#casual touch tally | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princess-sof-time · 1 year

Note

may I request the hoshino family? (oshi no ko) aqua and ruby learning their father (and ai's husband) used to be in a band that's like the equivalent to tally hall (or at least had the same energy). And now as teens and the internet rediscovering the hidden gem that is reader's band and songs now getting popular.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──────

🄰🅀🅄🄰 🄷🄾🅂🄷🄸🄽🄾

• One evening, Aqua was lounging on his bed, his phone in hand as he idly scrolled through his social media feed. Amidst the usual stream of posts, a particular one caught his eye - it was from a distant relative, someone he hadn't seen in ages. The post seemed to be reminiscing about his father's past, back when he used to be a rockstar in a band, a fascinating piece of family history that had only been mentioned in passing during family gatherings.

• Intrigued, Aqua couldn't resist clicking the link attached to the post, leading him to a treasure trove of nostalgia - a collection of old songs performed by his father's band. As the first notes filled his ears, he was immediately transported back in time. The music had a distinctive charm, a blend of quirkiness and catchy melodies that made his heart dance with delight. The lyrics were filled with stories and emotions, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swelling inside him as he recognized his father's voice harmonizing with the other talented band members.

• As he continued to listen, Aqua found himself diving deeper into the internet's newfound celebration of this hidden gem of a band. People were sharing their love for the music, praising the band's unique style and the impact they had made in their heyday. Aqua couldn't help but marvel at how these songs, once confined to a few dusty tapes and memories, were now reaching a new generation of listeners through the magic of the digital age.

• With excitement bubbling within him, Aqua decided to seize the perfect opportunity during dinner to surprise his father with his discovery. As they sat around the table, he casually brought up the topic of music and mentioned how he stumbled upon some old songs online, not giving away the surprise just yet.

• His father's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and he encouraged Aqua to share more about the songs he had found. As Aqua began to describe the music and how much he enjoyed it, he finally revealed the truth - that the band he had stumbled upon was none other than his father's band from yesteryears.

• The revelation took his father by surprise, and a mix of emotions played across his face - a blend of nostalgia, joy, and perhaps a hint of bashfulness at his teenage rockstar days being unearthed. He shared with Aqua the tales of late-night rehearsals, wild concerts, and the unbreakable bond he had formed with his bandmates, a camaraderie that had stood the test of time.

• From that day forward, Aqua and his dad found a new connection through music. Their evenings were filled with laughter, as his father recounted more stories from his band's adventures, sharing anecdotes of fans, road trips, and the euphoria of performing live on stage. Aqua couldn't help but marvel at how music had once been such a big part of his father's life, and he cherished this newfound understanding of his dad as not just a parent but as a passionate musician.

• The hidden gem of his father's band had now been rediscovered, not only for the Aqua but also by the wider world through the power of the internet. Together, they embraced this unexpected resurgence, with Aqua even finding himself secretly humming the familiar tunes throughout the day, feeling a sense of pride knowing that his father's musical legacy was touching hearts and inspiring a new generation.

🅁🅄🄱🅈 🄷🄾🅂🄷🄸🄽🄾

• One day, while Ruby was surfing the internet, she found an old photo in the family album. In the image, her father, younger and more relaxed, holding a guitar, with wild hair and full of energy. But what caught Ruby's attention the most were the other people around him, his friends from his old band.

• Curious, Ruby asked her mother, Ai, who was nearby, who were those people in the picture with her father. With a warm smile, Ai explained that they were her father's old bandmates, from when he was much younger and part of a band that had the same energy and magic as a beloved group called Tally Hall.

• Ruby listened carefully to the moving stories her mother told about the spirited performances, creative adventures and strong friendship that bound the band together as a musical family. Each story painted a vivid picture of a young man in love, putting all his heart and soul into music, and this made Ruby admire her father's hidden talent even more.

• Driven by a desire to find out more about her father's musical journey, Ruby decided to investigate further. With the help of the internet, she looked up information about his former band. And much to her delight, she found that the band's songs were gaining popularity again and gaining a new generation of fans across multiple online platforms.

• As Ruby got deeper into the music, she was enthralled by the catchy melodies full of personality, which conveyed the same vibrant energy as her father. Each song seemed to tell a unique story and brought out special emotions. It was as if Ruby had found a musical treasure, taking her back to a time she didn't live but that connected her in a special way.

• Filled with excitement, Ruby couldn't wait to share her discovery with her father. And finally, over a family dinner, she enthusiastically shared her findings. Everyone in the room was curious and excited as Ruby spoke passionately about the music, the band and how audiences were rediscovering this musical treasure.

• Looking into her father's eyes, Ruby saw a mixture of surprise, joy and a touch of nostalgia. He hadn't expected her to discover his musical background in such a special way. Long-cherished memories resurfaced, and he shared more heartwarming stories about the band's adventures and heartfelt bonds with fans.

• From that moment on, Ruby and her father found a new connection through their shared love of music. They spent more time together, telling stories and laughing, and even playing some of the band's old songs together. Their passion for music brought them even closer, and Ruby came to see her father not only as a father, but also as a talented musician full of life.

• The revival of her father's old band not only brought back musical memories from the past, but also inspired Ruby in a special way. Encouraged by her father's experiences and driven by her connection to this hidden musical treasure, she began to explore her own musical talents. The two embarked on a musical journey together, fueling each other's creativity and sharing a special passion for music.

