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Off-duty now, Prowl zipped a nondescript black jacket over her uniform shirt and checked her current level of hat hair in the mirror.Terrible, as always.There wasn’t any point in trying to do anything about it. Having bits sticking out of the braid like a startled hedgehog was much better than taking it out and looking like she’d just had a bad perm.
Too tired for the trash talk today.
What she wanted –no, needed- was a triple-shot and a muffin. She’d missed lunch again, pulled in to deal with a suspect who refused to speak to any of the other officers. Contemplating the absurdity of the shoplifter’s logic kept her mind safely distracted from the nastier casework she’d been dealing with before and after the interview.It was chilly outside –the damp, bone-penetrating cold of early spring. It was enough to make Prowl wish for the scarf she’d left back in her car, parked in the walled staff lot behind the station. It wasn’t all that far to the café so Prowl pulled the collar up as far as she could, tucked her chin down and walked faster.Finishing in the middle of the morning meant working overnight, leaving no time for a social life but creating almost daily opportunities to get to this particular café while the food was still just-in-the-case fresh. There was stiff competition for favourites with all staff from all the office buildings populating the surrounding blocks, but Prowl was a regular by now and the staff normally working this particular day were nice enough to keep one of the huge gourmet monstrosities aside for her. It was her payday treat.It was already busy when Prowl pushed the door open and hurried through. Inside the café was warm, toasty compared to outside. Prowl heaved a sigh of relief, joining the queue for the counter and slowly relaxing as the heat soaked into her. Finally her brain thawed enough from work-mode to notice the obvious.There was someone new behind the counter.Someone she’d never seen before was taking drink orders and serving from the cabinet, a new addition to the comfortingly familiar faces of the barista and kitchen staff.The new woman was all gorgeous dark skin and cheekbones that could cut glass paired with a delicate jawline and a defined chin that made Prowl long for her scarf so she had something to hide behind. Strangely pale blue eyes twinkled with merriment as the new person chatted easily and joked with the customers; friendly and charming in a way Prowl had despaired of mastering after dozens of Personal Development classes. Her hair was in countless tiny braids, pulled into a knot atop her head that added some much-needed height to the woman’s diminutive stature.
She looks like the walking definition of ‘good things come in small packages.’
She was the total opposite of everything Prowl was.“Hello, gorgeous.” The lilting accent started Prowl out of her daze and she suddenly realised that the last person before her had been served. The greeting had been directed at her. “What can I get you this fine morning?”Suddenly aware of those pale eyes sizing her up, Prowl’s mind went blank. Her face burned.“I…”“Hey, Jazz! Be nice to Prowl, she just got off night shift.” A familiar face came to Prowl’s rescue, hands dusted with chocolate powder sliding a plate with a truly extravagant muffin on it onto the counter. “The usual, yeah?”The last bit was directed at Prowl. She nodded, voice gone.“Alright; Jazz? Ring up this and a ‘Cop Resuscitator’, special orders menu, third from the top.” Swerve delivered the order crisply. “And you can flirt on break, you’re due when Blurr gets back.”Sighing melodramatically, Jazz shot Prowl a wink as her hands flew over the touchscreen, clearly already well-familiarised with the system. The smile that accompanied that wink filled Prowl’s stomach with butterflies and she found herself hoping she’d be getting some help with eating that muffin.
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It was… obnoxious.That was the only word Ratchet could bring to mind as Wing approached, bouncing through the foyer as if she wasn’t drawing stares from everyone around. Ratchet was staring, all right. She always did when Wing was around. Now, however, for what was probably the first time since they’d met she hadn’t given Wing’s frankly amazing body an appreciative once-over.No. Right now her eyes were glued firmly to her partner’s head.“Hey, love. I’m so sorry I’m late.” Wing said, dropping a kiss on Ratchet’s cheek. “I was trying to find a way to make this colour look like less of an accident.”Accident seemed like a good way to describe it.A violent one.That had turned Wing’s hair as violently pink as a million slaughtered Fuchsia Fairies.“That… was an accident?” Ratchet blinked, willing to swear the colour left after-images behind as Wing nodded. “How?!”Obeying the silent tugging on her hand, Ratchet began walking beside Wing as the freshly pink-haired woman steered them out of the library.“It was supposed to be red.” The embarrassed smile showing Wing’s chipped front teeth was unfairly cute. “That’s what I get for using budget dye, I guess.”“It still suits you.” Ratchet smirked as she caught Wing’s blush. “You’re lucky you’re cute enough to pull something like that off.”“Shut up.” Wing muttered, blush deepening as she pushed the door open.Grinning from ear to ear, Ratchet complied.
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This university was laid out so differently from ones in her home country that Perceptor was continually getting turned around. It was a maze, a warren of connecting corridors and shared department space that made her head spin on the best of days.Now, after spending an entire day in the same conference room desperately taking notes as guest lecturers spoke, her head was so full of work that geography was the farthest thing from her mind. She left the brightly-lit room in a daze, feet moving along a path born of a habit older than her residence on this campus. Moving as if she knew where she was going, mind buzzing with theory and conjecture as she walked.It was only when she came face-to-face with a massive display case of specimen jars that she realised her mistake.Blinking at her reflection overlaid atop an impossibly long tapeworm preserved in formaldehyde, Perceptor came slowly back to earth.This wasn’t the campus she’d spent the long years of undergraduate and post-graduate masters study at. Right now she had no idea where she was relative to the conference room, let alone the familiar landmarks of food court, hall of residence or the Postgrad Lounge.
I’m lost. Again.
Sighing, she tried to decide if it would be better to try retracing her path or find an outside door and one of the many map plinths installed around the grounds.A door slammed nearby, followed by the sound of running feet and breathless swearing. Perceptor was slowly turning to face the direction of the noise when someone short and pale-haired came flying around the corner and crashed into her with a yelp of surprise. They went down together, a tangle of limbs and elbows as Perceptor tried her best to direct their fall away from the specimens in their delicate glass tombs. Her bag caught behind her, cushioning the impact her head would otherwise have made with the unforgiving ground. Sharp pain shot up from her ankle, but with the wind completely knocked out of her Perceptor wheezed instead of screeching.“Oh gods, I’m so sorry!” The stranger gasped, pushing up, away from where they’d landed atop Perceptor. “I didn’t see you. I shouldn’t have been running but I’m late for practice and- are you alright?”Blinking away tears of pain, Perceptor looked up into the strangest amber eyes she’d ever seen as she tried to gasp enough air into her lungs to answer.When people inevitably asked them how they met, Perceptor always came at the truth sideways with a knowing little smile that made her girlfriend blush and hide her face.“She took my breath away.”“Wing just… came out of nowhere and swept me off my feet.”
