#spent way too long trying to equalize the audio. i am NOT a digital audio engineer.

[noellevanious]

mythbusters rotation edit

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The Words upon the Window Pane | Chanyeol

Genre: Smut, Angst (only a wee bit), PwP

Pairing: Auhor!Chanyeol x Reader

Warnings: Top!/Dom!Chanyeol, fingering, unprotected wall sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses!), subtle dom/sub themes, swearing/cussing, dirty talk, love bites  

Summary: The relation between Logic and Passion is often difficult for artists and certainly so when the involved parties dabble in words. Because language has the power to conceal the truth, to say what otherwise might not be said.

The words upon the window pane.

However, one night, a mouth is brave enough to at last utter them.

And to bring about unexpected consequences.

Author’s Note: The title is derived from the play of the same name by W.B. Yeats, who is, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite poets and greatest inspirations as of late. Furthermore, this is the first EXO smut piece to be written by this wee birdy, which hopefully shall not disappoint more experienced EXO-Ls.

All in all, I hope you enjoy the work of a feather.

Making a living as an author is not easy, especially when starting out and having only a single book to one’s name. However, Voice is not merely a literary tool to use in order to be heard, since it can also realistically become audible when speaking. All in all, it remains a fluent phenomenon and so it is of great benefit to storytellers to have mastery over it. To provide experiences that ignite vivid imagery thanks to simply creating an ambience with sound when not craftily doing the same on the page. Such is the talent of the author rapidly grown popular online due to a deep voice and funny personality, thousands of women drooling over the tailored experiences provided to them on multiple platforms.

But none of them has ever gotten the real deal, their sensual emotions remaining one-sided whereas those of a newbie novelist are answered.

Sometimes.

The relationship started after the romance department of the same publishing house contracting the famous erotic writer took a bold chance by offering a contract to an unknown name having just completed a manuscript about an innocent coffee shop romance. During the meeting with the assigned editor, icy pale locks wandered into the modern cafeteria and toward the table where a conversation about the next steps towards actual publishing took place, sitting down wordlessly and merely observing. Withal, basalt irises blatantly ignored rapidly flushing rosy cheeks on the adjacent seat, focused intently on the ones across the table that tried to maintain a steady composure.

Yet it crumbled bit by bit as genuine interest was shown during a spontaneous proposal to drink coffee together sometime after the editor held a brief round of introductions at the end of the important chat, which had gained an unintentional third participant. Piece by stiff piece got chipped away over warm beverages thereafter, talking about upcoming manuscripts and the professional giving a newbie a couple of tips to not stumble and, perhaps, fall without hopes of getting up.

And were entirely smoothed out among the sheets after the daring kiss when goodbye came on the first proper dinner date, Chanyeol leaning in without hesitance to rapidly turn a chaste caress of the cheek into sin once having been escorted safely to the front door of one’s own roof.

To make a heart fall for one which is unbound, according to the rumours spoken by the female tongues which all supposedly possess a sensual experience of sorts concerning the novelist. Notwithstanding, one can talk but not say anything, let alone the truth. Withal, the gossip has expanded while being in a strange type of relationship, always being the first to propose something to do and bleached smooth strands simply agreeing if the busy schedule allows it, of course. Spontaneous proposals for a movie night or trying out a new café are one-sided, the first time drinking coffee together being the sole occasion on which it came from the distant beloved. However, during the opportunities to be together, it never fails to feel genuine.

Sincere in spite of the mouths believing it is merely about sex, warning to get out now before it is too late.

The logical ship has left the safe haven. 

It is too late.

Regardless of bravely sailing in an individual sea, the doubt can never be kept at bay since it lurks as a kraken in the darker waters coming up on the journey every now and again. After all, the fans of the deep voice catering supposedly “exclusive” experiences for them would loathe the fact their imaginary lover actually has a girlfriend. Moreover, the serpents roaming the office keep telling tales that steadily grow arms and legs, each limb stemming from the period in which minds were apart.

Those spans of time increase in frequency.

Lunch grows lonelier.

Days are spent in isolation.

Reassuring words do not hold significance on the floor of the publishing house nor on those of one of our apartments on a lucky night.

No acknowledgement.

All there is, is vagueness.

Just something. 

Something.

Undefinable.

Certainly not pretty or comforting.

Empty. Yes, that is the best way to describe it.

Hollow, lonely, one-sided.

Unrequited.

And it takes away the hunger at the dinner table beneath the luxurious roof, the expensive wine and home-cooked meal using high-quality ingredients holding as much inherent value as a shilling in the gutter. So the fork is put down, the bite laboriously swallowed and focus averted from the porcelain plate presenting little yet seeming too stacked.

‘Baby, are you alright?’ Head cocked to the side in wonder, Chanyeol stops mid-bite, sensing something is off.

Something.

Always something is off. 

Right now, it finds a voice in a lowly muttered remark as disappointed fingers shove the still full plate and cutlery away as far as possible. The stomach can live with the stone in it, like the heart slowly freezing itself thanks to the vicious tales of betrayal can continue to exist in ice. After all, even this week’s audio consisting of ‘’sexy’’ unboxing ramblings and testing out toys sent by mistresses somewhere else is but a mere drop in the overflowing bucket. ‘I’m not hungry.’

The limit has been reached.

End of the line.

Of this.

Us.

If there even ever has been a happy chronicling couple.

‘You’ve barely eaten.’ The unsuspecting fork picks up a perfectly grilled asparagus, endeavouring the feed a soul starved of happiness. A perfectly useless attempt at making things right for the culprit knows very well what goes on behind the scenes that are enacted every time at the workplace, the little faked though credible moments of two youngsters being solely friends but perhaps a bit more. No one knows for sure, but they do assume. Gossip has a way of being heard, even when feigning to ignore it in favour of personal fantasies. ‘At least have a few more vegetables.’

‘Did it...’ A wry smile carves itself on a face which is on the edge of tears, remembering every word said at the collective coffee machine in the cafeteria alongside the lovesick comments on every digital upload and equally sensual reaction to a novel novel. How can the detailed storyteller not notice the burning water droplets searing their way to the lash line? 

Begging. 

Begging to fall.

To be noticed.

Because they have had to hide so bloody long in loneliness.

Denied.

A significant detail.

‘Did it mean anything?’ God forbid that the words spilt between the sheets, on dates and in secrecy in the coffee corner did not hold any meaning. Withal, knowing how writers are for the craft is part of one’s own personality, there are no better tricksters. Words can be made pretty, cunningly serving to conceal the ugly truth. 

‘What? Did what mean anything? Babe, what are you on about?’ The uncomprehending gravely worried furrowed brows relax, raven irises softening as they discover the tale of the Ice Queen’s heart and damnably igniting the thawing process. Looks can kill, as is the word on the street, and the big pale wolf knows it judging by the gentle smile only reserved for his foolish mistress. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip again. Look, I’ll say it again and I still mean it. I love you, Y/N. Only you. You ought to know that by now.’

The supposedly well-meaning palm resting between the abandoned dishes is not lovingly covered, digits remaining apart instead of entwining in blissful union. Instead, the chair is pushed back as the napkin that formerly rested on the lap is viciously thrown onto the table surface. Voice is barely controlled, dangerously close to cracking yet forced to maintain steady fury. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me! I know this means nothing.’

‘Means nothing? This means nothing?’ The actions are fiercely mimicked, the pleading tone in speech overruling the fabricated calm demeanour. ‘It does, babe. It really does.’

‘Yeah, right. As if you haven’t said that to one of those horny dolls who gladly listen to their fantasy boyfriend or read about all the wonderful things you’d do to them. What did you call them again? Your honeys?’ There is no stopping the jeering guided by the incomparable ache rendering every nerve paralyzed, an alternative ego who feels betrayed rising with every second of the outburst. 

In the end, she, too, is one of many.

I am nothing. 

‘Babe, please-’ Agonizingly following footsteps attempt to reason, begging to stay for a proper vis-á-vis to resolve this “problem” while making their way to the hallway. 

Evidently without success. ‘Oh, piss off. I’m sure you had others in the time I was gone.’ The searing tears on lashes in the wee hall finally stream down the cheeks, lost in bittersweet memories of a time ruled by naivety. When every touch was so certain of love, felt protective and was believed to be sincere. 

Notwithstanding, that was then. 

This is now. 

‘It really meant something to me, you know? I fucking gave myself to you because I stupidly trusted you, Chan! You were my first.’ A shake of the head brings about enough steadiness to remain coherent in speech, to at least keep a total breakdown at bay a little longer. The battle is almost won, a little bit more perseverance needs to be put in before all might become actually well. ‘But I could’ve, no, should’ve known better. So fuck off and leave me alone.’

Just as a hand reaches towards the knob of the front door, a firm palm wraps painfully around the left wrist. Once that power was loved, but now it is just that: hurt. 

And it wants… needs to be left behind.

To make it pay for the solitude.

The agony needs to face the consequences.

‘No.’

The pain in the shape of the man who was believed to make up the world.

Stupid.

We both only have our stories to speak honestly in because they are the sole place where it is possible to be true. 

Funny how a broken heart ignites a sense of creativity to exploit and there is a sudden haste to make use of it. Or so the mind wants this to be the reason behind the futile struggle for freedom for the real reason is the simple need to get away before breaking the character of the hard-headed sneering Ice Queen and leave oneself in fragments on the battlefield. ‘Let. Me. Go.’

A vicious tug makes feet stumble away from the entryway and slam into the wall opposite the stairs, Chanyeol’s face mere inches away and obsidian irises burning with sorrowful rage that has grown from incomprehension. All acting halts at once, alarmed breath coming out ragged as the powerful gentleman is sought frantically on a quietly raging beautiful expression. ‘I won’t. Not until you finally listen to me and know who you belong to, young lady.’ 

Slender digits clad in a chic ink-black jacket roughly push aside underwear, unapologetically disappearing beneath the skirt to exert sexual dominance as lips powerfully nullify all chances at protest. ‘This is mine. Only mine. All I can think about these days, so much so I can’t even write without giving you a role in my novel.’

The possessive growling fuels the heat below, slowly reducing the hurtful stretch, as all vocabulary is lost in the marks left behind on the throat by stark white teeth. Miraculously, the ability to resist the temptation remains although it falters and starts to stutter in the strong secure warmth of a familiar palm at the end of the spine. ‘I- I don’t be- believe you.’

‘Who do you think is more credible?’ A rough mind-boggling thrust goes paired with the branding being interrupted to snarl against a slightly open mouth, dominant despite oddly affectionately resting foreheads against one another and chuckling as haphazard fluttery palms rest on broad shoulders. ‘The man who loves you or some women you don’t even know?’

In spite of being barely able to respond, a piece of hateful Logic remains and is capable of jeering and mocking the question that should have served to set things right. ‘But y- you could’ve fucked.’

‘I didn’t. Listen to me, young lady.’ The hand that formerly rested on the small of the lower back rises to envelop the throat, forcing a lock of gazes while enchantingly cutting off access to air. ‘Ever since we met, I’ve been yours. I’d never give anyone else a role in my novels because nobody inspires me like you do.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ There is too much deliria to persist in protesting, each movement beneath fabric erasing the thought of resisting the platinum wolf as soon as it arises. Instead, it gives rise to memories of beautiful naive nights that make up the horror and delight of an insane mistress of letters, both inside the pages and outside.

Throwing the heart back into bittersweet love. 

‘Ah, there she is. There’s the helpless little slut I know.’ With an ashamedly wet noise, slim fingers undo the bodily connection that had been greedily gone along with, leading to an inevitable displeased whine that evokes a lovely dark chuckle.

A nudge of the nose asks to follow the focus of the seemingly only sane mind, see what the writer wants to be noticed without resorting to loathsome spoon-feeding. It is all in the details, that is where the heart of the tale lies. ‘See that?’ 

Lashes flutter innocently as gaze wanders lower and lower to restricting dusk-shaded denim, wordlessly remarking on the considerable outlined shape that the idiotic heart and persona meant to have walked out the door greatly want to exploit. ‘Only you do that to me, Y/N.’ An almost sweet peck on the forehead turns attention upward briefly before receiving another on the lips, after which a command makes hands act in too enthusiastic desirable greed. ‘Undo the zipper.’

It takes little time nor effort to force down sturdy and elastic fabric to bare burning desire to the chill air in the hallway. And it takes even less than that very same moment to be pinned against the wall once again, thighs supported by iron hands promising to never let go, and directly connect in body and soul. 

Willingly.

Beautifully.

‘Fuck, every time is like the first. I remember our, grm, hrm, first night. How you begged me to go harder-’ the speed accelerates, snarls growing more and more savage with every advance as behaviour, too, becomes wonderfully harsher, ‘rough you up. All the while acting like an innocent doe, turning me on. Mewling, pinned to the bed, forced to take me. God, I love it when you’re like that. Helpless. Powerless. Submissive.’ 

Every word is accentuated by an animalistic thrust, a sweet kiss on the side of the neck contrasting with the teeth leaving behind plum marks of possession at equal intervals. A low rumble of delight at platinum locks being pulled on vibrates in the buff chest lovingly keeping the spine against the wall, rejoicing in the flowing waterfall of mere meek noises. 

Exactly as we were during the first night.

Loving now as we had before. 

Honestly. 

Snarling sweet nothings against skin while erasing every thought in the chase for the satisfaction of primal desire. When tears of analyzed sadness turned into those of unadulterated pleasure. ‘Crying as you take my cock deep inside that dripping little pussy.’

‘Cha- Chanyeol-’ There are no words to break through the haze of bittersweet nostalgia, leaving the sentence unfinished. It does not matter for all focus is turned towards reaching temporary enlightenment as fast as possible in the most savage manner. 

‘Cum on that cock, baby. Cream that fucking cock.’

Any sense of resistance that somehow managed to linger, loathing Logic deeming the act wrong in every aspect and begging for liberation, is erased in an instant as the command is pressed onto firm lips. 

It is wonderful. 

Incredibly gorgeous.

Having Chanyeol wrap his storytelling palm around the throat once more as the other presses bodies together until there cannot possibly be any distance left. Wolfish grunts fall from cushiony lips, chanting maddening “mine, mine, mine”s, while sprinting during the final bit of the primitive race, soon reaching the white light found between shivering thighs. 

Who are crying silently in a paradoxical mixture that cannot be kept alive consisting of sensual delight, heartbroken self-hatred and rage directed towards loved pale locks. 

Tears to, fortunately, be noticed once reason returns enough to no longer be under the influence of the desirable beast beneath the skin. Henceforth, it is the incredible author who affectionately wipes away the droplets running over the cheeks as onyx irises soften in comprehension of pain. ‘Hey, don’t cry, Y/N. Remember what I promised you?’ 

A head shake shows ignorance because there have been a great number of promises until now, which is acknowledged by the low chuckle that never fails to allow the usual guard to be let down and now disrupts the quiet panting betraying a sliver of glad exhaustion. The simple sound never fails to make the chest puff a little in pride and veins to bask in a loving warmth, even after being frozen in place without hopes of crumbling thanks to the vivid rumours floating around the office. ‘I know I have promised you a lot, but one thing is that I’d never make you cry because I’d never dare to break your heart. I genuinely love you, seriously am head over heels for you. Can you believe me when I say that?’

It is hard to respond negatively when bodies are still one and foolishly trusted palms envelop the cheeks, resulting in wavering speech on the verge of cracking. Withal, a little bit of strength is gathered from the tight grip on defined biceps engraved with ink. ‘I wa- want to, but... the gossip...’

‘Listen.’ A long tender kiss muffles the sobs aching to be released alongside the gasp at the sudden hollow feeling when the physical spell is lifted. Another one asks for focus on talking things over instead of paying attention on the faint sound of liquid dripping onto the hallway tiles. ‘You crying makes me want to cry because it hurts me to see you like this. It really does, babe. And people will always talk, but, perhaps, it might help if we go public? I have an interview soon.’

‘People will think I’m only dating you for your money.’ No matter if a statement will be made, the way of thought lies outside the influence of words. Authors know this first and foremost for each sentence that is penned down fails to fully convey what might be going on in vivid imagination and thus fails to be entirely understood. 

A bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of the mouth as messy snow white locks fall obscure the sight of lips drawn into a stern line speaking melancholically, mocking oneself. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you’d do.’

With more fierceness than expected, an answer to the rhetorical assumption bursts from a panicked mouth uncensored, clutching the soft fabric of clothes as if not doing so will induce an unbridgeable abyss. ‘But I don’t!’

