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saetoru · 11 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。RIGOR — AL-HAITHAM.

contents. mild injuries (al-haitham), established relationship, fluff, really bad banter, al-haitham is left handed because i say so

notes. literally just 2k embarrassing words of you taking care of al-haitham after he’s injured from a trip to the desert. yeah.

“that stings,” al-haitham hisses, glaring at you—which earns him an equally as harsh glare back. “why don’t you just pour the entire bottle of antiseptic down my arm at this rate?

“don’t yell at me,” you hiss back, scowling as you dab at the (already clean) wound some more, “i’m not the one who came back with this. why didn’t you get it checked?”

to your utter dismay, al-haitham comes home from a visit to the desert injured. gravely.

well, truth be told, it’s not really grave. that’s just how you see it because anything beyond a scratch is enough to throw you into a fit of panic. he’s not really used to coming home to someone fretting over him like this—standing between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, dabbing ever so gently at the small (and hardly deep, he’d like to point out) cut on his arm.

running into eremites is an inevitable part of most visits to desert ruins. usually, al-haitham manages to come back unscathed, but sometimes, things don’t always go accordingly. in his defense, he’d thought he’d be able to dodge the blade of the eremite he happened to be fighting. al-haitham has the precision and athletic ability to not only manage, but excel at dodging things that are thrown at him. but still, even he has his moments of miscalculation, and just by a hair, he feels the sting of a blade’s edge tearing through the surface of his skin.

it’s unfortunate, but it’s not a big deal—at least, that’s what he thought. apparently, but not unusually, you have a tendency to disagree with him on most things.

“i was going to check it myself,” he says simply, “it would’ve been fine.”

“oh, i didn’t realize you graduated in linguistics and biology,” you raise a brow.

al-haitham is a well rounded man—he reads books from just about any subject so long as it’s informative and offers him new knowledge that can assist him in being well versed in any topic. more importantly, al-haitham rarely loses arguments, and in order to be able to always win said arguments, his understanding of most subjects is required to be thorough.

he knows how to treat a small wound or two, especially with as often as he lands himself in small fights as he explores ruins.

he looks up at you with an unimpressed stare as he mumbles, “i’ve taken at least a few classes from every darshan.”

“i hate you,” you huff. he exhales tiredly.

“it’s only a cut,” he argues, “there’s no need to be so worried—”

“i’m always worried,” you sigh, staring dejectedly at the injury littering his arm. no one should ever leave a mark over his skin—unless it’s you, and that’s only in a very different context. “does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

a small part of him feels guilty that he’s worried you over his well being, that he’s come home harmed even the slightest bit and disrupted your peace. but the larger and more rational part of him reasons that injuries of this nature are common and inevitable in trips to the desert like this, and he’s skilled enough to ensure that nothing serious ever happens.

still, for your sake, he mumbles, “no.”

it’s a bit of a white lie—it does sting a bit, and the antiseptic you pressed just a few moments ago didn’t exactly help, but admitting to you that he’s in any sort of pain is only opening up more avenues to making this into a larger deal than it really is.

al-haitham is fine, and he’s doesn’t need anything for the slightly inconvenient but not serious laceration on his skin. he’s sure of that.

but then, you cup his cheeks and press a small kiss to his forehead as you murmur, “my poor baby,” with a small pout, “i’ll feed you dinner, okay? they got your left arm.”

he wants to tell you that his motor skills are good enough that he can function with his non dominant hand—being left handed in a world catered for right handed individuals forces you to acquire functionality in both hands. but before he can open his mouth, you kiss down his cheeks, tracing your lips along him until they map out his jaw.

it distracts him for a moment, making hie eyes close and his breath hitch as he lets your warmth settle into the deepest crevices of his skin.

“don’t worry, haitham, i’ll take care of you until this heals,” you murmur sweetly.

and just like that, al-haitham is a bit conflicted now. in his two plus decades of life, he has always been an independent and capable individual—more than most his age. he doesn’t need the assistance of anyone, nor has he ever really needed the assistance of anyone. but you’re making it very hard to resist with the way you’re doting on him with affection.

“i’m fine,” he tries to argue, “really—”

“i should run you a bath,” you mumble, cutting him off. he gets the strong feeling you’re taking more to yourself than him. “and i’ll wash your hair for you too.”

even with the self control someone like him has, even he can’t help but sigh in content when your fingers slip into his hair, stroking through the strands and scratching gently at his scalp. it’s a bit nice—he has to admit that being taken care of, even as minimally as fingers in his hair, is nice.

“you don’t have to do all that,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you moving that arm,” you huff, “would it kill you to stop acting high and mighty for once? most people would take advantage of being spoiled.”

“i don’t enjoy taking advantage of others like most people,” he shrugs.

“you know what i mean,” you glower, rolling your eyes.

it’s a common understanding to most that al-haitham is a bit difficult—you don’t think you ever remember a time where he hasn’t been. he’s stubborn and always believes his views to be correct, and he’s not ashamed of arguing his point no matter who it is. you’re surprised that mouth of his hasn’t landed him in trouble yet—although, you suppose he’s not exactly in the good graces of most at the akademiya.

and as the akademiya’s acting grand sage, you admire his unwillingness to back down. but, as your boyfriend and the man you love, you wish he’d just compromise sometimes—and maybe let you wash his hair and hand feed him dinner for a bit as you nurse his injury back to health.

just this once….and maybe just a few more times later on too. you don’t ask for much, you like to think.

“i’ve gotten injuries like this before,” he reasons, “i’ve survived.”

you look at him with that delicate look of yours, the one that makes him feel like maybe he’s been living his life wrong this whole time. that it only became correct once his life involved you.

he thinks that’s might just be the case when you grin slightly, pinching his nose as you lean down, pecking his forehead and mumbling, “you don’t always have to just survive. you can indulge a bit, you know.”

“is that so?” he raises a brow, his good arm snaking around your hips.

“yes,” you hum, “if you give it a try, you might just enjoy indulging here and there,” you grin, stroking a thumb over his cheek as you admire his features, relearning every curve and every angle of his face. you don’t think you’d ever get bored like this—just standing in your bathroom, staring at him. you think you could comfortably stay right here like this forever.

maybe longer.

“i see,” he says slowly. al-haitham has always had a strong sense of control. but that was before you—he’s now forced to admit that his resolve is a bit weaker, just a bit shakier after you’ve come along. “does this begin with washing my hair?”

“and feeding you dinner,” you nod, tracing your thumb over his brow, letting it wander along the hook of his nose. “do you want me to kiss your arm better too?”

“is that really going to help?” he asks in amusement, making you giggle.

“oh yes,” you tease, “it was in a class i took from amurta. you probably didn’t take it—it’s far too rigorous for you.”

“oh,” he nods playfully, “of course. you’ll have to excuse my lack of understanding. not everyone can be as advanced as you.”

“here,” you grin—and it’s wide, and it’s warm, and it’s far too bright to ever be dimmed by the light of your bathroom as you stare at him, “i can demonstrate if you want. hands-on learning is always the best.”

“i must ask—have you ever learned hands-on like this with anyone else?” he raises a brow.

“and if i have? would that make you jealous?”

“perhaps a little,” he admits, fighting desperately to keep his own smile hidden. it’s hard not to smile when you’re around—how could he not when you swallow the sun with your lips every time they curve upwards in that honeyed way that they do?

“don’t worry,” you giggle again—and god, he thinks, he really loves that sound. he watches you lean down and kiss softly along the edges of his wound, tracing the cut slowly as you say, “you’re my only academic partner now.”

“i’m most grateful.”

“well?” you peck his shoulder, “a kiss helps, doesn’t it?”

“it does,” he chuckles quietly, “maybe you can show me a bit more.”

he’s given into you completely by now—you can tell by the way his body is relaxed on the edge of the bathtub. you can tell by that easy grin plastered on his usually blank face. you can tell by the way he leans into your touch every chance he gets. you can tell by the way he asks you to kiss his wound some more—the same wound he didn’t think you needed to care about.

but you always care, and he’s starting to understand you always will. so he stares at you hopefully, expecting just a few more presses of your lips.

so you do, kissing along his arm, peppering scattered pecks along his shoulder, pressing your lips gently along the column of his neck as he sighs softly and closes his eyes.

maybe being taken care of isn’t so bad—maybe he’s been missing out all this time….but then again, he thinks it’s just that he’s always been missing you. like he was born to find you. like he was made to be yours and you were made to be his and you both were made for each other if nothing else.

if nothing else, al-haitham is glad to be yours.

“does it still hurt?” you ask after some time.

“just a little,” he lets himself admit, “it’s nothing i’ve never dealt with before.”

“you really worried me you know,” you breathe quietly, making him squeeze your hips in reassurance, “don’t hide next time you’re hurt.”

“and will you kiss me back to health if i tell you?” he hums, leaning his head back to let you kiss his jaw easier.

you smile against his skin, letting your touch linger for a moment before you mumble, “of course, it’s only the best treatment. only those who take rigorous classes would know that.”

“good thing i have you to teach me.”

“yes, you’re really quite lucky,” you say with a cheeky smile.

there’s a warm bath waiting for him after this. and a hand fed meal. and perhaps a few more gentle kisses. but most certainly a lifetime of you—that much he knows.

i feel like i’m borderline violating myself by posting this bc it’s so self indulgent but here u go

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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exa-reblogs · 9 months

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Some identifiers for AI generated fashion images that I've noticed

So, recently and not unexpectedly, I've seen a major uptick in AI generated images showing up in my searches for fashion photos, specifically. I've seen people make posts like this for specific art styles, and for 2D art in general, but I wanted to share some observations I made regarding clothing, fashion, and runways. I've seen a lot of people getting fooled by these, but it seems like for every one person thinking it's real there's about three people informing them that it's AI, fortunately. I'll admit, a lot of them look somewhat believable at first, but once you look closer it becomes apparent that they're off somehow.

To clarify: this is about common inconsistencies I've personally noticed in AI fashion images, so that you can learn where to look for these and similar inconsistencies and avoid sharing AI content by accident.

There's this one "collection" specifically that seems to come up a lot (also, click on all these images in this post to see the details more clearly):

There's more images like this and yes, despite the "houseofai" watermark I still see people asking who the designer is, or saying that they genuinely thought it was real at first. First and foremost: these are all clearly meant to be from the same runway show, right? Then why does each image look like it was taken on a different runway? The lighting and coloring are different in each one, and the middle one has vague red stairs in the background while the other two look like just a plain light-colored runway. This is something you'll obviously only be able to notice in groups of images and not singular ones, but it's a pretty dead giveaway if you see it.

Secondly: AI generated images, as a whole, tend to have this specific kind of super dramatic lighting with very bright, white lights and soft grey shadows. I'm not very knowledgeable about photography, so I can't explain it exactly, but I know it when I see it (and if someone reading this can properly explain it , please do.)

Thirdly: AI generated fashion tends to attempt perfect symmetry, but always fails somehow.

As for the actual outfits: the best that I can describe it is that a lot of the shapes and patterns just don't look like intentional human choices.

What in the hell is that monogram on the upper right supposed to be? It's clearly mimicking a logo of some kind, but it's messy and indecipherable, not actual branding.