• As time passed, the music of her father's band continued to gain popularity on the internet, and Ruby took immense pride knowing that her father's legacy was touching the hearts of a new generation. This was proof of the magical and timeless power of music, which surpasses barriers of time and space. Ruby was extremely grateful to be part of this musical rediscovery.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──────

#oshi no ko x reader #aqua hoshino x reader #ruby hoshino x reader #headcanons #anime x reader

78 notes · View notes

starwarssapphicweek · 2 years

Text

Sapphic Week Prompts

All the votes have been tallied and now it's time to share the prompts!

Day 1 Reunion/ First Kiss is a Kiss Goodbye

Day 2 Battle Couple/ Sun and Moon

Day 3 Hand Kisses/ Only One Bed

Day 4 Hand Holding & Casual Touches/ Under Cover Mission

Day 5 Sparring/ Best Friends to Lovers

Day 6 Hurt/Comfort/ Growing Old Together

Day 7 Alternative Universe/ Armor

Reminder that the week is May 1-7

Use the tag SWSW2023 when posting your work so we can find it and share it here on the blog. There will also be an AO3 collection for fics.

Thank you to everyone who has participated in helping to get these prompts!

@swfandomevents

192 notes · View notes

mrspasser · 12 days

Text

Craft box - Inception fanfic

I found this comic online (source unknown to me, unfortunately) and then I wrote a fanfic. That's it. I had a lot of fun writing it :-)

Eames. Eames is the vampire, of course.

Read it below or on Ao3.

Craft box

It’s only the first day. Everything was going so well, too. After all, it’s not like this is the first time he’s looked after James and Phillipa. With a lot of their closest family living in another state or even abroad, he’s kind of like an uncle to them. The fun uncle without any kids of his own and with an impeccable fashion sense. Alright, he’s the gay uncle, so what? That doesn’t mean he can’t look after kids. He’s pretty good at it, he dares say. He knows to cut little James’ sandwich in small triangles, so they’re both bite-sized and fun-sized. He knows how to braid Phillipa’s hair, he even managed to do something that resembled Elsa’s hair. From afar - whatever, the kid was happy. And he’s just served them a nutritious meal, which they even finished to the last bite, so he’s really on top of this babysitting thing.

Until Crookshanks comes casually wandering into the kitchen with something in his mouth. Something that moves.

“Crooks has a mouse!” Phillipa calls out and she immediately slides down from her chair at the table to run after the cat.

Arthur, who is just clearing the table, has about one second to think ‘Oh no’ before things get worse.

“It has wings!” Phillipa announces this like it's a fun novelty instead of a worrying development. She is perched in front of the stairs in the hallway between the living room and the kitchen, where the red shabby haired family pet has decided to lay down with his catch.

“I ‘anna see!” James almost throws himself down from his high chair and races towards his sister and the cat.

Arthur would much rather do the dishes than deal with some poor, doomed critter the cat caught, but the horrible vision of James and Phillipa with tiny viscera smeared on their hands spurs him into action. He tosses the tea towel over his shoulder and hurries toward the hallway. “Don’t touch that, kids!”

He’s relieved to see that the cat still has hold of the critter, the unfortunate animal caught beneath both front paws. James and Phillipa sit in front of the cat, sharing their observations with each other.

“It has very pointy wings.”

“An’ a furry belly.”

“No, that’s his head, silly.”

From up close, Arthur is stunned to see the animal isn’t all that tiny. And it’s not a mouse at all. It’s a bat. And it’s dead. Thank god.

“Come on, kids, let me through,” Arthur says, gently pushing his way in between the kids. The cat warily watches him approach, but doesn’t move. Arthur is generally on good terms with the Cobb family’s cat and he likes to keep it that way.

Beneath the cat’s paws is unmistakably a bat: one of its wings pokes out at what’s gotta be an odd and painful angle. The bat is not moving and Crookshanks doesn’t seem to be holding him all that tight. “Yeah, I think he’s dead,” Arthur sighs, not looking forward to what comes next. At least he can dispose of it pretty easily. Could he just chuck it in the trash or should he put it in the compost heap in the back of the yard? If it died outside, it would decompose somewhere on the ground too, right?

“Aww no,” Phillipa cries mournfully. “Are you sure?”

“Aw you sure?” James parrots her. He isn’t sad, though. He probably barely understands what’s happening and is just happy to be along for the ride.

“I’m sorry, honey, I think so,” Arthur answers and strokes a hand over Phillipa’s hair in comfort. “That’s what sometimes happens in nature. Cats are predators, they hunt.”

“I know,” she replies, perking up already. “Crookshanks has catched a lot of mouses already! And a frog! And two birds! No, three! Three birds!”

“And now he can add a bat to his tally,” Arthur confirms. The massive, fluffy cat generally demonstrates a pretty laid back attitude inside the house, yet it’s still an animal equipped with claws and sharp teeth and Arthur knows to show deference to that kind of potential power.

He’s decided that the tea towel should be sufficient for grabbing the dead animal without making his hands dirty. He doesn’t want to go back to the kitchen to look for rubber gloves under the sink, in case Crookshanks gets it in his head to take his prey further into the house and hide it somewhere where Arthur can’t find it and then the whole house will smell of rotting carcass within days.

Arthur carefully moves in with the tea towel and it must be his lucky day, because the cat is suddenly bored with whatever it is that is happening and stands up and wanders off, not even looking back towards the poor bat it killed. “Oh well,” Arthur shrugs, “that could’ve gone worse.” He’d been prepared to fight the cat for the dead animal, but this is way better. Or it isn’t, because now there is nothing to distract Arthur from the feeling of a dead animal in his hands, tea towel or not. He almost gags, only able to hold it back for the sake of the kids.

