck. they just put her through trauma and then discarded it all without ever giving it the space it needed to be processed either by her or the audience. it’s the way her pain and trauma are just sooo constantly sidelined by the show's narrative in order to better serve arthur and his 'character development' or whatever. im just so done !

[itsnightslashtime]

🪐

((Ooc: OH BOY THIS CAME AT THE PERFECT TIME!!! I've been autisming about a couple of Mega Man character backstories being applied to Akari and Arceus(Quake Woman/Tempo and Dr. Lalinde, for those that want to know)(i also haven't read too far into the comics so this will inevitably stray from that canon)

In one screenshot:

The entire story is under the cut because it got REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY LONG!!!!))

Okay so in this verse, Akari was created by Arceus to un-fuck all the stuff in Hisui that was fucked up. She didn't have a life before, she was created for this sole purpose. So Arceus makes her, gives her a mind, implants her mission, and sends her off! And after a bit, it realizes.

It kind of messed up.

Her shrieking her little lungs out when faced with Lord Kleavor shows enough of that.

She is so small, compared to Arceus. Compared to other humans, actually. It made her with a quick and limber size in mind, but that just made the stark contrast so much bigger when she couldn't get up fast enough.

It can hear her soul crying.

So it restarts. It tries again, this time throwing a piece of itself down with her at the start. It's shaped like a human. She fears even the little starter Pokemon, cowering behind it and clutching its dress, so it goes ahead and catches two of them for her, to show her how it's done, even though she should have this information already? It gave it to her when she fell. But it shows her there's not so much to be afraid of, not from these little ones. She catches the last one herself.

Is it just Arceus, or is she more skittish this time? Is it the presence of an adult "faller", someone like her to hide behind? It tries not to coddle her too much. It often separates from her in the wild, to gather mundane data on its own creations so she can have her own adventures. It leaves its own creation, despite Professor Laventon alikening them to a parent and daughter.

Akari dies again, facing Lord Kleavor.

Arceus finds her screams to be even more horrible this time.

It's been going about this all wrong. Her having such a developed mind is the exact thing stopping her from fulfilling her duty. Her fear is stunting her growth; it makes her move slower, it's making her hesitate, it's making her unsteady.

It restarts again. This time, it cuts certain things out of her mind- namely, emotions. She wakes up with dull eyes, gets off the sand in a smooth motion, making no reaction to Arceus having shaken her awake, suddenly struck with a thought that she hadn't survived the trip down despite having landed in exactly the same place as the last few times.

And no, it wasn't afraid for her. It was completely ambivalent towards its creation. She was supposed to be destroyed after her mission was over, anyway.

She catches all three starters without trouble, even stopping Arceus from moving forward to help. She takes on the initiation trial with equal skill and tenacity, astounding everyone in town, and Arceus is so proud of her.

I mean- No, it's not. It feels nothing for her. She was quite literally made for this.

This time, Akari survives Lord Kleavor, and quells him. Arceus helped, distracting the one that held too much power so its creation could do her job. She was analytic, putting together the mannerisms to counter them, and not a speck of fear flowed through her during the fight.

For some reason, Arceus is not as proud of itself for fixing the problem as it thought it would be.

The rest of everything proceeds like this. Akari does not talk, she's never said a word, and Arceus is kind of worried it never gave her the knowledge of how to. But a peek into her mind reveals that yes, she does know, she just never feels the need to make use of it. Because she cannot feel at all. She obliterates every Noble with ruthless efficiency, never once implying she might need help or that she doesn't want to do this, because of course she wouldn't. She is Arceus's perfect creation.

The Professor keeps asking if it's daughter is okay. It has a practiced response for this. The response it does not have is when he notes that it says that every time.

In human form, Arceus follows Akari throughout all of Hisui, though it does not know why. She knows when to retreat due to her injuries. She knows all the ways to treat wild Pokemon. She knows how to take care of herself. And yet, it keeps following her, making sure she's okay.