The heart motif is clearly the running theme here, but the hearts don't really make sense. Like the main one in two halves across the chest here: why does it have those two notches missing at the bottom that prevent it from coming to a point at the bottom like a heart is supposed to?

The bottom hem is way longer on the left than on the right.

The little shoulder hearts are like, bleeding into the shoulder seams; those lines in the hair look like they're supposed to be headbands, but they disappear at the part with the rest of the hair; the embroidery on the pants isn't in a clear or intentional pattern.

Again, compare the lighting on this one's neck with the lighting on the last one's neck, totally different.

Those pink things on the chest look like they're trying to be hearts, but they're so clearly not actually hearts. If your collection is heart themed, why aren't you using actual hearts?

The quilting effect is uneven and the individual lines don't follow through and finish in the places they should. Look at the upper right sleeve, where the diamonds are misshapen and the diagonal lines are clearly disconnected. On the lower right chest, the lines just disappear. This can't actually with quilted garments IRL because the top layer is literally stitched to the bottom one along those lines with material in between. It can't fuck up like that, especially not a designer garment that costs your monthly rent.

Smooth zipper. Zippers seem to be a common fuck up.

You can't read the text on the hearts. It's nonsense. Nonsense, unreadable text and fucked up hands are the absolutely surefire ways to identify AI art like this. Conveniently, there are no hands in these photos.

What are those embossed shapes on the sleeves? They're not identifiable as anything in particular.

That is not how zippers work.

I suppose that weird folding beneath the hearts is something technically physically possible. But it's much, much more likely that they would create smoother, less ugly seams with less excess fabric.

These generative AI programs don't actually comprehend what they're trying to depict. Thus, they make mistakes like these. Physical inconsistencies that are often totally impossible, but even the possible things are just... stupid choices that an actual designer isn't going to do. Yeah, sure, designs can be weird, asymmetrical, and imperfect on purpose. But it's way, way more likely that this is just an AI.

Experiment: look at these two images of retro-futuristic headpieces/eyewear and determine whether they're real or AI.

Right one is easy, mostly because of the wonky bitch in the back. But some other inconsistencies I specifically wanna note: if the blue goggles color the "model"'s skin, hair, helmet, and the background behind the lenses blue, why doesn't it do the same for the eyes? And also, I've noticed that a lot of these images have trouble properly rendering the corners of the mouth, which is a weird detail but one you won't be able to unsee once you know to look out for it. Yes, there's a dark line where actual human lips meet, often with some subtle divots at the corners, but in the image on the right, it's rendered as a harsh, gaping hole more like something sculpted out of plastic than actual flesh. On the note of imperfect symmetry again: the left lens isn't perfectly round. And finally, this is a really good example of that giveaway lighting I mentioned. I don't know how you would actually achieve that lighting IRL, but it's so, so common in AI images.

The left photo is an actual model in 1967 wearing pieces designed by Pierre Cardin, a designer that the right image is definitely trying to emulate. The model has a look on her face that isn't super duper expressive, but it's still far beyond any of the AI images I've seen. Every AI fashion image I've seen thus far has totally blank-faced, expressionless "models". They might pout slightly, but I haven't seen any with visible teeth. Something tells me the AI would render teeth the same way it renders fingers. The emblem on the hat is actually perfectly symmetrical, and the glasses are clearly asymmetrical as an intentional design choice, not like the shapes are supposed to be the same but got messed up somehow. And she has ten fingers total, five on each hand.

Two more:

These are both AI generated. I'm not gonna lie, i fell for the one on the left at first. The right is easy:

distorted faces

woman in back is being absorbed by the train(?) seat

those middle buttons on the jacket are totally useless

AI Lighting (TM)

But the "models" on the left look very, very convincing, and the lighting doesn't immediately register to me as AI lighting. The only really wonky thing on the faces is the mouth on the left "model". However, there's one dead giveaway: the headphone wires. Why are they different thicknesses? Why does the rightmost wire disappear into the jacket sleeve? Where the fuck does the leftmost wire even go? AI, I've noticed, struggles with thin lines, strings, and strands of things. Like with the quilted jacket above, you can often try and trace a single line, only to find that it drops off, distorts, or disappears. And sure enough, as soon as I noticed something was weird with those wires, I went to the Pinterest profile that posted it and found that they exclusively posted AI content. Speaking of the actual headphones, the leftmost ear cushion is sitting on an angle that doesn't make sense, and the one to the direct right of it is significantly thinner than the other three. Again, subtle failed symmetry.

This is by no means a comprehensive guide, and I encourage anyone seeing this to point out ways they've found to identify AI images like this. These are things I've just been on the lookout for lately. And when in doubt: conduct reverse image searches and try your best to identify solid sources for your images. AI images won't list designers, model names, photographers, stylists, makeup artists, etc., while actual runway and photoshoot images will, because there are human creatives behind them.

#posting this to my least active blog rather than my fashion one so that less notes will overwhelm that blog's notifications #ai #psa #long post

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commsroom · 29 days

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circumstances surrounding the “leaked” documents about eiffel’s sentencing in need to know, as i understand them:

one of the very first things kepler does is offer eiffel, minkowski, and lovelace a drink. in true “at any given moment, kepler has about eighteen ulterior motives” spirit, it is, among other things, “hospitality”, sure, a test for eiffel, definitely, but… i think the main reaction he was checking for was minkowski’s. will she look at eiffel, or react to his reaction? how much does she know? how much does he trust her?

in don’t poke the bear, jacobi and maxwell stop lovelace from breaking into kepler’s server by pretending to be in on it with her: “she’s very good. it might turn into a problem.” / “i’ll run it by kepler.” two episodes later, files from kepler’s very secure server are “leaked.”

(the words "need to know" are spoken offhandedly by eiffel in the episode itself, but it also calls back to the excuse maxwell gives lovelace: "colonel kepler practically lives by the words 'need to know.' and, apparently, nothing i can say will ever convince him that i 'need to know' everything that's in our databanks.")

need to know opens with minkowski finishing an eleven hour shift, and then finding out kepler moved that shift to, well. now. she’s already frustrated and sleep deprived.

minkowski complains to kepler. jacobi and maxwell, on cue, barge in and complain to kepler. kepler assigns minkowski, jacobi, maxwell, and lovelace to punishment detail, taking eiffel out of the group because “you’re the only one who hasn’t wasted my time with pointless whining.” lovelace says: “um, i don’t think that i did any complaining either, so…” but that doesn’t matter. it’s just an excuse to remove eiffel from the group; he could just as easily have been singled out for special punishment. either way, it was going to happen.

hilbert isn’t there. not the most significant factor, since he’s already been effectively sidelined by kepler, but remember he already knows about eiffel’s sentencing, doesn’t care (about eiffel’s history OR about anyone else’s personal drama), and will later respond to minkowski asking by telling her to grow up and get back to work. it simplifies things to not factor him in.

consider the files themselves: we know from happy holidays that maxwell not talking to her family is common knowledge, but jacobi reacts like it’s news. we know from hera’s performance review flashback in memoria that kepler and jacobi were aware of “multiple attempted crew member homicides” in her record. the file about hera’s bentham directory was on kepler’s server. if there’s one person who would’ve been briefed on everything there was to know about hera, it would’ve been maxwell; her shock is entirely feigned. in fact, almost every reaction from jacobi and maxwell here is feigned. they’re black ops specialists who arrived prepared with divide-and-conquer tactics. there’s no reason they wouldn’t know these things. also note that none of the “leaks” reveal anything about the mission they didn’t already know, and that nothing about the si-5 is incriminating - if anything, it’s mostly silly and even humanizing. and, yes, all of that contextualizes maxwell’s reaction to “skiing?!”

eiffel’s file comes through last, once they’re already worn out. kepler sends eiffel to check on them at the same time so that he’ll walk in. jacobi shows minkowski the file. he lurks around waiting to see how her not-confrontation with eiffel goes, and then cements the thought in her head: what about you? are you going to care?

it’s true that there are aspects of the mission only kepler knows, but as far as information on the hephaestus crew goes (barring one very particular detail about lovelace)? that’s part of the job they were chosen for. when they kill the plant monster, kepler says: “you think we didn’t know about that thing? please. we listened to every log that you beamed down to canaveral.” kepler’s entire foundation is shaken when jacobi turns on him because this is how they operate: “have one person take the blame, say the mean things. meanwhile, the poor, betrayed little guy gets a bit more leeway - just enough to sneak up and hit you from behind.” the show is not subtle about any of this. you can pick apart any early-s3 interaction between two hephaestus crew members and an si-5 agent and see the same divide-and-conquer tactics at play. jacobi and maxwell are always - in morals, loyalty, job description - closer to kepler than they are to the hephaestus crew, and to even sort of believe otherwise is falling for that facade. it’s worth remembering that the hephaestus crew are prisoners. some of them were aware of it from the start, and some of them were lied to, but none of them were meant to leave. the si-5, on the other hand, went up there with a unified goal, and the knowing intention they would be, among other things, prison guards.

#wolf 359 #w359 #i see posts about this from time to time like hey they planned that didn't they? and well. yes.#i don't think that's a theory. i think it's the canon intent. and this is why. i think people on the whole also give jacobi and maxwell #... too much leniency. it's buying into the roles they play. even kepler's role as a strict disciplinarian is playing into this to a degree #... this is longer than i intended. sorry.

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easy-there-leftovers · 8 months

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I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

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spnhunter4life · 4 months

Text

Not So Bad

Summary: Bad information on a hunt leads to a tense situation that ends in confessed feelings.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

I sighed as I flipped through the pages of the dusty old book I’d picked up out of a mix of nerves and boredom. The Winchester boys and I were in New York of all places. I hated it here. The constant loud noise of the bustling city, the air that was so far from the fresh country air I’d grown used to at the bunker, and, worst of all, the tall buildings that blocked out the sky mixing with the thick crowds of people made me feel severely claustrophobic.

But there was a monster here that needed to be killed, and the Winchesters always went where they were needed. And wherever they went, I went. So here I was, sitting in the library while the brothers went off to kill the thing. It was some sort of demi god named Daemon.

I’d never been much of one for fighting. I preferred to be the designated researcher, helping out in a mental capacity instead of physical. Both brothers insisted I at least learn basic self defense and worked with me on occasion, wanting me to be able to defend myself if the worst were to happen, but they never pushed me to come face down monsters with them.

The book I was currently looking through was one of the three I’d been able to find in this library about Daemon. I’d already found the information I was looking for and reported it to the Winchesters. But now my options were to sit here and wait for the hunt to be over so the boys could come pick me up, or make my way back to the motel on my own, and I was perfectly comfortable where I was. Or at least, comfortable enough that it wasn’t worth braving the crowded streets.

I turned another page, skimming the words quickly, barely absorbing what I was reading. Somewhere in the back of my mind I made the distant realization that I was in a library and could go find a more interesting book to pass the time. I didn’t give the idea much thought, knowing that it would be difficult to lose myself in a book when my boys were in danger. I knew how long they’d been living this life and how capable they were, but that didn’t make it any less scary anytime they took off. I knew every time could be the last, and I didn’t take that for granted.

I was about to close the book and at least find something to occupy myself that wasn’t a detailed explanation of the very thing the boys were facing down, when the sentence I’d just read actually registered in my mind. With a sharp inhale, my eyes darted back to the beginning of the paragraph.