“We should bury it in the backyard!” Phillipa suggests cheerfully. “We can make a… a dead people box, from a - from a real box.”

“A coffin,” Arthur corrects. “And I don’t think that’s necessary, honey. A bat is a wild animal, not a pet. We don’t need to bury it.”

He walks towards the trash can in the kitchen. It is nearly full, he can toss the bat in and then take the trash out. Maybe he’ll toss in the tea towel as well. Who knows what kind of germs the bat carries.

“But I wanna…” Phillipa is gearing up for an argument, both of the kids following Arthur on his heels.

Except when Arthur reaches the trash can and puts his foot on the pedal to open the lid, the bat suddenly trashes back to life. Arthur may or may not have screamed. The kids know, but who believes a five and a barely three year old when it’s his word against theirs? He also drops the bat. “Fuck,” Arthur says. With feeling.

“That's a bad word,” James informs him sagely, while his sister dances around him, chanting “It’s alive! It’s alive!”

The bat, who is indeed very much alive, tries to scamper behind the trash can, away from the noisy giants that tried to toss it in the trash and then proceeded to drop it from some height.

“Oh god,” Arthur groans, realising he will now have to touch the bat again to catch it. Maybe he can call in Crookshanks to finish the job?

“Oh no, he’s hurt!” Phillipa has stopped her happy dance to peer behind the trash can. “His wing is all wonky.”

A quick peek confirms that indeed, the animal’s left wing is not looking too hot. It probably hurts, maybe it would be better to put it out of its misery?

“We have to take it to the animal doctor!” Phillipa is suddenly taking charge and she disappears into the living room, coming back with an empty shoe box a moment later. It’s adorned with shiny stickers and fuzzy decals; Arthur recognizes it as her craft box and realises that there’s now a mess of stickers and craft paper on the floor in the next room. “We can put it in here!”

There’s no way that Arthur is going to drive to a vet with a probably half dead bat at this time of night. He’d have to pay an arm and leg for a consultation outside office hours, for an animal that’s probably only still on its feet due to a last, desperate burst of adrenaline.

“Alright, we can put it in the box,” Arthur agrees gently. “But the vet is closed right now, so we’ll have to wait until morning until we can take him.” There’s no use in arguing with Phillipa when she’s like this, she’s too much like her mother for that. And her father. Both parents can be stubborn assholes, if you ask Arthur. However, Phillipa still looks cute when she’s being a pain in his ass, Dom doesn’t have that excuse.

“We’ll put the box in a quiet place so the bat can rest,” he decides, taking the shoebox and the lid from Phillipa. It’s actually kind of convenient that the bat is in the corner behind the trash can: Arthur can close in from both sides with the box and the lid and scoop the animal in without too much of a fuss. There’s flapping and squeaking and some internal cursing (probably both from Arthur and the bat), but he manages. He blows out a deep breath of relief when he can close the lid.

The shoebox has a round hole on one end, which provides air flow for the animal, but is probably too small for the bat to escape through. It is big enough for a grape to fit through, which is the food they settle on when the kids insist that they feed the poor animal. Arthur doubts if the bat will eat the grape, but he’s not going to go outside to catch insects for the little fucker.

He’s able to convince the kids that they can put the bat in the laundry room, behind closed doors. He thinks that dying animals have the habit of crawling away somewhere and therefore thinks it better to keep it contained. He does leave the window open on a crack, in case the poor animal manages to get up to the windowsill and prefers to die outside.

After all that excitement it takes him well over an hour to put the kids to bed and another half an hour to clean up both the kitchen and the contents of Phillipa’s craft box that are strewn over the floor of the living room. When all that is done, Arthur settles down with a large glass of red wine from Mal’s inventory. He’s earned it, he figures. He also hopes the bat will have the decency to die in the course of the night, or at least escape.

***

Before the crack of dawn there are two children jumping up and down beside his bed, exclaiming that they want to go see the bat. Arthur regrets pouring himself the second and third glass of red wine, but rolls out of bed anyway. Both James and Phillipa are early risers and he’s used to getting up early with them when he’s babysitting. He’ll catch up on his sleep when he gets back home in a few days.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, pulling on a bathrobe over his T-shirt and boxers sleeping combo. It’s one of Dom’s, so it’s slightly big on him, but it’s a beautiful shade of night blue and incredibly soft. Maybe Arthur will keep it as payment for all the shit he has to put up with this weekend. He would like to find the sash first, if he’s to keep it. For now, he can just forgo closing the robe. It’s just him and the kids in the house anyway. Just like his sleep, his fashion sense can take a backseat until he gets back home.

James and Phillipa run down the stairs in front of him, excited to go see their little sleepover guest. Who might be dead. Or gone in the wind. Arthur hopes it’s the latter, it would save him having to clean up the body.

“Wait a second, kids.” He manages to catch up with them before they open the door. “We have to be careful when we open the door, the bat may have escaped the box.”

Arthur gets the sudden vision of a bat flapping around like crazy in the laundry room and immediately isn’t all that keen on opening the door. But there are two very excited kids crowding him, so he has no other choice.

He opens the door and -

“Oh my fucking god!” Arthur does some sort of karate move with his leg and one arm to catch the two kids around the middle and shove them back into the kitchen, slamming the door shut with his free hand.