It rationalizes this by saying it doesn't want to have to start over when they've come so far. It doesn't want to sit through all this again. It doesn't want to have to tweak her mind or her abilities, because that's boring, and it already knew the perfect stats to give her. It does not want to have to explain everything to her again.

It does not want to learn she miscalculated, and is now bleeding out on the ground, alone somewhere when it could have saved her.

Then the Red Sky happens.

This is the dark spot where Arceus could never see into. It's vessel feels weak, but it struggles to its feet and forces more strength through itself, only to watch its creation get banished from Jubilife with a straight face.

She says nothing. She does what she's told, and leaves the village, with nothing but the items in her satchel and the Pokeballs on her belt.

Arceus is banished alongside her, because they are both sky-fallers.

It wants to Judge this man where he stands.

It follows her out, follows the merchant's plan, even though it knows doing such a thing would only empower him for the later betrayal.

While they go around to the lakes, it allows itself to think the thought it had been suppressing this whole time.

That maybe it should have brought her to Mesprit.

Not now, it says to itself. Not when her first feeling would be this kind of fear.

It's creation walks into Mesprit's cavern alone, and answers honestly. On the way out, it stares uncomfortably long at Arceus.

The Red Chain is made, Arceus's children are quelled, and it's creation is so, so damaged. All the calculation in the world could not have saved her from the wrath Dialga and Palkia rained upon the Temple of Sinnoh. They look down upon their disguised parent, and it's creation - their sibling - that they had nearly killed. And still, her eyes stare dully upwards, focused on nothing now that her objective has been completed for the time being. Her wounds are too great. To move would be to exacerbate them, so she doesn't.

She survives only because Arceus keeps her alive.

By the time she's discharged from the medical ward, the decision has been made. Arceus escorts her straight to Lake Verity. Mesprit is the expert, it made it to be so, and Mesprit follows its parent's wish, because Akari cannot want her emotions back.

It's a painful endeavor. It's overwhelming. It's horrible, and she feels horrible. Mesprit was not gentle. Arceus demands time be rewound, and they end up a few minutes before that all happened. Mesprit remembers, and Arceus insists it be gentle with its creation.

Akari's fourth third second first time feeling emotions is gradual, one emotion at a time. The first one isn't entirely evident, but she turns to Arceus with eyes wide, no longer in a blank way but in a glittering, overwhelmed way.

"momma...?"

It's barely audible, but Arceus knows all.

"Yes, beloved. Momma's here."

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

[thewholekeg]

Greta Sol, Pt. 1

With the latest chapter of Birthright finished, I decided to take a little bit of a break this week. Which, of course, means writing something else.

This has been a little idea that’s been stewing in my head for a while, based on a couple of old Pathfinder characters who campaigns kind of died unceremoniously. I don’t know that there’s enough to build something good on without going for a whole new novel, but it’ll be a nice distraction.

Expect to see the next parts coming in the next couple of days or so!

Greta Sol knelt in the soft soil, tending to the plants.

She liked tending to the plants. It was quiet, and it was calm, and there was nobody there to worry about. It was easy work, for her at least, and as long as she was careful--and she was always careful--then there was little danger of hurting the hearty vegetables.

She gently pushed aside the leaves of the turnips, teasing out weeds with a small claw, and watering the soil. The dry spring had already given way to the warm summer it had promised, and the plants drank the water greedily.

Greta straightened up, knuckling her back. She couldn’t tell if the burning sensation was her aching muscles or the heat of the sun on her woolen robe. Either way, it was pleasant enough, but it wouldn’t be soon. Besides, it would be time for midday prayers soon enough. She would have to return to the temple.

But… that was for later. For now, she tended to the plants. She liked the plants. She liked the way the green of their leaves mingled with the green of her skin. They made her feel at home.

She let herself be lost in thought, so much so that she failed to hear the footsteps behind her, or a feminine voice clear its throat. She continued to work, blissfully unaware, until the voice spoke, “Greta.”