It is a common misconception that Daemon is susceptible to oak stakes dipped in lamb’s blood – a rumor no doubt started by the mischievous deity himself – which is actually quite harmless to him. What most do not know is that Daemon is not a demigod at all, but the offspring of a demon and a faerie. As such, his one and only weakness is a silver blade dipped in holy water.

The blood drained from my face. I’d given the boys the wrong information and now they were off to face an angry demigod – or faerie demon hybrid, apparently – with weapons that may as well have been toothpicks for all the use they would be.

How could I have been stupid enough to not double check the information? I should know better than that!

I didn’t have time to wonder if maybe this bit of information was the incorrect one. Something in my gut told me it was right, and even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t risk letting them go to their deaths, thinking they had the upper hand. I pulled my phone out and immediately dialed Sam’s number. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. Cursing quietly to myself, I tried Dean instead. Voicemail again.

Fear for my boys overrode everything else. They were all I had left in the world and I absolutely could not lose them. I couldn’t live without my sweet, steady Sam. He was an invaluable source of knowledge on all topics imaginable and he had a calm, comforting disposition that seemed to instantly ease everyone in his vicinity. His sense of humor may not have been as pronounced as Dean’s, but I appreciated it just the same and wondered what would happen if I never got to hear his laugh or see his smile again.

And Dean. I couldn’t even let myself think what all I would be losing if he was gone. To an outsider, our relationship looked perfectly polite and comfortable. And it was, I suppose – we always got along well and never had a bad word to say to each other – if not a little strained. Although, that may have been just on my end. He never did seem to feel the tension that I did. I couldn’t blame him for not noticing either. After all, I did everything I could to keep him from knowing just how much I cared for him. Just how much I loved him.

Without stopping to think about it, I quickly exited the library and rushed out into the crowded streets I so despised. I ran in the direction of Daemon’s lair – we had known its location since early in the investigation and had only been working on the details of how to kill him – roughly shoving through crowds of people when necessary.

I was severely winded by the time I reached the abandoned building that Daemon resided in. I was panting in short breaths that seemed to fill my lungs with fire. I didn’t have time to stop though. I spotted the Impala parked in the alley and fumbled a key out of my pocket. I threw the trunk open, grabbed a silver knife and poured a generous helping of holy water over it. I barely remembered to slam the trunk shut before rushing inside.

I slowed down once I was inside. The building was large and I had no idea where any of the current occupants might be. I was just peeking around an open door, knife held at the ready, when a huge crash followed by a yell of pain sounded off to my right. My heart stopped. That was Dean.

Please let him be ok. Please let him be ok. And Sam too. Let them both be ok, I pleaded to any god who would listen.

I crept as quickly and quietly towards the sound of distress as I could, sounds of a fight leading me there. Fear like I’d never felt before ran like ice through my veins, but kept me moving forward. I rounded a corner and felt my heart stop again before picking up a racing rhythm at what I saw. Sam was sprawled on the ground. He’s only unconscious, I told myself. The alternative was unacceptable. Across the room was Dean, pinned to a wall by Daemon, straining to break the hybrid’s grip and thrust his oak stake into its side. Daemon clearly had the upper hand and wrenched the stake away from him, throwing it behind him. I barely stopped myself from calling out Dean’s name.

“You think you can kill me? A puny man, kill a god?” Daemon spat, the rage clear in his voice.

I charged towards them, knife raised and ready. I was only a few steps away when Dean saw me over Daemon’s shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise before he could stop the involuntary reaction. I saw him immediately look away again, not wanting to give me away, but it was too late. Daemon had seen it. He whirled around to face me and knocked me aside without a thought. It was as easy as if he’d been swatting at an irritating fly. Dean yelled my name just as I collided with the wall. My breath, which I hadn’t even quite gotten back after my long sprint here, left me in a whoosh.

I watched in fascination and horror as Dean took advantage of the momentary distraction to rush at Daemon. He kicked his legs out from under him before climbing on top of him, pinning him to the ground. They struggled for a few seconds before Dean was able to snatch the oak stake from where it had been discarded on the ground.

“No, Dean! The knife!” I yelled to him. I had dropped it at some point between Daemon’s blow and hitting the wall. Dean didn’t question me, didn’t hesitate before dropping the useless weapon and searching for the knife. But it was out of his reach and it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold Daemon down much longer. I started to struggle to my feet to grab it for him, but before I was able to, a large body ran into my line of sight, blocking my view of Dean, and stooping to pick up the knife.

I tensed, terrified that there was some unknown second thing to deal with now, but soon realized it was only Sam. He picked up the knife and turned to his brother. Without speaking a word to each other, Dean rolled out of the way just as Sam plunged the knife down into the heart of the monster.

Dean was red faced and breathing hard – and who could blame him after wrestling with a being with supernatural strength – but otherwise seemed alright, so I turned my attention to Sam who was closer and who I worried could have any number of injuries after being knocked unconscious.

“Sam, are you-”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean demanded. Stunned at the hardness of his voice, I turned to look at him and realized that what I’d mistaken for exertion was actually anger. He was livid. I’d never seen him so angry, at least not with me. Why was he angry? This completely unexpected reaction left me feeling small and confused.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean? I was just trying-”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He yelled. He took a step in my direction and a grimace crossed his face as his leg seemed to struggle slightly under his weight. He grunted, the only sound he would let escape. I remembered his yell, the noise that had guided me in this direction to begin with. He was hurt. Dean, who sat stoically with teeth gritted, never letting more than a grunt escape while Sam dug bullets out of him or sewed up horrible gashes, had cried out in pain. That had scared me more than anything else tonight, the idea of how badly he must be hurt to not be able to hide it.

“Dean,” Sam started in a warning tone. He might have been about to defend me or to tell Dean to cool his temper so we could talk calmly, but I would never know. Anger flared up in me, completely overriding the confusion and uncertainty Dean’s words had caused.

“Well you nearly were killed! So I guess it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” I shouted back. I wasn’t actually angry, I knew, just reliving the terror of the last half hour mixed with the relief of seeing them both ok and the worry at their injuries. In short, I was overwhelmed and Dean yelling at me had frayed my already shot nerves.

“We would have been fine.” Dean deflected.

“No you wouldn’t have! When I got here Sam was on the ground, dead for all I knew, and you were hardly about to win in a battle of strength. And even if you had, your weapon was useless. You would have died!”

“You’re the one who decided you didn’t want to fight! And that’s fine, you know we’re ok with that. But you can’t just not train and then run into a fight with no idea what you’re doing!”

“Guys, maybe we should-” Sam tried again.

“No!” I yelled. I saw a look of surprised hurt in his eyes. I felt bad for snapping at him when he hadn’t done anything wrong, but I was too fired up to backtrack now. “If Dean hasn’t had enough of a fight tonight, then let’s fight! I may not be trained in hand to hand and weapons the way you are, but I assure you, I can yell at you all night long.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and I saw the muscle jump in his jaw.

“Sam, can you give us a minute?” He asked in a forced calm tone.

Sam hesitated, looking back and forth between the two of us before agreeing. “Alright. But you’ve got ten minutes before I’m coming back in after you to make sure you’re not strangling each other,” he warned before leaving the room.

We glared at each other for a minute, neither of us speaking. After what felt simultaneously like an eternity and only a moment, Dean started talking again in that tone that was an attempt at being calm, but I could clearly hear the tenseness and anger underneath.

“You can’t just-”

“You said that already,” I interrupted immediately. His jaw ticked again, and I knew shouting at him when he was trying to deescalate the situation was not appreciated. He tried again in that same infuriating tone, a little more strained this time.

“Sam and I hardly need you jumping in to protect us. We know what we’re doing.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” He yelled back, patience worn thin.

“It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing or not because you couldn’t have won! I was doing some more reading after you guys left and I realized I gave you the wrong weapon.”

“Then you call us! You don’t come running in after us!”

“I did call you! Neither of you picked up! I couldn’t just sit there and wait for you to die!”

“Of course you could have! Don’t you think we’d rather take our chances with bad weapons than to have you in the line of fire?”

“What would you have done Dean?” I screamed at him. “If it were you sitting around knowing that I was going after a monster with a weapon that wouldn’t kill it? What would you have done?” I felt confident this would be the end of it. After all, there was no doubt in my mind what he would have done, and he couldn’t possibly deny it.

“That’s not the same thing,” he said. He was still angry, but he said this in a quieter voice, the kind of quiet that meant I’d truly struck a nerve.

“Why?” I asked, ready to swoop in with the metaphorical killing blow and win the argument. “Because I can’t fight, so of course I’d need you to come save me?”

“No.”

“Hypothetically saying I was as well trained as you then. Or that it was Sam. The point still stands. You would have done exactly what I did. You wouldn’t just sit back and let us die, so why would I?”

“I told you, that’s not what I meant,” he snapped. “How do you think we would feel if something happened to you? What if we couldn’t protect you and you got hurt?”

“How do you think I felt, Dean?” I stomped over to him, getting right in his face, letting him see how much I meant what I was saying. “I didn’t know if you would be alive or not when I got here.” I stopped for a breath, the intensity of the emotions I’d felt in that moment hitting me once again. “Don’t tell me I don’t understand what it would feel like. I know exactly what it feels like.”

“It’s not the same,” he said again, stubbornly.

“How is it not the same? If anything, it’s worse for me. You and Sam at least have each other. If I lose you guys, I have no one. I will not lose you. Do you understand me? If that means putting my own life on the line, I’m ok with that.”

“I’m not!”

“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it, because it’s my life, not yours!”

“You’re not understanding me! If you would just let me explain-”

But apparently I wouldn’t. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but I just needed him to understand what I was saying. So I cut him off in the middle of his request that I not do so.

“No, I told you that I understand perfectly. It’s you who isn’t understanding! I’ve never been more scared in my whole life than I was when I heard you yelling in pain.” In the back of my mind, I registered that Dean’s expression had turned from anger to determination. But my brain didn’t seem to fully process this fact, not that I would have known what to do with that information even if I had. My emotions were driving me now, and there was no stopping the words pouring from my mouth.

“I thought that whatever happened, it must be really bad. And maybe I was too late to save you. And it’s my own stupid fault you needed saving in the first place. How could I-”

This time, Dean cut me off. It was only fair, after all I’d done the same to him. This was a much nicer, much more pleasant, much more unexpected way of interrupting though. He leaned down, crashing his lips against mine. As my body seemed to be running on instinct and adrenaline right now, I responded immediately, wrapping my arms around his neck, meeting his demanding kiss with enthusiasm.

I ran one of my hands through his hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between my fingers. My other hand ran down over his shoulder, to his bicep, then over to his chest, loving the strength I could feel in all those hard earned muscles. His hands were wandering too, in my hair one second, traveling over my back the next, and then on my waist.

My brain, which seemed to have shut down for the past few moments – minutes? – decided to start working again, practically screaming at me that this was Dean I was kissing. Dean, apparently experiencing the same returning brain function as me, pulled away. He took a careful step back, creating some space between us. That was probably good. I couldn’t think with him so close. Not after that. His cheeks were flushed red for a whole new reason now and his hair was sticking up in an annoyingly attractive way. I could see by the surprise in his eyes that he hadn’t been planning on the kiss being that intense.