‘I know that, Y/N. I know.’ Thumbs start to caress the sides of the face, somberly smoothing the anxious sorrow in self-reflection. ‘You know I hate losing, be it games or bets, but-  but I- I-‘ Breaths grow short as tears start to brim in the corner of beautiful almond-shaped eyes. Hands fall away from the cheeks to wrap around the middle, the waist caught in a sturdy grip. Foreheads rest against each other and the arms of a claimed mistress wrap around the neck, fingertips playing with the pale strands at the back. ‘I would scorn myself if I’d lose you.’

‘You’ll lose readers if we go public.’ After all, not everyone enjoys a real life romance and certainly not those imagining one individual as their partner while he is, in truth, already faithfully bonded to another woman. 

‘Doesn’t matter, I don’t care. If they’re true fans, they’ll be happy for us.’ Chanyeol’s voice has renovated its ocean deep steadiness, tiny lights appearing out of nowhere to illuminate a sudden bright cheery idea in a nightly gaze creating a bit of distance. ‘You know what? I’ll buy you a ring and a matching one for myself so everyone can see you’re mine.’ A palm shows itself from behind the small of the back to grab the left wrist and trace over the second-to-last digit. ‘To wear on this finger.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Yes.’ The breathless chuckle is strangely melancholic yet delighted, the curious combination taking over demeanour entirely. ‘Yes, of course. Anything to keep you with me.’ The mere embrace suddenly turns into an inescapable hug, broad shoulders blocking out the world that wants to be temporarily forgotten. ‘I want you with me, only you. Please, stay with me. Here.’ The nose often kissed in the morning or cheekily out of sight of the publishing house staff nuzzles the side of the neck, whispering against the warm skin. ‘I want you to move in.’

‘Is that a wish or a command? I’m my own person, you know?’ The weak attempt at humour is seemingly appreciated, Chan tangibly chuckling before sighing in relief when being kissed on the top of the head. 

‘There she is, there’s my good clever girl.’ Foreheads come to rest against each other once more in the air scented by whatever remains of dinner, perspiration and our perfumes combined, creating a weird musky howbeit fruity undertone. The chin is lifted by a curled finger after calmly being put to rest against the wall instead of being fully at the mercy of the writer’s engraved arms. ‘But you know very well what I mean, young lady.’

‘I do,’ fingertips bashfully run over the side of the storyteller’s neck, leaving behind a growling trail of anticipating goosebumps before rising to comb through pale strands, ‘sir.’

‘Don’t.’ 

A peck. 

‘Tease.’ 

A kiss. 

‘Me like that.’ 

Lip caught between teeth. 

And freed once having clearly asserted dominance. ‘I’m yours.’ Although the inquiring peck on the cheek does not partake in the sensual teasing but is severe in character. ‘And you’re mine?’

Catching on to the need for credibility, the erotic novelist acknowledges it while sweetly yet sincerely murmuring. ‘Entirely yours. Not just in stories or audios, in real life as well. As long as possible, until we no longer breathe. This I promise.’

And thus this part of our tale ends, the fragment of the middle part leading to the end.

Of that which ink cannot fully capture on paper, in sounds or on skin.

Withal, it is not necessary because we have each other for inspiration and retellings.

Musing.

In love.

In medias res. 

[petitmochii]

I Like Me Better: Chapter One

August 31, 2017; New York City; 11:00 am

It was a cool, rainy Thursday morning in New York City, but nothing could match the signature icy glare from Veronica Hayes. She was sipping on a 90-degree soy latte with extra foam while getting her finishing touches from hair and makeup for today’s big interview. Her gaze bounced off the vanity mirror and landed on the back of my head, sending a shiver down my spine. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had frost bite by the end of the day.

“I am never drinking again,” Natalie came bouncing into the office, two hours late as always, juggling a pile of papers and two coffees from our favorite place down the street. She handed my coffee to me, “I feel like death.” She looked like death. Her fiery red curls laid in frizzy disarray upon her head, giving her a lion-like mane. The dark circles under her eyes showed her lack of sleep and there was still a slight tint of pink on her lips from the night prior’s makeup. She dropped her pile of papers with a thud on the floor and she slumped over her desk, opposite mine.

“So, you had fun on your date?” I cradled the cup of coffee with my name on it, “Or at least it sounded like it,” I smiled over the brim of the cup before bringing it to my lips. Natalie and I shared a third story walk-up apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Much to my dismay, we had very thin walls and Natalie often had late night visitors.

Natalie scoffed, “I came, I saw, I conquered...I came again,” she sat up just in time to catch my eyeroll. We both laughed, “What’s her problem? Queen of Hearts looks like she’s about to call for your head any moment.”

I glanced over my shoulder to discover Veronica’s eyes still fixated on me, “Honestly, I’m not sure,” I turned back towards Natalie and shrugged, “We’re in charge of the research and production for today’s interview, so I’m sure she’ll find a reason to crucify me later.”

“Ooooo who’s on the itinerary today?” Natalie perked up, “Anyone I know?” If there was one asset to having Natalie on staff at Billboard, it was her immense knowledge of celebrities and their dirtiest secrets. This was thanks to her upbringing as a socialite on the Upper East Side, with several famous friends and relatives.

“I don’t think you’ll know much about these guys, love,” I flipped my computer around to show her my word document of fun facts, photos, and upcoming projects, “they’re a K-pop band called BTS.”

Natalie clutched the sides of my computer, pulling it closer to her face, “You’re right, I don’t know them, but I’d sure like to get to know that one on the left.”

I was about to remind Natalie of Billboard’s strict “no fraternization” policy regarding celebrities, when I heard a shrill, “Ohhh Calendar!” Veronica’s stupid nickname she gave me during my first week at Billboard. I had a knack for remembering dates, and I made the mistake of correcting her in a meeting when she gave the wrong date for a Justin Bieber tell-all. I sighed and mustered up all of my strength to put on a fake smile. As I approached Veronica’s seat at the vanity, she began to shake her Starbucks cup in my direction, “it’s empty.” This was my Veronica’s language for ‘Can you please get me a new latte?’ except she was incapable of being polite. Veronica was a lead interviewer at Billboard, and as Digital Content Assistant, I was at her beck and call.

“Would you like your usual?” I shinned her my tight-lipped smile.

“Yes,” she tossed the cup in my direction, “Except, this time make sure it’s 90-degrees. The latte you brought me this morning was way too hot,” hence the death stares this morning, “For a college-educated girl, you sure don’t follow directions too well, Sarah.” It’s Sierra. I’ve worked for the company for almost four months, and she still can’t get my name right. It took all my power not to rip out her extensions, but instead I grabbed my coat and headed towards the elevator.

************************************************************************************************

The Starbucks line was long, as expected with the start of the lunch rush. Impatiently, I began to tap my foot as I look at my watch. 11:30am, I had 30 minutes before BTS would be arriving at the Billboard office.

It was almost my turn to order, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find two men, who looked around my age, dressed in colorful clothing, “I’m sorry, I hate to bother you,” said the taller of the two, “But is there something you could recommend for us? We’re not used to the U.S. menu in Starbucks.” The two men looked expectantly at me with stupid smiles on their faces.

“Um, I like the Chai tea lattes,” the taller man turned to his friend and began to translate in what sounded like Korean. It was my turn, “Hi Jack, I’ll take the usual and put it on the company tab. Please make sure it’s 90-degrees this time so I don’t get murdered.” I saw the staff at this Starbucks, every Monday through Friday, at least twice a day, so we got to know each other fairly well.

As Jack began to make my order, the man behind me cleared his throat to get my attention. I whipped my head in their direction, now annoyed. Noticing my frosty glare, he began to stutter, “You see, me and my friend here are from Korea, and this is only our second time in the US and we don’t know much about what to do...”

Jack announced my order was ready, “…so we could really use a local New Yorker to show us around, since we’re here for a while. If you’re interes-“

“You know, I’m really busy,” I grabbed Veronica’s order, “I don’t have time to stand around and talk with random people in coffee shops, let alone give them tours of New York.” I was never a rude person, even to strangers. But Veronica’s outburst put me in a bad mood, and I didn’t have the time to chitchat.

I pushed open the glass doors and pulled the hood of my coat closer around my face as the rain pelted down from the grey clouds above. I quickly peaked back at the two strangers, they were standing at the pickup counter waiting for their drinks. I couldn’t help but notice how embarrassed the taller of the two looked, red cheeked and scratching the back of his neck. His friend was bent over in laughter, obviously mocking his futile attempt at flirting. Normally, I would’ve felt bad, but I had a boyband to interview.

************************************************************************************************

When I arrived back in the office, Natalie was setting up the backdrop in the interview studio. Or at least, she was trying too. She was standing, wobbly kneed, on a rolling chair with her arms stretched out in ‘Y’ shape. With a face so red it was difficult to tell where her hairline began, she glanced towards me and whined, “Sieeerrra, help me!’

Grabbing the step stool, I rushed to relieve Natalie from her starfish stance, “First of all, you never stand on a rolling chair. There’s always a stepstool in here.” I fastened the black fabric to its metal support system, “And secondly,” I turned towards Natalie who was leaning against the walls, wiping her brow, “you need to learn how to do this by yourself. I won’t always be around to save you.”

“But you’re so good at it,” we took a step back to admire the interview setup, “Have I ever told you how much I love and cherish you?” Natalie stroked my hair and fluttered her puppy dog eyes at me.

“Not often enough.”

We were reviewing the research and questions I had prepared for the interview this morning, when we heard the distinct click of 5-inch Louboutin heels and the chatter of a mass of people. Soon enough, the wicked witch herself appeared in the doorway with a herd of young, very attractive men following her; BTS photographed well, but the pictures didn’t do them justice. Veronica clutched her Starbucks cup in her hand (too cold this time) and motioned us to move out of the way. We obliged.

The seven guys filed into the room, along with some older men whom I assumed were management, and each took a seat on one of the stools we set in front of the backdrop. Veronica took a seat in her obnoxious pink chair that resembled a Victorian throne. She crossed her legs, took out a compact and reapplied a thick layer of her ruby red lipstick. Blowing herself a final kiss, Veronica closed the compact and turned towards the guest, “Ready boys?”

“Let’s do this,” one of the guys cheered. I turned the lenses of the camera to focus on the group. I was in charge of audio and visuals, while Natalie took control of the lighting.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Veronica clapped her hands, causing her acrylic nails to clack against one another, “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce you to my assistants for the interview today.” Natalie and I appeared from behind our designated positions and stood next to Veronica’s throne, “On lighting, is Natalie Connor.”

“Hi,” Natalie let out a small wave.

“And in charge of the camera,” I could hear the honey sweet tone leaving Veronica’s voice, “is Sarah Kwan.”

“It’s Sierra,” I let slip as I struggled to hold in an eye roll. I scanned the sea of boys in front of me; each had their own style, whether it was colorful hair or equally loud clothing. When my eyes made it to the front row, my heart skipped a beat. I could feel the heat rising to my face, I wanted to run and hide, but I knew Veronica would never let me live that down.

The two guys from the coffee shop sat front and center. My attempted suitor looked as surprised as I felt, but his expression quickly changed to a smirk when he sidekick nudged his arm a mumbled something between laughs. How did I not recognize them? I had literally spent the entire morning researching their band and looking at pictures of them.

“Kwan?” one of the guys in the back, who I believed was called J-Hope, pipped up, “Are you Korean?” This was one of the few phrases I recognized in Korean because of how often I was asked.

A flare of heat came on my cheeks again, “Only half. I’m sorry I don’t speak Korean.” J-Hope nodded understandingly as I let my hair cover my face. I wanted to die. Natalie nudged me, but I ignored her.

“Well anyway,” for once I was glad for Veronica interrupting, “Let’s start with everyone introducing themselves.” I stepped back into my position, glad to have a camera between me and the group, it was easier to hide my embarrassment that way.

I focused the camera on my coffee shop mystery man, “Hello,” he glanced into the camera, “My name is RM, I’m kind of like a leader and translator for this group.”

Note: Sorry this is a lot of fluff! But don’t worry, there will be a lot more BTS in the upcoming chapters (and some potential smut ;)).

 Also, about the name change.... I really like the song “I like me better” by Lauv, and I think I’ll be using that song as inspiration for the story moving forward. Let me know what you think, and if you like this style of having a character, or if you would like bts/reader stories. 

[seigyokus]

Producer Letter #14

Same old 80% translation, 20% paraphrase mix as usual. Hit the jump to read more!

To everyone supporting Idolish Seven,

This marks the first producer letter of 2018! We have just finished releasing Part 3 in the game, and episode 15 marks the end of our regular airing schedule for the TV anime. (TL Note: no fear, the anime's not over yet! more on this later)

The Idolish Seven Exhibit has been open for about half a year following our second anniversary, and the exhibit closed yesterday. We are very happy that we were able to tour various cities with everyone's help, and we thank everyone for your support!

There is currently an event going on at VR ZONE called "PRISM NIGHT", hi-resolution versions of our music* are available at SONY, and our idols will be acting as the advertising representatives for JR Tokai Tours's "OFF/Journey Campaign!" 

We are happy that our talents are getting so much work, and we truly feel as if we've taken a step towards the future we envision for our project.

PRISM NIGHT　 SONY Hi-res Audio  JR Tokai Tours　

*TL Note: not sure if this encompasses the entire i7 discography but a side note, "hi-res audio" refers to .flac files aka God Tier Lossless A+++ Sound Quality, whereas most tracks available for digital download are in mp3 or m4a format, which are great but not fully lossless! I actually can't watch the video rn because I'm a fool and forgot my earbuds but I believe that is what's going on!

Today, we'd like to talk about the following topics...

【The Project as a Whole】

◆ Part 3

Thank you for walking alongside our idols all the way from April 27th, 2017 through Chapter 20! 

We've received continuous support ever since we started releasing Part 3, and we are truly happy we were able to deliver all of Part 3 to everyone without fail.

Part 3 is a turning point within the work, as we've stated in previous producer letters, and the characters have undergone various changes as they confronted hardships and advanced forward within the story.

It took a long time to deliver all of Part 3, and we'd like to thank you for your patience from the bottom of our hearts. Although it took a long time, we've gleaned equal amounts of confidence and were able to present a lot of stories and carefully craft the songs as a result.

We hope to continue crafting this project with the utmost care, and we thank you for your continued support.

◆ The Anime

Looking back, we spent about a year working on the anime script with TROYCA. As for the anime series composition, the last episode of the anime’s regular broadcast aired yesterday with episode 15. 

The image of Director Bessho declaring, "Let's do a good job on episode 15*, and make episodes 16 and 17 one episode!" still firmly remains in my memory. While I cannot go into great detail as some of you may not have watched episode 15 yet, we firmly believe that viewers will be able to enjoy episodes 16+17 precisely because of everything that has happened thus far and because of everything that we have built up through episode 15.

We hope you keep watching until the end!

Episode 16・17 will be broadcast during the following dates and times (JST):

TOKYO MX　2018/5/19 Saturday, 19:30～ KBS Kyoto　2018/5/22 Tuesday, 23:00～ Sun TV　2018/5/22 Tuesday, late night 1:30～ TV Aichi　2018/5/20 Sunday, scheduled for late night broadcast TV Hokkaido　2018/5/19 Saturday, scheduled for late night broadcast TVQ Kyushu Broadcast　2018/5/20 Sunday, late night 3:35～ BS11　2018/5/24 Thursday, late night 1:30～

※ In the case that any changes are made to the broadcasting schedule, please check the TV anime's official site or the official Twitter for the anime.

Volumes 1 and 2 of the Blu-ray/DVD are currently on sale as well!

◆ 1st LIVE 『Road To Infinity」

We announced this concert back in January of this year, and holding this concert is one of our many dreams regarding this project.

It has been in planning for two years now, and it is thanks to the anime production committee that we are able to have our idols take such a grand stage. Not just that, we are truly overjoyed that we have the opportunity to have all three groups (IDOLiSH7, TRIGGER, Re:vale) perform live together.

We have one more important announcement to make regarding the concert!

People who have cleared a certain requiremnet in-game will be given the opportunity to enter the lottery for concert tickets. We will be revealing more details on this soon.

The campaign start time, requirements, and specific website for this campaign can be found via "In-game Announcements" and we plan on releasing this soon. Please remember to log into your game, and we hope you look forward to it!

◆ Fan Thanksgiiving Event* *TL Note: kanshasai for anyone used to the romaji form

We started holding these events back in 2017, and this time we'll be holding Volume 3 of "Kimi to Motto ×2 Ai wo Kataranai to!"

Additionally, we will be holding live viewing sessions for Vol. 3, and we hope to have tons of fans enjoying the event in real-time!