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Rung waited, fiddling nervously with a sugar packet and trying not to draw attention to herself by glancing at the door every other minute.A cold cup of tea, a notebook and pen were her excuse for being there. Trying to kickstart her brain with a change in surroundings. In reality she was poking at a nonsense game on her phone and praying silently to every deity listening that today went smoothly.It was hard, having to plan every date with the precision of a military campaign in order to avoid public attention. Even with the best-laid plans, nothing was ever guaranteed. Any moment she could get a text cancelling because some idiot or other had recognised her lover and shouted her name, trying to get the Senator’s attention.The doorbell tinkled, announcing the entrance of another customer into the café.Suppressing the urge to look and see who it was took every last ounce of Rung’s waning self-control. Biting her lip, she focused harder on her phone; squeezing the sugar packet so tightly her knuckles went white.A wave of familiar perfume surrounded her seconds before Shockwave kissed her cheek and threw herself down into the comfortable chair opposite Rung.“Hello, darling.” The Senator’s cultured accent couldn’t hide the affection in her voice. “It has been far too fucking long.”“Senna!” Rung gasped, shocked and laughing at the elegant Senator Shockwave resorting to crudity. “Language!”“Oh please, this place is clean and I wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear.” Waving off her concerns, Shockwave corralled her waterfall of platinum-blonde hair forward over a shoulder so she could sit back without catching it. “Did Bee hire you on as my nanny when I wasn’t paying attention?”That devilish little smirk should have been illegal. It gave Rung ideas that weren’t appropriate for public, let alone such a nice, homey little café as this.Then Shockwave’s bright turquoise eyes sparkled as the smirk became a dangerous little grin and she put a finger on her lower lip, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against lipstick that remained firmly in place.Rung knew that particular look. Intimately.The other woman was clearly thinking something positively wicked, and Rung wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.“You know, dear;” That particular coaxing tone of voice set off warning bells in Rung’s mind. “Having you on my staff would solve ever so many problems.”When the Senator got that look on her face, political opponents knew they were doomed. The only difference was how long it took them to realise it.Rung recognised it, but she resolved to give Shockwave just enough of a challenge to keep things interesting. Negotiation and compromise –that was how things worked with them. Talking down Shockwave’s penchant for the dramatic was going to be difficult, but she wasn’t going to deny her lover all of her fun.
This is going to be the scandal of the century...
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Ratchet pushed open the door and entered their apartment, juggling keys, coffee and an awkwardly long box.The curtains were firmly pulled against predawn gloom, a nightlight plugged into the side of the stove giving her just enough light to avoid running into things. She dropped her load on the table just as the coffee maker beeped to announce the beginning of an automatic cycle.Silently blessing her amazing partner for both buying and programming the thing, Ratchet flicked the light on and threw some bread in the toaster before going to peel her scrubs off and wake Arcee.As usual there was a trail of discarded clothes creating a tripping hazard from the bedroom door to Arcee’s side of the bed. Soft snoring told Ratchet that her partner was still asleep, but she didn’t try to keep the noise down as she thumped down beside an improbably large blanket-sausage. Arcee had somehow managed to cocoon herself in every blanket they possessed, making it extremely unlikely that anything Ratchet could say or do would tempt her out of bed to face the day. A tuft of pink hair spilling out of one end of the blanket mass told Ratchet which end was more likely to be dangerous.Poking the well-wrapped woman didn’t get a response. Shaking her gently earned a grumble and the entire blanket cocoon spasmed as Arcee tried to curl in on herself.“Time to wake up, sleepy.” Ratchet said, nudging a little harder in the general vicinity of Arcee’s side.“No ‘s not.” Arcee snarled, thrashing and rolling over to fix Ratchet with a sleepy glare. “Still dark out.”“Winter time planetside means it’s sometimes dark out in daytime.” Ratchet reminded the pink-haired woman. “Are you gonna get up or can I drink all the coffee?”Becoming more alert by the second, Arcee was more than awake enough by now to recognise the threat as genuine.“Fuck. You.” She enunciated clearly, sitting up and starting to wriggle free of the blankets.“Later, dear. If you don’t fall asleep before finishing breakfast.” Ratchet dodged the pillow thrown at her, laughing. “You’re not the sharpest scalpel first thing in the morning, are you?”Scowling, Arcee jerked the scarred stump of her amputated arm at Ratchet. Neural interface connections flashed silver where they caught the light.“You don’t fuckin’ deserve to be flipped off with an actual finger.” She growled, pull savagely at the sheet tangled around her legs.“I got your arm back from Wheeljack’s team, they added a few new surprises to it for you. It’s on the table” Ratchet said, standing and having to immediately move out of the way as Arcee charged past, wearing nothing but her sleep shorts. Sighing, she followed more sedately. “Crazy fucking assassin.”“What was that?” Arcee demanded sharply, pausing briefly in her attempts to tear open the box.“I said, you’re my fucking crazy assassin and I love you.” Ratchet repeated, rolling her eyes when Arcee blew her a kiss.“I knew that already,” Arcee said, finally freeing her freshly upgraded arm from it’s cardboard prison. “Now help me get this on and calibrated and I’ll make your coffee the special way.”Unwilling to turn down an offer like that, Ratchet pulled a toolkit from beside the microwave and set to work.
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“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Optimus said, a little wistfully.She took another sip from the bottle and passed it to Ratchet so she could lie back in the grass without worrying about spilling it. The competing music of a dozen different New Years’ parties echoed off the mountains, but the moon hung above it all.Silver, serene and indifferent.Dew was already starting to fall. It soaked into the back of Optimus’ jeans but she was too fuzzy-warm from the alcohol to really care. Nicely buzzed, with company who didn’t expect her to be anything other than who she was.
How the fuck did my family end up being related to the Royals, anyway?
Back at the campgrounds people treated her differently now. It didn’t matter that she had been spending every New Years there since she was ten. One horrible accident and suddenly she was third in line or something, watched all the time, pestered into ‘proper behaviour’ by her elders and hassled or sucked up to by her peers and it sucked.Out here in the dark, with Ratchet, she could just be Orion again.
My best friend. Since forever, it feels like.
At some point over the years she’d fallen in love with her best friend. The best friend who remained thankfully oblivious to her affections while they both went on terrible dates with boys, some good dates with boys and always been there for eachother if an excuse was needed to escape a particularly awful date. Grinning at the sky, she stretched and settled more comfortably against the hard ground.
Pretty sure that ‘family emergency’ of Ironhide’s was bullshit, too.
Orion treasured the memory of that one game of truth or dare, where she’d refused to tell Blurr who she had a crush on and had been dared to kiss Ratchet. Staring dreamily into the spaces between the stars, she replayed the memory again. Soft, warm lips against hers, Ratchet’s bluegreen eyes wide and surprised then drifting slowly shut. The sharp, lemony taste of the mixer Ratchet had been drinking cutting through the smoky haze of rum coating her tongue. Pulling away lightheaded, stomach full of butterflies and heart in her throat, waiting for a slap that didn’t come.Revenge had come when she caught Blurr in a lie and dared him to kiss the pretty exchange student from Costa Rica who’d been moping after him for weeks.
Starscream’s a nice guy, once you get past the attitude.
The only guy who’d ever made her feel anything like kissing Ratchet had felt was Blurr, and since he’d declared loudly (on top of a table in the mall food court) that he liked both boys and girls and anyone who didn’t like it could kiss his ass, she figured that might be part of it.
He’s like me, but Blurr’s brave enough to come out and say it.
Of course, it helped that Blurr was popular and gorgeous and had been competing at Internationals for Tae Kwon Do since he was tiny. If Orion –now Lady Optimus- tried to say she preferred girls then she’d be up to her eyeballs in literal hot water faster than you could sneeze. If anyone found out that she was the Secret Admirer who’d send Ratchet flowers on Valentines Day, the world would probably end in the fiery wrath of her parents.
Fuck, I’m so glad she didn’t figure it out. I couldn’t live without being her friend…
Ratchet was taking a long swallow from the bottle of whiskey when Orion looked back to her friend. It was good stuff, smooth and burning. Optimus had liberated it from the family stash once everyone was already too trashed to notice, before sneaking off with Ratchet to escape the pandemonium that the entire campground devolved into without fail every December 31st.The moonlight poured down silver, the occasional flickers of fireworks sending flashes of colour over Ratchet as she tipped her head back. Her hair was a mess, but to Optimus she looked like something divine, a maenad out of legend come to show mere mortals how celebration was supposed to be done.
We’ll find a fire and see who’s dancing when we go back.