Greta snapped out of her stupor, gasping loudly. She scrambled to her feet and fumbled to set the claw down, but only succeeded in nicking her thumb and dropping it unceremoniously. She abandoned it, slapping the front of her robe clean, and spun around.

The speaker was a tall woman, skeletally thin. Though she showed her age, she was almost free of wrinkles--her skin was pulled too tightly over her bones, showing off every edge and joint, for that. She loomed over most of the nuns, but to Greta she peered up sternly. She was no less intimidating for it.

“P-Prioress!” Greta stammered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you coming! You walk so quietly, a-and--”

Prioress Signe stared at Greta, her eyes glinting like onyx. “It was Agne’s turn to tend the garden today, Greta,” she said. Like the rest of her, her voice was thin and tight.

“Y-yes Prioress,” Greta said.

“It was your turn to do the laundry today, Greta,” Signe said.

“Yes Prioress,” Greta said. She gestured hopelessly back and forth. “B-but! Bending over for the garden hurts Agne’s back, and the smell of the soap upsets my nose, and the warm water soothes Agne’s hands and my back is stronger so I thought--”

Signe reached out and caught Greta’s hand. “You thought you would spare her the danger of gardening?” she asked. A thin trickle of blood ran down Greta’s thumb where it had been cut.

Greta looked down, and only then noticed the blood smeared on her thumb and robe. “Oh no!” she said. “I’m sorry, I-I was just surprised, and--”

Signe shushed her, pulling her hand closer to inspect it. She brushed her fingers over Greta’s cut, brushing away the dirt. Her fingers were like nails: long, cold and hard, but her grip was gentle.

“Y-you don’t need to do that, Prioress,” Greta said. “It’s only a nick, and it’s my own fault--”

Signe’s hands began to glow. At first it was soft, like the pale light of morning, but it grew in intensity until her fingertips shone with the golden light of the sun. She brushed her fingers over the cut again, and Greta felt the warmth of a summer sun spread through the wound. The pain faded, and when Signe had taken her hands away the cut was gone.

Greta’s gently flexed her thumb. “Thank you, Prioress,” she said

“It is also Mia’s turn in the laundry today, wasn’t it?” Signe asked.

Greta winced. Then, slowly, her shoulders sagged. “Y-yes,” she said, rubbing her thumb. “Well…”

“She and Sander spoke to me this morning,” Signe said.

“I didn’t hit them!” Greta insisted.

There was a long moment of silence. Signe raised an eyebrow.

Great stared at her feet and rubbed her arms. In spite of the heat, she felt suddenly cold. “I didn’t,” she said. “I just… growled, a little.”

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at Signe’s expression. She had seen it before: Frustration, irritation… fear. Signe hid it better than most, but Greta could still see it.

But Signe just sighed. “Oh, Greta,” she said. “You need to learn to control your temper.”

“I try!” Greta said. “I really do. But they’re always talking about me.”

“They’re only lashing out, Greta,” Signe said.

“Then why don’t they ever lash out at anyone else?” Greta asked, throwing her arms wide. “There are almost a hundred women living here, why does it always have to be me!?”

Signe sighed, and placed a hand on Greta’s arm. Slowly, she managed to unjumble Greta’s hands from one another, and took one of Greta’s massive palms in both her own. Signe’s pale skin was a stark contrast against Greta’s dark forest.

“I know,” Greta said, softly. “But what am I supposed to do? File down my tusks? Break my nose? It isn’t my fault.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Signe said.

“It isn’t fair,” Greta said.

“I know,” Signe repeated. “But it isn’t about fair. They’re hurt, and they’re frightened, and they’re upset. All we can do is respect that.”

Greta said nothing. She knew, of course. Mia and Sander had both come to the priory a little over a year ago. Nobody had asked why--it wasn’t important. And the moment they saw Greta, it wasn’t necessary. It had taken Signe and another nun an hour to get them out of the root cellar.

It had taken a week to get Greta out of her bedroom after, of course, but did anyone care?

Greta clutched her hands until her knuckles turned white. But Signe took her hands again, and forced her to look up.