“It’s not the same,” he repeated, his voice as calm as if we were having a normal conversation on any old day. As if we hadn’t been arguing minutes before. As if he hadn’t just given me the most mind numbing, spine tingling kiss of my life. “Because I love you. And I know that that probably wasn’t the best way to go about telling you, but I need you to understand what it would mean to me to lose you. If you lost me, you’d lose a friend. It would suck, but you would move on. But you’re more than that to me, and I don’t know how I could survive losing you.”

“Have you not paid attention to a thing I said?” I asked him, taking a step forward to eliminate the space he’d put between us. “I told you, if I lost you and Sam I would have nothing.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really true. You could make more friends easily enough.”

“But you’re not just my friends. Sam is my best friend, true, but I love him like he’s my brother. Losing him would hurt me just as bad as losing an actual brother. And you… I couldn’t move on from you any easier than you could move on from me. I love you too.”

“Yeah,” Dean winced. “Like a brother. I know.”

“Not like a brother,” I said, wrinkling my nose a little. “Do you really think I would kiss you like that, or at all for that matter, if that’s how I thought of you?”

“I would hope not,” he agreed.

“So, basically, you’ve been yelling at me this whole time about not understanding you when, in reality, I understand perfectly, just like I said from the beginning.” I couldn’t help but gloat a little at being right.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched slightly in a repressed smile.

“You know, I think you owe me for scaring me nearly to death earlier,” he said happily.

“I owe you?”

“Yes. When you came running in here I swear my heart stopped. And then I had to watch you get thrown across the room…” He winced at the memory and I could tell how upset it made him, but he quickly shook it off and kept up his cheerful tone. “I think you took at least three years off my life. Lucky for you I’ll take payment in kisses. One for every year less I’ll live thanks to you.”

Part of me wanted to argue, but the other part was too giddy to even care.

“Alright,” I agreed easily. I stretched up onto my tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. I wanted to continue the intense kiss from earlier, but there would be time for that later. This seemed like the appropriate response to his gentle, teasing tone. “There’s one.”

I kissed him again, and then once more, feeling like I could burst with joy the whole time.

“There,” I said after the third kiss. “Does that make us even?”

“For now,” he smiled. “I have a feeling I’ll be finding lots of excuses for more in the future.”

“How’s this for an excuse? I think you took at least five years off my life. I’ll be needing some compensation here as well.”

He grinned. “And I fully intend to pay up. Once we’re home though. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

I was a little disappointed to have to be done kissing him. But I knew he was right. We should get out of here. I knew he was in pain, and I still didn’t know how Sam was doing. Besides, it was only a temporary stop. Once we were home I would have as much time with him as I wanted.

Home. Just the mention of it made me long for it even more. But even though I couldn’t wait to be back, even though I’d spent the whole time here waiting for the moment we could leave, the past few minutes with Dean had made the whole thing worth it.

Maybe New York wasn’t so bad after all.

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

#not so bad #supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #confessed feelings #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x original character

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krowlovesinazuma · 1 month

Text

I posted this by accident... ;-;

Check out this prologue and this post for context!

Scenario: Talking to them about modern wars

Characters: Kujou Sara, Sangonomiya Kokomi

With your appearance and needing to protect you, combined with all the things she already has to do as part of the Tenryou Commission, you shouldn't expect her to start this conversation. She can't help but be curious sometimes, but she won't tell.

The conversation would probably start with you making an off hand comment about wars in your world, which would lead her to ask, just for the sake of it. After all, information was never bad to have as a militarist... At least, that's what she thought.

She couldn't help but wish that it was a bad joke at first, but she listened intently, and asked many questions. Some were for precautions in her line of work, others were slightly more for curiosity's sake. It's easy to tell which is which from the tone of her voice, much to her dismay.

She wanted to hear you talk about battle strategies, but sadly, the battles themselves were never the focus of general history much, to her dismay. You were able to tell her about larger strategies, however, which she did wish to hear more about.

What scared her the most were the motivations. She understood that wars were not a fight of good against evil, but even she was appalled when she heard the political issues that led to these conflicts.

Well, either that, or the sheer mass of numbers related to everything. Millions of deaths across the world, all just listed as data and passed off as history... It was terrifying for her to think about such large numbers.

And then the weaponry... She was actually interested in hearing about this quite decently, but after hearing the first few details, mainly gigantic bombs or mechanized guns, she was done.

As soon as she's done with this break of hers she's going to thoroughly rethink aggressive politics and the dangers of large-scale conflicts. Partly for her country, but she couldn't shake this fear for her men, herself, or even for you...

"Please excuse me for having interrupted you, but I do not wish to know more. It's... Unsettling to think about, especially how you just mention it so casually. I know we may have a dark past as Inazuma as well, but I assure you, we'll maintain this peace, for all our sake."

Kokomi loves reading about old warfare and similar tales in her downtime, so it was a simple matter of time before she asked about it when the two of you were just relaxing in down time.

She couldn't lie, she was half expecting you to not know, as many in Inazuma didn't know many specifics about old wars, especially since they were so many centuries ago. When you told her that the ones you spoke about were only about a century old though, she was curious.

The large scale of everything did take her off guard however. While she read of warfares, none she knew involved such large countries, especially not any that were that recent. She realized how serious of a subject this was, and yet you were so casual about it...

She asked why you treated it as common knowledge, and to her surprise, it was apparently supposed to be? It saddened her to hear that it was all just data for most people, but the thought of hearing more details kept her hooked.

The first thing that truly unsettled her were the origins of the war. She understood that it was the reason why it was spread as common knowledge, but the fact that it happened either way was more than troubling, especially as a leader herself.

She couldn't even imagine the aftermath that you described. She had gotten used to taking losses and learning to overcome them in her time as a leader, but never had she faced something so devastating as the things you describe.

And then of course, the weaponry. While she was mostly intrigued by the use of firearms and how advanced they were from swords and shields, but when the theme switched to nukes and bombardments, she was very much intimidated.

She tried to act the same after that talk, but she couldn't help but feel worried for both you and her island if tension ever came to rise. Sadly for you, that means more effort into her work for her.

"Huh? Of course I'm fine, you don't need to worry about me so much. In fact, I'm thankful for you telling me all of this. I know that we don't have numbers as large in our humble island, but it's better to be safe than sorry... What do I mean? Well, treating my leadership with more care, for starters."

#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #inazuma aficionado sagau #kujou sara x reader #sagau kujou sara #sara x reader #sagau sara #sangonomiya kokomi x reader #sagau sangonomiya kokomi #kokomi x reader #sagau kokomi

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thefunkyspoon · 4 months

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Humans Are Weird: Synesthesia

Okay, here's another one. You know how some of us get vibes from numbers? Like 1 being green, and most multiples of 7 being a Wednesday. I think it would be rlly funny trying to explain it to an alien.

"JustcallmeQuince? I was looking at your chart, and... it says you can see colors, words, and even times to numbers??" The Wasllook questions, baffled by the idea. He had no idea what in the Zoleck that could even mean.

The human perks up, putting down her odd looking meal, supposedly called a "sandwich".

"Oh. Er, yeah. Why?" JustcallmeQuince responds, tilting her head and raising just one eyebrow; an odd movement that, in this scenario, most likely means she is confused. "Well, I don't understand it. Could you explain?"

She leans back in her seat, her expression fading away into a small smirk, and she does something quite odd. She...rolls her eyes? Why? What does that mean?? I decide not to question it, as human behaviors are so often irrational and weird.

"Okay, sure. So, it's basically when you correlate colors, times, dates, words, letters, and numbers to eachother. Like how 'A' is red." She explains, though it just makes me more confused. How does that work? Do all humans do that?

"But...the letter 'A' is not red."

"Yeah, but they're the same. Like how 42 is a tired mom."

I try my best to look like I'm getting it, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. "Uh-huh... and, all humans experience this?"

She shakes her head, apparently an action which means "no." "Not all. In fact, it can vary. Everyone has it at least to since extent, though. Like how the color red signifies danger, or caution," she shrugs, like it was common knowledge. I quickly write down the information in my notepad; this might be very important for later.

"Okay... and, you have it, I suppose?"

"Yeah. I have whole personalities, colors, letters, and times for letters. Do you get it now?"

Surprisingly, I actually did understand it better, though I probably would never really get it. Humans are just so...confusing. Their logic makes absolutely no sense. I nod, trying to copy the humans body language, and get out of my seat. I walk out of the office, to go report the information to my boss. All the while, I'm left in a state of confusion and disbelief. That sums up humans for you, I guess...

The End! Buh-bye <3

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #humans are terrifying #humans are strange #humanity fuck yeah #earth is a deathworld #earth is space australia #synesthesia

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hotchfiles · 2 months

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↪ kate joyner and hotch were fucking in the period of her appearance, an essay

it's sunday and i have no social life and i think way harder about hotch than a normal sane person should but. since getting into criminal minds there has been The Question (and it wasn't just me! i've seen other people talk about it): did hotch cheat on haley while liaising with kate when she was in scotland yard? i always doubted that because he's not a cheater (but he is A man...), so today i bring you my updated theory: they were in the starts of a relationship before she died. i'm not without evidence. so let's go!

3x20

kate calls hotch on his personal phone, late at night

he speaks to her very casually for someone who doesn't talk on a regular basis and only know each other from a past assignment

jj's reaction shows it isn't common for hotch to go above jj when choosing cases

again, very casually speaking of her, calling her kate only

the apparent common knowledge is that she's a brit but

hotch not only knows she has a dual citizenship, but also which parent is british and which one is american

AND MY FAVORITES

IT ONLY GETS BETTER FROM HERE ALRIGHT

LETS GO

why say that if not to imply hotch has interest in her because she looks like his ex wife who he recently divorced (not willingly !)

AGAIN WITH THE FIRST NAMES! she doesnt call him hotch ONCE. its aaron, from the start. and HIS SMILE. LOOK AT THIS FUCKER'S FACE

garcia's reaction to the informality

now why would emily use this tone if it was to imply hotch is a CHEATER???

no thats the "oh they ARE fucking" tone

this is sort of a reach because hotch worries about everyone he works with but STILL, going from "i know her because we liaised" to this--i rest my case

then this, i didnt think too much of it because hotch can be a bit of an ass with protocol and hierarchy whateverrrr BUT

emily was sooo uncomfortable which shows in fact that wasnt normal behavior

WHY SAY THAT IF THE TWO OF THEM WERENT OBVIOUSLY FUCKING !!!!

is that it? obviously not, i am in fact INSANE so

4x1

THE FLIRTY EYES AND SMILES

AGAIN. HE DOESNT CALL HER JOYNER. NOT EVEN ONCE. KATE. AT ALL TIMES.