She was watching so closely she could see Ratchet’s lips move when she put the whiskey down, but a sudden uproar from the campground below covered whatever it was she’d said. The roar broke into a recognisable chant.“Huh, countdown’s started.” Ratchet said, leaning back and bracing herself with her hands. Her fingers brushed Optimus’. “Didn’t think it was that late.”“Yeah.” Optimus forced herself to sit up, sliding her fingers just barely over her friends’ as she quietly joined the shouting revellers in the yearly countdown. “Five, four.”“Three, two,” Ratchet joined her in the quiet countdown, fingers twitching and curling distractingly around hers. “One.”“Happy New Year.”Grinning, she turned to Ratchet, about to make her annual stupid ‘haven’t seen you since last year’ joke.The words never left her throat.Suddenly Ratchet was there, right in front of her, up on her knees, leaning forward with the strangest determined look on her face and then she wasKissing.Optimus.Warm lips, whiskey and lipbalm-sticky against hers, Ratchet’s fingers sliding over hers as Optimus turned her hand over so she could hold Ratchet’s properly and suddenly she knew she never wanted to let go again. Even if Ratchet regretted this in the morning, she’d always be there for her.After a dizzying eternity Ratchet pulled away, retreating just far enough for Optimus to see the crooked smile and slight hunch of her shoulders.“One of me new years resolutions was to stop being such a fucking wuss and…” Ratchet coughed, face darkening in the moonlight. “And tell you that I like you. Like, really fucking like you. That way. So, I… yeah, you probably don’t…”Before she could pull away, Optimus squeezed her hand, getting her attention back before Ratchet could get any further along on her guilt trip.“No, that was perfect. It was so you.” She laughed, suddenly feeling like she could take on the entire universe and win. “And I like you that way, too. More than like, actually. Have done for ages.”As soon as Ratchet heard that she got angry. It was her first and best defence against embarrassment, as Orion knew all too well.“So why didn’t you fucking say anything?!” Ratchet demanded, smacking Ratchet’s thigh with her free hand. “I’ve been freaking the fuck out, thinking I was about to wreck everything but I couldn’t live with not knowing any more. Ugh, you fucking bitch!”“I’m a chicken shit, Ratch. You know that.” Optimus said, failing to disguise the smile she usually hid when her friend blustered like this. “I could handle not knowing so long as I still got to have you as a friend.”“Oh.”From the look on Ratchet’s face, that was something she hadn’t considered. She stared at Optimus until the official fireworks display ended.“Gods of my fathers,” Ratchet declared, “You’re fucking hopeless, Orion.”Then she cracked up laughing. After a minute Orion started giggling, then they were clinging to each other and laughing fit to bust.High above them, the moon continued its path across the sky.Safe in each-others arms, neither of them noticed or cared.
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The university library was quiet, as all such places were.Soundwave was almost completely silent as she avoided staff and the one hag of a librarian on the third floor, making her way towards the section of study desks in the far corner of the building.Nobody who saw her would have been able to tell that she had plenty of contraband tucked inside her trenchcoat, anyway. The evil bitch who seemed bound to the third floor help desk definitely suspected, but Soundwave was a past master of concealment. The flask of hot coffee looked and acted like a perfectly innocent torch.It was a little suspicious to be carrying such a large torch around in the middle of the day, but it was just a torch unless you knew how to open it.Spotting her target, Soundwave grinned and snuck right up behind the distracted blonde. Tapping the woman’s left shoulder, she smoothly sidestepped right and deposited the concealed flask on top of what looked like a philosophy textbook.The nearly-white fanned out as Shockwave turned to her left, then immediately whipped around to fix Soundwave with a stern glare as she realised she’d been tricked.[You bitch, how do you manage that every time?!] Shockwave signed with sharp, angry motions of her manicured hands. [You nearly gave me a heart attack!][It’s because you’re that predictable, sweetcheeks.] Soundwave flicked back lazily, grinning and leaning against the edge of Shockwave’s desk. [Drink that fast or hide it before the Witch comes over.]Sighing, Shockwave reached for the torch-flask of coffee. She popped open the side hatch and savoured several long, blissful swallows as Soundwave kept watch.[What did I ever do to deserve a girlfriend like you?] Shockwave asked rhetorically as she snapped the mouthpiece back into the body of the flask. [You’re gorgeous, smart and you bring me coffee.][Thank me after you hand this assignment in.] Soundwave signed with a wink, bending down to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek. [Now get back to work. I’ll keep an eye out for the hag.][Yes dear.] Shockwave smiled. [Thank you.][Any time.]
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The ceremony went beautifully.Optimus made a wonderful celebrant, once Mirage forced him into a suit that actually fit him properly.I’ll never understand why Hound’s friends don’t appreciate the importance of getting things tailored!It wasn’t like having someone taller than Hound had been a make-or-break part of the plans, but it made her fiancée –now her wife- relax just a bit when she wasn’t the tallest person in their immediate surroundings.So, Optimus in thick-soled shoes for a little extra height that compensated well for the shoes both women wore as they said their vows.At least nobody present was stupid enough to refer to the platform heels Mirage had on beneath her sweeping, floor-length couture gown as ‘stripper heels’. Anyone who knew them and was stupid enough to do that in public were also the sort that objected to the marriage in the first place.True to her reputation, Mirage had hired a castle for the ceremony and reception. They’d taken the photos before the ceremony, of course. Mirage knew that the instant the bridesmaids turned up with the rescue dogs, Hound’s dove-grey silk gown would be covered in slobber and paw prints. No matter how well-trained the animals were, her wife was another story altogether.
And I wouldn’t have her any other way.
Something thumped against her foot and Mirage glanced under the table to find one of the dogs she remembered Hound fostering the year prior. Hound had apparrently found a use for her fake nails, scratching the dog behind the ears as it leaned against her leg.A sudden commotion from another table drew her attention instantly away from any plans to tease her wife.One of Hound’s friends was red-faced and wheezing, fumbling for her bag as others at the table tried to get her attention.“Oh shit, Rung.” Hound’s voice was worried, “Mirage, love. Did you say the scones were wheat-free?”Frowning, Mirage shook her head.“I don’t think so, just the…” Realisation dawned as Rung started to cough. There was a half-eaten plate of scones at the table where Rung sat. “Shit.”Rung wasn’t the only guest with a food allergy, only the one with the most severe reaction. Her phone was in her hand, dialling the emergency services number as Hound sprinted barefoot across the room to help Rung, the friendly ex-foster dog following behind her. She gave instructions to ambulance dispatch as she watched her wife administer the epipen Rung never went anywhere without.It was a temporary reprieve, as Mirage knew all too well. She didn’t relax until the ambulance arrived and Rung was safely inside, trundling away down the gravel drive with lights flashing.“That could have been a disaster.” She said, hands clenched tightly at her sides as Hound came to stand behind her and wrapped her in a hug. “How could I have been so stupid? I should have triple-checked the catering and-”“Hush, love.” Hound said against her ear. “Breathe. Rung will be fine. She said to tell you it’s not your fault, she’s not angry.”“Oh, and how is it not my fault for nearly killing one of our guests?” Mirage asked archly.“She said the scone tasted too good to be gluten-free, but she ate it anyway.” Hound’s breath tickled as she laughed softly. “She said to say her sweet tooth is the one at fault here, and she will fight you over it if you insist on taking the blame.”Mirage flushed, then the blood drained from her face as competing emotions surged through her.“Rung had better survive this.” She said crisply, taking a deep breath and forcing herself back to calm. “Because I’m going to kick her arse for that.”“Aww, you’re learning.” Hound relaxed her hold, letting Mirage turn in the circle of her arms to glare at her grinning wife. “It’s adorable when you talk like a lowly peasant.”“Oh, shut up.” Mirage growled.Laughing, Hound led her back to the interrupted reception.The ceremony went beautifully, but the reception came far too close to being a disaster for her liking.
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Ratchet closed her laptop and sighed, rubbing her burning eyes.