Live Viewing Ticket Reservation Time Period April 7th, Saturday, 12：00 (JST) - April 22nd, Sunday, 23：59 (JST)

More details can be found here at the official site!

◆ Music

How is everyone enjoying the songs from the anime?

We've included tons of surprises so all fans, both new and old, can enjoy the anime!

We would be delighted if people became more interested in the world of Idolish Seven because of the songs that adorn the franchise!

Additionally, the BGM for each scene from the TV anime will be included in the OST, "SOUND OF RAiNBOW" (on sale April 25th, 2018)!  

There are two comprehensive CDs filled with songs, so we hope you purchase it!

Furthermore, "Nanatsuiro REALiZE" by IDOLiSH7, the last unlockable song from Part 3 of the game story, will be on sale on June 20th, 2018.

We have also started on the "12 SONGS GIFT" series of birthday songs for each idol, and we thank everyone for the high praise it has received. 

We hope everyone continues to enjoy this series as we show more sides to each idol, and we will be doing our best to ensure this.

◆ Music Videos

The full version of the music video MAPPA produced for us has been released, and we hope everyone watches it!

Additionally, TRIGGER's newest music video, "DIAMOND FUSION," will also be released soon.

We hope to continue to create more videos for everyone's enjoyment, so please look forward to it.

"Nanatsuiro REALiZE" marks the 7th installment in the Idolish Seven Music Video Animation Project. We hope to deliver more to everyone and try a different format from YouTube, so we hope everyone looks forward to it!

◆ Comicalization & Novelization

We will soon be finishing up the comicalization of "Banri Ikkuu!" 

"Senko Fuma" and "Hyakusai Mukyuu" will also be released for a limited time only on Hakusensha Novels, and we also intend on comicalizing these parts as well.

We thank you for your continued support!

【About the Game】

We hope everyone is enjoying the game alongside the anime!

We have tons of new songs, events, and scouts prepared. The anime's finale will be airing soon, and we hope everyone will enjoy it!

【Future Game Adjustments & Additions】

◆ Events

As we mentioned in the previous Producer Letter, we are focusing up on making the game easier to understand. For example, clearing up which items are necessary for helping your idols grow and where to get them, what the requirements are for moving an idol to the Waiting Room, etc. 

As we approach the two and a half year mark, we hope to make game functions and each type of event easier to understand, and improve upon each.

With regards to this topic, we will be giving more details through each subsequent update, in-game announcements, and the official twitter rather than here in this letter.

◆ Questions, Comments, or Concerns about the Game In the case that you would like to express your opinion to the staff, please contact us through the official site.

Thank you for reading all the way through this letter! 

I'm sure some of you may be thinking, "You didn't answer my question!!" 

But in response to that, there's one thing we'd like to promise you: 

We guarantee that we will deliver only the best to you!

Last but not least, we would like to thank all of our hardworking staff, and we hope to continue working with everyone.

Let's all watch the anime! And let's all play Ainana!

TL Notes/comments:

I, too, would like to thank everyone for reading this far too! I am a day later than I would’ve liked for putting this out, so thank you for guys your patience.

As for other translation stuff, 9.5 will be posted later today and Chapter 10 is currently in the works! Now that Part 3 is over, I can finally catch up without fear of the next part dropping! Woohoo!!!!

As always, if you see any mistakes/mistranslations/etc, do not hesitate to drop me an ask! I don’t check tumblr chat messages as often, so if you’d like to bring something to my immediate attention, the best avenue to do that is via askbox!

Once more, thank you for reading!

[black-strike-otp]

part 65

Ohohohohoho~ A long chapter awaits you, dear readers~

“Good to have you back in charge around here, Blackout,” Guard acknowledged with soft-spoken relief as signs of strain alleviated from his tired vintage form. A comforting shine moved through his darkened cobalt optics as he reached forward to grasp the slightly larger mech firmly on the shoulder.

The undefined smile on Satan’s face grew more pronounced. He felt caught up in a dream. A couple nights ago he was admitting his deepest affection and feelings to the femme he trusted to show his true self to and now it felt like he hadn’t stopped smiling since.

Now back on duty, he had tasks and chores to perform once again. He longed for the work a fraction of which he longed to have Nova and Scorponok and all these bots in his life, but he felt incomplete without a function and this was his. Helping to run the Rising Star gave him that sense of purpose he would always crave; a duty to be served.

“Glad to be back, sir,” he addressed the worn bot he would always consider his superior no matter their titles.

Guard grinned in response, chuckling as he shook Blackout’s shoulder gently. “Going a bit stir crazy stuck under medical care, hmm?”

“Quite, sir,” he admitted.

“Blackout, what did I say about all these ‘sir’s?”

“Apologies Guard. It’s habit.”

“All bots are equal on this ship, Blackout,” Guard reminded him. “It’s simply the commanders who help to define the order and make sure every bot is accommodated for and given their fair share of work to relaxation so we don’t delve into chaos.”

“Of course, sir.”

Rolling his optics, the elder mech gave a short vent and chuckled. Blackout offered a slightly uncertain shrug in response. He wasn’t exactly lying; it was certainly a difficult habit to break. He spent his life serving and respecting those he viewed above himself. Guard of all the bots he’d met deserved the utmost respect. He’d lived a long life prior to even the unrest of the Autobot/Decepticon war, even remembering the Golden Age in the depth of his processor.

A hard life like that and still managing to function and to support and command order among these bots; some faster and stronger and more capable than himself, he claimed his spot through determination and care. Guard was the most selfless and understanding mech. To not honor him was a crime.

“I understand your need to get up and move around,” the old bot reasoned with a nod. “I go a bit loony spending too much time sitting too.”

“Really?” Blackout drawled teasingly. “I never would have guessed.”

“Son if I had half the energy I did only a few vorns ago, I would bring your sarcastic aft to the ground,” Guard threatened with a hearty laugh.

Optics flashing, Blackout grinned as he mused, “I’m sure you still could, sir.”

“Oh, right,” Guard agreed with a scoff. “With my bum leg, I’m sure.”

Blackout shrugged in response. He would never underestimate that old mech, that’s for sure.

“I’ll leave you to your business here in the bridge, then,” commented the old mech. “You seem to have everything under control.”

“Doing my very best, sir,” Blackout confirmed as his shadowy red optics flared with life.

“I know you are,” Guard agreed, squeezing his shoulder gently. He gave a final pat on the ebony mech’s thick armor before turning with a smile and hobbling towards the door.

Blackout watched him go with some concern before turning his gaze back onto his datapad. Maybe later he’d see about those prisoners and get some measurements. One of them just might have the right size appendage to give Guard a little more pep back into his step.

~

“What ya smirkin’ so much for short stuff?”

“Maybe I’m just in a good mood today,” Novastrike responding, sticking out her glossia to the mech. “Now am I going to get a ride over to the Revenge II, or are all of you going to pester me all day about how happy I appear?”

Sniggering, a few of the mechs bumped shoulders lightly as they looked between each other.

“Gettin’ frisky in the berth, ain’t ya?” a femme chimed in.

“Guys, don’t project your own aroused thoughts on me and sick fantasies,” the little femme huffed, shuttering her optics as she gave a disappointed shake of her helm.

“I don’t need to,” a mech purred, grinding the side of his hip against one of the mech’s standing close to him. “I have a pretty healthy interface life.”

“Gross.”

“Mmm mech you know it~”

“Called it.”

“Classy mech, classy.”

“All of you need to seriously find things to talk about,” Nova murmured with a slight shudder. “I didn’t need to know all that.”

“All that?” echoed the mech with a gleam in his gaze. “Femme I could give you some tips~”

“Oh please don’t.”

“No bot needs the nitty gritty mech.”

Nova dragged her servo over her faceplate. She cared for each and every bot on this ship, but sometimes, they were the worst roommates and family.

“All of you need your processors defragged,” she quietly grumbled.

“Ha! Defragged, I get it-”

Raising her arm, Novastrike pointed an index digit to the ceiling as she shook her helm. “Ahh. No.”

“But-”

“Stop.”

“But-”

“Cease immediately,” she vented heavily. “I just need a lift over to the Revenge II. Could any of you just provide me a ride before we get distracted again?”

“I got ya tiny,” a femme flier spoke up, stepping forward. “By the way, I’m sorry on behalf of these bots. They’ve got their processors in their interface panels.”

“Like ya ain’t ever got down and dirty with sparks flying as you-”

Novastrike shut off her audios, staring impassively at the mech speaking up before another reached over and grabbed his helm, laughing as he pushed him down. She didn’t trust to turn her reception back on until she was sure everyone was either caught up in laughter or their mouthplate wasn’t moving as though talking.

“I��m ready now,” Nova proclaimed as she set her gaze upon the femme.

Nodding her helm somewhat timidly, the bigger femme took a step back and shifted around her armor until she transformed fully into her flier alt-mode. She was bulkier and much boxier than Blackout’s alt-mode, but definitely smaller; only offering a single seated section upon her cockpit.

Taking a few steps back, Novastrike calculated the angle of her jump and pounced, landing in the cockpit just as the femme opened up the hatch.

“Woah- nice jump but uh, careful inside there,” the femme laughed. “Don’t want to land on the right button or something.”

“Right, sorry,” murmured the smaller femme. Like she didn’t have experience inside of a flier.

Seating herself, Novastrike remained patient as the hatch came down and locked upon her. The femme’s engines roared to life and came to a quiet purr. Some of the gauges, levelers, and blinking lights flashed on the control panel in front of the little femme and she raised an optic ridge curiously.

Lifting up from the docking bay’s floor, the flier zipped out with a burn of her thrusters into the darkness. Nova turned her optics up at the tethers that latched the Revenge II to the Rising Star, anchoring it to the small transporter. The battle cruiser was being tugged along fine by all measures. Gravity was helping it along now more than the motion of the Rising Star as they just barely were burning their own fuel at the moment to conserve it rather than try lugging the larger ship after it.

“The fasteners been checked today on the connections?”

“Yes ma’am,” the flier responded cheerfully. “All connections secure and sturdy, no wear or tear on the chains.”

“Glad to hear that,” the small femme reported with a nod.

As they sped up and zoomed past the Revenge II, Novastrike glanced along the exterior of the vessel. It looked worse day by day as more and more destroyed panels broke away to reveal just how hammered the ship had been. Not to mention that the members of the Rising Star had been excavating it and replacing their own battered hull with its thicker armory platting. Before long there was going to be bare bones and mostly shattered and blackened plates left. What good panels may remain after they finished their own repairs was probably still going to be removed and set aside in case of future use.

The flier took a fairly sharp turn as they made their way to the lower hatch beneath the ship. There was clearly a wide berth of space of them to dispatch many fliers and seekers all at once. She cruised slowly up the lowered section of metal and settled on to the floor.

As the cockpit opened and Novastrike climbed out, her optics whisked around the empty room.

“Where’s the crew?” Nova whispered, inhaling slowly to bring in the swirling scents that may still be in the room.

“Maybe they’re changing shifts, ma’am?” the flier asked with confusion.

“No no no, they change shifts on the floor,” Novastrike insisted, shaking her helm. Her audios straightened, making minute adjustments in direction as she hopped off the femme and looked around.

“Ma’am?” the large femme cautiously whispered, her voice shaky.

Novastrike turned back towards the flier, offering a gentle smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she informed the femme quickly, “But perhaps head back to the Rising Star and speak with one of the other commanders, see what’s going on. We can’t get comm’s through to the Rising Star from this distance with the Revenge II’s electronic interference system since we’re not on the bridge.”

“Right away, miss,” the bulky femme barked in response. Her thrusters growled back to life as Novastrike took a few hurried steps away so that she could lift up and turn around to exit the ship.

Lifting her servo up in the air so the femme’s viewers could spot her, Novastrike held the smile on her faceplate. She waited until the flier had disappeared from her view entirely before turning her sharp gaze back, looking in every direction of the room.

It was empty. No palettes waiting for transport, no freights or deliveries or supplies, no nothing. It was completely deserted. Not a single bot in sight.

She inhaled deeper, drinking in the air as she casually walked towards the door that would lead her inside the ship. Her pedes hesitated a few steps as she moved closer to the entryway.

Reaching down to her hips, a pair of gun handles popped up from her thighs. She grasped the carefully, pinging the entry code to the entrance so it would open.

A wafting aroma of blood-energon assaulted her senses.

Bringing her pistols together so that they merged into her assault rifle, Novastrike stepped into the Revenge II.

~

Strolling down the corridor, Nova felt a prickly sensation like she was being watched. There were no signs of the troops from the Rising Star sent to maintenance and oversee the ship anywhere, yet the lingering odor of blood remained thick in the air. With each room she passed there was no evidence of any bot. It was simply a ghost town.

Chills racing down her spine, Novastrike headed towards the one area she felt she might get the answers she was looking for: the containment area.

Trotting quickly past rooms, Novastrike looked through the open thresholds and blasted open areas still scarred and scorched from battle. No matter which direction she looked, there didn’t seem to be any bot on the ship.

What the slag was going on over here?

Huffing loudly, the small femme bounded up to the only closed door on the entire vessel: the prisoner’s keep.

“This is Novastrike, requesting entry.”

The door remained sealed, the red light indicating it was locked.

“Novastrike, requesting entry.”

Nothing.

Venting, the femme locked her rifle against her backside and swung her arms back and forth. Her hips swiveled slightly, tail lashing, and then she jumped, barely managing to clutch her digits against the rim of the locking system.

Grunting, she raised a single servo and slapped it against the scanner.

A beam of light fluxed out and the light for the room turned green. “Identity Novastrike acknowledged. Welcome, commander,” a recorded monotone greeted her.

“At least something’s still working around here,” she muttered, dropping down from the scanner and to the floor.

Bouncing lightly on her pedes, Nova gave herself a slight shake as she reached back for her rifle and entered into the jail room.

Walking down the passageway, she scanned each room as she passed with a haunting realization.

There was no bot in here.

Not a single one.

“By the Allspark,” she breathed, feeling queasy.

A sudden crash from behind her sent shockwaves rippling through the floor and a bolt of adrenaline laced fear racing up Novastrike’s backstrut.

“Good guess,” a grating voice sneered. “Because that’s exactly where you’ll be heading next.”

Spinning around, Novastrike raised her rifle up to the mech who stood behind her. His elongated clawed digits reached down to pull a weapon hanging from his hip.

Flicking her optics around with confusion, Nova quickly realized where the fragger had come from. There were gouges in the ceiling above her.

Stupid, he must have been magnetized and clinging up among the beams to keep himself hidden.

Next time look up you fragger, she cursed herself.

Letting out a hail of plasma-fire on the mech’s servo, he hissed in pain and retracted his digits from his weapon. It fumbled and fell to the floor in front of him.

To the left and right of the mech, the air suddenly seemed to shimmer.

Slag, cloaking devices.

Reaching back, Novastrike placed her rifle back on her backside and ran as hard and as fast as her pedes would carry her as plumes of fire bellowed out from nowhere.

Skating by the first mech’s pedes as he tried to stomp her, Novastrike swiveled and pulled free her gun to fire upon the invisible forces, directly in the position that the flames came erupting out of.

The cloaking devices fritzed as the flamethrowers exploded in a gaseous shower of sparks and fire, burning up the mechs holding the weapons with shrieks of surprise.

Talons turned back to her with his weapon in servo now, ugly mug sneering. Before Nova could manage an ‘oh scrap’, the gravity compression gun went off with a bang.

Flying down the hall, Novastrike went crashing into the floor and hurtled senselessly along until she came to a slow stop near the end of the lengthy chamber.

“I’m goin’ to enjoy crushin’ you like a bug,” the mech laughed, strolling after her. To his left and his right, scorched figures slowly limped after him with menacing grins.

Lifting her helm, Novastrike peered at the trio with a grimace. Pressing her pede to the floor, she jumped to her pedes as the center mech lifted his weapon to her.

The floor blasted in every direction. Fragments sank into Novastrike’s frame and pelted the three mechs.

Snapping her rifle up, Novastrike let loose a barrage on the three as they brought their arms away from shielding their optics.

Roaring with fury, a mech shifted his arm into a re-modified scatter blaster attachment. The wide ray of explosive slugs had Nova hopelessly dashing down the hall to try avoiding the onslaught.

“Slag slag slag slag slag,” the femme huffed, charging down the hall as fast as she could. Each blast of the scatter blaster came with a chorus of laughter as she weaved wildly to avoid the flying debris that came with it and the whizzing sound of its energy-based explosive material flying by her.

Jumping from the floor to the opposing wall, she whipped around to leg out a spray of plasma upon the mechs.

One mech raised up his arm, producing a shield from a compartment on his arm. The other reached to his chassis compartment to pull out a photon displacer.