“And we can help them, Greta,” she said. “You can help them.”

“How?” Greta asked. “They can barely look at me without flinching, if I try to talk to them it’s all they can do to keep from running, and the things they say--it’s awful, Prioress.”

“And I’ll be talking to them later, as well,” Signe said. Her thin lips curled into a small frown. “Agne tells me that what they said goes a bit beyond just lashing out.” But her frown turned up into a hopeful smile, and she clasped Greta’s hands together. “But you can help them by letting me talk to them. Let them say what they’ll say. Let them be frightened, and let them stare. Take it with good grace, and they will begin to understand that you are not so frightening as you seem. And if a half-orc isn’t as frightening, then maybe a full orc isn’t either.”

Greta sighed. “I do try,” she said. “I just don’t see why it’s my responsibility to teach them.”

Signees face hardened, as did her grip on Greta’s hands. “Greta,” she said, firmly. “Were you serious, when you took the vows to Hors?”

Greta blinked, taken aback by Signe’s sudden intensity. “O-of course!” she said. “The Priory is my home, I owe it everything--I want to help in any way I can!”

“In any way?” Signe pressed.

“Ah,” Greta said. She hesitated for a moment, shrinking under the dark glint in Signe’s eye. But she breathed deep, and raised herself up. “Yes,” she said. “I want to do for other women, what Hors did for my mother and I.”

“Then that is why it is your responsibility,” Signe said. “Hors does not give out gifts lightly. No one can force you to use it, but if you truly have dedicated yourself to his service, then it is your duty to do so.”

Greta began to nod, but paused. Her face screwed up into a puzzled expression “But… Prioress, I don’t have the gift,” she said. “I’m not a healer. I’m not ever a particularly good physician. Sure, I can set bones, but that’s more about strength than real skill, and…”

She trailed off as she caught sight of Signe’s pained expression. “Did I… say something wrong?” she asked.

Signe rolled her eyes, but laughed. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “If you said anything else you wouldn’t be our Greta.” She shook her head.

Greta wrung her hands. She wasn’t sure she understood, but she laughed along anyways, quietly, and adjusted her hair.

“Greta, I’d like you to come to the marketplace with me tomorrow,” Signe said when she was finished laughing.

Greta’s eyes bulged. She took a step back, lifting her hands in front of her chest and squeezing them. “The Marketplace?” she asked. “You mean… outside of the priory?”

“Well, there certainly isn’t a marketplace inside the priory,” Signe said. “Even if it would make things a bit easier on us. I need to go to the city to pick up some food and donations from the citizens who can’t make it all the way out here, and these old bones can’t handle the exertion on their own.”

She rubbed her wrists, showing off the thin, protruding joints to impress her point--though Greta knew that Signe has as sturdy as the priory itself under all her apparent frailness. Indeed, Signe seemed like she would outlast the old stone, some days.

“I could use someone a bit sturdier to help me carry everything,” she continued. “What do you say?”

“W-well,” Greta said. She peered at the Priory walls. “I just… don’t know if I’m ready to go outside just yet...”

Signe sighed. “You’re sixteen, Greta,” she said. “It’s only going to get harder. If you do want to spend your whole life here, then I won’t stop you--but I think you should at least try the outside world first. The city is nice. The summer festival is still just winding down.”

Greta rubbed her arms. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she asked.

Signe placed a hand over Greta’s stilling it. “Of course you do,” she said. “Why don’t you speak to your mother about it tonight? See what she thinks.”

“Prioress,” Greta said flatly. “My mother has been trying to get me to leave the Priory for years.”

“Which is why she will make an excellent debate opponent,” Signe said. “Did you think I was going to recommend you speak to someone who also wanted you to stay?”

Greta mumbled something under her breath. Signe just laughed. “Now go wash up,” she said. “Midday prayers and meal is soon, and I think you’ve cleaned the garden thoroughly enough. Any more and you’ll start weeding the carrots out of boredom.”