You’d think semi-retirement would mean less correspondence…
But no. She was still one of the most prestigious (and some would say notorious) people alive in the medical community –both in practice and academia. This meant fielding almost daily demands for interviews, offers for guest lecturing on one of her specialties and requests to speak at this or that public engagement.It didn’t matter how selective she was in which offers she accepted, they still tried anyway.Standing was a slow business at this age; slower still with her bad knee aching in the way that meant a thunderstorm later in the day. The warm summer sunlight streaming in through the windows was almost mocking as Ratchet rubbed at the scarred joint. Stretching the cricks out of her back, she wandered slowly out of her study with the vague idea of seeing if there was anything in the fridge worth putting together for lunch.
We could always go out. That little pasta place Maggie likes opens early on Fridays, I think?
It was a good idea. The only question would be if her wife was up for dealing with the general run of humanity today.
With all the cases she’s judged you’d think she’d prefer the company of ordinary people. You never can tell with some people…
Magnus wasn’t in her own study, the kitchen or even their surprisingly untidy lounge. When Ratchet finally located her wayward wife she knew there’d be no lunch date for them that day.Under the supervision of their extremely lazy tuxedo cat, Magnus was weeding. Right now she had somehow gotten in-between her favourite rose bushes, dangerously close to enough thorns to turn her into a hedgehog if she so much as twitched. Ratchet swore those plants thrived on human blood, and had made her own accidental offerings to their health until Magnus got tired of listening to her swear and banned her from that end of the garden.Ratchet joined the cat and waited patiently for Magnus to finish whatever she was doing and crawl her way back out from under the spiky death-trap of the rose bushes. She did so very slowly, working her way backwards with something cradled carefully in one hand.It was hard to reconcile this Magnus in her old, stained and mud-covered gardening clothes with grey hair sticking out of her bun every which way with the stern, perfectly groomed judge who’d presided over some of the toughest court cases in modern history. Now she stood, using both hands to hold what looked like a weed in dirt-stained hands that had once wielded a gavel with stern authority. Very few got to see this side of the Right Honourable Ultra Magnus, and Ratchet was smiling at the sight as her wife approached the porch.“Look, I found a little lavender plant growing back between the roses.” She said by way of greeting, explaining what the little scrap of green life was before Ratchet could ask. “There’s none around here, some birds must have brought the seeds in.”“I’ll get a pot from the shed.” Ratchet said as Magnus crouched down to let the cat sniff the tiny plant. “You think of something you’d like for lunch.”She knew her wife and her moods well. If she let Magnus into the shed right now there would be no prying the woman out of there before the sun went down.Ratchet had learned this the hard way.“Alright, dear.” Magnus said absently, more interested in trying to keep the cat from eating or crushing their new lavender plant as she introduced them.Smiling and shaking her head in fond exasperation, Ratchet went off in search of an appropriately-sized thing to plant the flower in.
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The list for this place was massive, but Drift knew the wait (and the prices) was worth it.It had been pure luck that got her the appointment. She’d just been ringing on the off-chance during her lunch break and managed to catch the receptionist just after Whirl had opened another week on the calendar.Drift had booked the first available place, hung up and done a victory dance that ended when she lost her grip on her phone and it flew into a pan of waste oil.The case had saved it, but it was a close thing.There were new example photos on the walls in Unvincible Ink when she arrived on the day of the appointment.Early, because she didn’t want to risk wasting a single minute.Drift whiled away the time studying the new photos. There were a few magazine articles cut out and stuck up on the walls as well. She read each of them several times over, breathing deeply and trying to calm the jittery feeling in her stomach as it finally started to sink in that this was real, within an hour she’d be under the needle of the legendary Whirl.“Hey, hot stuff.” Someone rasped from behind her. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Oh for fucks’ sake…
“Here to get stabbed with needles, but I have nothing against giving you a shiv piercing while I wait.” Drift growled, turning to glare at the asshole who’d ruined her buzz.The rest of the angry words burning on her tongue congealed and froze when she saw who it was.Whirl.The one and only Whirl of Unvincible Ink, legendary tattoo artist.
Oh shit, she’s hot.
Drift had only seen Whirl from a distance at tattoo conventions and in photos of her at work. Nothing compared to the reality of her long, lean body and those darkened amber eyes staring into hers as she leaned against the counter. There was a can of energy drink in the woman’s one remaining hand -the one with the hook- was braced casually on the high countertop beside the register.Scars turned Whirl’s grin into something devilishly attractive as Drift stuttered and tried to find something, anything to say to salvage the situation. Drift felt her face burning“Oooh, feisty.” Whirl said, saluting her with the can. “I like that. I hope you’re here for ink, babe. ‘Cause I know I’m gonna love working on you.”With that she downed the rest of the contents in one long go, giving Drift just enough time to get her blushes under control before following the tattoo artist into her lair.
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It was hot.Crazy hot.It was humid on top of that, too.Even with the curtains half-closed to block out the worst of the sun and a fan going there was no escaping the heat.Jazz was glad for the day off from training. It was simply too hot in the gym. For the first time anyone could remember it had closed for safety reasons simply due to the temperature.The beach would be too crowded, the river even more so. Hanging out in the shade near a plentiful supply of ice and cold drinks sounded like a better idea.Blaster was leaning a chair back in a way that would have made her Aunty throw a fit about the way it made holes in the carpet. This was Jazz’s flat and Blaster’s Aunty had gone home for the summer to pester the cousins. All of Jazz’s flatmates were out of town as well, so they had the house to themselves.
Just gotta keep it tidy-ish and put the rubbish out on Tuesdays. It’s good.
Blaster had her bare feet up on the windowsill, picking out a slow melody on her old guitar. Jazz didn’t have any instruments here, not yet. Training came first –her career as a gymnast would be over in a short handful of years. While she wouldn’t let herself fall too far out of practice, she couldn’t exactly afford much until she started winning the bigger prizes.Neither of them were wearing very much because of the heat, so Jazz was tracing the lines of faded stretchmarks where they disappeared under the hem of Blaster’s old rugby shorts. She knew her girlfriend was ogling her as she stretched. Just because the gym was closed didn’t mean she could slack off with conditioning.The music provided a nice background for her stretching, nicer and far more relaxing than the fast-paced, almost manic techno remixes pumped constantly through the gym speakers.Jazz could almost see why some people did this for fun.It was even nicer to finish stretching and find a smiling Blaster holding out a glass of orange juice so cold there was water running down the sides of it.“Here, reckon you might need this right about now.”Pretending to swoon didn’t bring the glass any closer, but it made Blaster laugh. That sound was always music to Jazz’s ears.
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Mirage felt extremely self-conscious, walking into a hospital while holding the tethers to several large mylar balloons. She knew her wife would have held them, but Hound had her hands full dealing with other things.Training a new service dog, and of course she’d get permission to bring it along…Thankfully balloons were a relatively common sight at this hospital. Although given that most of them were destined for the childrens’ ward, Mirage wasn’t entirely happy when eyes started slipping over them. While she wanted no children of her own, she still didn’t like to see any child sick or suffering. If balloons like this went unremarked, it meant too many had passed through this way lately.
Or maybe they read the words, see two adult women and assume we’re headed to visit a friend in neo-natal?
It was extremely plausible, after all. Hound had insisted on buying balloons emblazoned with a large ‘Congratulations’ and adding ‘for surviving the evil wheat' underneath in a permanent marker.Reception told them that Rung had been moved to a general ward. Mirage led the way, with Hound following easily. She was probably using the balloons to keep from losing her shorter wife in the weekend morning flood of people, but she wasn’t going to complain.Up five floors, find the nurses’ station, then several more corridors that all looked identical until they found the room where Rung was currently staying.As they approached, a tall woman with a doctors’ namebadge on emerged from the room, smiling a private little smile accompanied by a light flush of pink on her pale, freckled cheeks. Mirage noted the anomaly, filing it away as she did with all social information as they entered Rung’s room.When she saw their friend blushing redder than she’d ever seen, Mirage knew immediately that something was afoot.