THIS WOMAN IS DYING AND LOOK AT THE WAY SHES SMILING AT HIM AFTER SAYING SHES NOT IN PAIN very allison dying in the arms of her first love coded

another detail i like to point out is that aaron is completely capable of walking rn, he could easily walk over to the end of the street to talk to one of the officers there but he just wouldnt, couldnt, leave her alone.

he knows the first responders wont get near them yet, he keeps BEGGING that someone does

and now for my final argument

the way he holds her hand by the ending before putting it back in place

NOW I REST MY CASE

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #lari is kind of insane

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arthenaa · 1 year

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in your arms — sebastian sallow x fem reader

plot summary: Sebastian, more often than not, annoys the fuck out of you to get your attention. Your friends think it's disgustingly adorable.

content tags: fluff, FUCK i love seb so bad, me just projecting my love on to this man, established relationship natty, poppy, imelda, ominis, you and seb hangout in the room of requirement, you're in your 7th year, kiss kiss mwa mwa, you makeout w ur bf while ur friends are in the room aw, you and seb third wheeling everyone in the room, ominis w a niffler simping for his face

"So this is where you hide every afternoon." Imelda marvels at the spacious room from where she's sitting. You had invited Natty, Poppy, Imelda, Ominis and Sebastian for a cup of tea and relaxation in your base of operations; The Room of Requirement.

You had alerted Deek beforehand that you would be inviting a couple of friends over. The house elf had been generous enough to tidy up the place before promising to leave you alone during the allotted time. You take note to find something in Hogsmeade to give to Deek as a thank you.

In the center of the room of requirement, sits a lounging room facing towards the vivarium. Sat on one of the small chairs is Imelda and on the other is Natty who sips on her cup of tea. On one of the sofas is Ominis who has a niffler on him for some reason, gawking at his face like it's some sort of jewelry and on the other sofa is you and Sebastian. Poppy, on the other hand is inside the vivarium, basking in your beasts' company. Specifically your common friend, Highwing who she had not seen for weeks.

"Professor Weasley was kind enough to let me use this to catch up on my magic." You reply as you lean back against the couch. Imelda's eyebrows raise in surprise at the information.

"Talk about having favorites." Imelda leans over to Natty who laughs at her insinuation. You playfully glare at the Slytherin gal before feeling an arm around your shoulder. You glance at the boy beside you who only gives you a boyish grin before placing peck on your cheek. Imelda lets out a disgusting groan.

"How adorable." Natty scrunches her nose as she smiles. She then turns to Ominis who is busy patting the niffler on his lap. "I do wonder how you deal with this everyday though."

"Thank Merlin, I'm blind. I never would've otherwise." Ominis snorts. Sebastian reaches over to smack his knee in retort. The young Gaunt only glares at his direction before moving farther from where Sebastian is seated, bringing the niffler with him.

"It's not my fault you all suck with your game." Sebastian sighs as he settles down to lay on the couch causing you to be pushed all the way to the end. You send your boyfriend a glare as he rests his legs on your lap. He only smiles at you. "People tend to overshadow their jealousy with jokes."

"As if I'd be jealous of you, Sallow." Imelda scoffs. "The only way I'll say that is if I was under hostage by a Giant Purple Toad and it told me the only way to live is if I had to say the most vile disgusting thing I could think of which is you apparently."

"How long is she going to take in there?" Natty intercepts Imelda's bickering as she glances at the glass doors to the vivarium where a happy Poppy coos at Highwing's offspring. Caligo chirps behind Highwing, nudging his beak against hers.

"It's easy to get yourself lost in Y/N's vivarium. I don't really know how you were able to get this many beasts in here without Professor Black's knowledge." Ominis adds as he feels the niffler crawl up his arm and sit on his shoulder. "Is he staring at me? I don't have anything shiny on my face."

"I think its because the shiny thing IS your face." Imelda chuckles as she stares at niffler leaning against his cheek. You laugh at the situation before feeling a tug on your arm. You turn towards your lover who has his eyes trained on you.

"What?" You whisper softly as your hand gently caresses his leg. He shrugs, back leaning against the arm of the couch. You roll your eyes at him. You try to turn yourself back to the conversation before there's another tug on your arm. You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Do I really have to pull it out of you?" You sigh as he smirks mischievously at you. Sebastian always had the knack of annoying you. He (according to him) enjoys seeing the numerous expressions on your face whenever you got mad at him for his silly little tries of getting your attention. It always makes him want to coo and baby you whenever you've reached your limit. Apparently now is the best time to do it to you.

"Maybe." He teases as he now nudges his leg against your stomach. You slap his leg, giving him a glare which only fuels his drive to annoy you more.

He rises slightly from his position to pinch your arm before dodging the incoming smack from you. "Sebastian!" You whisper-shout. He laughs softly before glancing at the three who seem more immersed in their conversation than chastising the two of you.

"C'mere." He mumbles as he opens his arms. You raise an eyebrow at him.

"No." You say firmly as you move farther to the other side of the couch. His resolve only strengthens.

"Come here." He tries again but you decline with a shake of your head. He drops his arms on his lap with a pout before staring at you.

You know from experience that whenever Sebastian pauses for a second that something bad is brewing in his head and so you look at him with cautiousness.

"Don't." You smile nervously as you turn your back against the arm of the couch. Sebastian only smiles at you as he begins to crawl over to your side. You glance at the three as they erupt into laughter, not noticing your cry for help. Before you could try and dodge Sebastian's attack, he had already pulled you in his arms, trapping you as he pulls you on his chest, laying the two of you down.

"Sebastian!" You squeal as you try to push your hands against his chest but his grip on you is unforgiving.

"I've got you, little dove." He smiles into your hair as you playfully groan. You could only wrap your arms around him in fear of falling off the couch. He turns the two of your carefully to your side, his back to the three still lost in their conversation.

"You're annoying." You mumble as you look up at him from your position. He smiles, diving down to place a kiss on your forehead.

"To be fair, you said it was only going to be us two hanging out and then suddenly a crowd's in here." He pouts playfully as he pinches your cheek. You pinch his side in return to which he yelps in response.

"Is it so bad that I want to hangout with my friends and my boyfriend? I missed them." You retort as you hug him closer. He hums against your hair, arm under your head and his other hand caressing your waist.

"I missed you. Why don't you give me a kiss, hm?."

"No way." You raise your eyebrows at him with a stern look. He only dismisses it as he tries to lean in but you cover his mouth with your hand.

"C'mon." He whines as he removes your hand from covering his mouth. "Just a little peck?"

"Last time I allowed you to do this, we almost got caught. I'd rather not add their horrified faces with Professor Garlick's wink in my memory. I've had enough trauma this year, thank you." You reminded him with a sigh. Ever the clingy lover that he is, after your Herbology class had asked you for some affection and attention which had escalated to something more intimate. You had positioned yourselves in a bad corner which allowed Professor Garlick to catch you red handed. With your reputation as a good student and a Hero of Hogwarts as well as having a good mentor-student relationship with her, the young professor had dismissed it and claimed that she had not seen anything. Only sending you a teasing wink before moving along. You were mortified.

"They won't mind." He smiles, brushing a stray hair away from your face. "Besides, they won't see you."

Sebastian had grown out to be a wondrous and handsome man after first meeting him in your fifth year. He had grown taller, fitter and broader as a 7th year and it doesn't help that he'd more often than not, use it to his advantage to fluster you. The man knows he's attractive.

You roll your eyes at him. "Just one."

"Just one." He repeats. You raise your chin at him as he dives to place a kiss on your lips. The hand on your waist pulls you close as he tenderly moves his lips against yours. It continues on for a few seconds before he suddenly pinches your waist, making you gasp and opening your mouth in the process. Sebastian uses this opportunity to slide his tongue in. Cheeky bastard.

You softly sigh at the contact of his tongue against yours, his free hand now on the side of your face, angling it to kiss you deeper. The kiss is soft and slow allowing you to just bask in his presence. It's not fast and aggressive enough to create a fire in the depths of your stomachs but passionate enough for you to feel the spark between the two of you.

He continues to kiss you in soft pecks as he gently opens his eyes, staring at your blissed out face as you take what he gives you. "Pretty."

You only hum, lost in his affections. You could've let yourself be babied right there and then if it weren't for someone clearing their throat.

"You could've waited for us to leave the room before you ate each other's face off." Imelda cringes in disgust as she stands up from her seat. "I'll be joining Poppy now. It's like watching my parents snog each other. I'm afraid that I'd do an unforgivable on myself if I stay any further."

Sebastian gives her his middle finger as he continues to kiss you. The Slytherin girl leaves with haste as she enters the vivarium. Poppy looks at her with confusion as Imelda talks animatedly, probably ranting about her issues with Sebastian Sallow. Natty rolls her eyes as she places down her teacup to join the two other girls.

"It's best to leave the room, Ominis. Just in case those two might do something.... inappropriate." Natty laughs as she enters the vivarium as well. You would've been embarrassed by the situation if it weren't for Sebastian's constant kisses on your face.

"Again, thank Merlin, I'm blind." Ominis sighs as he stands up as well. He stops for a moment before smirking. "Make sure to use protection!"

"Fuck you, Ominis. Leave!" Sebastian playfully yells to which the young Gaunt laughs before entering the vivarium as well. The Sallow boy turns to you with a flushed face.

"You need to learn some self control, young man." You tap his nose as you smile at him.

"Have you seen yourself?" He jokes as he rubs his nose against yours, basking in your laughter. He then feels your arms around his neck, forcing his face to be close to yours.

"Anyway, who said you could stop?" You whisper as your eyes glance at his lips. Sebastian only smirks at you before brushing his lips against yours.

"Yes ma'am."

A/N: when i wrote that scene when sebastian crawled on the couch to grab u in his arms, yk that dog that creeps up on her owner before attacking her yea thats it. i think her name was coconut. kinda funny. anys another seb fluff for the people.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #poppy sweeting #natsai onai #imelda reyes

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pandoraslxna · 6 months

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Sweet like Cherry – Chapter 4

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 6.2k

Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.

Warnings: explicit smut, Miles pov, conflicted emotions, dirty talk, praise & degradation, rough oral (m receiving), thigh fucking, begging, virgin reader, obsession, authority kink, power play, corruption kink, brief mentions of blood from biting, (angst?)

Notes: this took me forever and idek if I like it or not🧍🏻‍♀️

Good has always pined for evil.

Ironic, because Quaritch knows what being good meant. Or, what being a good soldier meant. He couldn't tell when exactly this happened, but the knowledge came and stayed. He killed people. Of course, when there's an attack you fight back. He killed people on command, too. Sure, there are superiors who sit higher and see farther and they get the whole picture, so no command is mindless or unjustified.

Being a good soldier meant turning your common sense the fuck off, and following commands not doubting it for a second. Not thinking about why you attack instead of fighting back, or what is the reasoning behind missions involving sudden and bloody invasions. At one point, he also became said superior himself. Gave the commands to kill. Had blood on his hands without staining them, because those weren’t actually his hands that did it.

A good soldier is a thoughtless machine, and there is some fucked up irony in not using actual machines instead of human sources in military, he thinks. They want you to be a robot, but they need you to be a human. Or whatever is close to a human. Funny, now that he thinks about it.

He didn't think that working for Ardmore was much better or more sensible than being in the U.S. Army, or even working for Parker. The only difference was wielding more information. Not that he was sure that she shared everything she knew.

So in the end, he’s a good soldier, but that ultimately makes him a bad person. Not if you would ask him, no, there’s not even a spark of regret inside him. But to people like you, to you he must’ve been the devil himself.

And you know how that saying goes? Opposite attracts. And now Quaritch wonders, what does that make you? His antithesis in every way? Yes and no.

Because, turns out, sweet Cherry is everything Miles parents had tried to condition him to want in a person when he was young. A good person.