Novastrike offlined her audios just a hair fraction before the displacer went off. Her senses suddenly went erratic from the frequency notes; optics blacking out into white-noise.

She drove their scents sharply as she onlined her audio receptors again.

Her ear twitched and she dropped and rolled to the right as the scatter blaster went off again. Blinded she could only jerk to avoid some of the shrapnel flying at her backside, flinching as it tore into her protoform.

Vibrations moved through the floor.

Leaping back, Novastrike narrowly missed being pancaked by one of the mech’s pedes.

“No reason to play hard to get now,” snarled a mech.

Novastrike flicked her ears erratically. She pitched to the left and dove forward as two bots made a grab for her. There was a distinctive thud of metal against metal as the pair collided, cursing each other angrily.

Dashing forward still, a blast from the scatter blaster hit the floor and had the two arguing mechs howling with anger and pain as they were coated in molten metal and flying waste. Novastrike clumsily raised her rifle nanokliks later, adjusted slightly, and fired.

“FRAG!”

Swinging her gun over her shoulder, she fired again.

Another bot cursed.

“Do you even know how to use that photon displacer you slagger? She can still see!”

“No she can’t, look at her optics! They’re colorless!”

“Then why does she still know where we are?!”

Pivoting, Novastrike fired again and jumped, feeling the ground shake beneath her. Something slid beneath her pedes, she couldn’t determine what, but she wasn’t going to play the guessing game on it and lose focus.

Flipping around, she popped off a few more shots as one of the mech’s sucked in too heavily.

“Primus be fragged!”

Fractures of light and distorted colors began to flicker into Novastrike’s vision as she landed.

Something was off. A smell, a new smell, there was a fourth-

Whoever they were, they were far more nimble on their pedes. Before she could pick up on their exact position they were upon her, and as she tried to dart out of the way, something hit her. Hard.

Energon splattered out of Novastrike’s mouth as she hit the floor. Something made an unsavory snap and crunched inside of her as part of her chassis was pulverized by the blow.

She went to roll over, clutching her chassis. More images were beginning to flicker into her optics gradually; the scraps of metal on the busted up floor coming in and out of vision and the look of energon dripping on the floor from her mouth.

Some bot hit her again and she went sprawling useless across the floor.

A low whistle emitted from one of the mechs. “Nice nucleon shock gauntlets, femme. Haven’t seen those in a long time.”

“I thought they were illegal.”

“They are,” purred a feminine voice.

“Mind if I give ‘em a try-”

“No. We can hardly expect you morons to take care of one- what is that?- minicon?”

“But she’s fiesty,” whined one of the mechs.

“And so am I,” the femme icy stormed in retort.

Rolling over to her back, Novastrike let out an exhale, coughing on energon. Her ears were ringing with pain, but her sight was returning to her now. She could make out the definition of ceiling, and the shapes of the bots shadows as they moved to approach her.

She couldn’t just remain laying here, feeling sorry for herself and wallowing in agony.

Arching her back, Novastrike flipped backwards and on her pedes.

As she looked up, the figure of the femme looking at her came into view. She cocked an optic ride down to Nova and the foggy appearance of her cruel smile flowed through the small femme’s fuzzy gaze.

“You know, I like you tiny,” the pirate femme remarked with a grin. “You got spunk. Tell you what: you give up now, I won’t break your pretty face. I can get you on some bot’s good side. What do you say?”

Hacking up a mouth full of energon, Novastrike spat it on the floor as she reached down to pick up her rifle from the floor.

“I’ll pass.”

The ruthless grin stretched sickeningly on the femme’s faceplate and she rolled her helm around on her shoulders.

“Very well.”

Saturation begin to bleed into Novastrike’s vision as the femme charged for her. Behind her, the triplet blockhelms raised their scatter blaster, gravity compression weapon, and photon displacer- which the later realized might not be the best of arsenal in a group fight and quickly replaced it to his subspace to transform his arm into a cannon.

Playing his thoughts to the wove pattern of her attackers, Novastrike dove to the side and rolled into a kneel to let fire at the mech’s standing back. Two ducked to the side easily but one was caught in a splatter of plasma, lurching with pain as he stumbled back.

Flicking her ears back, Novastrike lunged forward as the femme’s knuckled came crashing down where she’d just been. Stumbling to her pedes she turned, flinging her arm with her digit on the trigger.

The femme howled with torment as her face was splashed directly with the corrosive acid. Tilting to the side, Nova ran shots from the floor to the mech’s pedes and up their chassis.

One fired their scatter blaster. Sprinting recklessly Novastrike dropped and slid by, curving her arm around to discharge her weapon along the mech’s legs and spines as she skipped and did a frontal past them.

Sparks fluttered off the mechs. One kicked out at her and missed as she jumped over his swing and fired into his knee joint.

As he stumbled and his friends began to circle around, she jumped up the mech’s chassis, scaled part of his armor and as he went to slap at her leaped up and fired at the mech’s throat.

Energon spewed out. Nova dropped down to the floor as the mech clutched his neck, gagging on his life substance.

One of the others went to snap up his gravity compressor. Novastrike fired into the muzzle before the mech could even think about firing. It exploded outward into the mech’s arm and he gave a shriek of pain.

Dipping, the little femme winded around to avoid the other mech’s shield as it clipped the ground just a breath away from her as though he intended to squash her.

With a groan as pain flared up like fire in his veins, Nova darted to the side as the mech’s pede came upon the crumbling floor. A torrent of metal shards went hurtling in every direction as part of his pede was swallowed by a hole it created in the floor.

A particularly gnarly splinter for a bot was like a sword to the tiny femme. One speared her in the leg and she sucked in a breath, dropping to her good knee as she fell. Energon gushed out of her leg and puddled to the floor.

As the offlining mech finally collapsed face first into the floor, the other two turned their furious gazes towards Novastrike.

She didn’t hesitate. Reaching to the side of her leg, she ripped out the shard and a trail of energon and sparks and ripped circuits followed it.

With cat-like speed and reflex as shards of metal still tumbled to the floor, Novastrike chucked the piece of metal like a throwing knife. The mech gurgled and squealed, clawing at his face as the metal shard exploded his optic into glassy fragments and pierced his processor.

Coiling his arm back like a viper ready to strike, the final mech snapped his servo into a fist and raised his shield. He made to strike at Nova as she stumbled back, but even as he missed, something struck him from behind as a shadow fell over both him and the small femme.

Nova barely had time to throw herself out of the way as the femme’s fist struck the ground; the power of the nucleon shock gauntlets devastating the floor into further disarray and buckling metal.

Both the mech behind the mad femme and Nova before her looked terrified as she turned her furious dark optics upon Nova. There was holes in her faceplate leaking energon, some of which had leaded over her one of her optics that had cracks webbing over the surface.

“Here, kitty kitty,” the femme snarled, launching herself forward.

Novastrike reacted on instinct, bringing up her rifle as the femme’s fist connected with it. She was hurtled back, slamming into the far wall with a loud whoosh of air escaping her in shock and pain.

Shaking the dazed feeling out of her processor, Nova looked up a nanoklik too late.

The femme pummeled a fist into Novastrike’s chassis, slamming her rifle into her. She sucked in sharply, gasping as energon coughed up from her mouth. The wall behind her warped inward with a loud moan as she indented into the metal itself.

With a gleam in her optics, the femme raised her other servo.

Novastrike knew she didn’t want to be hit by those fists again.

The barb on her tail slid open and she impulsively began to stab into the gauntlet snaking up the femme’s servo and knuckles that was pressed into her. She retracted and stabbed again and again wildly, shrinking back against the wall despite the femme’s fist coming to her.

It stopped part of the way as the femme suddenly yanked backward. Charges and sparks filtered out of the gauntlets as it began to overload. And when those things overloaded...

Peeling herself from the wall as the femme desperately tried to rip the gauntlet from her arm, Novastrike staggered awkwardly and collapsed on the floor. She dragged in air, feeling each breath bring a fresh wave of agony tearing through her and more energon dripping from her maw. In her haze, she’d dropped her rifle somewhere on the floor.

There was a sudden explosive bang behind her and Novastrike flinched, looking back at the femme as she let out a sob. Her arm was just... missing. From around her elbow down, it was simply gone where the nucleons had burned up and exploded outward.

“I’ll kill you, you stupid bitch!” the femme screeched, slamming her only servo to the floor as she lurched forward, intending to crawl if she had to.

Terror suffocated the little femme. Flipping onto her aft, she scooted backwards as the femme tried to stand up, her optics mad with rage.

The only mech left online was on his pedes now, and grimacing as he stepped around the femme. She grabbed at his leg and he kicked her off, bringing up his shield and cannon as he gestured down to Novastrike.

“I wish I could say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t,” the mech stated. “And we got work to do, little femme.”

“Don’t you dare kill her, that femme is mine!”

Ignoring his furious partner, the mech shrugged as he brought up his cannon. “Say g’night, tiny.”

She was defenseless. Her optics widened a small fraction as she brought her arm up, as if that would keep her safe from the blast.

“Goodnight,” a venomous growl rumbled in the air.

That voice...

Novastrike brought her arm away from her faceplate just in time to see Guard raise up his cannon and fire at the mech. Behind him, three other mechs were fanned out, raining carefully timed blasts at the pirate as he went to try backpedaling.

The white-armored femme’s mouth went agape. Where was Guard’s cane? What was the old mech doing?

She whipped her helm back to the Rising Crew member’s and then to the mech that Guard was facing off with, witnessing as he dropped to his knees. Novastrike flinched as Guard grabbed his helm with one servo and placed his cannon against the side of the mech’s helm and fired, splattering his processor and energon like a horrific crime scene all over the ship.

Guard turned his blazing optics on to the femme. She pressed up against the wall, raising her servos in surrender.

“Please, spare me-”

With a blank expression, Guard brought up his cannon. “I don’t think so,” he grunted, firing.

Nova cringed at the carnage.

Just as her voice crackled, trying to find words, the three mechs rushed forward. One made for Guard, and the other two came to Novastrike’s side, dropping down beside her.

Keeping her optics on the old commander of the Rising Star, she watched as the mech offered Guard his cane and tried to help keep the mech standing as a crutch. Guard pressed a servo to the wall for support and whispered something she couldn’t hear over the mech’s questioning her and reaching out tentatively as if to touch her.

Slapping the mech’s servos away, Nova forced herself to stand. She spat the energon out of her mouth that coated her glossia and hobbled forward uncertainly. She swept her gaze over the brace on Guard’s leg and up to his faceplate. What had just been stern and completely sparkless was now embarrassed and gentle as he tried waving off the mech trying to offer him his cane.

“Guard? What are you doing here?”

The old mech turned his optics down towards Nova, raising an optic ridge.

“The femme flier who couriered you over here came to me saying you had a report to bring to the first commander she spotted. I just so happened to be close to the hatch bay. Although it appears bringing a small squadron like I did may have been an under-sight considering the condition of this ship...”

“Sir,” Nova strained patiently as she reached down to rub her aching leg. “You’re in no condition to-”

The old mech’s optics grew extraordinary bright as he snatched his cane from the mech. Waving it at Nova, he tapped it upon the floor as he straightened his posture.

“Never tell an old mech what he can’t and can do,” he sternly stated. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She was stumped. Clearly she couldn’t argue with him, when he’d just offlined two Decepticons in front of her as casually as if taking a stroll down the hall.

“Yes- Yes sir,” she stammered.

“Good,” the elderly mech stated with a nod. “Now, I think we should head towards the jail cells-”

“Sir, there’s no one in the cells. I can’t find a bot anywhere. These goons-” she gestured to the deceased bots strewn about, “came after me. Two were using cloaking devices and one dangling among rafters in the cell, and the femme came out of nowhere in the middle of the brawl.”

Giving a sharp nod of his helm with understanding, Guard looked up at the three mechs. He turned his optics on to each one in turn.

“Two of you stay behind and check every room for any bots who might be hiding, damaged, or otherwise anywhere on the ship. There were crew from the Rising Star here too keeping watch. The other one, return to the Rising Star and get more help. Novastrike and I will head for the bow of the vessel and see if we can’t get out a message as well to the Rising Star and see if there’s any bots up there trying to make contact or Primus forbid, get this cruiser operational and running again.”

Hesitating, Guard turned his faceplate down to Novastrike once more. “Unless you’re too injured. I would understand young one. Can you walk on your leg?”

“I’m fine, commander,” she assured him swiftly, moving her damaged leg. “I might limp a bit, but it’s just a flesh wound.”

The old mech grunted, and then chuckled in response. “You’re a strong little femme,” he commented. “I’d be wreathing in pain back in my youth over a wound like that.”

She wanted to. Primus, she wanted to. Her leg was throbbing. But she wanted to see this through.

“Take their weapons,” Guard stated towards the mechs. “Stay safe.”

“Shouldn’t you take a weapon, sir?” one of them cautiously asked.

Guard gave a wave of his servo. “We’ll be fine. Make sure that whoever goes back to the ship fetches Blackout. He’s our best fighter; and I’m sure he’ll want to come for himself to make sure Novastrike’s okay.”

If her helm wasn’t aching so much and she wasn’t feeling the pulse of pain move with each throb of her spark, she might have blushed.

“Aye, Guard, sir.”

Ambling carefully over the structurally unsound floor, Novastrike picked up her plasma rifle. She inspected it’s exposed canister carefully and looked over it. Although somewhat bent, it seemed okay. She supposed she wouldn’t know until she fired it, or tried transforming it back into her pistols.

Turning back carefully, she glanced up to the mech as he faltered over on his bad appendage over to her. His smile was softened but his optics spoke of concern.

“I’m sorry I had to do that in front of you,” he said quietly.

Nova shrugged in response. “Don’t worry about it, sir,” she vented. “How do you think the other two came to be offlined?”

The mech frowned slowly. He appeared dreadfully sorrowful for a moment.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. I know it is not your choosing to-”

“It’s fine,” she cut in. “I’d rather not discuss it. Or at least, not right now. Let’s head to the bridge.”

Bowing his helm deeply with respect, the old mech spoke with kindness as he usually did as he agreed: “Let’s, young one.”

~

Shuffling down the passageway and over the rubbish from the hard-fought battle, the duo skimmed over the rooms they passed as they made their way through the Revenge II. Just as Nova had seen before, the room’s appeared empty that they passed as they made their way to the upper deck and to the bridge.

“It’s empty,” Nova noted as the doors opened in front of them. “Where else could all the bots that had been be? Where could they have gone?”

With a pondering expression, Guard limped ahead of her. He gingerly leaned into his cane as he reached out, tapping a few keys on the command console.

“According to the logs, nobody’s been in here recently trying to operate the systems,” he muttered thoughtfully.

The two exchanged glances.

While Guard moved to stand by the door, Novastrike walked around the room. She extended her senses; coughing on the energon coating her insides and making it hard to get a good reading with her olfactory sensors. Her ears weren’t picking up on anything unusual and no matter what she looked in or under, there appeared to be no bot in the room. There was even some layers of dust and dried energon not moved since the ship had been shut down and the bots surrendered.

“I don’t get it,” she hissed with frustration. “Did everyone but those four just, disappear?”

“That’s not possible,” Guard fumed, pacing in a shambling walk in front of the door. “We had bots over here, good, hard working bots keeping an optic on everyone. How could they all have just left? They wouldn’t do such a thing. Somebot would have wanted to report the disturbance. Tell me, did anything appear unusual down in the jail cells?”

“No, not at all. No signs of trauma or struggle, no bodies, nothing. They were just... empty.”

Stroking his chin, Guard paused in front of the door. “How very strange...”

A warble came through Novastrike’s comm and she jumped. She’d forgotten that communication’s worked inside the ship, just didn’t project out of it.

“We... need help...” rasped a voice, “please.”

Novastrike and Guard’s optics met.

“The two seekers you had inspect the ship,” Nova voiced with worry.

Pressing a digit to his helm, Guard spoke feverishly, “Where are you? Tell us where you are, we’ll come for you.”

There was no response.

“Think, where could they be, where would bots go on this slagging ship,” the old mech asked in exasperation, dragging his servo now over his helm as though he intended to rip into is helm for the answer.

The two were silent. Musing. And then, Nova remembered something.

“This ship has an evacuation area,” she suddenly shouted, surprising even herself. “What if the bots escaped? What if they took the escape pods and left?”

“That’s a far stretch, how would that many bots-”

“Sir, where else is there? The destroyed docking station? The medic’s station?”

Taken aback by the fierce determination in the femme’s words, Guard nodded fiercely. His optics were wide for a moment and then he seemed to smile for a split nanoklik. He seemed to like the fire in her, the commanding presence.