[black-strike-otp]

part 38

♫♪ I was the one who had it all. I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life... I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bare. ♫♪

A soft boy. *takes a sip of my root beer* Good luck fightin it.

How they found the time to finish his primary rotor blades, Blackout wasn’t entirely sure. They’d been goofing off well past almost everyone on the ship’s routine recharge jours between actually working on the blades. At some point Nova had began nodding off, and while everyone was wandering around working he had placed her on his leg and finished off the work before going ahead and working on his smaller rotors by himself.

Even after finishing those blades, she was still recharging. Although it’d been some time since he ignored a scheduled recharge, he decided he could wait until the jours went by for the next one. He was careful to pick up the little femme and slide her onto his shoulder for her to rest as he went to the medic’s quarters.

Both panels of the door opened into the room as he approached. As he expected, Scorponok was already standing up on the berth, looking antsy to leave.

The medic was up from her seat at a console screen not near the door to her room when he entered. She was quick on her pedes, briskly walking to meet him over at his minicon’s berth.

“Good afternoon, Blackout.”

He gave a brief nod to the femme, glancing down at the scorpion.

The golden optics of the bug looked up to him pleadingly. He gave a click, his thoughts tapping on Blackout’s.

< Please tell this femme I’m fine and that I can leave now. >

“How’s he doing, doc?”

“Fine,” the femme stated. She’d changed the direction of her optics though to stare at Novastrike as she spoke, seeming slightly confused. “As I suspected, he’s perfectly fine and healthy. Already his nanoites have healed a decent amount of the damage and I fixed what I felt could use an extra helping servo.”

“So, he’s free to go?” Blackout cautiously suggested, nervous the femme might go jabbing a scalpel in him.

She gave a swift nod. “Definitely.”

The bug gave a delighted chirping, reaching out towards Blackout with his pincers.

Offering a slight vent, Blackout turned around and pressed close to the berth. The scorpion latched onto the back panels of his plating as the blades spread out and docked himself into his backside.

< Your blades look really shiny and sharp. You do something with them recently? >

< Novastrike bought me some equipment. >

< Oh. >

That ‘oh’ sounded a little too coy for Blackout’s taste.

“Um, Blackout,” the medic made a pointing motion to his shoulder. “You do know uh...?”

“I know she’s there,” he stated, his voice somewhat defensive.

“Right, of course. Sorry.”

Giving a terse bobbing of his helm, Blackout stepped around the femme and went to step out of the room.

< Novastrike have a problem recharging last night? > Scorponok inquired, seeming slightly confused himself.

< We were up late, > Blackout admitted.

< Oh~ Well, I’m glad your thoughts aren’t portraying- >

< Primus Scorponok, no. Not doing that. >

Now that it was brought to his attention, a memory flickered in the forefront of his thoughts. Blackout knew it had to be leaking over into Scorponok and went to tuck it back into place.

A sense of amusement escaped the bug.

< Looks like you had fun. >

< It’s none of your business if I did. >

< Why shouldn’t it be? I care about your well-being, even if you don’t like to think anyone does. >

Choosing to ignore his partner’s remark, Blackout followed the route of the hallways towards the shock wave generator. The scorpion seemed to realize that the conversation was considered dead, and went to retreat into his own thoughts and relax.

Just ahead, Blackout noticed a large frame beginning to limp out of a room. He stiffened slightly, unsure of what to expect from the old mech.

At first, it didn’t look like Guard was going to notice him in time and he’d be able to walk right by. He was conversing still with someone in the room, but as luck had it, he turned fully out of the door just as Blackout was practically upon him.

“Oh, Blackout,” the elderly mech stated with some surprise. “Going somewhere?”

“The remnants of the upper deck, sir, to check on the shock wave generator.”

“Ahh. Looks like you’ve got good company,” he remarked, giving an amused smile noticing Novastrike curled up upon his shoulder.

Blackout gave a light nod in response.

“How is the work going on the defense systems?”

“Good, sir. We’re pretty confident we’re done, everything just needs a test run.”