You’re driven to succeed, he thinks, every time he so coincidentally walks past the labs and you’re there, always working, day and night it seems, not so different from himself. You’re clean, he muses whenever he sees you in ironed clothes, seams sharp and not a hair out of place. You’re polite, he's reminded every time you drop "sir" and "ma'am" like it's second nature to you. You’re overly respectful, he realizes, always watching the way your spine straightens and gaze drops to your shoes whenever a person of authority steps into your space. And you’re pure, he knows it, innocent enough that his strictly christian mother would’ve approved of you, and yet, behind that façade, you’re not so innocent as it seems. So much so, that his father would’ve given him a proud clasp on the shoulder, murmuring something inappropriate while handing him a beer that would remind him why he’s never bought any women home to meet his parents. You care for others, for your environment. You’re empathic. And you’re good, in any way that matters.

And he hates it.

He hates the fact you’re everything he wants in a person, when he really shouldn’t. Because Miles fucking Quaritch, fifthy years of age, should not fool around with such a young little thing in her twenties, fragile like porcelain and pure like a flower that grew under a glass dome. Too naïve to even realize what you’re getting yourself into. It’s not like Miles has ever cared about the wrongs and rights in life, let alone what’s morally correct. But there’s something about you that makes him… hesitate.

In the grand scale of how much things in his life had changed recently, the Polaroids were just a detail. But he found himself attached to them like he’s never been attached to anything. Found himself holding the comically small photos in his big, blue hands every night like they’re a treasure.

It still shocks him to think that this is the same woman that he had met around a month ago. Pure little cherry. He scoffs because the thought of your shaking frame, big innocent eyes not able to meet his gaze, while nervously fiddling with your lab coat, is the same one he’s looking at right now on said Polaroids. It’s ridiculous.

Shocks him more that he likes this version of you way more than he would ever openly admit. That he wishes you would’ve captured your rosy cheeks on those photos, the way you blush and tremble and shy away. How you stutter when he makes you nervous. How your breath hitches. Wishes you would include videos next time, of you begging, calling him sir, saying please, please, please may I come? So sweet, it makes his teeth rot.

He wants to watch these soft lips moving as they say all those filthy words, with that tone in your voice like it’s the first time you’ve ever said them out loud.

Staring at those plush thighs as their spread wide open on your bed, Miles realizes he never wanted to dig his teeth into something more. There’s this desire to bite you, to mark you. Somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as he could see it. He wants to nip at your inner thigh, or maybe your bottom lip, your throat, your cute little ass. Wants to bite and suck and kiss until it bleeds and then gently, lovingly lick away the blood, simply because he knows you would allow him to do this. Because he likes the taste of you. Because he knows it would undoubtedly make you more wet. Because it would cause your snug little pussy to hug him even tighter.

Lately, these thoughts have become a vicious circle he can’t seem to break out of. Because no matter the scenario that plays in his head, all his thoughts ultimately lead to the image of him sinking his cock into your tight little hole. Something he doubts is even physically possible, starting from the difference in size between you and him. And there’s also this tiny issue, the fact that you’ve never actually done it before. That no one has ever popped your little cherry.

But it’s an ache he has, to pin you down and make you scream his name from the top of your lungs, let all of bridgehead hear who’s pounding your cute human pussy.

And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? You’re a human. Small, tiny, fragile human. And he’s not– not anymore. What a fucked up joke from the universe, huh? Not the price he expected to pay when he signed up for the phoenix program, when he decided to direct his whole life to becoming a damn good soldier.

But there were things that did help to numb that ache, besides staring at your Polaroids, receiving new ones every couple of days to which he jerked off until his cock felt raw and hypersensitive.

Quaritch was working: doing his job, going on missions, working overtime, crawling into Ardmores ass to exchange informations, forcing his mind to block out every other thought, occupy it with what others would describe as an obsession with finding Sully. But also going to the gym and exercising with the Squad until black spots blocked his view.

Though no matter how hard he tried, that ache never really disappeared. So he decided that it was time to finally do something about this, even if it was just a temporary relief that didn’t include his own hands. Not when yours could work perfectly fine, too.

It’s been a while since he had last seen you, Quaritch realizes as he walks past the labs to find them empty.

Considering the time, it’s not unusual to find them empty, so he goes straight to your room. He doesn’t even know why, doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you’re not opening the door, that he can’t find you in the cafeteria either, why he doesn’t just take a cold shower and go to bed, why he couldn’t sleep even if he tried. Miles doesn’t know why. It’s not like he can just bend you over and truly ruin you, stain your purity forever once he’s found you. Fuck you long and hard and good and let that fire inside him cool off for a good while.

He wants to, yeah sure, but he can’t. And he doesn’t know why it drives him so insane.

Apart from the whole logistics of being almost three times the size of you, Miles has never been one to fuck around with women like you. Women, that don’t know what they’re doing. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel the way it does when you act all shy, trembling limbs and teary eyes when he touches you, greedily asking for more because it feels new and good so you just can’t help but beg for it– for him.

He’s not a teacher for fucks sake, he just wants to fuck. Release some stress. He wants to feel good, get a pretty girl on her knees after a long day at work and then make her ride him like she’s good for nothing else. Miles doesn’t want to show you how it’s done, to waste his time teaching you what most freshly eighteen year olds already know. Not his fault you’re such a social butterfly, sticking your nose into books and studying weird plants and what not, rather than to go out, get drunk and get laid. Fucking hell, who even are you to put such a pressure on him?

But god damn, don’t you look like a tasty little treat, running on that treadmill, with that absolute peach of an ass stuffed into a pair of sport tights that hug your curves just right.

Quaritch can’t help but watch once he’s finally found you. And he has a phenomenal view, leaning against the door frame of the common gym, arms crossed over his chest while his eyes scan you up and down.

Instead of cursing you for not spreading your legs for any other guy to spare him of the misery he was now trapped in, he dedicated his mindspace to mapping out all of the dips and curves of your body. The way your breasts bounced with every step, chest heaving, the flex of your thighs and the sweat beading at your temples.

The distant sound of music reached his ear, as he stood there in the doorway. Your headphones ensuring that no thoughts had any chance to form in your head, drowning out the silence of the gym at night.

With a scoff, Quaritch then finally decides to walk over to you. There’s a prickling feeling under his skin as he approaches you, still oblivious that you weren’t alone anymore, up until to the point where he pulls on the cords of your headphones and the music suddenly stops.

"Didn’t count you as a little gym bunny", he says, grinning. His fangs poke out from under his lip as he watches your eyes widen, immediately hitting the stop button to make the treadmill come to an halt.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me", you pant, clutching your chest. A little overdramatic, he thinks, raising one of his brows at the curse words falling so easily from your lips. He tilts his head slightly, looking directly at you, and you don’t even bother trying not to squirm under his gaze.

"Sorry, sir", you mumble and Quaritch doesn’t know if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, but it almost looked like you were rolling your eyes at him.

"You shouldn’t work out with your music on full blast when you’re all alone", he tells you, his eyes boring into yours like he had any right to tell you what to do. At least it felt like he did. "If I were less than a man, I could’ve taken advantage of that."

His grin widens for a brief second, but then you exhale a dry laugh, and now he’s almost certain you just rolled your eyes at him.

"Sure, I’ll keep that in mind for next time."

Feisty, he remarks, licking his lips. There’s something up with you, you’ve made that much clear. And maybe you’re not so much different from him than he originally thought. You and him, you might as well just be two sides of the same coin.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night, kid?", Quaritch asks. If you want to act like one, might as well treat you like one. He straightens up, towering over you with his arms crossing over his chest like you owe him an explanation.

"Oh, I usually don’t work out, not like, like you guys. You look like you live here." You cross and uncross your own arms, failing to mimic his confidence stance, instead tugging at the hem of your shirt. "I couldn’t sleep, so i thought i could somehow tire me out." You shrug.

"Tire yourself out, huh?" Now that piques his interest, a half smirk tugging on his lips. "You know, I came here looking for you for the exact same reason."

The way you bite your lip and advert your gaze tells him more than words ever could. His tail sways in anticipation, feeling like a cat that just trapped a helpless little mouse. Miles leans forward slightly, lips close to your ear now before he whispers lowly, "You look pretty fucking good in these gym thighs, cherry."

Quaritch has definitely been fucked with to some degree, but your response freaks him out more than straight-up mockery would, somehow.

"Aha." Oh?

His brows rise. It’s not even a response, it’s just a noise you make. But that little noise holds so much attitude, so many emotions. Quaritch can’t help but scoff. He had to give you that, you really had some nerves for someone who normally couldn’t even get a coherent sentence out when he’s around. And that newly found boldness makes him want to dig his fingers into your hips, make your little cherry tattoo turn into a bruised plump, spin you around and bend you over his knee just how you deserve for that.

"Alright", he exhales, trying to calm his nerves, "you got a lot of pent up frustration for such a little thing, so what’s with that attitude today, huh?"

You look at him like a lost puppy and now he’s the one who wants to roll his eyes, wondering why he even keeps up with this childish bullshit. If you were any other person, Quaritch would’ve loved to show you just how far that disrespectful tone gets you with him. But you’re not just any other person.

"You didn’t…" The words hadn’t even fully left you, and your eyes were already adverting to your shoes and your lips pursed into a thin line. Before you could finish however, Quaritch lets out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, already knowing what’s about to come. "Listen, kid", he starts and if you were any close to Na‘vi, avatar, recom or whatever, your ears would’ve pinned back against your head. Instead, your shoulders slump, your whole body language suggesting that you were mentally preparing yourself to get lectured, because you knew the answer to this already.

"I don’t know what you were hoping you would get out of this, but if you’re looking for someone to be your first, that ain’t gon' be me."

His voice had grown a tad louder, accent heavier, and he halfway expected you to flinch or even tear up. Instead, you straighten up. Your hands may be trembling, but you hide it by balling your fists. Pushing out your chest, you gather all confidence that was left in you to snap back, "Why not?"

"Why not?", Quaritch laughs. He laughs because it’s funny, really. Because he can’t believe it, can’t help but wonder where all that is suddenly coming from. He laughs because if he wouldn’t, he would make you regret this. "I already told you. It’s not going to fit."

"What if I—"

"Cherry." It comes out as a warning. Your stance falters for a second, those big, puppy eyes returning to your face where just seconds before was such a fierce expression that it undoubtedly made him want to push you further, see how feisty you could actually get. But at the same time, Miles had just discovered just how easily you could get on his last nerves like this.

"I‘ll prove it. I can take it, just let me—"

A hand grabs at your lower face, thumb pressing into your cheek and four fingers digging into the other side, with his palm closing tight over your mouth and nose, keeping it shut. Quaritch yanks you forward, forces you on your very tiptoes to get your full attention.

"Will you stop acting like a desperate little brat, jesus christ." They were harsh, bitter words, drenched with equal parts lust and anger. They were meant to scare you off, yet you looked anything but scared. You looked aroused. Tempted.

To his surprise, words were muffled against his palm, refusing to keep quiet even with a big, blue hand halfway covering your face.

Rolling his eyes, he allows you to swat his hand away.

"You… You said you also came here to tire yourself out", you say, panting slightly once you’re able to speak and breathe freely. "I‘ll help you."

There it is. That side of you that’s so hidden from the rest of the world, it’s hard to believe it’s coming from the same person.