He tries to catch his breath as his mind races. He knows Dom owns a gun. Where would he keep it? In the safe? Arthur doesn’t know the combination. Where’s his phone? Still on the nightstand next to his bed. Maybe he can use a knife -

“Why is there a man sitting on the floor of our laundry room?” Phillipa looks between the door and Arthur and back. Then it’s like there’s a little light turning on above her head. “Oh! Is he a vampire?”

Arthur rifles through the kitchen drawers. Do knives even work against vampires? Probably not if they’re made of stainless steel. And the only silver knife he can find in this kitchen is an antique looking butter knife. If that’s even real silver.

He doesn’t know much about vampires, just that they’re not the bloodthirsty monsters the media painted them as back in the day. Still, he has two little kids and a stranger in his house. A stranger who is a vampire.

“Hello!” Little James opens the door and waddles inside, taking advantage of Arthur’s spot over by the cutlery drawer.

“James, no!” Arthur sprints towards the kid, ready to jump between the vampire and the little boy.

“Hello, laddy,” the vampire says, smiling at the child. “Is your daddy always this nervous?”

“He’s not my daddy,” James answers blithely in that way little kids have. “That’s A’thur.”

“My daddy says Arthur has a stick up his butt,” Phillipa adds, wholly unnecessary. Arthur only sputters his indignation, too stunned to say much. The vampire huffs a laugh, entirely too amused for someone who may or may not be guilty of home invasion. Sort of. Arthur isn’t too sure of the technicalities on this one.

However, the man sitting on the floor of the laundry room is indeed a vampire. Arthur can see his fangs when the man smirks crookedly at him. It’s kind of charming, in an annoying way. There’s a flattened shoe box beneath his thigh and he’s holding his left shoulder gingerly.

“Did you dislocate your shoulder?” Arthur asks stupidly, remembering the oddly positioned batwing from the night before.

“I did,” the vampire nods. “Popped it back in right before you lot stormed in.”

“Does it hurt?” Phillipa asks.

The vampire smiles at her. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m made of sturdy stuff.”

Sturdy indeed, Arthur can’t help but think as the vampire gets to his feet with a soft grunt. The man is broad shouldered, with strong thighs and a smattering of hair showing through the opened top buttons of his frankly alarming shirt. It’s a dirty shade of peach, with an eye watering print. Arthur didn’t know they still sold paisley print. If he has to stare at this shirt for a little longer he’ll feel compelled to file an official protest against it.

The vampire looks down and spots the flattened box, making a small noise of distress that Arthur thinks is quite cute. He’s a bit startled by this notion and shakes his head to get rid of it. There’s an unknown vampire in the house and he has to stay vigilant, even though the man doesn’t seem all that dangerous. He discards his ideas of finding a weapon for now, it doesn’t seem necessary in this case.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear,” the vampire says ruefully to Phillipa. “It seems like I accidentally ruined one of your creations.” He bends over to retrieve the flattened cardboard from the floor, holding his left arm carefully against his stomach so he won’t jostle it too much.

“That’s okay,” Phillipa says genially, taking the box from him. “I can make another one. Mama just bought new shoes, I can use that box.”

“Mister, are you a vampire?” James peers up at the man, studying him intently.

The vampire inclines his head. “I am. But you can call me Eames, little man.”

A vampire called Eames, who wears paisley shirts and tan chinos above a pair of slightly ratty loafers. He talks with a British accent too; not the posh one, something more urban probably. He’s the strangest vampire Arthur has ever seen. Not that he has met a lot of them, but still.

“Are you okay? You look a little peaky.” Now that he’s standing for a few minutes, Arthur can see the hunch in his shoulders and a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. His shoulder must be causing him pain, that much is clear.

“I’ll be alright, darling.” The vampire winks at him and there’s that crooked smirk again. “But I could do with a drink.”

“You’re not drinking my blood!” Arthur exclaims, rather dramatically. “Nor that of the kids!” He hauls Phillipa and James backwards, instantly wary of the man in front of them. His bathrobe billows around him with the movement.

The vampire lifts his hands apologetically and cocks his head. “Not that kind of drink. A glass of water will do just fine for now.”

“Oh, alright.” Arthur deflates and eyes the vampire critically, as much as he can in his slightly rattled state of mind. The man seems to try and make himself as non-threatening as possible, with a - slightly strained - smile and a casual pose. It could be an act, of course, yet Arthur doesn’t think the vampire means them harm. If he wanted to, he could’ve easily hurt them already. Arthur is by no means an expert on vampires, but he knows they’re stronger than regular humans. They need to drink blood, but can also eat normal food - though he thinks there are some allergies in play. He has the sudden urge to make a deep dive into vampire research. But he can’t, because he has two excited kids and an exhausted vampire to take care of right now. So he makes the executive decision to invite the vampire - Eames - into the kitchen, pointing him to a chair at the kitchen table, which he gratefully sinks down onto.

“I’ve had better nights, let me tell you,” Eames shares with a grimace, massaging his chest close to his left shoulder with his hand. “Thank you, darling,” he says absentmindedly when Arthur places a glass of water in front of him.

Arthur decides to chalk the pet names up to the vampire’s Britishness and not pay them much mind. He takes a seat across from the vampire, next to Phillipa who is staring riveted at their unexpected guest. Arthur would’ve expected James to have already lost interest and to wander off into the living room to play with his toys, but the toddler is sitting right next to his sister, equally mesmerised.