“Exceptional. I suppose I should keep the pair of you on maintenance duty still, though, I hope you’d be willing to lend a servo if needed elsewhere...?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Outstanding, thank you, Blackout. Now pardon me, if you will,” Guard muttered, carefully moving his frame. Blackout instantly shuffled back much further to give the equally large mech space to maneuver around and head down the hallway.

< You should quit thinking he wants to offline you. He’d probably have had it done much sooner if he really wanted you dead, > Scorponok concluded. < Or at least, have had you forced off the ship. >

< He doesn’t like me, > Blackout said in a matter-of-fact tone.

< You thought Novastrike didn’t like you. Looks pretty plain to me she likes you plenty if she’s willing to sleep on you. >

Blackout felt his energon grow warm with awkwardness.

< Hush, before I throw you out of the air lock. >

< Sure thing, boss. >

Rolling his optics, Blackout gave a vent and continued his stroll.

~

Novastrike slept the majority of that day. He had to be careful of his movements the entire day not to wake her. Once she’d finally come around, he’d had her more or less sit around and inspect his work. She looked pretty out of it the remainder of the day, and was fairly quiet as they drank energon together.

Maybe it was bad etiquette on his part, but Blackout allowed her to recharge with him that night. She seemed completely at ease in his presence; a stark contrast to just about everyone else in the universe.

And although he wouldn’t openly admit it, he enjoyed her company. Pined for it, really. She made him feel... Primus she made him feel...

Something.

Like he wasn’t a cold behemoth freak. Like he was more than the sins he committed.

Every grip he had on trying to keep her at bay was beginning to shatter before his optics, and he had no idea how to feel about it anymore.

~

A few days later, Novastrike was looking up at him with those vivid dazzling optics and he knew he was going to be in trouble. He could already feel an answer on his glossia before those begging, pleading, imploring optics could ask him a question.

His answer was going to be whatever pleased that Primus forsaken look on her face. Who thought it was a good idea to give that femme such a slagging adorable face, anyway? It was a sick joke.

“Maybe when we finish our energon, you’ll let me help you polish up your armor?” Nova asked politely. “You know, I did buy that stuff for a reason too.”

Oh. Was that all she wanted to ask? Well, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Giving a considerate look, Blackout slowly nodded his head. “Alright,” he offered slowly. “And perhaps I could return the favor.”

Oh scrap, that had been stupid. Why would she need help polishing her armor? She wasn’t a colossal fragton large bot, scrap, slag, frag, he wanted to take it back-

A halo formed around Nova’s audios, glowing faintly as she looked at the floor. “That’d be nice,” she remarked quietly, taking a drink.

Even worse, she agreed to it. Matrix above, spawn of Unicron, malfunctioning glitch-

Blackout shoved his energon cube to his face before even stupider words managed to fumble out of his big mouth.

A rather amused Scorponok gave a slight chatter, innocently tilting his energon cube to take a drink himself. Blackout was eternally grateful he’d had the wall up between their bond, or he had a feeling the scorpion would be having way too much fun making fun of him right about now.

A rather tense silence followed that could probably be cut with Blackout’s rotors if he so choose (admittedly, he could slice into a lot of fraggers now probably with those babies, frag there nicely honed). They continued sipping their energon in the awkward silence, nobody meeting each other’s optics.

“Polish me?” Scorponok suddenly chimed.

Novastrike instantly giggled and Blackout gave a relieved chuckle. His optics trained on Nova  as she laughed, trying to ignore the feeling in his chassis. It was like being sick, overly warm, and foolishly happy all at once.

“Sure Scorp, I think we can handle giving you a nice sprucing up. If you can stay out of the dirt on the next planet we go on.”

The bug looked absolutely appalled. “No deal,” he hissed.

“Be nice, Nova. He’d probably be upset for me to outshine him with a fresh thing of polish,” Blackout joked.

The scorpion gave him a displeased, glowering stare. “Outshine? No. Stand out. Too big. Just paint target on him.”

“I already have a target painted on me,” Blackout grumbled. “Being a little shiny won’t help or hinder that either way.”