You see, Miles figured he loves the feeling of two opposites coming together. It causes friction.

His kiss is ravenous, the force of it tilting your body to bend backwards once he had dragged you into the communal showers at the gym. He feels your legs go weak, so his arm around your middle flexes, effectively supporting your weight as he pushes you against the tiled wall. His lips coax yours open with little effort as you're hardly putting up any resistance. The flavor of whatever gum you must’ve chewed a while ago is still rich on your tongue, sweet as ever and he groans into the kiss.

Quaritch explores your mouth determinedly, taking what he believes to be his, and he doesn’t even realize that this is the first time he had put his lips against yours. Long strokes of his tongue against yours, teeth catching your lips in bites, groans and moans caught in one another's mouth and swallowed up. His thumb runs up and down your jaw, occasionally applying pressure to adjust the tilt of your head as he changes the angle of the kiss, feels your hair tickle his forehead. Noses bump and brush, he inhales your scent, groans when it’s just as sweet as you taste.

His kiss is powerful. It commands. Look at me. Touch me. Feel me. Only me. It leads you, your movements, the pace. But yours is soft, pleading and submissive. Obedient.

It drives him to near madness, teetering him on the brink of sanity.

He presses himself harder against you, towers over you like a mountain. Your hands are small, and they claw at his arms, his biceps, his neck. They pull and pull, yet he doesn’t budge, doesn’t move unless he wants to. You make a whiny sort of noise in protest and he grins. His forearm rests against the wall, tiles cool against his burning skin as he watches you with half lidded eyes.

The same red that paints his new favorite fruit taints your cheeks crimson, as you hesitantly lower yourself to your knees.

A pleased rumble left him, and his smirk curled further, hints of too-sharp teeth peeking from behind his lips, "You did that before?" He wonders out loud. There’s a suffocating tightness underneath his briefs that only gets worse once you answer him with a quick shake of your head. No, of course not. He scoffs, equally amused as he is excited.

With trembling fingers and unsteady breath, you move your hands around to unbuckle his belt. Letting it hang open, you move to the button and zipper on the fatigues, a little clumsy as you tried once, twice, three times to get the damned thing open. Miles couldn’t help but chuckle.

You looked even smaller on your knees in front of him, pulling on the waistband of his pants to get his cock out. He could just stand there and watch, torture the little thing by letting her struggle, but his impatience has grown rapidly in those past few minutes so he swats your hands away and pulls his pants down just enough.

You hold your breath, waiting. Watching. The nervous tension makes a shudder run up your spine and he smirks, once you finally catch sight of his cock.

The way your eyes widen makes him remember the first time he had stared at himself in the mirror. The first time he was alone with this new body of his, the mirrored image of what he despised most. Alien, that’s what he looked like. What he must’ve looked like to you. Blue skin and faint purple tip, small bumps and ridges around the crown, littered in those glowing freckles that made him look like a damn toy, was what he had first thought when he saw himself. And there was also his size. The root of this whole situation, the reason neither of you could get what you so desperately wanted.

It’s a lot to take in, literally, and he enjoys the fact that not even a polite woman like you could stop herself from staring at him.

A shaky exhale of air then brushes over his tip, your throat bobbing as you swallow thickly and Quaritch tilts his head and chuckles. "What’s wrong? Where did all that attitude go, hm? I thought you wanted to help me out."

Your hands are still firmly planted on your own thighs, but he sees the subconscious little twitch of your fingertips. They want to move, but you don’t dare just yet.

"It’s- no it’s just, I’m, I—"

"You didn’t thought I was lyin‘, did you? I told you it’s—"

"I know", you cut him off, your cheeks blushing, "I- I know. And I still want to…"

The grin that tugs on his lips his dangerous and his tongue darts out to lick over his pointy canine, while he gives himself a slow tug. A small drop of clear, sticky pre-cum beads at his tip.

"Then what are you waiting for? Go on", he purrs lowly, "Touch me."

You’re hesitant at first, taking his length into your delicate hands. They’re warm and soft and he hums at the touch. You can’t even close your fingers entirely around his girth, but you try your best to give him an experimental stroke, feeling his weight and the texture of his skin.

"C‘mon, Cherry", he tells you, his hand brushing through your hair at the back of your head, before giving you a guiding little push. "Use your mouth. Get it wet for me."

Not so bold now, he thinks to himself as he watches you lick your lips and shuffle a little closer on your knees. Like this, it almost looks like you’re worshiping him. It gets him even harder than he already was before, makes his cock throb, feeds his god complex in just the right way. But then you place your lips against the mushroom-like head of his cock, plants a kiss right there on its slit almost tenderly, and Miles can’t stop the groan from escaping him.

Your big doe eyes are staring up at him, piercing right through his soul, before you give a little kitten lick to his length.

"I said use your mouth, not just your tongue", he says, albeit a little breathlessly. He ain’t got time for any of this practice shit today. You offered to suck his cock, might as well do it right then.

His hips buck forward, the head of his cock nudging against your kiss swollen lips and you part them dutifully. The tip is an easy fit, tight but manageable.

You’re timid at first, barely moving further down, but your tongue is practically dancing against him, so it's not all that bad. "There you go", Quaritch groans, the hand on the back of your head holding you still, makes you take him a little deeper. A little more. Your nostrils flare wide as you struggle to breathe and you close your eyes for a brief moment. Your cheeks hollow inward as you suck him. Just a few inches, and he can already feel some resistance on the back of your throat. It’s tight and you tear up, instinctively pulling away.

He clicks his tongue, but you’re quick to put him back into your mouth, warm wetness enveloping not even half of his throbbing cock once again.

Miles fingers have formed into claws, digging them into his own palm as one arm rests against the wall, the other fisted into your hair. It takes every fiber of will within him not to grab you and just force you down onto his cock, to make you choke on it while he thrusts deep into your throat. He’s filled with the sudden, perverse desire to break you, to stain you, make you as filthy as himself. It’s only fortunate that you can’t see the way his features have twisted through the tears in your eyes, from lazy pleasure into something animalistic.

Your mouth moves slowly over his cock, sloppy and uncoordinated. Barely enough of him fits inside your mouth to bring him pleasure, more than just a teasing swirl of your tongue. There’s drool running down your chin, your jaw opened as wide as possible as you sucked and slurped on his length. But he needed more if you planned to get him off properly, needed you to take him deeper.

The hand that had been brushing through your hair grips tighter, and then he slowly moves your head up and down on his cock, using your throat like you’re his personal little fleshlight. Just a couple of thrusts, merely a few inches more, already have him in the back of your throat, and he feels your muscles constrict around him. Helpless little gags fill his ears, followed by tears running down your cheeks.

The hands that had been clawing at his thighs like he was your lifeline had began to tug on his pants, while you whimpered and whined around his length, signaling him that you needed to come up for air.

"C‘mon Cherry, how are you supposed to take all of me when you can’t even suck me off properly?" His voice is taunting, a low growl as he pulls you off of him with a wet pop. You gasp for air, panting, chest heaving and he allows you a moment to catch your breath, before he pushes you back down. He’s careful not to actually hurt you in the process, but he’s also determined to get more of him inside your mouth.  Either you didn’t hear him, or your were pointedly ignoring him. Regardless, the result is the same. You’re struggling, gagging and whining and he knows you’re trying, but it’s been fifteen minutes and you’re not making any process.

Quaritch tsks, "Yeah, no, that’s not going to work. Get up here."

You make a small sound of protest when he pulls you off of him again, and then yelp in surprise when he grabs your arm and yanks you up to your feet. Miles stares at you for a moment, breathing heavily. Takes notice of your lips, swollen, gleaming with saliva and pre-cum. You look so utterly vulnerable. And that's exactly how he wants you.

His hand still holds your upper arm firmly, and he spins you around so sudden that you had to brace yourself against the wall in order not to fall. There’s a split second in which he ponders if ripping your leggings would be a good idea, considering that he didn’t know if you had any spare clothes with you in the gym. He decides against it, barely able to think logically with all the blood rushing from his head to his cock.

Hooking his thumbs underneath the tight waistband, he drags your pants down quickly, and your underwear with them. A pleasant hum leaves his lips when he finds you soaking wet, tiny hole clenching around nothing, all too eager to be filled. Miles gives a firm slap to your ass that makes you try and fail to stifle a gasp.

"P-Please", you mutter quietly, arching your back some more.

"Don’t get too excited", he leans in to whisper against the shell of your ear, chuckling. "Close your legs." Glancing at him from over your shoulder, there’s a look of utter confusion, mixed with disappointment on your face, yet you comply to his orders without a complain. And the feeling of knowing you would do anything he says, follow every one of his orders despite what you wanted, is simply indescribable to him.

Quaritch doesn’t take it slow now that he has you like this. His cock is still lubed with spit so it’s an easy glide as he positions himself behind you and pushes forward between the soft flesh of your thighs. You gasp, feeling the smooth length of his cock drag against your sensitive folds.

"That’s much better", Miles groans lowly into your ear as he begins to thrust back and forth.

It felt heavenly— the warmth of your skin enveloping his length in the same way a tight pussy would. He could feel your slick covered lips pressed against him, your arousal smearing between your thighs and his cock adding further to the impression of being inside you.

With an increasing pace, he begins to actually fuck the space between your legs. His cock bumps against your clit over and over again, which causes you to moan along to the filthy sound of flesh against flesh.

"Fuuckin‘ hell, that’s it." His hands on your hips had began to pull you back against his thrusts, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise, as he used your body for his own pleasure. More arousal oozes out of you and both of you make a pleasant sound of acknowledgment at that. "Hmm, can feel you dripping all over my cock, cherry. You like it that much when I fuck your thighs, huh?"

"Y-Yes, f-fuck, yes!" His ears perked at the sweet little whine that trickled out of you when he snapped against the back of your thighs just a little harder. There grows a force behind his thrusts, one that makes it hard for you to stay still and let him use you, he can tell. Your legs are trembling, wanton little pleas falling from your parted lips. "Please, I- I need more! Miles, c‘mon…" You push back against, rising to your tip toes in an attempt to catch his tip against your entrance. "Please!"

He could come so easily like that, rocking back and forth, his cock trapped between the plush of your soft thighs, your slickness lubing his length enough to make his movements more fluid. Yet you were nowhere near close to your own release. His touch was just barely enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to get you anywhere. Poor little thing, Miles thinks to himself with a grin he doesn’t even bother to hide.

The sound of his cock sliding between your wet thighs was downright obscene and he could practically feel your neglected clit aching for attention, warmth slowly pooling into the pit of his stomach. And with that, he angles his hips to put more force behind his trusts, his length gliding through your folds, the tip of it pressed snugly against your clit, bumping against the little nub with every stroke.

Pleading mewls soon turn into desperate moans the harder he fucks your thighs. "Mmnh– need you, need you in- inside", you begin to brabble, staring up at him from over your shoulder. "Please, Mil– sir!"

"Christ, cherry", he curses against your neck, letting the heady vibrations of his rumbling growl pierce through your neck, letting you feel his words in the most primal way. Your thighs press together. "Do you ever shut up?"