“Are you like a hundred years old?” Phillipa has her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Arthur doesn’t check, but he bets her feet are swinging beneath the table.

James is sitting on his knees on the chair, leaning his hands on the table. “Do you eat people?”

“No and no,” Eames says with a chuckle. He’s looking perfectly at ease in the kitchen, despite looking a little haggard. Arthur watches him take a sip of the water.

“Can you turn into a bat?” James asks next, to which his sister makes an exasperated sound.

“Of course he can! You saw him last night! He was a bat!”

“That was me, indeed.” Another sip of water.

“Why are you a bat?” James again. He’ll probably be talking about this day for the rest of the month, or even the year. Not that there’s much of the year left, it’s November already.

Eames laughs. “Well, the simplest answer would be: because I can. It’s pretty darn cool to be able to fly, you know?” The kids nod excitedly at his words and even Arthur has to admit that it would be cool to be able to fly. “But I also hu-” Eames catches himself in time. “I go look for food as a bat.”

While the kids grill the vampire for what he likes to eat (surprise, it’s not grapes), Arthur’s mind fills with gruesome images of Eames on the hunt. To be honest, inside his head the vampire looks more like a chupacabra than the innocuous bat Crookshanks brought into the house last night, so it’s a little startling to hear the vampire declare he likes raw steak.

“We have steak! Right, Arthur? We have steak!” Phillipa pulls on his sleeve, reminding Arthur he’s still dressed in Dom’s bathrobe, with his boxers and an old T-shirt underneath. He’s a little horrified, for whole different reasons than when he was imagining chupacabra Eames ravaging an unsuspecting victim.

“Uh, yes. We do.” He’d taken the kids shopping yesterday and planned to make a steak salad for himself tonight, while the kids ate a dinosaur shaped hamburger with their greens.

“Can Eames have it?” Phillipa bounces in her seat. “I bet he’s hungry! You’re hungry, right?”

To Arthur’s surprise the vampire is looking a little abashed. “I mean, your cat did interrupt my plans for the night, yes. But you don’t have to feed me! I’ll be fine.”

Arthur is more than happy to take him on his word, but then Phillipa says: “Arthur is a good cook! He can make you something really yummy!”

“Can I have steak?” James asks, looking at Arthur expectantly.

“You don’t like steak, buddy,” Arthur answers gently. “Remember? You think it’s too chewy. That’s why we bought the dino burgers.”

“Oh, yeah.” James processes this and then proceeds to ask for dino burgers. Of course.

“No, bud. It’s breakfast time. Dino burgers are for dinner.” Arthur glances at the clock, which is at just past seven. He can’t believe he’s been up for an hour already, on a Saturday.

He shoves his chair back, getting up. “I guess I’m making breakfast. No steak for you,” he adds with a pointed stare at little James. “Or dino burgers. You can have cereal.”

He starts gathering ingredients for the kids’ breakfast and turns on the coffee maker. It’s no wonder he feels so rattled, he hasn’t had his coffee yet. “Any for you?” he asks their guest, pausing to see if he has to get one or two cups down from the cupboard.

The vampire shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ll take some tea if you have it?”

“Is that on account of being British or being a vampire?”

Eames smiles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A bit of both, I guess. These days coffee no longer agrees with my stomach, unfortunately.” Which Arthur guesses is a polite way of saying he can no longer digest coffee. He also deduces that Eames hasn’t always been a vampire and wonders how long it’s been.

He thinks about putting a mug in the microwave to heat up the water, but decides against it, both out of consideration for Eames’ nationality and his own standards. The electric kettle will take a little longer, but at least it won’t incite another civil war.

Puttering around in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready for the kids and hot drinks for the adults, Arthur is a little slow to realise that the sun has come up. And that the kitchen faces the East. “Oh, shit,” he huffs and hurries to close the blinds. When he turns to face Eames, the vampire is watching him intently, an odd softness around his eyes. It lasts only a moment, until Eames speaks up, quietly.

“Thank you. I won’t burst into flames from the first ray of sunlight, but thanks anyway.”

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur says automatically, putting the bowls of cereal in front of the kids and handing them their spoons. And then: “Oh my god, how are we gonna get you out of here? Do we have to wait until nightfall?”

“Well, you could always just chuck me out if you’re that desperate to get rid of me,” Eames suggests and it sounds just off-handed enough that Arthur doesn’t believe in the vampire’s pretence.

“I don’t -... I’m not -...” Arthur starts and stops two sentences that he has no idea of how to finish. He sighs and wraps the bathrobe tight around himself. “I’m a little out of my depth here,” he admits. “I have no idea what to do with a strange vampire in my house. Or, not my house, but… Oh, you get what I’m saying!” He throws his hands up and the bathrobe falls open again.

Eames gets up from the table, rounds it in what Arthur suspects is a sedated pace put on just for him and his frail nerves and comes to stand in front of him. “Not a stranger,” Eames says gently. And he picks up his cup of tea and hands Arthur his coffee. “There you go, love. Careful, that’s hot.”

The coffee is indeed scaldingly hot down his throat, but it suffices in bringing Arthur back to his senses. “Right,” he says, putting down his cup on the counter. “You take your steak bloody, I presume?”

He waves away Eames’ protests and grabs the grill pan for the shortest grill he has ever done. The meat has barely a chance to brown before the vampire next to him declares it done. It’s barely seasoned either, again under Eames’ directions. It’s absolutely not done the way Arthur usually prepares his food, but who is he to argue with any dietary restrictions the vampire has?