He gave his energon a slight swirl, flickering his optics at Nova as she passed her own gaze between the two of them.

“You two, play nice,” she scolded.

“No.” They answered in unison.

Venting softly, Novastrike shook her helm. “Primus, the both of you show affection really strangely-”

A ping hit the overhead comm system. Blackout frowned, raising his servo for silence.

“Attention,” the crackling voice spoke up. “We appear to have a battle cruiser coming up from behind. It seems to have exited hyper space.”

Placing their energon cubes down, Blackout, Novastrike, and Scorponok stepped up to the nearest wall. Blackout tapped a button, having a panel of metal extend over to the side to show a viewing panel of glass that looked out.

They all placed their helms close to the screen.

Blackout’s optics opened a fraction wider. He pressed a digit to the comm link on his helm, pinging the control room on the ship.

“Is Guard in the command room?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes sir Blackout, one moment while I turn you on to the overhead in the room.”

“Blackout, this is Guard speaking. We can hear you in command.”

“Sir, I know that ship,” Blackout remarked. “That’s the Revenge II. That’s not just any battle cruiser, that’s a pirate ship.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Novastrike turned her optics up to Blackout nervously.

“What course of action do you suggest, commander?”

Commander?

Blackout felt a cold wave wash over him.

“Sir-” he stuttered.

“You were a commanding officer of the Decepticons,” Guard reminded him. “In your opinion, what is the best course of action here?”

That made sense, now. Still, it had almost sounded like he had meant that another way. Surely he wasn’t even considering promoting him to that position?

“I would advise an assault or a swift escape,” Blackout reported. “The Revenge II is commanded by a mech named Stormstalker, and he’s a crazy menace. He was a Decepticon once, until he broke off the faction and began hunting and destroying our smaller vessels to steal their equipment, resources, you name it. He... likes to take prisoners for labor, or to sell. Or use.”

Blackout glanced down at Novastrike, catching her optics.

She seemed to absorb his words and shuddered all over.

There was another brief span of silence. With no crackling over the comm, Blackout had a feeling he’d been muted. Probably the commanding officers on deck were bickering over what the best course of action would be.

It didn’t surprise him in the least when Guard was the one who spoke with his thick voice of confidence in reason.

“Prepare the shock wave generator immediately, Blackout, and wait for my command.”

“Yes, sir.”

The overhead comm crackled once more. “All able-bodied, please report to your designated position. Those assigned to the photo blasters and laser core generator, please be on stand-by. This is a Code Onyx.”

Flinching, Novastrike pressed her audio receptors to her helm as the alarms began to go off.

“Guess we’ll finally get to see if all our hard work paid off,” Blackout stated, offering a sloppy grin.

“I guess,” Nova shouted over the alarm.

Blackout could see the panic beginning to grow in her optics as she looked up at him.

“Stay by me no matter what happens, okay?” Blackout called over the blasting buzzer.

She nodded her helm frantically.

Scorponok followed Novastrike as she she dashed over to the shock wave generator, checking all the connections to make sure everything was in place. Towering above them, Blackout prodded the access screen, onlining the machine.

It gave a massive clanking sound as it began to extend its blast radius mast outside of the ship. Gears clinked against each other and metal began rubbed against each other and then expanded outward, opening into a radial like dish on the top of the ship.

Well, at least that worked, Blackout thought.

The first raining shots from the Revenge II’s frontal path blasters pelted the back end of the Rising Star. Blackout remained anchored, but he felt Novastrike fall against him as she lurched, shocked by sudden shudders that went over the ship.

Tapping a few more key commands into the generator, Blackout bent over and scooped Novastrike up. She gave the softest squeak as she was lifted and slid off onto his shoulder.

With as many legs as Scorponok had and his lower center of gravity, he would be fine making sure that nothing below got jammed.

The shadow of the cruiser began extending engulfing the room as it came hurtling alongside the ship. The crazy fools were thinking of trying to force themselves to dock and board.