Miles feels you press back against him weakly, nowhere near strong enough to get him anywhere. "I– I can do it, just let me…"

His annoyed groan is quick to cut you off. Whatever complain bubbled up your throat was shushes with a hand clasped over your mouth before it could even come past your lips. You make a muffled sound against his palm, your eyes continue to plead for him, but he’s determined to keep you just like this.

"Don’t be so goddamn stubborn", he grits out, teeth grazing the lobe of your ear and he feels the way your whole body tense as he bites down on it. "You got a lot of learning to do if you want to be good for your Colonel."

The smack of his hips against your backside makes punched out little huffs of air escape through your nose, and it’s almost adorable.

Meanwhile you could barely form a thought over the constant throbbing between your thighs, the slaps of skin hitting skin, the whining of your body being squeezed under an intense force and hands gripping your hips and keeping your mouth shut. You couldn’t even hear the heavy grunts of the gruff man behind you as he bit the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings of how good you felt around him.

Fingers dug deeper into your cheeks and hips, his cock almost rubbing you raw with how fast he fucked your thighs. The cock that still rutted between your silky legs was drenched in slick and Miles felt the way you tried to angle your hips and squeezed your legs to put more pressure on your clit.

Fuck, he was so close he could hardly hold himself back.

"You want to come?", he whispers into your ear. A pleasant shiver runs up your spine that even he could feel. Your response comes as nothing more than a muffled "Mhm! Mhm!" against his palm.

"Will you be a good girl for me now? Stop with all that whining bullshit and be a little grateful for what I do to you?"

"Mhm, mhm!" Your frantic nodding makes him thrust against you harder, and he relishes in the needy sounds you make.

"There you go, sweetheart", he chuckles, "That wasn’t so hard now, was it?"

The heat from his chest begins to pool in the pit of his stomach, coiling together in a painful knot that could only mean one thing. Miles groans against your shoulder, biting particularly hard as his hips start to stutter, the grip on your waist tightening once more, leaving definite blue bruises that wouldn’t leave any time soon.

He then shoves his fingers between your thighs, tips pushing and rubbing against the twitching little nub between your folds so hard it felt like he shifted it from its original position. You wailed against his palm like a banshee as you finally came, the sudden spark of pleasure aimed just at the right place sending you over the edge as tears spilt down your cheeks, rolling over the hand that’s still pressed against your mouth.

Your legs clamped shut tighter than before, squeezing his cock that was still thrusting in and out between your soft, wet flesh.

"Jesus, fuck", he grunts, breathing heavily, "good girl, good fuckin‘ girl."

Quaritch soon comes after you, biting again, until he left a giant bruise on your shoulder. He was drinking up every sweet little moan and gasp he elicited out of you like this, groaning and lapping his tongue against your skin while he pumped his seed through the space of your legs as it spurted from his throbbing cock.

Your eyes were still heavy with tears as you blinked to clear your vision, the bruising grip he had on your hips slowly loosening as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, but then tightening again, for just a split second that makes you tense up and flinch.

Miles is almost certain that that piercing pain he suddenly felt in his chest was some sort of cramp, some fucked up symptom of ptsd or his psyche struggling to adjust to this body that still wasn’t entirely his. But then that picture perfect doll face glances up at him from over your shoulder. Your eyebrows are pinched together, hair sticking to your forehead, cheeks flushed red and glistening in a thin layer of sweat, lips all swollen red and bitten raw.

And now he’s not so sure anymore where that piercing pain in his chest really comes from…

#miles quaritch #miles quaritch smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles smut #avatar miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #recom miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #avatar quaritch #colonel quaritch #colonel quaritch x reader smut #quaritch smut #quaritch x reader #recom quaritch #Avatar #atwow #avatar the way of water

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lets-try-some-writing · 6 months

Text

Farewell Little Hero

Humans do not live long, this is common knowledge. And so years after Cybrtron's restoration, Arcee returns to Earth to talk with her old ward one more time.

(Enjoy this short story :D)

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“It’s been a long time… I’m sorry for taking so long to come see you again.” Sitting down on the grass, Arcee did not look toward her ward. Her optics were firmly on the rising sun in the distance.

“I am sure you have been wondering what we’ve been up to.” She continued with a deep vent to calm herself. So many years away from Earth… she had almost forgotten how beautiful the organic world could be when war was not eating away at her conscience.

“Bumblebee is doing just fine. He’s an Enforcer now. Last I checked, he was leading a team here on Earth to capture rogue Decepticons.” Birds chirped in the distance, but Arcee’s ward did not answer. She did not look away from where the sun crept ever higher, she couldn't bear to.

“He has a collection of younger bots with him. Strongarm, Sideswipe, Windblade, Grimlock, and an older mech called Drift. There are three minicons as well, but I didn’t have a chance to learn their names.” Arcee informed absentmindedly as she tracked a leaf that blew past in the wind. It was almost Autumn, Jack’s preferred time of year. He liked being able to wear long sleeves and a sweater without cooking alive in the heat of Nevada’s notoriously aggressive summer rays.

Jack had even gone so far as to go on vacation out in Missouri and occasionally Alaska just to get a taste of some decent cold after spending his whole life in the air fryer that was Jasper. Arcee could vividly recall his various complaints about the heat over the years. He wasn’t particularly fond of the frigid cold either, but he always had a good time bundling up once and a while to enjoy snow in a different state.

“I think you would have gotten along with Bumblebee more, at least now that he’s learned what it’s like to deal with those younger than him regularly.” The grass was uncomfortable as it slipped into seams in her plating and caressed her cabling like the skittering limbs of scraplets, but she paid it no mind as the sky turned from black, to purple, and then to a bright orange. Cybertron’s sky did not have such color in the early joors of the cycle, at least not like on Earth. It was such a small thing, but Arcee missed it during her time away.

“Bulkhead has taken on a position as an architect. I never would have thought he had it in him, but he enjoys working to return our world to its former glory.” A smile pulled at her face as she recalled the various instances of Bulkhead sighing in exasperation at Vehicons and other workers under his command. They had no clue what they were doing, but they tried their best. Bulkhead was patient, at least as much as a mech once belonging to the Wreckers could be.

“There have been more than a few accidents, but he recently restored the Archives of Iacon under Optimus’s direct supervision. I think you would have laughed if you saw just how nervous Bulkhead was while working on the project.” A quiet chuckle escaped her vocalizer as she recalled the intensity of which Optimus devoted himself to the Archives restoration. Bulkhead had been so anxious to do it right that once it was complete and got the Prime’s approval, the former Wrecker passed out on the spot.

“Primes don’t party, but apparently they do care a great deal about books.” Feeling for a container she brought with her, Arcee wordlessly pulled out a sized down datapad she’d asked Optimus for. Jack always expressed an interest in Cybertron’s stories when he wasn’t otherwise occupied with his two fellow troublemakers. She ran her digits over the surface of the device before placing it beside her ward without looking over at him.

A gift given far too late to be enjoyed…

“Optimus died on Cybertron. I never told you because at the time… I didn’t want you to be upset. He only returned to us recently, and he’s settling into his former role as an Archivist.” Jack and the others were not exactly close with Optimus, but he was always a giant, even to Arcee and the team. He was unshakable, an infallible titan. His death to restore their world was one of the harshest reality checks Arcee had received in vorns. She never told her ward of Optimus’s passing simply because she wanted to ensure that Jack, Miko, and Rafael still had that wonder of their younger years.

Humans aged quickly. A vorn was enough for a human to live out their entire lifespan. If not telling them about Optimus’s death allowed them to keep that magical aspect of the Prime’s memory alive, then Arcee was willing to do just that. But of course, now he was back, and Jack had not had the chance to meet his childhood guardian again.

“Wheeljack has been doing Primus knows what off in space. Sometimes he brings in refugees, other times he vanishes for stellar cycles at a time. But he always comes back alive, so you can reassure Miko with that knowledge.” Arcee still did not look at her ward. She did not expect an answer from him. The silence served well enough as the world continued to come alive in response to the sun rising ever higher.

“Ultra Magnus has kept himself occupied trying to get the government in order now that he’s no longer blacklisted. I forgot to mention it, but for a while our government went to slag. Hundreds of Autobots were exiled for supporting Optimus during the war.” No reaction met her words, as was expected. Cybertron always seemed to have a new civil issue to deal with. First was the caste system, then the high council. Of course the war came next, and then just as they finished their mass slaughter of their own people, the new government decided it needed more power.

A fragging mess. Thankfully, it was one that was being dealt with.

“It’s fine now though. Ratchet has stepped up with other war veterans from both factions to set things right. He hates his job and calls the old team regularly to be a glitch about it. Optimus helps sometimes, but it's largely Ratchet and the new council who run things.” Arcee could almost see the confusion written on Jack’s face at the prospect of Ratchet of all mecha being the one to run a government. The doctor never was the most pleasant during the war, but since its end, he had mellowed a degree. But of course for Jack, it likely seemed preposterous.

“Surprising isn’t it? I never expected it out of him either. But Ratchet was a Senator in name before the war. He didn’t do a lot since it was honorary, but he knows how politics and governance is supposed to work, at least in theory.” Arcee smiled again as she shuttered her optics, feeling the cool air of the morning turn into something warmer as it brushed past her face. Like this, she could almost imagine things as they used to be.

“I know you and Smokescreen got along well, so I think you would be happy to know that the rookie is doing just fine. He’s signed on with the Enforcers until the Elite Guard can be reestablished.” She recalled how much fun Jack and Smokescreen had even while war raged. It was such petty enjoyment. Trashing the car of a bully and goofing off… despite that, Arcee had not seen Jack laugh so gleefully until the rookie came in. For that, she could be somewhat grateful for the trouble Smokescreen brought with him and continued to create wherever he went.

“Knockout is working in a clinic in Praxus, Soundwave is currently in rehabilitation on Optimus’s orders, Starscream is dealing with the same. We don’t know where Megatron is, but he’s staying quiet. The other Con’s seem to have largely calmed down enough to rejoin us on Cybertron.” Her voice rang out on the hillside as she reached into her container again and pulled out a photograph she’d had printed and framed. It was of the whole team smiling during the anniversary of Cybertron’s restoration. They were all there… except for Jack.

“Arcee, the others are waiting for you.” The sounds of wheelchair wheels rolling over the ground reached Arcee’s audio receptors. Nodding once she gathered up her now empty container in her arms and moved to stand. Rafael smiled up at her as she did so. His wrinkled face still left Arcee doing a double take even now. He did not match the memory of the young boy she knew but a vorn ago.

“I know… I just wanted to catch up with him.” Sorrow sat heavy in her spark as Arcee at last turned to look at her ward. A soft song escaped her vocalizer as she got down as low as she could to gently press the crest of her helm to the marble surface of Jack’s tombstone. There was no warmth in what remained of her ward, but as she pulled away and carefully arranged the datapad and picture at the foot of his grave, she felt a degree of peace.

She had not been there for Jack as much as she should have been, but she could hold his memory in her spark. So long as she lived, Jack Darby would not be lost to the tests of time. She would ensure it.

“Farewell little hero. May you be at peace wherever your soul is destined to go.” Arcee allowed her touch to linger on the top of the tombstone a moment longer before she gathered herself and turned away back toward the base. Rafael rolled along beside her and together they moved in silence.

They would remember, and when Rafael joined Jack and Miko in their rest, Arcee would carry his memory with her as well.

They would not be forgotten.

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