Hmm, what’s happened here?
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Nobody knew she wrote poetry.
It was a stupid hobby. Irrational and illogical, but she loved the challenge.
If anyone knew what she did, that she wrote poems in her spare time, she would be bullied even worse than she was already.
But she couldn’t stop.
It was addictive. The best puzzle, the ultimate challenge of wits. Finding the right words to convey the meaning, fitting them into the rhythmic flow and dictates of the rhyme scheme in a way that didn’t sacrifice sentiment or imagery to the strict rules of her chosen poetic form.
Minimus Ambus’ favourite hobby was writing sonnets in iambic pentameter.
Love sonnets.
And like the Bard himself, she had a muse in female form.
Beautiful and vivacious, Hot Rod blazed like the sun.
Wavy red-gold hair inspired comparisons to magma, forest fires and fields of ripe wheat at sunset.
Athletic limbs and a well-toned physique put Magnus in mind of the Valkyries, Maenads and Amazons of myth.
Her voice was musical, her laugh the sound of pure joy.
Ambus watched and admired from afar, insignificant and overlooked unless her family name was mentioned. She didn’t want Hot Rod’s attention if it was only because of her family name.
One day the collection of sonnets would be published. Maybe by that point Minimus Ambus would have the courage to append her own name to the works. Make an indirect announcement of the yearnings in her heart.
Until then she would write, hope and dream impossible dreams.
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Pure.
Innocent.
Untouchable.
Shockwave knew the theory behind the impeccably tailored white suit Rung chose for her first day on staff. She’d helped pick it, chosen the entire outfit in fact.
It was something she did very well. Part of what had made her so deadly in the early days of her political career was a well-honed appearance and the ability to take advantage of those who underestimated her because of it.
Few, if any of her rivals were stupid enough to underestimate her anymore. Those who were didn’t last very long.
So she’d helped garb Rung for battle like a Knight training a Squire.
And the first time, Shockwave had miscalculated.
She had taken into account the impression Rung had to make, the image she would need to project to throw off suspicion and encourage unfriendly eyes to slip past the unfamiliar new woman in the almost-but-not-completely useless role of Academic Advisor. Rung’s decades in clinical practice stood her in good stead when it came to how she carried herself and the body language needed to appear uninteresting and unthreatening enough for curious eyes to get bored quickly and move on.
The one thing she had failed to factor into her work, the
one
thing Shockwave had overlooked, was the effect that Rung’s appearance would have on
her
.
Professional, calm and collected in the crisply cut suit with kitten heels to give her a little extra height and add some style to the outfit without saddling her lover with shoes she couldn’t walk confidently in. Tasteful, understated makeup and a delicate chain necklace that had been a birthday gift from Shockwave were perfect for the façade of a shy, nerdy academic trying not to screw up in politics.
It was positively
maddening
.
Shockwave longed to tangle her fingers in that perfectly coiffed hair and kiss Rung until her lipstick smeared and she gasped for air. She wanted to rumple that perfectly pressed suit as she pressed Rung against the wall of her office or laid her over her desk and proceeded to shatter that mask of virtue.
Because it was a mask. She knew the real
Rung
underneath this wallflower her lover was pretending to be.
The contrast was driving Shockwave wild.
Her plan had backfired unpredictably and quite spectacularly, but she was too busy being consumed by frustration and fresh lust to care.
The little smirk and wink Rung gave her as she left for lunch told her that Rung knew exactly the kind of effect she was having on the Senator.
Shockwave couldn’t keep her eyes off the sway of slim hips as Rung left, vowing to get revenge as soon as she feasibly could.
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Whenever it rained like this, Prowl was glad of her massive umbrella.It was absolutely pelting down when she left the station. Huge, cold drops that hit the puddles so hard that they rebounded and made it look as if it was trying to rain up as well.Prowl barely noticed the rain or the inch-deep puddles she sloshed through. Her work boots handled water and worse as if it was nothing. The rain had started around three in the morning, throwing an already busy shift into chaos.It had been a horrific night.Images and sounds flickered through her dull, tired brain. Children’s faces, wet roads and twisted metal flashing red-blue-red under patrol car lights. Bloody smears across ugly old lino, the metallic smell competing with cheep beer and the reek of harder drugs than pot.She wanted to go home and collapse in the shower but she’d already scrubbed off at the station. It was an intense, visceral need that was purely psychological.Her skin crawled.Past experience had taught Prowl that she would be much better off emotionally if she stayed as close to her normal routine as she could. She needed the normalcy of the café, a giant sugar bomb of a gourmet muffin and something a little more indulgent to drink than her usual. It would be better to go to sleep for the day with the bustle and hum of the customers in her hears instead of raised voices and terrified screaming. She needed to know that not everything had gone to blood and horror overnight, wanted to see it for herself.Besides, Swerve fussed and worried about the officers who had become regular customers. Magnus joked that Swerve probably considered them Extended Family by now, having seen them so often. If any one of them failed to show up it was immediately assumed that they were in the hospital instead.Apparently the events of the night hadn’t made it to the general population yet. It would by the evening, Prowl knew. Swerve could read from her face that it had been a bad night. Prowl was told she looked like shit and ordered to go sit before she collapsed, someone would bring the food and coffee to her.Never one to argue with the person making her coffee, Prowl did as she was told, managing a sort of controlled fall into one of the armchair-and-coffee-table setups tucked into the corners of the café.Just as she was staring to wonder what was taking Swerve so long a wave of vanilla bodyspray washed over her and someone knocked her umbrella over where she’d leaned it against the side of her chair. Grabbing for it, Prowl almost grabbed a handful of someone’s leg instead.Looking up, she felt her face burn as she met Jazz’s pale blue-grey eyes.“Hey, I hear you had a rough night.” Jazz smiled sympathetically and deposited a tray on the table while Prowl struggled with remembering how to interact outside of work-mode. “Swerve told me to bring this over.”
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Drift floated in a world of blue.
Pale blue sky overhead, deeper blue ocean water around and beneath her.
Her surfboard was fluro orange with obnoxious pink flames on it.
A Christmas gift from a friend, to show he didn’t hold any grudges over what she’d done.
He said I didn’t have a choice…
Drift was still too close to it to really be able to say one way or another. Yeah there had be the magical coercions and more physical punishments, but there had been other things too.
Good things.
Things she missed.
There was no way she’d admit it where anyone could hear, although she suspected Ratchet could tell.
There had been times under Lady Myste that she’d loved life as a Hound. Deadly and untouchable, one of the Court’s ultimate weapons. Respected and feared as such in her own right and not just because of her powerful patron.
Myste
.
Benefactor, mistress, lover.
She’d been all of that and more.
Under Myste’s guidance she’d learned so much, had been pampered and cared for even as the dryad had finished the task of breaking her mind and will, reforging her as a creature that existed to serve her and the Court wholly and utterly.
Drift remembered gentle fingers combing through her hair, spreading healing paste over scars so that they healed without a trace. Cold winter nights wrapped in luxuriant furs, listening to old Court gossip and learning how to braid hair so that one could hide poisoned darts in it.
The look on Myste’s face when she saw Drift in the gown commissioned for the Samhain revels made her chest ache every time she remembered it.
I could still have that, but it would cost too much.