He plates the steak and is about to hand it to his impromptu guest, when the guy suddenly darts around him, taking up a strategic spot behind Arthur and with the fridge in the corner of the kitchen at his back. “What the -?”

An angry hiss answers his question. It’s Crookshanks, who stalks into the kitchen like the apex predator he actually is. And Eames is afraid of him, even though he is a 5’ 9” adult male right now instead of a small bat.

Arthur can’t help but laugh. It’s all so ridiculous! He hands the plate to Eames without looking, trusting that the man will take it from him and steps forward to scoop Crookshanks up from the ground. “Silly cat,” he admonishes, shaking the bundle of fur in his arms lightly. “You can’t eat Eames. Come on, outside you go!”

When he comes back into the kitchen, he finds Eames sitting in his spot at the kitchen table, hunched over his plate. The vampire is deliberately not looking at him and the tips of his ears are clearly red. The kids are chattering nonsensically in between bites of their cereal, talking at their new friend but not expecting any real answer.

It’s not until Arthur has made himself some toast and sits down with it, this time next to Eames, that the vampire speaks up again. “If I can use your phone, I can call my friend to see if he can come pick me up.”

“Sure,” Arthur agrees.

After breakfast, Eames calls a friend called Yusuf. Unfortunately, his friend is unable to pick him up right away. “He can be here around noon,” Eames tells Arthur, clearly feeling contrite.

“And you can’t go out during daylight,” Arthur surmises.

Eames shrugs. “Can’t exactly take the bus home, no. Or, I mean, I can. I’ve done it before, when in a pinch. Though I’d have to borrow a duffel coat, or something.” The vampire seems to shrink in on himself. “I can understand if you want me out of here as soon as possible.”

Strangely, Arthur’s first hunch is to reassure Eames that he’s welcome to stay as long as needed. It surprises him. He’s not one to trust easily and he’s always very protective of his honorary niece and nephew. The man across from him is a vampire and, despite his friendly behaviour, still a potential threat. However, Arthur doesn’t think Eames is a danger to them. He can’t pinpoint exactly what makes him think that, it’s not like the vampire has been very generous with information about himself. Still, the facts speak for themselves. Arthur’s been walking around barefoot, dressed in sleep clothes and a bathrobe, with two small kids in tow, and he hasn’t felt threatened by Eames at all. Well, alright, when he first discovered that there was a vampire in the laundry room he panicked a bit, but that fear was quickly diminished by the - unconventionally charming - way Eames presented himself. It’s hard to stay vigilant when the vampire is so easy going.

“Mr Eames? Do you have to go already?” Phillipa and James have popped up right next to them, James actually grabbing the tail of the vampire’s shirt to get his attention.

Eames shows them a warm smile. “That’s kind of up to Arthur.”

Of course, that only serves in having two sets of puppy eyes aimed at Arthur. They’re practically begging him to give in. Great. Now he has to deal not only with his own oddly lowered defences, but the wiles of two little kids too.

He locks eyes with Eames, just for a second, but it’s enough. “Alright, alright. You don’t have to look at me like that. Mr Eames is welcome to stay until his friend can pick him up.”

The kids cheer and the smile that forms on the vampire’s face is blinding. Arthur can’t help but smile too.

They build a blanket fort in the living room. It’s Phillipa’s idea, she loves blanket forts. It also doubles as protection from the sun for their guest vampire, since the living room doesn’t have black out blinds and the sun is climbing higher in the sky.

Eames is in the back of the blanket fort, sitting on a pillow with his back against the sofa. Arthur sits next to him, because he might’ve let the vampire stay, he’s not stupid enough to leave the kids alone with Eames. The back of the blanket fort is also the only place that’s big enough to fit an adult. It’s a bit cramped with two adults though.

The kids are at the entrance of the fort, laying on their bellies and watching Frozen on DVD. Between the kids and Arthur is a serving tray sitting on the floor with glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies. Arthur has to pull up his legs to prevent himself from kicking over the glasses. He would feel more annoyed about that, if not for the vampire next to him. “This is nice,” Eames said when they first settled in, a hesitant smile on his face and wonder in his eyes. And Arthur just had to agree.

“So you’ve been a vampire since your early twenties?” Arthur asks and Eames nods. They’ve been talking in lowered voices, neither of them very interested in the enchanted snow man and his two princess friends on screen. “You don’t look like you’re twenty. I thought vampires didn’t age?”

Eames laughs. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I bet a lot more people would choose this lifestyle if that were true. But nah, we still age. Just a bit slower.”

“But the sunlight bit is true, right? You said you wouldn’t catch fire, but it still hurts you.”

“Unfortunately.” Eames pulls a face. “I was always very fond of the warmer climates. Turns out, it’s not as fun when you can’t go to the beach.”

“Should’ve thought that through beforehand,” Arthur remarks flippantly, reaching for his glass of lemonade. He’s sat back and taken a drink before he notices the sudden stiffness in the vampire’s posture. When he looks over, Eames avoids his gaze in the dim light of the blanket fort. “Oh, shit. I’ve put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?”

“Nah, you’re fine, love. Couldn’t have known.” Eames glances over and away again. “Sensitive topic, that’s all.”

They’re quiet for a bit, watching the movie over the kids’ heads. When Elsa sings her famous song, Arthur catches the vampire mouthing along with the words. “What?” Eames asks defensively. “It’s quite the earworm.”