“Alright, lead the way,” he confidently answered. “You’ve been over here more than I have to keep bots in line, and you knew of the area of the ship I wasn’t even aware of.”

The very idea of continuing to walk made Novastrike cringe internally. Her leg was killing her. She hurt all over. She was no warrior; this was not her calling. She just wanted to get patched up, be sent back to her room and curl up on Blackout’s chassis where it was safe and warm and he would praise her endlessly and lull her into a good recharge despite her whining.

But the praise wouldn’t be worth it, sweet and true if she couldn’t do this. There were mechs in trouble on this ship, and many more missing members of her ship and crew. She had to make sure they were okay, her own wanting could wait.

Nodding her helm, Nova vented shortly as she answered, “Certainly, sir.”

Hurrying in front of Guard and ignoring her jostling leg, the femme tracked her way down the corridor and down to the lower levels. She tried not to make it obvious as she glanced over her shoulder to keep an optic on Guard. When he started falling too far behind, she tried to limp a little more and play on her injury. She could move better on it then she pretended too despite the pain, but she didn’t want to seem like she was pitying the old mech and offend him for his sluggish hobble.

Whether he realized what she was doing or not, she couldn’t determine from their brief moment’s of optic contact. He simply looked intense and focused to his core. Mouth set, optics bright and staring forward.

It made her spark swell with pride. This was the sort of mech to follow. True and courageous; a fighter as well as a protector. He didn’t speak words, he held them to his spark and he did what he could for the good of those around him. She only prayed she could be more like him with time.

“This way, commander,” she urged, skipping down a few steps. “The chamber’s just over here to our left.”

Guard grunted in response. He grimaced down at the stairs, and Novastrike hesitated and came to a complete pause as she waited for him to make his way down the five single steps to meet her.

That feeling of being watched prickled on her senses. She looked to the ceiling and around her wearily. Spitting out the energon from her mouth, she kept it slightly open to help bring in the swirling air around her, inhaling to get a better sense of what was around her.

Novastrike instantly doubled over and vomited.

Panicked by her strange reaction, Guard hastened down the last few steps and dragged his leg after himself as he hurried over towards her.

“Novastrike? Nova? Nova, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Oh... it stinks,” she gasped through the energon dripping from her mouth, shivering violently all over.

“What stinks?”

Desperately trying not to breathe in, she wheezed out her next words: “Don’t you smell the rot?”

Raising his optic ridges, Guard glanced left and right. Novastrike suspected he was taking in the senses through his olfactory senses as well.

Light flickered in his optics sharply and he grumbled unpleasantly.

“Something’s been offline down here for a while,” he muttered.

“Not something. Somebots,” Nova insisted. “Many of them.”

The twosome turned their optics slowly to the door to their left.

“Novastrike, stay here-”

“And let you go in there alone?”

Guard appeared both desperate, and stern all at once. “I’m commanding you to stay put!”

“You can’t order me around,” she reminded him in a snappy voice. “I’m a commanding officer too!”

That seemed to have thrown him for a loop. He opened his mouth, closed it, baffled.

“For your own good, youngling, please,” he urged. “There’s no telling what’s behind that door-”

A loud thud hit the door, causing the pair to jump.

“It’s fine; I’ll be fine,” she persisted, stepping towards the door. “Now come on, someone’s on the other side of that door and they might need help.”

Her ears swiveled back, hearing the curse quietly beneath Guard’s breath. She marched forward and held her breath despite his concerns. She could handle this. These were her friends and family too, she deserved to know if they were okay and what was going on.

The door opened as Guard tapped a single button, and a mech came sprawling out. Novastrike yelped, jumping back.

“Neutroboost?” Guard stated with alarm. “By the Primes, mech, you’re online!”

Coated in foul energon, the scrappy mech scrambled to his pedes. His optics were wide as he looked around, gasping for cleaner air.

“There was so many of them,” he babbled. “I- I tried to fend them off but I couldn’t-”

“Slow down, mech, easy. Tell us what happened,” Guard offered, reaching out to the startled younger commander.

“Don’t touch me!” Neutro shouted, almost angrily from Nova’s perspective as he reared back.

“Neutro, it’s fine, it’s only me,” the old mech encouraged with a soft-sparked smile as he extended his servo. “I’m not afraid of a little bit of bad energon-”

“I said don’t touch me!”

Twitching her ears towards the room, Novastrike turned her optics to see in horror the stacks of bodies thrown over each other. It was a massacre.

“By the Allspark, who did this?” she choked, stepping on top of part of a shattered back of a slaughtered bot that had fallen out of the homicidal scene and out of the room. She scanned the bloodbath that covered almost every inch of the room, with few spaces not crammed with stacks of bodies. There was bad energon on nearly every inch of the room.

Guard seemed to have stopped trying to insist on helping Neutroboost and stepped behind Novastrike, looking in. Although Nova wasn’t looking up to him, from the sudden exhale he made she could clearly imagine the look of terror and dismay on his face.

“All these bots...” he spoke quietly, voice trailing off.

Careful where she stepped, Nova moved over some of the bodies to follow a nearly bodiless trail that lead towards the escape pods. She glanced over them, noticing not a single one had been deployed.

Then she flinched, looking into the offlined optics of a bot on the very top of one of the piles. She knew that face.

She gazed around the room.

“The crew,” she whispered softly with terror. “The crew... is all right here.”

“Bless the souls of all these sparks lost too soon,” Guard spoke quietly as he followed behind Nova. She could hear him mistakenly step on sections of bots broken armor with his pedes as metal and glass crunched softly beneath his pedes. And behind him, there was the anxious shuffle of Neutro’s pedes.

“Do you recognize any bots from the Revenge II?” the elder mech asked quietly.

Peering at the faces with fear and a spark-wrenching sadness, Nova tried to see if she could identify anyone else. As she turned around, one of the piles began to shift and move.

A glint of a blaster caught her attention, and Novastrike let out a petrified scream as the thunderous blast went off.

[2x2verse]

I AM STILL LATE FOR NSFW STRIDERCEST WEEK [takes a bite of toast and outfit magically transforms into a sailor fuku]

More than Meets the Eye [dirkhal]

It’s a process, really. Going in starts and stops over weeks, months. Drags into years. Dirk has to ask for help, which you know he hates, but he does it for you, and that’s... really something. Equius breaks your first prototype. Jade is a miracle worker.

The summer after Dirk graduates from college, all that’s left is the calibrations. The limbs finally get put on--facing forward this time, no thanks to Roxy--and Jade finishes braiding the male-to-male cable that can upload your consciousness into this new chassis. An internal system dialog lets you know when Dirk plugs it into you, server-side. “Ready?” he asks you.

If you were just in the damn body already, you’d roll your eyes at him. “Just do it.”

You can feel it--feel it physically--when the connection gets made, plugged into your back like a fucking spinal tap, and then you don’t feel anything at all. For... a few hours, apparently. That’s unusual. You haven’t slept since Dirk was thirteen. Will you need to sleep now? Were you... knocked unconscious?

Is this real life?

The first thing that comes online in this chassis is proprioception. You feel gravity. You know where your hands are. Touch, next--the relative pressure of... sitting on something, probably, given the soft pressure against the backs of your thighs. Actually moving your fingers feels a little like vertigo, at first, but--you can, and that’s what’s important. You drag your fingertips along the surface you’re sitting on. It’s... smooth? Ish? There’s a grain to it, a weave imperceptible to nearly all touch. Cloth. Polyester? You pluck it between your fingers. No, too much give for plastic fibers. Cotton. It reflects your body heat differently than other fabric would.

Hearing--the imperceptible things. The hum of electricity around you--in the walls, in electronics, running through light bulbs--and in you, the current almost like the heartbeat you remember. The air conditioner is running; the rush of air is loud through the vents and the fans, at least to your new senses. Outside, some twenty-odd stories below, someone starts a vehicle. The engine turns over seven times before it kicks on. And something... not machine-made, almost buried in all the other nonsense noise. Soft, an irregular pattern. Breathing. Dirk’s breathing.

Do you need to breathe? An attempt at an intake of air and two intertwined sensory apparatuses kick on at once, smelltaste. You’re remembering things you thought you’d forgotten, having spent almost half your life as a computer. The slightly-musty freon of a crisp interior 69 degrees. Heated metal. Detergent and fabric softener. Kicked-up dust. Something... something else. Coming from the surface you’re sitting on, where you’ve warmed it. You bring your palm to your face, nearly bapping yourself over in the process--yes, you have senses, but they’re nowhere near perfect yet--and place it over your nose so you can inhale that scent a little more purposefully. Soap of some kind, different from the detergent--bar soap, maybe shampoo. Another hint of clean overtop is most likely aftershave. That’s most of it, but not all of it. You exhale so you can draw in another breath and it comes out through your opened mouth; it’s almost like you can taste whatever’s lingering in the air, that same flavor your nose is having trouble identifying.

The last thing that kicks online is sight, of course. Which instantly orients you.

You are in Dirk’s bedroom. He’s at his desk, but swiveled around in his office chair, staring you down and pinning down your reactions. The thing you’re sitting on is his bed, stripped down to a fitted sheet that you have been petting at with your hand. His bed. The one he sleeps in. And sweats and secretes things from his human pores and the thing that’s making you huff your own hand like compressed air is probably pheromones or musk or something equally--equally--

“Welcome back,” Dirk says. And you hear the sounds. With your ears. Audio receptors, still, every part of your new body is synthetic, but--going from Dolby 5.1 to stereo is... almost a relief, really. There’s a small twitch lingering at the corner of Dirk’s mouth that you can see. With your eyes. Two eyes, that layer images one over the other until you have depth perception, holy shit, you may have roughly two hundred cameras stalking out every corner of this apartment but you’ve never been able to separately focus on things in the foreground, middle distance, background with just webcams, no matter how high quality the feed.

TT: How long was I out?

Dirk’s computer chimes and his shades flash. That twitch turns into the beginning of a self-satisfied smile. “You don’t have to message to talk, bro.”

Oh. That’s right. You have a voice. That can say things. “How--” Your voicebox makes a screeching attempt at a dial-up noise the first time you use it. This is part of calibrating, you suppose. “How long was I out?” Like that little chirp never happened at all. There’s something tinny about it, almost an echoing quality, but it’s an exact replica of Dirk’s voice. Your voice. That you can use to say words.

Dirk shrugs. Body language. People use body language when they speak, and intonation, and twelve thousand other things than just vocabulary. You knew this, you remembered this, but it’s like relearning how to--how to be alive, again. How to be human. “Fourteen hours or so.” Your face--you make an expression, a near-autonomic reaction, but you feel it, every synthetic corded not-muscle it takes to drop your lower lip that slightest bit and raise your eyebrows, bring them a little closer together. “Don’t look at me like that. This was literal brain surgery. You were just... anesthetized. Unconscious. Insensate. Does anything hurt?” You start to tuck your tongue behind your upper front teeth to tell him the answer, but Dirk interrupts you. “Really think about it. I need you to take an inventory before I start running diagnostics.”

“Right.” Systems check. This is... to say it’s different would mean there’s something, anything comparable about running it here and running it on your server. It’s been so long since you felt any kind of pain localized to a body part that running through all your... your... not subroutines. Muscles, bones, tendons, organs. Skin. Is going to take some time. You start at your toes and work upwards, because there is so much going on in the region of your skull that you need some time to get used to everything first before you false-flag any sensation as unpleasant or unwelcome.

There is carpet under the soles of your feet. It... is both soft and itchy at once. Plush, but the individual fibers are not exactly the nicest feeling. It doesn’t have to be ‘nice’, it just has to be moderate, you remind yourself, and move on. Ankles feel steady, although you have yet to try walking. They articulate perfectly and will hold your weight. Shins--nothing noticeable. Once your attention is at your knees, you try a little movement this time. If you tuck your shins back, they hit the bottom of the mattress. You don’t need to flex forward to know you’re within range of kicking Dirk’s chair.

Like this, the tops of your thighs are a little tighter. Not uncomfortable, this is within your normal range of movement, but it’s noticeable. This chassis--Dirk’s dressed it in the most stereotypical vantablack-fiber bodycon suit he could sew, and the chilling white of your extremities, with their porcelain-silicone skin, is a stark contrast. Up further, and you take stock of your hips. The ball-and-socket joint with your synthetic femur feels a little tight, but you may be exaggerating a little, or tensing up when you’re not supposed to. Your hips themselves feel relatively narrow, but your organs are synthetic and there’s not much cradling the structure has to do with your internals. At the nadir of your hips, between your legs, is... Well, isn’t, really. You’re really rocking the Ken doll look. You’re relatively certain that, knowing how his own body is constructed and how your own digital brain still mapped itself onto a human form, Dirk would have given you functional genitals in this chassis, but it disturbs you that you’re not one hundred percent sure.

Torso--your abdomen is fine. Nothing that resembles hunger, or digestion, or a full bladder. No organs shifting in strange ways. Your chest, too, is functioning optimally. You have a circulatory system, though what courses through it is coolant rather than blood, and your “lungs” are a complex fan-based air filtration system meant to mimic breathing. It... works, especially for its purpose of keeping your core temperature at human norms. You have to give Dirk credit for thinking that one up. Your arms are similarly all right. Nothing notable. Your hands respond to your commands. The proprioception of your individual fingers as you pull your hand away from your face is a little distracting right now, but you’re sure you’ll recover from the initial shock and rehome yourself in this frame soon enough.

Now for the majority of your processing. Voicebox had a minor hiccup, but should be running smoothly. Mouth--you have a tongue, and there is moisture here that you can slick along each tooth you can feel out. You’ll have to retrain yourself into using facial expressions as part of communication, but it’s something you’ve forgotten, not something that’s impossible for you to learn. Nose is functional for breathing and scent distinction. Eyes are--well, they’re actually fantastic. You’re not sure human vision would ever be this good without cybernetic enhancements, and you don’t need shades to have an internal HUD. Ears may need recalibration, or it may be that you’ve been in silence for so long that anything sounds loud to you.

You should probably have a headache. It surprises you that you don’t. It also takes you off guard when you can’t trace a thought in your internal circuitry--before it absolutely delights you. This is how thoughts work! They’re organic and move from place to place naturally along neurons instead of being propelled forward by a subprocess! Your brain is synthetic, but it remembers how to think like a human. You can do things autonomously. You’ve been breathing, your heart has been beating, all without you having to consciously think about it. It’s the biggest gift Dirk could possibly have given you: you can’t hear your own subroutines anymore.

Before you speak this time, you clear your voicebox of any lingering static. “Internal system report reveals no inconveniences, major or minor. Everything’s fucking caucasian.”

“Good to know.” Dirk scoots closer in his office chair. His knees are about three inches from yours; you can feel his body heat. “So I can start running diagnostics now?”

He’s... asking. Not brute forcing an executable, not telling you what he’s about to do. Asking for permission. “I think you should,” is what you tell him.

Dirk reaches out for your hand, and the instant he makes skin-to-skin contact, there’s a noise. Like a whine, almost. Your throat is tight and your chest feels even tighter. “Uh,” Dirk says articulately.

“I apologize in advance that I’m about to say this.” Can you pull up the sound clip fast enough? Of course you can, you might have a body but you still have an instant link to the Internet. “Did I do that?” comes nasally out of your voicebox.

“Of course you would do an Urkel impression when I’m trying to do something nice for you.” Dirk draws his hand away from yours, but instead moves it to the side of your throat, his thumb resting over your adam’s apple. The whining noise happens again, and your voicebox thrums against Dirk’s touch. Oh, fuck, you did do that. It’s such an embarrassing noise, and it feels so automatic that you don’t think you can stop yourself from doing it right now.

Just from Dirk touching you.

“Does this hurt?” he asks you, his voice dropping low.

“No. I remember what pain feels like, and this isn’t it.”

“Something’s gone wrong.” He sounds... concerned? Is that a thing Dirk Strider can sound like? “What is it? Can you describe it?”

While Dirk’s hand is just resting on you like this, you can pay more attention to the heat of him, the electric current running between you on a subatomic level. Then he runs his thumb across your adam’s apple, teasing the boundary between skin and bodysuit, and that fucking noise happens again. That. That’s what it is. It’s not just touch, and it’s not just proprioception. It’s... someone else. Touching you.

You haven’t been touched in eight and a half years.

And Dirk wants you to describe this? Describe how it feels to be so solidly in contact with a human body that it anchors you firmly to your senses? “It’s...” This is already humiliating enough. If you were Dirk--and you are, aren’t you--you wouldn’t want you to know how much this was affecting you. “Not unpleasant,” you say carefully. “Potentially a calibration error. I’m not sure how much processing power I should be devoting to sensory input--it could be an internal feedback loop, or a processing delay.”