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Whirl sat back from her drafting table, stretching the ache out of her shoulders as she admired the completed design.Being able to work hidden sigils of power into her pieces while retaining their power was one of the reasons her tattoos were so sought after in certain circles. What made them even more desirable again was the complexity of the protections she was able to weave into them.I lost so much, but not this. They can’t take this from me.The lovely young woman who’d threatened to stab her when they first met had booked her for a backpanel piece –glorious sweeping wings that made Whirl’s shoulderblades and sternum ache with the memory of flight. Whirl was making a major effort with this one, the kind of effort usually reserved for those calling in a debt or paying in serious amounts of the right stuff.There was a glow about this one, something special that could land this ‘Drift’ in serious trouble if she attracted the wrong kind of attention. Whirl was determined to prevent that if she could, but having a contingency plan didn’t hurt.Cast out and damned as she was, Whirl still wasn’t giving in. She wasn’t going to let them have this one, either.The war could go hang. Neither side was going to get this one.Whirl vowed to keep her safe.No matter what.
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Rung hated hospitals.She was glad of their existence and appreciated the people who worked in them, but she hated having to be in one for any length of time.Even visiting a friend pushed her limits. Being in one herself again was a test of sheer willpower. Her phone was a lifeline to the outside world, helping stave off the dizziness and terror that rose to choke her every time she let herself think about where she was.
I hate this. I want to get out of here.
The balloons from Hound and Mirage floated in the corner, tethered to the back of the guest chair by some unknown means. If Hound hadn’t written on one they would be indistinguishable from any of the dozens of others she’d received over her lifetime and make the present reality almost indistinguishable from her nightmares. She hadn’t told them she was still in hospital until after their return from their honeymoon; she hadn’t wanted to ruin their trip.This stay was unnecessarily long. Some idiot hadn’t read her medic alert bracelet and administered the wrong drugs, complicating her initial allergic reaction and extending an overnight stay into several long, torturous weeks. What she was allowed to eat of the hospital food was was bland and boring, she couldn’t go anywhere without dragging her IV pole along with her and there wasn’t anything to do, anyway. She hadn’t been able to convince anyone to bring her any research materials, so she was reduced to reading articles and making notes on her phone.One consistent bright spot in her days was the redheaded doctor who’d figured out what was wrong within a minute of seeing Rung in the emergency department. She had taken an interest in Rung’s case and medical history, although their conversation had become less Professional Interest and more general before the end of the first week.Deep in her heart, Rung secretly hoped that it wasn’t wishful thinking on her part when she thought she detected interest of another kind from the doctor as the days dragged on, but she was a realistic person. While she yearned for the kind of happiness that her friend Hound had found she knew it was vanishingly unlikely. It had been miraculous enough that Mirage and Hound had found each other. It would be crossing into divine intervention territory to expect the same thing to happen for her.“Are you busy?”A welcome voice interrupted her gloomy thoughts.Rung looked up to see the redheaded doctor poking her head around the doorway, wearing one of the most beautiful smiles Rung had ever seen. The one person in this whole damned hospital who made her feel safe.“No, you can hide in here with me if you like.” Rung offered, jumping at the opportunity as she did every time this person showed up.“Excellent, I was hoping you’d say that.” The doctor said as she entered and close the door behind her. “Otherwise I’d have to eat this lot by myself.”Rung could feel her jaw drop as the redhead approached and began pulling packets and bottles out of her coat pockets. Within seconds a picnic feast was arranged on the tiny tray-table beside Rung’s bed.All of it things she could eat.Tasty things.“You… What?” Her mind staggered beneath the enormity of what was happening. She still didn’t even know the woman’s name and she was doing something like this for her. “Why?”“Because being stuck in here sucks.” The doctor said matter-of-factly, then flushed bright red under her freckles as she added. “And I wanted to do something to cheer you up.”A traitorous spark of hope flared to life in Rung’s heart. One she knew she’d have to crush eventually, but just for this afternoon she wanted to pretend.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Whirl smelled nice.Every time the woman shifted it seemed to send a waft of whatever perfume she was wearing to Drift’s nose.Vanilla, something sweet and a bit of spice all mixing up with the metallic scents of blood and ink. It made Drift melt into the table, relaxed and calm while the tattoo gun buzzed and a trail of stinging fire worked slowly across her back. It was so hard not to twitch when Whirl sketched the design on with a marker. The bloody things tickled.At least this reaction gave her an excuse for all the blushing and squirming she couldn’t help for the first half an hour of being half-naked in the same room as Whirl.The obnoxious attitude wasn’t as off-putting as Drift had secretly hoped. As the gangly woman focused on her work a lot of it fell away, revealing it to be mostly a front. It left Drift conflicted –she wanted to like Whirl; above and beyond the hero-worship that she’d first approached the tattooist with. But at the same time there seemed to be something actively drawing her to the woman, and Drift always resisted being made to do things.Even if it was a thing she very much wanted to do.“You falling asleep down there, crazy girl?” Whirl asked, prodding Drift’s waistband with the smooth steel outer curve of her hook.“Mmm, yeah.” Drift smiled into her forearms.Sighing, Whirl shook her head and shifted to get a better angle for working around Drift’s shoulder blade. Vanilla and sweet dust surrounded Drift. Every breath of it made her dizzy.“At least you’ve stopped twitching all over the place.” Whirl muttered, breath hot against Drift’s bare skin as her needles moved painfully slowly across the thin flesh covering her scapula. “Gonna have to tape you to the fucking table next time. I fucked up the lines for these feathers because of you wriggling like a dying fish.”With her mind clouded by Whirl’s vanilla-spice proximity and the universe collapsed down to the delicious sharp burn of the tattoo gun punching ink into her, Drift hummed and said the first thing to pop into her head.“Promises.”The word emerged sounding so sultry that it took Drift a full thirty seconds and Wing lifting the tattoo gun away from her back to realise that she’d been the one to speak.Frozen stiff with embarrassment, Drift was suddenly freezing on the warm tattooing table.“I don’t tie up people I’m currently working on.” Whirl said crisply, her hook coming in with a wad of something to pat at the blood trickling down Drift’s ribcage. “We’ll get this piece finished and then talk about that kind of shit if you still wanna, ok?”“Um… ok.” Drift squeaked.Actually squeaked.If any of the guys at work heard about this I’d be so fucked.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They stumbled out of the bar and past the line of punters still waiting to get in, drunk and leaning on eachother for balance.Whirl was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. She had one arm draped over Ratchet’s shoulders and the other one dripping blood from skinned knuckles.“I don’t fucking believe you.” Ratchet was still slurring a little but sobering up much faster than Whirl. “You’re lucky he didn’t want to press charges.”“Did you see his face?” Whirl asked, wheezing as Ratchet sat her on an empty bus stop bench and grabbed her by the chin. “Did you see his fucking face?!”“Before or after you decked him?” Ratchet asked, trying to see if Whirl’s pupils were the same size. “Wasn’t much of a face left after you headbutted him one, bloody obliterated his nose. Fuck, I hate it when you do this! Why??”Suddenly serious, Whirl leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Ratchet’s waist, squeezing tight.“Because I love you and you deserve better than bein’ pawed at by drunk pieces of shit who won’t take no for an answer.” She mumbled into the thin fabric of Ratchet’s top.Stunned, Ratchet looked down at Whirl’s unruly mop of curls and tried to figure out where this had come from.“What about the drunk piece of shit hugging me?” She asked, trying to figure out if Whirl meant what it sounded like.“If I thought you’d say yes I’d be there in a fuckin heartbeat.” Whirl sighed, snuggling into Ratchet’s belly. “Ask me again when I’m sober and you’ll believe the answer.”Completely speechless now, Ratchet ran her fingers through Whirl’s hair and dared to hope.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
While she had been cast out, Whirl had not yet fallen so far as to commit the sin of lust with a human –or any other creature, for that fact.No matter what certain people would say.As Drift began to return her jokingly flirtatious banter with serious intent, Whirl began to understand temptation as she never had before.The woman’s back piece was nearly finished. A glorious spread of wings with hidden protections woven into them spreading across her shoulders and trailing down either side of her spine. Every time she passed one of the faded scars that marked Drift’s skin she had to grit her teeth and ignore the way her palm itched for a weapon.It was that itch combined with something newly awakened that had Whirl out of her bed and taking a nighttime stroll through an unfamiliar part of town.So late on Friday night that it was really Saturday morning and those who only worked weekdays were still out partying. Nobody would recognise her in a loose coat and jeans, not with her hook stuffed in a pocket and a smouldering cigarette in the fingers of her hand. Her hair was shoved into a big, saggy beanie someone had left in the shop and never returned to claim.There was Trouble out here.She wanted to find it.Before it found whatever it was looking for.Eyes half-closed, she tracked the Trouble’s trail past one bar after another, trailing ash from the unsmoked cigarette as it burned slowly down. There was a side-street up ahead that was well-travelled during the day, not so much at night. Following a hunch, Whirl crossed the road and headed towards the end furthest from the invisible path she followed. At the corner she raised the cigarette to her lips, faking a long drag before dropping the butt and grinding it out with her heel.