Arthur smiles and picks up on the chorus, making Phillipa sing along too. Eames has a terrible singing voice, it turns out, but that doesn’t stop him one bit.

They watch some Paw Patrol after the movie ends, and a whole lot of Fireman Sam. Arthur gets up a few times, to help James to the bathroom and to remove Crookshanks from their blanket fort, but he keeps crawling back into the fort, taking his spot next to Eames. At some point, they’ve sagged down to lean against each other, shoulder to shoulder, falling into that odd trance from watching too many kids’ shows. When Arthur argues that the town of Pontypandy should just get rid of Norman, that horrible kid that does nothing but cause trouble, he hardly gets a response from Eames. “Fireman Sam should just push him off a cliff,” Arthur states, only to be met with a soft snore from the vampire. Eames has fallen asleep, his head half on Arthur’s shoulder, half leaning against the sofa seat. Arthur can’t bring himself to move.

When the doorbell rings, around noon as was arranged, it causes enough commotion that Arthur is fairly sure Eames doesn’t pick up on the fact that he’d been sleeping on Arthur’s shoulder just before. Just as well, because Arthur has been eating himself up about it for the past hour and is no closer to knowing what it means and if he even wants it to mean something.

Phillipa and James race for the front door and open it to a round faced man with black curls and a friendly smile. “Hello, you must be Yusuf,” Arthur greets, stepping forward with his hand out. “Arthur Freeman.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yusuf says with a smile and a handshake. “Thank you for putting up with this scoundrel. I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble?” He flicks a meaningful look over Arthur’s shoulder, where Eames is hovering in the doorway of the partially glass walled foyer of the house. “I got your coat,” Yusuf says, holding the black duffle coat he’s carrying over one arm up a little.

And then there’s the gathering of things - even though Eames didn’t bring anything with him but the clothes on his back - and the saying of thanks and goodbyes. The vampire apologises again to Phillipa for ruining her “beautifully decorated” craft box and promises James to be more on guard when it comes to cats.

Said cat comes wandering into the hall and Arthur has to scoop him up and hold him because the furry bastard seems way too interested in Eames’ pants legs. Yusuf thinks it’s a delight that Eames got caught by a cat who got named after a character from the Harry Potter franchise, because of course the kids happily fill him in on that.

And just like that, Eames is bundled up in the coat, the hood pulled up and ready to go out the door. His eyes lock with Arthur, the kids, Yusuf and the cat between them, and then he is gone.

Later, after Arthur gets back from taking the kids to the playground to let them get rid of their energy, he finds a handwritten note next to the kitchen phone. It says: Thank you for taking care of me. I didn’t think getting caught by a cat would have its upsides, but meeting you definitely was a big plus. There’s three little x’s at the bottom and a cellphone number.

That night, Arthur curls up on the sofa with a glass of wine and Crookshanks lying on the seat cushion next to him. He snaps a picture of the sleeping cat and sends it to the number that he programmed into his phone that afternoon. [I’ll keep an eye on him. Safe hunting tonight. X Arthur]

#inception #dream husbands #eames is a vampire #eames x arthur #pre slash #fanfic #fanfiction #inception fanfic #ilse writes fanfic #eames inception #arthur inception #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 writer #fluff and crack

7 notes · View notes

bigmeandragonlady · 1 year

Text

Finally finished the dossier template, few other things of note:

Pretty handy with a knife as well as the bow.

Can process seafood really quickly

Prefers to be at a REASONABLE height with the sky above her

If you want to know her exact birthday, you'll have to figure it out on your own or hassle her enough

Scars: a small cut on her chin, stab scar on her stomach (she fell out of a tree and impaled herself, okay), inside of her bicep, across the outside of her right wrist to her thumb, palm side of her left thumb

Tattoos: Ket tattoo on the inside of the wrist, floral sleeve on her left arm, anchor + rope + birds on one of her ankles

I kept rambling and found it hard to summarize the relationships so I've expanded under the cut. There are def rumors that she's dating or sleeping with at least half of them

Blade: they get along weirdly well. Recruits in particular are always surprised to find them casually walking together- they find her softer demeanor an odd juxtaposition to how Blade... is. Also! He is fun to tease. thinks how much she'd like to hear him whimper. It's a miracle they don't butt heads more often, considering her beef with authority. He hates when she gets together with Trouble and Chase b/c she joins them in being a group menace.

Romance: I could see it but Blade would have to make the first move and bridge that gap, as she's convinced herself she's not meant for a relationship. One of the biggest issues i would see them having is Blade's protectiveness would make her feel like she was being smothered and coddled at times.

Trouble: They get on like a house on fire. Her first friend in the order and i'm still deciding if they get arrested together or she pulls Trouble away. Very casual with physical affection and he's a personal space heater. Not a lot to say here b/c it's pretty straight forward!

Romance: Absolutely could see it happening but this would involve a third party kicking Trouble in the ass b/c he's dense as a brick. But it could very well fall apart b/c of her whole romantic relationship = bad, thing. She would realize 'i have feelings for him, but he doesn't have any idea yet' and probably distance herself which would cause confusion and hurt for Trouble, he might confide in someone and they just "she has feelings for you, dipshit"

Tallys: A little more complicated- Aelyn bounces and feeds off other ppl's personalities to interact so the cool, calm, detached thing is kind of weird sometimes b/c she's.... not that. It gets better as she eases out of survival mode. Tallys has given her a lot of tips when it comes to archery (flirting, unnecessary touching, ect included), they go on nature walks, and they do talk often.