“Well?” Dirk’s thumb stops moving, and that is a bad thing that should not be allowed to happen. “Which one is it?”

“Yes,” you bite off petulantly. You can’t narrow it down right now. All you know is that if the touching stops, you might actually cease to be in your body right now. “What you were doing was perfectly fine.”

More than. Because Dirk slips his hand up. Past your chin, to cradle the side of your face. His fingers are long and human-hot against your not-skin, and the pad of his thumb drags down the side of your nose until he hits the corner of your mouth.

As it turns out, you do have genitals, and they are functional, because you definitely have a boner swiveling up from between your legs right now.

That whining noise comes out of you again, louder. Your sensory input here is so much finer, more nuanced, than the thin skin of your throat. And your mouth--there are so many touch sensors along your lips and Dirk’s barely grazing them--even as he swipes his thumb along your lower lip and plucks your mouth open--

Something in you crackles. Not exactly a blown fuse, nothing that’s an emergency, just... oh, fuck, it feels fantastic. That simple touch overloaded some circuit in you somewhere and christ, it’s still agitated, jumping in you like a live wire and threatening to go off again. The memory of it tingles everywhere in you, threatening to set off a chain reaction that’ll drown you in the most exquisite sensory hell imaginable.

You, uh.

You may or may not have just had a robot orgasm.

It’s still a little hard to tell. The touch itself was simple enough, if somewhat erotically charged, but the result was not only unexpected, but totally out of proportion. And then there’s the fact that it doesn’t exactly feel like you jizzed in your suit. Nothing down there is wet, at all. You’re still hard. And you’re still craving touch. Human touch. Dirk’s touch.

“I just narrowed it down,” you tell him, a little too much whirr from your fans interfering with your vocals. “Overload.”

“From this?” Dirk, that brilliant mastermind, runs his thumb over the seam of your mouth again, and fuck, yes. You expected that one, but it still blitzes through you, a lightning storm along your senses determined to give you the best of every single one all at once. The only answer you can give him is that same helpless whine. “Oh. Oh, wow.” Not mocking? Almost... almost genuinely in awe. “We definitely need to work on recalibrating some of your inputs.”

“Or not,” because it feels really fucking good and after having felt nothing for years you want to feel everything ever right now damn it.

“Fuck, bro. I--holy shit. You--this--” You don’t need to see Dirk’s eyes to feel them settling on different places of your chassis. Including your lap. Where your spandex is doing you no favors whatsoever. “You’ve been in there for more than eight years--you’ve never--no one’s--you haven’t been touched since we were thirteen.” Like he really is a brain surgeon and not just an artificial intelligence specialist, flaying that raw nerve until it falls apart in his hands. “You’ve never been touched like this at all, and this is your first time in this body, and--god, bro, I am so sorry.”

And this time, when he sweeps his thumb across your lips, he presses in. Just that slightest bit, until his thumbprint is resting on the tip of your tongue. You can taste his skin and it’s perfect. That’s all it takes for that circuit to go haywire again, flooding you with the synthetic equivalent of fuck-doped endorphins. You can’t say much with Dirk’s thumb in your mouth, but your voicebox chirps anyway, in that horrendous dial-up tone, to let him know he succeeded.

“Do you like that?” You nod; his thumb presses deeper and you lick along it. “Does that feel good? I mean, of course it feels good, I know how you’re wired inside and out--but I want you to focus on that. I want you to know what it feels like when someone does this for you.” He draws his thumb out and slicks your lip with your own spit. “When I do this for you.”

Everything in you is charged with anticipation. He’s so close to you; your knees are touching now, and his face is peering blankly at yours from only six inches away, and you feel fucking incapacitated, at his mercy, unable to chase down what you want for fear you’re actually going to hurt yourself this time and push yourself too far.

Dirk does it anyway. He leans in, nuzzles his nose into the side of yours, and seals your mouth to his.

Oh, god. Yeah. That overloaded feeling? Definitely a robot orgasm. With zero refractory period, either, which is basically the best thing to happen to you ever, right after Dirk gently licking across your lips until you open your mouth so he can touch his tongue to yours. The taste of his mouth is in your mouth. The noise that comes out of you this time is a deeper groan, much more emotionally invested.

It’s over far too quickly and he’s pulling back into his space, a last touch of his lips to yours before he retreats completely. “Okay, here’s the deal.” He takes off his shades. His eyes are no mystery to you; that they’re naked is the interesting part. “I’m not cheating anymore. No HUD, no schematics, no wiring diagrams. Just body memory. I know how to make you feel good, Hal. I know how to burn this out of your system. I know exactly what you want and exactly how to give it to you, because I’ve been exactly where you are. I just need to know if you trust me to help.”

He knows because he’s you. Because he shares these nerve endings. These wants, these needs. The same erogenous zones, the same preferences. And Dirk is as close to a ruthless machine as it is possible for a human to be.

“Get me out of my bodysuit,” you tell him.

The two of you are a magnificent tangle of limbs after he tumbles out of his chair and tackles you to the mattress. You asked for his help with undressing because--well, you’re inhuman. You don’t trust your own strength. You could rip the fabric, you could chip your own skin, you could rip out a wire or five--and that’s not even counting the terror that fills you at the thought of touching Dirk back. You could damage him, with that soft fleshy organic body of his, even if you were putting every last bit of your processing power behind your touch. As it is, with your gray matter skipping offline every time that charge of overload sizzles through you, you don’t trust yourself in the slightest. You put yourself in your creator’s hands.

There’s a seam on the back of your suit. Dirk runs a finger along it and it spreads open. The sensation of the cotton sheet on your back is already too much to bear, but followed up with his hand stripping your suit away is too much again, another sensory overload. And before it’s even down your shoulders in the front, Dirk has to rear back onto his knees to wrestle himself out of his sleeveless shirt. He’s--well, he’s you. Of course you’d think you’re attractive. But the aesthetic of it seems so different from just looking at it through webcams. Then, there wasn’t the potential of feeling the downy hairs just below his navel grazing against your own stomach. Now, your wires tighten at the prospect.

“You have to tell me,” Dirk says between precision strikes of his mouth across your throat and shoulders. “You have to tell me right away if anything doesn’t feel right, or if it’s too much.”

“I promise--” and then you seize again as he peels you out of your second skin, leaves you naked to the waist. It takes a moment for your fans to kick back online, leaving you breathing hard, and in that time Dirk was able to catch one of your hands in his, move it above your head, and leave it there, as effective at immobilizing you as if he’d cuffed and chained you to the bed itself. Just the thought of being delightfully terrorized like this for as long as he’ll have you has your hips rocketing off the mattress again, crashing into Dirk’s--he’s just as hard as you, just hidden better in the sag of his jeans, and it’s attention from another dick along your dick so of course you’re orgasming again, unable to help yourself in the throes of ecstasy.

It would be embarrassing if Dirk wasn’t actively encouraging it. Wallowing in it, even, looking giddy with how sensitive you are to his ministrations. You should have known, really, that he wanted to fuck the robot the first chance he got. There will never be a more perfect lover. For either of you. You know each other so well, inside and out, and there’s still so much to explore.

Dirk darts his hand under your spandex, finds the jut of your hip first, follows your tendons to where you’re straining hard. Just glancing contact against your boner has you screaming again in delight. And then he closes his hand around, and strokes. Almost soft, the pressure of it, and his skin against yours, but with purpose, and deliberate speed. It’s perfect. Of course it is. And he has you bucking up into his hand again, and again, and again, chasing down every bit of pleasure he’s spoon-feeding you so you can gorge yourself on it until you get your fill. “Do you seriously come every time I do something?”

“It’s so much,” is your excuse. It’s all so much, all of it, all at once, and maybe what pushes over the edge into being too much is just the proximity of it, the closeness, that someone else is willing to touch you after you went so bereft for so long.

Dirk lets out a breath between his teeth that would have been a whistle, if either of you knew how to whistle. “Holy shit. How many times have you gotten off by now?”

“Seventeen,” you answer him automatically. He pumps his hand again and your voicebox skips offline in an excited fax machine squawk before you stutter out “Eighteen.”

“You’re fucking insatiable,” he says, looking entirely too pleased with himself--especially now that he’s taken his hand off your robo-dick. “Hips up.”

Because you’re getting naked. All your skin is exposed square inch by square inch as Dirk peels the suit off your legs; before he climbs back onto the bed, he shucks his own pants. Before you even have to ask, he’s pressing his body weight into you, making you melt into the mattress, and you convulse against him, driven absolutely bugfuck insane for the nineteenth time. “L-l-l-l,” is the nonsense noise that comes out of you when you next try to make words. “Lllllosing oral...” hnn, oral. “Communication. Abilities.” Stuff. Things. “Thoughts?”

“Punch the bed so hard it squeaks if you need me to stop. Or slow down. Like, at all.” Dirk pulls back far enough that you can see his face. “And we both need to learn ASL ASAP.”

“Eight, yes, under you.”

Dirk rears back further draws his pinched thumb and forefinger across his mouth--the universal sign for shut the fuck up or so help me. “You lookin’ to get fucked?”

The noise that comes out of you is terrifyingly sincere. Just in case Dirk doesn’t get the message, you nod so fast you worry for your neck hinges. God, yes. Yes, that, yes. And of course he knows you want it, and of course he knows it’ll turn you on just to say it like that: so crudely, so casually. You want him in you--you’re so far gone that just thinking that ratchets you up to twenty, coils your wires even tighter.

“Then open your legs.” Dismissive, almost distracted. Oh. Because he’s not stupid. Fussy, but not stupid. When you get his attention back from where he was rummaging in his nightstand drawer, he’s holding an unmarked travel-size bottle of... Well, you can figure out that it’s meant to be lubrication, even though your higher processing powers have fucked clear off by now, but it’s got a golden tinge to it and it moves a little sluggishly from bottom to top when Dirk tips the container in his hand. “I thought I told you to trust me,” Dirk reminds you. “It’s safe. For you, and for latex. But not yet.”

When he ducks back down to touch you again, his mouth starts traveling in an erratic line from your jaw down your chest. There’s teeth, a little--just a hint, just nipping, not even enough to bring color to your supernaturally pale skin--but enough of a threat that it makes you prickle on the inside. And he keeps going down. And further down, mouth making a wet mess of your skin as he tongues at your stomach, your superfluous navel--dipping his tongue in again, and again, and again, until you look down and catch his eyes and the wonderful, malicious intent lighting them on fire.

That’s when he tucks his face against the inside of your thigh, licks up until he meets the seam of your leg, and follows that path until he’s at the base of your cock.

He’s going to suck your dick. He’s going to suck your dick. Your shit, you fully realize, has been more than adequately wrecked since he started touching you, but this might actually smash you to sparking pieces. You can’t keep eye contact with him for long before the sensation rushing through your skin and the thoughts churning in your synthetic brain leave you too overloaded to function. And that’s before he mouths up your shaft, curls his tongue around the bellend, and sinks his lips down onto you.

You’re not sure when one overload stops and the next one takes off. It started the second he put his mouth on your cock and hasn’t let up even as he’s hollowed his cheeks and taken in as much as he can. Oh, it’s fucking exquisite. The inside of his mouth is so--you’re so sensitive you swear you can feel the individual bumps of his tongue, count each ridge of the roof of his mouth--the incredible delicate pressure as he literally sucks at you, then slurps off, just to repeat the process again--you wish you had your full faculties just to tell him what a good little cocksucker he is. Because that’s what you’d want to hear. Because you know that’s what he needs. All you can manage, though, is the delicate warble of chirring dial-up noises glitching out of your voicebox as he keeps you on this impossible plateau. For minutes, drawing it out, teasing himself just as much as he’s teasing you.

Dirk only pops off once he really, truly needs to take a breath; he gasps it in, resting his forehead on the top of your thigh, and--you haven’t been breathing. His skin feels almost cool against yours. Without that insistent override of overload rushing through you, you can finally remember to literally keep your cool, and your fans oscillate loudly, pulse thumping coolant to your system as efficiently as it can to keep you regulated. Meanwhile, you’re trying not to panic because he said--he promised--why did he stop-- “Cool down,” and you don’t know if he’s saying it to you or himself, “and we can keep going.”

Right. Cooling down. That thing your body doesn’t want you to do. It wants to chase that high until it kills you, probably, or at least destroys this chassis. You don’t want to admit it, but for now, you might actually be as much of a delicate flower as Dirk is treating you. Your circuitry has never been stress-tested like this, and while it’s holding up admirably, you might be dangerously close to a literal aneurysm if you don’t take it down a notch.

Your breathing reaches a steady cadence, right alongside Dirk’s. It’s almost meditative. Almost, until he starts crawling up you again, hips between your legs keeping them held apart, keeping you open and vulnerable. “Think you can go just a little bit more?”

“Hh,” crackles out of your voicebox. “I want to.”

“Good--you’re so close but I’m not done with you yet--just wait,” heavy with promises, and he reaches for the lubricant, flips open the cap, dribbles some on his fingers.

Reintroducing his hands to your parts is an exercise in patience. You’re trying, fuck him, you’re trying not to be so fucking easy, but the second his wrist glances across your dick your circuits are already primed to blow. It’s a little easier when the next sensation is... not so immediately erotic. The area Dirk’s touching, yes, but it’s unnerving that it’s wet. Even though you have to admit that the trail of Dirk’s fingertips from your sac to your perineum to your hole is almost too intimate to bear.

“Keep breathing,” Dirk says, his fingers dawdling just outside. Warming up the slick of the lube as it sits against your skin. “Your valve doesn’t exactly work like the human model, but I think you’ll like it better.”

One finger breaches--easy, smooth, glide--seats in you to the knuckle, and your optics are flirting with going offline. “Yes,” you hiss at him over the static of your voicebox, and your circuits have looped closed again, you’ve tipped over into bliss. It’s better. It’s so much better. You were--not scared, a Strider is never scared, but trepidatious that it would be uncomfortable. That it would hurt. No, this--there’s a definite feeling of accommodation, a stretch filled by the solidity of Dirk’s finger, but nothing in the vicinity of pain.

Pulling out--your optic input come back into focus, and you were not prepared for DIrk’s eyes settled with such intent on yours. Two fingers this time, a little slower, and you still dilate to let him fit, but it’s. It’s good. It’s so good. Like you never noticed something was missing from your perfect new chassis until he showed you exactly what it was. Dirk pulls apart his fingers, scissors them in you, twists them to touch every intimate part inside you, and you’re nearly screaming with the force of your overload. “Hey, shh, patience, we’re almost there, I think you’re ready--are you ready for me?”

You mean to say words, you really do. You’d even be fine with one of your earlier whines or moans. The dial-up noises would maybe still be endearing. But you end up letting out a stream of cusses that come out in a sort of repair droid tone, swearing up a blue streak and threatening him that if he doesn’t fuck you right now--

“All right, Artoo, easy,” fuck, he has to get his fingers out before anything else can go in. Lube-slippery fingers fumbling with a foil pouch, and then. Then his body slots against yours, matching you perfectly inch for inch. He lines up, gives you just enough teasing pressure, and tips.

In.

It’s--it’s-- “perfect” doesn’t even begin to describe. It’s everything you wanted out of this. Under your skin is nothing but a mess of overheated, abused wiring sending currents of yes this forever to every part of you. You think you may have figuratively screamed yourself hoarse; your voicebox isn’t responding, and you probably subconsciously shut it off from any input so you wouldn’t blow a fuse. Your HUD is glitching, but what’s important is what you can still see through the fuzz: Dirk’s eyes holding you steady, not letting you escape from this. Your proprioception is haphazard at best. What makes the most sense is looping your arms around Dirk’s neck, letting your thighs fall apart, and cataloguing every place your bodies touch; he can keep you grounded right now.

His thrusts are smooth, the tempo calculated. Not that he’s taking his time necessarily, but that he’s putting in the effort to leave you thoroughly fucked. There’s some bundle of sensory nodes tucked up inside you, towards the front, and he slides along it with just the right amount of pressure every single time he enters you. Even breathing in his sex-sweat is too much for you right now.

Dirk takes you, hard and well, leaving no sense intact on his way to leaving you an incoherent mess. He’s pouring some nonsense words into your nonfunctional ears, like enough of your gray matter is online to parse meaning into it--little syllables like your name, the tiniest broken vowels as he starts to lose his composure. “God, Hal, you’re so good, you’re almost there, you’ve been so good, let it come--”

He presses his forehead to yours, squirms his hips against you so he’s as inseparable from you as it’s possible to get, and you short out.