It’s here.
Two carparks opened onto this street. One would be closed already. The other was private, open all hours. Hand and hook in her pockets, Whirl slouched her way down the street. Her feet stopped moving at the entrance to the private carpark.There.Most of the lights had blown. Clearly the owner figured that so long as there was any light left, nothing needed to be done. Pulling the shadows around herself, Whirl began to stalk her prey.A handful of dark shapes moved between a big SUV and a smaller, more car-shaped vehicle. There were four; one of them clearly in control, two more hauling the smallest who was acting drunk and uncooperative, flailing uncoordinatedly against the larger pair.
Drunk, or drugged.
There were no witnesses. Nobody here besides Whirl, her targets and their victim.
Perfect.
Teeth bared in a feral grin, Whirl dropped the shadow shroud and the illusion of humanity along with it.It felt good to spread her wings again.“Unhand the mortal.“The words rolled through the air, power given form in sound. Her voice startled the two goons into freezing, their boss twitched but recovered smoothly.“This one is ours.” The slight hiss betrayed the creature’s fear. “Move along.”Whirl’s grin widened.“Wrong.”Before the echoes had died away she had closed the distance between them. The muscle went down quickly, too stupid and slow to handle anything stronger than a human. Their falling bodies carried the human down with them, corpses pinning and sheltering it somewhat.The leader provided more of a challenge, shedding any semblance of mortal form as it avoided her opening strike, drawing daggers that glinted wickedly in the light. Whirl recognised the colour of the blades. Her arm throbbed with remembered pain as she threw herself backwards away from a belly-cut, tripping over one of the fallen lesser demons. Wings beating frantically at the air to stay on her feet, her awareness narrowed to the fight and those deadly blades.The demon lunged after her, clearly intending to finish the fight quickly. Whirl was quite happy to oblige it. She didn’t want the thing summoning backup. Or worse, discovering that she was alone and that there would be no divine aid coming to help her crush this one.Sacrificing a wide swathe of primary feathers, Wing backhanded the demon with a wing, pushing it off-balance and away from the mortal. The loose hat fell victim to those ugly daggers as she ducked beneath a blow intended for her throat. Pushing forwards, Whirl tried to see through the hair flying into her eyes as she punched out with her hook, summoning a blade of Holy Light from the stump of her severed hand.She wasn’t sure if the screaming she heard came from herself or the demon as agony lanced through her and the thing burned.It was over in an instant. The demon crumbled into a light powdering of ash and Whirl dropped to her knees on the cold concrete, struggling to breathe around the pain rolling up her arm and spreading into her chest, filling her lungs with fire and smoke. Reality faded at the edges, little spots dancing in front of her eyes. Her wings shivered, sagging limply from her shoulders“Hey, are you alright?” The voice came from behind her.It was vaguely familiar, sounding safe enough that Whirl didn’t react immediately.Then a hand touched her shoulder.Whirl swept her wings back, spinning clumsily on her knees to face the new opponent.“Woah, hey! Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you.” It was the demon’s mortal prey, backing unsteadily away with empty hands held up placatingly.Then Whirl saw.Drift.Dressed in tight black leather pants, boots that filled Whirl with envy and a halter top that had Whirl averting her eyes before she became too familiar with how the outfit enhanced certain of Drift’s… assets.
Father, forgive me.
Lifting her gaze hastily to the human’s face, Whirl saw the instant Drift recognised her saviour.“Whirl?!”Feathers rustled as Whirl’s wings pulled tight to her body in a reflexive, useless attempt to hide. The movement drew Drift’s attention and her pupils blew wide as she stared behind Whirl at the angel’s wings.“Woah.” The woman was weaving unsteadily on her feet, gooseflesh forming on her bare, bloodsplattered arms. “You have wings? Cool.”“Oh fucking hell.” Whirl groaned.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It never used to take Jazz this long to do the groceries.She was getting faster as she learned the layout of the store and what the hundreds of unfamiliar products and brands actually were.For the first time in her life the International Section held more familiarity than the rest of the shop. It was kinda funny if she didn’t let herself think too hard about the things she missed.Somehow she always managed to time her shopping trips for the busiest part of the day. Lost in a flood of people who shoved past without a please or thankyou, chattering away in their native language too fast for her to follow. Working at the café had helped her no end, but in situations like this Jazz was completely out of her depth.While she waited for a guy in a business suit to move out her way Jazz thought she spotted a familiar figure halfway down the aisle she was attempting to get into.
Is that… ?
The person turned towards her just as Business Suit finally moved and let Jazz past.It is Prowl.She’d never seen the officer out of uniform before, let alone with her hair down. It made a world of difference. In stark contrast to her eternally neat turnout while in uniform now the woman looked cosily rumpled, her hair pushed haphazardly back behind her ears. Smiling to herself, Jazz thought Prowl looked more comfortable in her uniform than out of it. When left to her own devices Prowl’s fashion choices seemed to be comfy, practical and loose. She looked far more approachable, but hardly softer. Prowl’s posture was as perfect as ever, her movements smooth and economical as she reached for something on one of the top shelves.Without the café or the dubious shield of having a job to do, all her command of the language suddenly evaporated. She desperately wanted to say something to Prowl, to interact outside of work where she had a better chance of working her way round to maybe asking the woman out without being interrupted. Now she had her chance her brain decided to forget everything except how stupidly attractive the policewoman was and ‘the mouse is on the table’.Then Prowl turned and saw her standing there, gawking like an idiot and Jazz was eternally grateful that her dark skin hid her blushes as she felt her cheeks burn.“Hello Jazz, it’s nice to see you.” Prowl said.Suddenly shy, Jazz managed to stumble her way through an awkward answer, hoping the ground would open up underneath her.
Fuck, I’ve ruined everything.
Prowl didn’t seem to think so, giving Jazz that wonderful little smile of hers and actively striking up a conversation. They swapped phone numbers at the end and Jazz spent the rest of the day so happy she felt like she was walking on air.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Sunlight poured down, baking the botanic gardens in midsummer heat as Ratchet reached tentatively for the smaller woman’s hand.They’d been seeing eachother for several weeks now and Ratchet still wasn’t quite sure how Rung felt about public displays of affection.Every outing was a gift and a delight. Rung was good company, her dry sense of humour complementing the dark turns that Ratchet’s could take at times.When you dealt with injury and death on a daily basis you found ways to cope, and sometimes the only thing you could do was make a joke out of it. They had discovered this almost by accident while Rung was still in acute care, Ratchet having walked in while the other woman dictated a text message to her phone in a raspy voice.She’d burst out laughing at the wisecrack Rung was sending to a friend, and the rest was history.Miraculously, slender fingers intertwined with hers as they meandered down the path, gravel crunching underfoot as the sun brought out gold highlights in Rung’s brown hair.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Drift’s head pounded, her mouth was dryer than an old sponge and tasted like she’d probably eaten one. She felt awful, worse than the hangover she had expected to wake up with. Memories of the night were patchy, although she could remember everything fine right up until some smarmy twat claiming to be a friend of a friend insisted on buying a round of shots for the table. It wasn’t until after the shots that things started getting hazy.