“Blackout, proceed with the shock wave generator,” Guard’s voice firmly spoke through his personal comm.

He tapped a few more keys into the generator and reached a servo up on top of Novastrike as the generator hummed with life.

Photon blasters began firing out of the right flank of the space vessel, slamming into the Revenge II. The battle cruiser barely seemed to be taking on damage; its thick hull receiving little more than scorch marks.

An electrical charge suddenly coursed through the entire ship, causing some lights to overcharge and explode. The damned alarm system blissfully went silent. Blackout held his ground as the shock wave suddenly went off; giving off an awful roar. They couldn’t see it from their angle, but the white-light that emitted from it bleed through the window and made the room blindingly bright.

“Report?” Guard’s voice crackled over the overhead comm.

“The ship has ceased firing,” a voice responded from another open comm channel.

“Their Thrusters appear offline from our angle, commander,” another joined in.

“Sub-floor Quebec crew, is the transwarp drive primed for a quick jump?”

“Aye-aye sir!”

“Lets see if we can’t lose ‘em,” Guard’s voice grimly remarked over the comms. “Prepare for a jump, on my count. Three, two, one-”

Blackout magnetized his pedes just as they jumped into the wormhole. He could feel the instantaneous strain on his frame as they dove randomly into space at break-neck speeds.

He’d never been more thankful that they exited much faster than the last time. He gave a sudden lurch forward as they came to a quick halt.

Slowly, Blackout went to remove his servo from over Novastrike. She peeked out from against his shoulder and looked down. Naturally he went to follow her gaze, spotting a stiff and somewhat shocked scorpion standing rigidly on the floor.

“Report?” Guard’s voice tiredly asked over the comm.

Blackout listened to the various voices filing in their reports first. A grin slowly began to stretch on his faceplate. Well, it seemed that he’d been right in programming the frequencies to counteract those in the generator. Still, he needed to work on how they amplified so that it didn’t overload parts of the ship’s systems...

“Wow,” Nova breathed. “We did it. We didn’t even need to face them. No confrontation.”

“Stormstalker’s not going to be pleased,” Blackout remarked smugly. “I don’t think he’ll enjoy the insult of being EMP’d. Once he and his crew comes too, he’s going to want to find this ship and its serial number so he can track us down and try offlining us all.”

“Well, you won’t let that happen,” Novastrike gushed.

Before he could turn to glance at the femme she leaned against him and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

The light of his optics grew bright and startled as he turned to Novastrike. She already was looking away from him and at the generator with a look of awe.

“Oh thank Primus, we’re online. You did it!”

She turned her face back to him, optics shining.

“It’s all thanks to you.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Blackout’s face. “No, we did it. Together.”

Novastrike fidgeted in place, shyly glancing away from his gaze.

Pressing a digit to his comm, Blackout joined in the open system and reported in, “Beta squad’s fine up here in the upper deck. Nothing to report.”

His arm fell away, still grinning slightly as he looked at Novastrike.

There was a slight whisper, a tingle where she her lips touched him. He swore he’d felt a jolt run through him, like the energy frequencies had went off again and bolted straight through his entire frame. There was a buzz of energy in his veins that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Primus, he’d bend over backwards to impress her any day to have that again.

A small voice in the back of his helm tried to shake some sense into him, but he no longer cared to listen to the logic in him.

Reaching out, Blackout gently brushed the top of Nova’s helm, listening to the radiating purr that escaped her body as he did so. What had felt like a hurricane with galls and violent surges suddenly felt like tranquil pools.

“I know we’re going to have to report to a meeting after this,” Nova commented, “But I haven’t forgotten about that polish I promised.”

“Neither have I,” Blackout mused.

The little femme’s frame trembled just faintly for a moment and she narrowed her optics at him slightly like she was challenging him to try. Though, it didn’t look very convincing as she had a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The blue of her optics too were glittering; a thousand distant stars despite the darkened room.

Blackout felt his spark’s rhythm skip a few pulses. He was in danger of drowning in those endless blue spheres, and found no will to fight himself free of it.