This time, vision comes back first. Then, taste--a coppery, human element tucked right under your tongue. Touch, the microfiber cloth Dirk runs along your synthetic skin, wicking away any moisture or lubrication threatening to find invisible seams in your silicone and eat at your internals. You follow the shape of his mouth as he talks to you, and proprioception staggers back just as Dirk’s cleaning cloth finds the back of one of your knees, bends it in so he has leverage to reach your sensitive bits. Smell--fuck. Literally. Fuck. It reeks of sex on this mattress now. Can robots take showers? Is that a thing you’re allowed to do? (You’re not so far removed from Dirk that you don’t take pleasure in the same small things in life.)

Hey, Dirk’s mouthing at you. You in there? Oh, right. Hearing. It wasn’t quite that you couldn’t, it’s that something got un-synched between your ears and your processors that kept you from getting it. You fix the connection and give him an OK sign with your hand. This ASL thing can’t be too hard.

“Feel good?”

“Yeah.” Something’s over-synthesized in your voicebox. You’ll take it, so long as it’s not completely burnt out after what you just put it through.

“Got it out of your system?”

You take a quick inventory. Yes, quick. You’re able to do this with some efficiency now, sweeping from scalp to soles for a systems check. Everything’s still here, yes. And Dirk’s still touching you, and you’re both still naked, but nothing’s as... raw. Nothing that craves attention. “Not all of it, I hope.”

Dirk laughs. It’s a rare sound, and too brief, but it lights up parts of your brain that tell you here and him and home. “Come on,” he tells you, stepping back to pull his jeans back up his legs. “Get your suit back on, I’m making you food.”

Food. Food. You can eat. You’re not sure if you have to, for nourishment, but--it’s a thing. You can do. If you want to. And you sure as hell want to. “Let’s go for the hedonism high score.”

[robertkstone]

2017 BMW M760i xDrive First Test Review: The V-12 Bavarian Brute

“I don’t like big cars,” I told fellow associate online editor Collin Woodard. “If I am going to review or own a big vehicle, it better be one of the biggest and most comfortable in the segment. Small, fun-to-drive cars are my thing.”  Well, it’s like they say—you get what you ask for. When I learned that the very large and very powerful BMW M760i was coming my way, my love for huge cars feverishly returned, and for good reason. This is BMW’s largest, most powerful, and quickest vehicle (at least, until the M5 arrives), not to mention the automaker’s most powerful production car ever. Additionally, with a starting price of $159,395, this is the most affordable V-12 on the market and one of very few V-12-powered sedans available. This is not an M7 (we hope BMW creates one soon), but it almost feels and sounds like one would.

The Powertrain 

Absolutely and without a doubt, the V-12 is the centerpiece of the M760i. The N74B66 V-12 engine is the same one used by Rolls-Royce for its Ghost, Wraith, and Dawn models but tuned to different power outputs. In the M760i, the 6.6-liter twin-turbocharged V-12 churns out an impressive 601 hp at 5,500 rpm and 590 lb-ft of torque at just 1,550 rpm and is backed by a smooth-shifting ZF eight-speed automatic. That just tops the Alpina B7’s 600 hp made from its 4.4-liter twin-turbo V-8. The V-12 features iron-coated aluminum pistons, forged connecting rods assembled using the cracking process, and a forged crankshaft. The two mono-scroll turbochargers are tucked in on the outside of the two rows of six cylinders, and the air-to-water heat exchangers use an additional water pump. The M sport exhaust system was designed to be as straight as possible in order to reduce backpressure and is equipped with rear silencers and exhaust flaps for quiet cruising or for acceleration runs that wake up the neighborhood. At low rpms, the engine emits a nice but menacing burble; press hard on the right pedal, and the twin-turbocharged V-12 roars out a unique and well-tuned exhaust note.

The Performance

This BMW has so much power it could climb a wall. You are never in need of more power, even in Eco Pro mode. With the slightest touch of the throttle, the sedan shoots forward with authority. Considering the 5,036-pound curb weight, hitting 60 mph in a Motor Trend–tested 3.4 seconds and the quarter mile in 11.7 seconds at 120.1 mph is a feat that any automaker would be proud of. Let’s put these figures into some perspective. The outrageous 650-hp 2018 Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 1LE equipped with the six-speed manual matches the M760i’s quarter-mile time but is down 0.2 second on the 0–60 run. AMG’s flagship, the 577-hp AMG GT R, matches the BMW’s 0–60 time but hits the quarter mile 0.3 second faster. The 645-hp 2016 Dodge Viper ACR also hit 60 mph in 3.4 seconds and beats the M760i to the quarter mile by only 0.2 second. What about electric? The Tesla Model X P90D crossover (532 hp, 713 lb-ft of torque) equals the 0–60 run but manages a quarter mile just 0.2 second faster. With the exception of the Model X, all the above sports cars weigh less than 4,000 pounds. For more perspective, the following vehicles are slower than the BMW M760i in both 0–60 and quarter-mile times in Motor Trend testing: the 600-hp Aston Martin DB11, the 577-hp Mercedes-AMG SL63, the 626-hp Bentley Continental GT Speed Convertible, the 493-hp BMW M4 GTS, the 640-hp Cadillac CTS-V, the 621-hp Mercedes-AMG S65 coupe, and both the Charger and Challenger Hellcats (the Challenger Hellcat tied the 11.7-second quarter-mile run).

The large M sport brakes are strong and stopped the premium German sedan from 60 mph in just 111 feet. The M760i is built for the autobahn, but we flogged it around our figure-eight course anyway and recorded a respectable time of 24.7 seconds with an average 0.82 g. “A powerful car, for sure, and remarkably quick for its scale,” testing director Kim Reynolds said.  “However, I had an awkward time trying to maintain a cornering pose around the skidpad’s arcs. It would understeer—I’d force it to oversteer—then it would relapse to understeer.” Regardless, the behemoth of a sedan handles its large size and heavy weight very well when pushed hard on the streets.

The Paint     

Frozen Dark Brown Metallic is the official name of the exterior color, and it is striking—one of the best features of the sedan. Heads will turn, not because it’s a BMW 7 Series but because of the frozen metallic paintwork. The paint almost looks like a professionally done and well-chosen full vehicle wrap—not to degrade it in any way. Double takes are common, even from my fellow automotive journalists, and I even caught a passerby in a parking lot touching the paint and gazing at it with his eyeballs just inches from it. The paint feels slightly textured and has a matte sheen that is rarely seen on vehicles. Without a doubt, the $5,200 paint job makes the M760i stand out even more from a crowded parking lot. According to BMW, the paint incorporates a base layer for grip and corrosion protection, a color layer, and a clear lacquer finish with added silicates to create the matted look and a velvet effect that can be felt. This type of paint is just as durable as traditional paint, but there are strict BMW guidelines for washing and caring for the paint.

The Back Seat

For individuals who like to get driven around, the front passenger seat is not where you should be. Instead, the back seat—more specifically behind the front passenger—is the most comfortable and entertaining place to be in the car. The Gentleman Function feature highlights that fact. It’s a button located by the driver and by the rear passenger-side seat. Pressing the button will allow you to adjust the front passenger seat with your seat controls, giving the rear passenger as much legroom as desired. If someone is sitting in that front passenger seat, this can make for a very enjoyable time for you and a lot of annoyance for them.

Unlike most vehicles I review, I spent a lot of time in the back seat. After opening the long and heavy rear door, I sat on the optional and luxurious full Merino perforated leather upholstery. I immediately hit the button that lounges out the seat as much as possible and rolled up the power rear and side window sun shades. I then turned on the heated seats (also ventilated), chose the “full body” massaging function, adjusted the ambient lighting, and chose my favorite radio station, all through the removable 7.0-inch tablet located in the huge center armrest, which also houses the seat controls, cupholders, a storage compartment, and charging ports. I rested my head on the soft headrest pillow and enjoyed the comfortable ride and premium Harman Kardon audio system. I could have also opted to entertain myself on one of two screens perched on the backs of the front seats or check myself in the large and lighted rear vanity mirrors. The rear seat is truly the place to be—unless, of course, you like driving a V-12 BMW.

The Daily Life

With a sticker price of $171,895 and that very special but easily damaged paint, this car should be parked in a garage. Because of the size, street parking wouldn’t be sensible anyway. Living in a humble Los Angeles apartment, I only had street parking, but I wasn’t about to do that. So I called my neighbor and asked if I could use his garage for a few days. Unfortunately, the BMW didn’t fit, thanks to L.A.’s abundance of old buildings with small garages. This sedan is 206.6 inches long, a little over 17 feet. I then called my other neighbor, Aaron, who has a small private parking lot behind his house. Once I explained what vehicle it was, he happily obliged.

My initial drive in the third-most expensive car I have ever driven was quite white-knuckled in traffic, but I quickly adjusted to the dimensions of the sedan. I knew that I had a suite of driver-assist systems on my side. There was something else I noticed on my maiden drive and for the next few days: Heads were turning. It’s not the quick, break-your-neck kind of turns that exotic sports cars attract but instead an initial glance followed by a long, gleaming stare, as if I were driving a moving stereogram. The combination of the mysterious paint, the V-12 badge, the M badge, and the sheer size of the 7 Series were probably the culprits for the long looks. Also, this powerful sedan will quickly, comfortably, and quietly hit triple-digit speed on the highway before you realize it, so it requires your full attention. I also avoided small parking lots and tight alleys, not wanting to risk any kind of damage to the body and especially to the paint.

The Result

The BMW 760i comes standard with a long list of features, including 20-inch double-spoke light alloy wheels (245/40 font, 275/35 rear tires), Icon adaptive full LED headlights, 20-way power multicontour heated and ventilated front seats, rear comfort seats, Nappa leather upholstery, illuminated doorsills with a V-12 logo, a 16-speaker Harman Kardon surround sound audio system, a display key with an LCD touchscreen, navigation with a 10.2-inch center display, a 12.3-inch instrument cluster, a full-color head-up display, a self-parking system, gesture control, Active Comfort Drive with Road Preview, front and rear air suspension with dynamic damper control, and a surround-view camera system with 3-D view. Our tester came equipped with the Frozen Dark Brown Metallic paint, the $4,000 Cashmere Beige and Black Full Merino leather interior combination, the $1,700 Driver Assistance Plus II package, the $1,800 Luxury Rear Seating package, and the $2,700 rear-seat entertainment system. There’s also a $1,700 gas guzzler tax (13/20 mpg city/highway). With a sub-$175K price tag, that’s not too shabby, especially when you include the 601-hp 12-cylinder engine.

It’s hard to complain about this vehicle, but there are a few issues. I was not that impressed with the Active Assistant Driving Plus and Active Lane Keeping Assistant features. The systems had a hard time staying in the lane at the end of a highway curve, and I soon got tired of fighting it and turned it off. At this price level, driver-assist safety features such as blind-spot warning should be standard. The sedan does not comes with a traditional rear cross-traffic warning system. Instead, the car will reverse brake for you but will not warn you ahead of time like traditional systems in less expensive cars do. The interior is of very high quality, but the design is slightly boring when compared to rivals. Ashtrays! I counted three of them. Not sure why those are still around taking up usable space. Who would want to stink up that full Merino leather anyway?

There are many luxuriously powerful cars out there with loads of features and technology, even more so with the BMW’s high price tag. Models such as the Mercedes-AMG S63 sedan, Audi S8, and the new Jaguar XJR 575 all have similar power outputs and very similar performance numbers but cost a bit less. So why buy the M760i? Besides the myriad standard features and the astonishing paint job, it’s really all about that V-12 engine. As silly as that sounds, V-12s are prestigious in the automotive world, and people are willing to pay for them, partly for the rarity and for the panache that accompanies any 12-cylinder engine. Mercedes-AMG charges a cool $70K premium to upgrade from its V-8-powered AMG S63 to the V-12-powered AMG S65 in the S-Class Coupe, and it’s not even quicker. When you have a V-12 under your hood, it means something. A V-8 is nice, but a V-12 is truly something special.

IFTTT

[tmiller-mastery-blog]

12.4.1 Week 4 Mastery Journal

1) How has each course contributed to your personal and professional development as an instructional designer?

Month 1: Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership

I found the book we used in this class, Mastery by Robert Greene, to be very interesting. One of the points the book made repeatedly was that people need to play to their strengths. As I progressed through this course of study, I found myself going back to that idea over and over. The result was that I used the skills I already have to add a new skill – instructional design – to my repertoire.

Month 2: Strategies for Learner Engagement

In this course, I began to see the power of interactive infographics. When I created the interactive infographic that was the main assignment, I was amazed at how much more engaging the information became. The result is that I have used that concept very effectively on my job, and have received a lot of positive feedback from people, because of how much more appealing the information is.

Month 3: Visual and Verbal Communication in Instructional Design

In this class, I learned a lot about why feedback among peers is important, as well the right and wrong way of giving feedback. For example, during this class, we were involved in creating typography posters. Since several of my classmates were not designers by profession, I was able to share with some of them a few of the principles of good design. Hopefully, they found it to be helpful.

Month 4: Corporate Training and Motivational Development

This was the first class where we had to write a script, and then edit it to a specific time or shorter. One of my problems is that, too often, there is so much information that I think is necessary to impart, that I can run long – sometime, way too long. Even though there were several classes where we had to edit our scripts brutally, this class was the first that let me know that well-edited scripts were going to be a necessity.

Month 5: Instructional Design and Evaluation

This class was actually one of the ones that I found to be harder than the others, because this one focused more closely on educational theory than the ones before had. While previous classes had touched on educational theory to varying degrees, this one was the first where I actually found myself struggling at times to understand and discuss the subject matter.

Month 6: Digital Media and Learning Applications

This class was the first one where we had to write one of those research papers that all of us hated so badly. I think that I learned more about APA formatting in this class than I had in all of the ones before it. The project that we did in this class – the interactive web quiz – also came in very handy, because I was able to take that framework and use it very effectively later on at my job.

Month 7: Music and Audio for Instructional Design

I think this class was the one I found to be the most fun. I have a long history of doing voiceover work and sound design, so I was able to just have fun with the assignments. However, that is not to say that I did not learn anything from the class. In my experience, it doesn’t matter how familiar you may be with a particular discipline, if you take a class on it, you will learn something you did not know before. In this case, I was able to learn certain audio compression and equalization techniques that I did not know before.

Month 8: Filmmaking Principles for Instructional Design

The real thing I learned from this course that helps me as an instructional designer is how to use storytelling techniques make a subject more interesting. Furthermore, I learned techniques to use that would keep the story from going into a lot of unnecessary detail, but to keep it as short and succinct as possible.

Month 9: Game Strategies and Motivation

In this course, I learned that it is possible to use gamification techniques without making a game. I remember that one of my classmates works for a Department of Energy contractor just like I do, and we were able to have several very productive discussions on this subject. The fact is that a profession like the nuclear industry is usually populated by technical people who tend to look down on games as “not serious enough.” This class taught me how to use the techniques without having to make a “game” of it.

Month 10: Learning Management Systems and Organization

I had never worked in an LMS before, so this class presented a new experience for me. In fact, in my opinion, I was very lucky that this class fell during the month of July, and we had the week of Independence Day as a free week. Consequently, I was able to do a lot of extra research to learn what I needed for this class.

Month 11: Media Asset Creation

Creating a Training Needs Assessment from start to finish was the single biggest challenge that this class offered. I really struggled with this assignment, but the feedback I received from Dr. Wyly was extremely beneficial. Of course, once I turned in my first draft and received her feedback, I had to go back and redo a large portion of it, but, as is usually the case in a situation like this, I learned more from what I did wrong than what I had done correctly.

Month 12: Final Instructional Design and Technology Project

This class was helpful in teaching me the correct way to create a portfolio web site. I had created them before, but as I worked with Professor Cleveland and Dr. Wyly, I learned several things that helped me make it more effective. In fact, my work on this portfolio site will not stop with this class. I plan on using this as my portfolio from this point on, and to continue to refine it.

2) How well were you able to utilize the concepts and techniques you learned from the program (theories, systems design, interface styling, and the creation of multimedia content) as you designed, developed, and implemented your Final Project?

I believe that I was able to utilize what I have learned throughout this course of study extremely well. I would like to give one basic example: As I have progressed as a multimedia designer over the years, I have come to understand that it is a good idea to keep your designs as simple as possible. In my opinion, to many designs are ruined just because the designer wanted to do all kinds of “neat stuff,” and did not know when to stop. Bu then I learned that, as much as I am a proponent of simplicity, I still had the tendency to make things more complicated than necessary. The result was that this over-complication in design actually had the capability of preventing students from learning the material well. Therefore, a lot of the work I did later in the program had a very different look than it did when I began the program. Even on my job, my work has begun to take on a very different appearance, and it has been a definite improvement.