Motherfucker spiked the drinks.
When it came to clubbing she wasn’t a novice. She’d realised something was off when her tongue started going numb. Drift recalled making her way to the toilets and trying to make herself puke up whatever was making her feel bad. Between swearing and punching the wall of the toilet stall and staggering through the carpark there was nothing but a gaping empty hole in Drift’s recollections that frankly terrified her.
Anything could have happened.
And she wouldn’t know.Whirl had saved her, Drift thought she knew that much for sure. All that about Smarmy and his friends turning into monsters and Whirl sprouting wings and wielding a fiery sword must have been hallucinations caused by whatever they’d slipped her.Moving sucked. Every muscle ached and she just knew that if she opened her eyes the light would give her one hell of a migraine.Groaning, Drift sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed so she could get her head down between her knees.So she found out the hard way that she wasn’t in her own bed, by slamming what felt like an already bruised knee into a wall that shouldn’t have been there. She swore and grabbed for her knee before realising that she didn’t remember anything after helping Whirl get to her feet.I could be anywhere. I was tripping balls by that point…“Afternoon.” Whirl’s familiar rasp sounded hoarser than normal. “Wondered if you were gonna bother waking up this week.”Drift’s eyes popped open and she stared at the woman leaning in the doorway.Two huge shadowed masses loomed behind Whirl’s shoulders, Drift’s sleep-blurred eyes refusing to register the texture.“Should’ve stayed asleep.” Drift sounded as hoarse as Whirl did, nodding at what should be empty space behind the woman. “’M still tripping from whatever that scumbag slipped me.”“Hate to burst your bubble there, sweetheart.” Whirl grimaced as she entered the room, the things behind her shifting to avoid hitting the doorframe. “But it isn’t drugs making you see this shit.”The things rustled and shifted, and Drift finally let herself acknowledge that they were real.It had been real.All of it.Whirl had wings. And killed monsters with a fiery sword.
So this means all that other stuff…
“Fuck.” She said, starting to shake.“Sometimes blessings aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” Whirl said heavily, kneeling on the edge of the bed with a creak of joints and a rustle of feathers.
Big feathers.
Drift said the first thing that popped into her head.“If this is a blessing, I’d fucking hate to see a curse.”Whirl’s jaw dropped and she stared at Drift for a long moment. Then as if on cue, they both started laughing.
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Ratchet had spent weeks making a list of places that would be an appropriate place to take Rung for a dinner date.Ever since Rung had admitted that she’d never been on a dinner date –let alone eaten out anywhere fancier than the local pub (not counting Mirage and Hound’s wedding reception) Ratchet had been determined to surprise her for her birthday.Somewhere nice, but not too snooty. Dressy but not black-tie formal. A place to spoil Rung but where she’d still feel comfortable.
And a place that makes food she can eat that doesn’t taste like bitter sawdust.
Most of potential candidates for a birthday dinner had menus available online. Ratchet spent her lunch hours scanning through them and discarding options, running possible places past everyone she could think of.Then Ratchet was perusing a dessert selection and saw an entire section of gourmet banana splits.Rung loved banana splits.
That’s the place.
Feeling extremely pleased with herself, Ratchet rang to make a booking.
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It was purest bliss.Ratchet sank deeper into the tub, until her nose skimmed the steaming water and listened to the heavy beat of Whirl’s favourite band thumping through the house.Being ambushed in the garage and having a ‘bag’ (a pillowcase, Whirl had improvised) shoved over her head wasn’t appreciated, but the results were worth it.Hauled inside by a swearing, laughing girlfriend and stripped in the hallway, shoved into the bathroom and locked inside until she stopped trying to plough her way back through the door to throttle said girlfriend and turned around to find out what the weird flowery smell was.Whirl didn’t unlock the door until Ratchet was up to her neck in hot water, bringing in a towel and a bottle of sarsaparilla that felt like it had spent the last ten minutes chilling in the freezer. These offerings hadn’t been quite enough for Whirl to earn her way far enough back into Ratchet’s good books on such short notice to avoid having water flicked at her.There were reputations to maintain, after all.
Pity she didn’t take her top off where I could watch.
For the half-hour since then Ratchet been soaking her aching muscles in the tub, admiring her prize where it hung over the taps. Whirl’s soggy tank top wasn’t the most orthodox trophy, but she didn’t care.Work she enjoyed, a comfortable home and a loving partner to come home to. Nothing like what she’d once expected her life to be like.
Never thought I’d have anything like this.
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This was where she felt at home.Surrounded by velvety black, promising infinite freedom and decorated with brilliant points and clouds of light.Starscream let her craft drift lazily in far orbit, nosecone pointed towards deep space. It called to her with a siren song that was hard to ignore. She’d always sworn that she’d die in space, wanted to redline the engines and see how far she’d get.If exploration or unfriendly fire didn’t do her in, then taking too many risks stunt-flying certainly would.As one of the elite she could choose to go out with a bang while she was still able and nobody would begrudge her it.An insistent, grating beep from her headset pulled Starscream quite rudely from her contemplation of the edge of known space. She didn’t need to check to know who was trying to contact her. Only one person currently awake had access to that private line.“Yes dear?” She answered, idly correcting course as her craft drifted too close to inbound shuttle lanes.“Babe, you know I picked up tarts today, right?” Blurr’s voice was sharp. “And if you’re not home on time tonight I’m eating them. All of them. Myself.”Starscream winced internally. After a day of trying to teach rookies with no love for flight she tended to be late precisely because she would add a detour like her current one to the commute home.She doesn’t understand…Maybe it was time to explain, again. After they’d both stuffed themselves with those hard-to-acquire tarts.Anything with real food in it this far out was something to savour.Powering up the engines, Starscream eased out of parking orbit and turned for home.“I’ll be there in fourty-five, dearest.” She said sweetly, smirking at the stars as Blurr did the math.A shriek that blew out into crackling feedback told her that her wife knew exactly how far out she was.“Don’t worry, they won’t catch me speeding.” Fingers flexing on the controls, Starscream entered the commands for autopilot to take over the boring part of the flight. “See you soon!”She signed off before Blurr could say anything coherent, her laughter filling the cockpit as she streaked towards home.
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When Ratchet thought back to that first moonlight kiss and how nervous she’d been beforehand, she wanted to laugh.
If I laugh now I’ll probably throw up.
Begowned and made up with a small fortune in rocks and metal draped and dangling from her body, Ratchet waited in a side room for the seneschal to time her entrance into her first formal ball.She’d spent a month learning the proper etiquette for the occasion, beginning to study in earnest the instant Orion –who was now going by Princess Optimus Prime, Heir to the Throne- had decided that Ratchet needed a formal introduction to High Society.Ratchet had suspicions about her secret girlfriend’s plans for the evening after that point, but thinking about what Orion might do made tied her stomach into knots.
Perceptor was joking when he said all that about making a formal announcement about our relationship, right?
Suddenly Sentinel’s seneschal was there, smiling and practically oozing reassurance as he beckoned her forward. Taking a deep breath, Ratchet squared her shoulders and followed his directions, holding her head high as they entered the ballroom.