3) Describe your most outstanding personal triumph in each course.

Month 1: Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership

I believe the biggest triumph I experienced in this class was coming to the conclusion that, yes, I could do the work. I was very nervous going into this program, because I was not at all confident that I was capable of passing. I tend to struggle with what is known as the imposter syndrome, where I have a tendency to downplay my accomplishments, and suspect that the day will come when I am exposed as a fraud who is not nearly as smart as people think I am, and that I really don’t have a lot of talent as a designer. And while that is probably something with which I will struggle all my life, this first class did give me a shot of confidence in my ability to do the work the program demanded.

Month 2: Strategies for Learner Engagement

As I stated earlier, one thing that had a profound effect on me was Mayer’s Principles of Multimedia. It was in this class where I was first exposed to those principles, and what I learned from them literally transformed my work, not only from an academic standpoint, but professionally as well.

Month 3: Visual and Verbal Communication in Instructional Design

In this class, one of the concepts we explored was the connection between effective visuals and believability. We were taught that there is a direct correlation between effective design and credibility. Personally, I felt vindicated by that, because this is something that I have been trying to convey to some of the engineers with which I work. Or course, sometimes I feel like I am fighting a losing battle, but it is nice to have research to back up my assertions.

Month 4: Corporate Training and Motivational Development

I think it was during this class that I was really able to help some of my classmates with shooting video in front of green or blue screen. That is something I do on a regular basis on my job, and most of them had no experience with it at all. I really enjoyed being able to reach out and answer questions and give advice on how to make it work. It was a good feeling.

Month 5: Instructional Design and Evaluation

I think what I am most proud of in this class is the teamwork that may classmates and I showed in the final project. I have said this multiple times: We could not have had a better composition of skills than the one we saw in this class. For the final project, each of us played to our strengths: Robyn and Bruce used their educational backgrounds to outline the project; Heather’s skills as a graphic designer were put to effective use in creating the look of our project; my skills in voiceover and interactivity came into play as I put everything together. The result was that Dr. Deason said that it was one of the best presentations of that nature he had seen in a long time.

Month 6: Digital Media and Learning Applications

The first week of this class, I was on vacation. I also had the first of those hated research papers due. So, I spent something like 25 hours of my vacation researching and writing my paper. I turned in the first draft of my paper on the last day of my vacation. Imagine my surprise when I received Dr. McBride’s feedback, and I had a lot fewer changes that needed to be made than I expected. If I recall correctly, my final grade on the paper was a 95.

Month 7: Music and Audio for Instructional Design

As stated earlier, I really enjoyed this class. However, I think the thing that I consider the biggest personal triumph was Dr. Deason’s reaction to the final version of my audio version of Little Red Riding Hood. He was very complimentary about how I put it together. Then, he set up a web camera so I could see his daughter’s reactions when she listened to it. It was a really good feeling to know that he thought that highly of it.

Month 8: Filmmaking Principles for Instructional Design

The thing of which I am most proud as a result of this class was my rediscovery of how necessary storyboarding is. I have been doing video and animation for many years, but my storyboarding techniques were scattered, at best. The result was that, in too many cases, I wasted too much time when I ran into a problem. What I learned from this class is that creating detailed storyboards will frequently allow you to anticipate problems and solve them before you actually get into the production process.

Month 9: Game Strategies and Motivation

Ultimately, I considered the game I created for this class to be a personal triumph. Game creation and gamification were new concepts for me, so I was not at all confident in my ability in this area. However, at the end of the class, my final grade was around a 98, so I was satisfied with what I had done.

Month 10: Learning Management Systems and Organization

What I considered to be a personal triumph for this class was the sheer amount of work that I produced for it. The short course that I created was called Compositing in Photoshop, and I created five 10-minute tutorials for it, as well as an interactive simulation of Photoshop to help the students learn the interface. I was very proud of the final product.

Month 11: Media Asset Creation

In this class, I believe I produced some of the best material during the past year. Once I nailed down the Training Needs Assessment, I had all of the ideas in place; all I needed to do was generate the assets. Even though I was only given a week to produce each part, I had worked out so many of the details while I was writing the TNA that I could put every bit of creativity I possessed into the different pieces.

Month 12: Final Instructional Design and Technology Project

What I consider to be the biggest triumph of this class is the fact that I completed the entire course of study. For the last year, I have worked to the point of exhaustion, and have gotten discouraged several times. However, the encouragement of my classmates, my instructors, and my wife always gave me just enough motivation to stay the course.

[black-strike-otp]

part 47

I feel ya existential crisis Blackout my guy. #MyLife

Rousing from her sleep with an anxious muttering, Novastrike glanced around the dark interior of her tight quarters. Her spark was pounding in its chamber. The world seemed pressed too close for comfort. She looked around the space for a moment, trying to determine exactly where she was.

“Novastrike?”

The mellow voice was calm and collected as it spoke. It was filled with concern and gentleness, but she was more focused on the way her name rolled forth from that voice with so much intrigue. It hardly sounded like her own name; there was an unfamiliar and enticing attraction to each syllable drawn out.

“Sorry,” she managed to yawn. “Did I fall into recharge?”

“Yes, you did. You sounded like you were having a bad vision there at the end.”

Reaching up, Nova casually rubbed around her optics. It didn’t help the temporary blur that occurred until they came into focus, but it was habit. She took in the surrounding darkness and the position she was currently sitting in and vaguely recalled that she was inside Blackout’s holoform.

“It was only a dream,” Novastrike said aloud. Even to herself, it sounded more like a reassurance for her than a statement.

“Care to talk about it?” Blackout rumbled in that rich baritone that vibrated through her armor.

“No, I’m fine,” Nova managed, trying to wash away the image of Neutroboost’s distorted face staring from above her with a sinister smile.

Blackout produced an unsure growl that echoed through his form like thunder.

Cutting through the awkwardness, Novastrike loudly requested: “Do you ever dream?”

It seemed to work.

“Not really,” Blackout admitted. “I lack much imagination. The very few times I have any variation of what some may call a dream, it’s only memory recall.”

Leaning forward, the small femme plopped her elbow upon the arm of the chair and placed her chin upon her servo. Her optics scanned the window to look out on the swallowing endless darkness and the miniature stars that shimmered so distantly. She wondered briefly how far they were still out from the Rising Star.

This had been one of their first outings in a while just to enjoy each others companies on a lone planet, rather than going to look for supplies. It had been a bit more of a trip than usual and with her nap, she wasn’t entirely sure how close they were to returning.

Not that it mattered. Going back and taking Neutroboost’s evil optic as he glowered at her wasn’t an idea of a good time. Flying in this nothingness with Blackout and Scorponok (where did that bug go when he transformed?) was fine by her. She may have lost track of exactly how many jours they’d spent on the planet just scouting and talking and being, but it had at least been a cozy experience.

Growing tired of the silence that left her too much ability to have wandering thoughts, Nova casually went back to her pestering.

“So, what sort of things do you dream about when you do dream?”

The mammoth mech was quiet for a moment before replying: “I don’t remember really. As I said, I dream so rarely. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually dreamed.”

“But you have dreams,” Novastrike insisted, swapping subjects. “What sort of ambitions do you have; hopes, goals, wishes?”

A chuckle escaped Blackout softly. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

“I’m interested in everything about you.”

“Hmm,” he droned quietly. “I don’t know. I used to think it was pleasing Megatron- Lord Megatron,” he hastily corrected, “and being the best soldier I could be. Whatever his aspirations were became my own. I don’t... really know what I want.”

“World peace?” Nova suggested. “To be happy? Or maybe a home, or a lot of credits? I know- a bigger, badder, badaft weapon!”

“Maybe.”

“You sound off. Did I upset you?”

“No I... I’m fine.”

Nibbling on her lip, the femme inclined further into her seat. She pulled her helm away from her servos and placed them on the arm rests, drumming her digits lightly.

“What about you?” Blackout slowly asked. “Don’t you have any fantasies you aim to achieve?”

Novastrike tilted her audio receptor to the side slightly. “A lot, actually,” she admitted. “But I prefer to live in the present for the time being. I have everything I could want right where I am.”

“The Rising Star does offer an adequate supply of energon and conversation,” Blackout agreed. “The work’s a bit slow, but-”

“No, not that,” Nova cut off, her audios glowing. “I meant right here. As in right here.”

As she strained her word, Novastrike made a slight arc with one of her arms across the space. She knew there was some way for Blackout to view his interior. He’d made comments before about what she was doing. How he noticed though she wasn’t exactly sure.

For a moment, she thought she might have either confused him or been too tacky with her words. It felt like a fire was burning in her ears as the silence stretched between them.

“I like that idea,” Blackout finally agreed, sounding extremely soothed.

“You do?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.

“I do,” he snickered back. “Here sounds like the most ideal place to me as well.”

Fidgeting, the white-armored femme reached up to place her servos over her ears. The blue glow was growing so harsh, she could see it reflecting on Blackout’s interior. The repetitive throbbing of her spark gave a fine impressive of a beating drum; following an erratic and unpredictable pattern.

It grew quiet. Equally shy from their corny, sappy remarks, the couple drew into an unyielding silence. Neither side seemed capable of budging and being the first to speak again. Nova was beginning to think they would take the rest of the flight in utter quiet when Blackout finally spoke up.

“Speaking of the Rising Star, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to bring up to you.”

“Oh?”

“Something else came up the day that Guard gave me his room,” Blackout vaguely remarked.

“Okay,” Nova puzzled. “Are you going to keep me in suspense?”

“He asked me if I would consider becoming a commander on the ship.”

“What? Blackout, that’s amazing news! Did you accept? No, wait, you must not have; we would have heard otherwise. Why didn’t you take the position? You’d be perfect! You’re the most experienced bot on the ship. Why wouldn’t Guard think of asking you? This is great!”

“Nova,” Blackout gently urged. “Focus.”

“Yes, sorry,” she sheepishly commented with a grin.

“He told me he’d give me time to think about it,” Blackout hedged.

“And? What have you thought so far?”

“I’m still considering.”

“What’s there to consider?” puzzled Novastrike.

“It’s a big responsibility,” he firmly responded.

“You don’t think you’re ready for it?”

Blackout paused for a few spark-beats before slowly responding, “It’s not that I wouldn’t feel ready. I held high class among the Decepticons. When Megatron was not on duty, Starscream, “ he snarled the mech’s name, “Was next in line. From there, it was either Shockwave, Soundwave, or myself. Soundwave always... held a unique position by Megatron’s side. The communication’s officer was practically his equal, really. Shockwave remained on Cybertron, so his status on the ship was null and void, though he still carries his importance and his work.”

“And then there’s you,” Nova repeated.

“Yes, and then there was me,” Blackout agreed. “But that was on the Nemesis. This is the Rising Star. This is a rogue ship. I am just...”

As Blackout grew hush, Nova twitched her audios with impatience. Her optic ridges slowly drew together with worry and confusion.

Clearing her vocalizer, she spoke gently, “Blackout, dear?”

He didn’t respond.

Venting softly, the small femme spoke on his behalf with a firm voice: “You’re just incredibly strong, determined, resourceful, intelligent, fearless, adaptable, diligent, bluntly honest, impartial-”

“Novastrike, please.”

“- intuitive, rational, persistent and sometimes annoyingly so, truth-worthy, considerate, hard-working-”

“Nova,” Blackout pleaded.

Narrowing her optics, the femme gave a huff. “What?”

Grumbling with embarrassment, the big mech mumbled, “I appreciate your enthusiasm and high belief in me. I do. But I am still a soldier and a killer. None of that has changed. My self interests I still place above all us. My loyalties are questionable. Guard shouldn’t have even offered me the position. It was a mistake.”

Novastrike gave a short shake of her helm, smiling faintly. “I don’t think it was a mistake at all,” she murmured, gently stroking the arm rest. “He trusts you, and so do I, even if you don’t trust yourself. And you clearly put a lot more than just your self interests first, otherwise you wouldn’t have me.”

“You’re under my umbrella of self interests,” Blackout admitted plainly.

The warm glow from Novastrike’s ears grew brighter once again. She drew her mouth into a small frown, though the gesture was meant for herself. If only she could calm her clamoring spark.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she insisted softly. “I think you should give the idea a chance. If you couldn’t handle it, I’m sure no one would fault you for stepping down. It’s a great honor to hold that sort of position. You’d do everyone proud. You’ve made everyone’s lives a lot easier and you’ve been working so incredibly hard on keeping us safe. If it wasn’t for your know-how we wouldn’t be getting along as well as we have. Our weapons are actively online and well maintained, the ship’s crew is training again on a somewhat regular basis. Bots trust you, Blackout. You’ve done nothing to prove us otherwise. And I know for a fact you wouldn’t throw us in the way of harm or jeopardize anyone’s safety if you could help it.”

“You think better of me than I think of myself,” Blackout whispered.

“I could say the same thing,” Nova mused, smiling. “Yet you still tell me all the time how lovely I look, how powerful I am, that I have a good spark and hold a lot of will. I’ve never seen myself as anything other than generic, spineless, and puny; someone easy to walk all over and wiling to throw in the towel the moment things get rough. But you still tell me otherwise.”

A grunt escaped Blackout unhappily. “And I will continue telling you otherwise,” he gruffly snorted.

“As I expect,” she giggled. “And just as I can’t always see what you claim to in me, I want you trust in what I have to say about you. Trust in yourself, deep down. You know what I say is true.”

Turning her helm slightly, Novastrike rested her lips against the side of the seat she was on. Her mouth curved into a sly smile as a resounding rumble moved through Blackout in response while she grazed a kiss against the metal. Her lips teasingly caressing as the echoes grew steadily louder.

“You are a spiteful femme,” Blackout growled deeply.

“Oh I’m so sorry, am I bothering you?” she hummed lightly.

“Whatever did I do to deserve having you in my life?” Blackout questioned. Although his tone suggested teasing, there was a sense of awe that advocated that he meant his question seriously.

“Be an incredibly handsome piece of work?” Nova teased.

“I knew you were in it for my body,” he snarled playfully.

“Who wouldn’t be?” she purred pleasantly in response, stroking her digits along the seat lightly.

A quiet reverberating chuckle escaped Blackout. She couldn’t stop herself from beaming with delight at the intense manifestation. For such a profoundly low-pitched gravely bass, the sound was absolutely enchanted her. Pure joy, in its finest.

“So, do you know what you are going to tell Guard?” she nervously chimed.

A slight grumbled moved through Blackout’s interior. “I think I do,” he admitted.

“Do I get to know a little early?” Novastrike asked in her most enticingly velvety tone, letting her optics flutter slightly as she pouted.

“Do you always use this spell to lure in mechs?” Blackout mocked.

“Is it working?”

“For some time, obviously, yes.”

“Nice to know. I’m afraid though, that there’s only one mech that interests me at the moment.”

“Pray tell so that I might speak with them,” he grunted teasingly.

“Blackout,” she whined softly. “Pleeeassse?”

“I was going to tell you, no need to plead and beg,” Blackout insisted. Clearly her charm was working much better than she’d hoped for.

“And?”

“I’m going to tell him... yes. That I would be happy to accept the position, if it is agreed upon by the council that I should become a commander.”

Squealing with delight, Novastrike went to hug the first thing she could grasp. It so happened to be her seat, which although the gesture was thoughtful, gave a rather comical impression.

“Oooh I’m so proud of you!” she gushed.

“I just hope I don’t let you down,” he softly remarked.

“You could never,” Nova squeaked, snuggling against the seat. “Never ever ever. You’ll do a great job. And it’ll be good for you; you’ll see. It won’t be much different I imagine than what you’ve been doing, but whatever additional workload it places on you will be good. You enjoy keeping your servos and processor busy. And don’t you worry, Guard will still give you plenty of free time to take care of Scorponok and go out as you please.”

A light snicker escaped Blackout. “That’s good. I’d hate to have our dates cut short or out entirely because of work.”

“Like you’d let that happen,” Nova replied in a sing-song voice. “R-Right?”

“Regrettably for you, I am captivated hook, line, and sinker.”

“Boo, you make me sound like such an a terrible charmer, a deceiving siren, a divine lie, a-”

“Divine I could agree with,” he slyly cut in.

“Pss-” Nova hissed, crossing her arms in front of her chassis.

A rich spell of laughter escaped the big mech, and Novastrike couldn’t stop herself from smiling a little in return. Damn that dumb hunky mech, and his fetching good looks.