Romance: Maybe. While they work as friends with benefits... idk if it would go beyond that. Speaking of: Tallys is absolutely the one to break that arrangement off b/c she's the first one to clock Aelyn being in deep for Chase (or just... between tallys and chase, idk how she has any energy). this is how i see it happening anyway, since aelyn is in denial and idk how willing tallys would be to be in the middle of... that. Of course, how these two fwb route interact can absolutely change things

Shery: She loves Shery. Like if she was more comfortable with casual affection Aelyn would give a hug and kiss on the head when they met up. Borderline cute aggression (I could see Aelyn getting drunk, holding onto Shery, saying "you're so adorable, what the fuck"). Shery does a good job of making her feel cared about w/o being coddled. Has loved helping her be a little more assertive

Romance: I think Shery would be too timid to kick things off and that's what Aelyn needs. I would see this being Shery falling and not saying anything.... forever. There's also the "and they were both bottoms" lol.

Riel: They get along but I wouldn't call them good friends? They respect each other but if they had no work related reason to see each other, both would be okay with that. Even if he was romanceable for a fem MC, it would not happen. Man won't even share his food.

Chase: This is hard b/c my brain kind of turns to static when I think about them. But they got on very quickly. Not as quickly as say, Trouble, but when she said 'We're square' she genuinely meant it. she got points right off the bat for tracking him down and busting into the guild solo and not really giving a shit that they're the thieves guild. He gets points for being so easy to get a long with and leading a life that would make him a huge hypocrite for judging her past choices.

Romance: He's her main romance so- It's such a fucking mess and i love mess. Fuck buddies who have caught feelings and are stupid about it b/c they don't want them. They've managed to worm past each others walls on accident and it's going to get worse before it gets better. At this point in the game, the thought of losing him or even turning down the dial on whatever they have going on is devastating, which scares her. Honestly, just how relationship avoidant I make her ultimately depends on how the torpedo + subsequent reconciliation happens.

Red: He caught her scoping the library and offered her a tour, gaining immediate friendship points. She's envious of his education but he's so open with his knowledge and resources she can't resent him. they talk about nerdy magic shit all the time and Blade is 🙄 when they start bouncing off each other.

Romance: Such a close runner up to Chase it's almost tragic. The biggest tipping point is that she met chase first. I think he would be patient enough to get past her walls and mature enough to just fucking... talk to her. There's obviously chemistry and something there that would make him pursue her. this would be overall healthier and wouldn't explode (as badly). she'd be terrified of meeting his family though.

Ayla: They're pretty protective of each other pretty quickly, they see the similarities they have and they get a long well. Aelyn makes an active effort to remind Ayla she has a place here and people she can trust. Teases her until she gets punched in the ribs.

Romance: No matter what I do I can't see them in a relationship. :| She's the only one out of the romacables (for fem MC) that I'm like hmmm no.

Halek: They get along very well and he seems to take her flirting in stride. I can see them cooking together (assuming Halek isn't one of those 'get out of my kitchen' people)- cooking and eating together is a significant bonding activity for her. She feels like Halek is a big judgment free zone so that's big friendship points for her.

Romance: Yes, if only to make a lifelong enemy of Moonsilk. I think they're compatible but I also don't know if I know his character well enough to say definitely. If he ever wants to 'hang out' she's down to clown.

Briony: Once she realized Briony was genuinely on the same side as her in the arena they were buds. She fascinated by Briony's sword and jokes that Red's blatant curiosity is rubbing off on her. Right there with Ayla with 'hey you want us to 'talk' to them 🤜' they like to walk around, arms linked, and GOSSIP

Romance: I- maybe? I could see it. Possibly. Though, apparently she and Lavinet's type is similar sooo maybe not. I don't think it would be.... great. My biggest fear is that Aelyn would actively sabotage this relationship and create a lasting wound for Briony (although tbh this is a fear for pretty much all the ROs)

Lavinet: They hold each other in high regard and their relationship is warmer then Aelyn and Riel's but but there's still a distance there. Lavinet operates very differently then she does and it throws Aelyn off. I'm not sure how true it is but Aelyn is pretty sure Lavinet would judge the shit out of her for some of the things she's done in the past. They bond over riding and girls nights though. Like Riel: even if romancable, it wouldn't happen.

Mimir: It's complicated. On one hand she does like Mimir as Mimir, loves how weird she can be. On the other, the whole god(s) thing? don't like that. She's resentful and tries real hard not to direct it at Mimir

#it's... long sorry #i might? change her age #shoh #shepherds of haven #aelyn wildegarde #i'm still working on her playlist #she's really considered healing up all her scars but having a mage mercenary with no scars at all is sus so she just leaves most of them

36 notes · View notes

beckett-guerrero · 4 months

Text

Beckett was nervous. Which was obvious by how many times he had touched his collar and almost turned around the closer he got to the club. He had been quick to say yes to Tallulah when she had invited him out but now he was starting to question his own confidence. Being out during the daylight, doing casual things among the public was one thing but being out at night? Alcohol and strangers? And it was a pride event? It was easy to believe that the idea of having pride in his identity did not come easily to Beckett in any way. Still, he pushed himself forward and found his smile more easily when he spotted Tally waiting outside for him. "I uh, hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." He felt compelled to tell her he was nervous but didn't want to embarrass himself so soon. "You uh, wow, you look, wow," he told her and felt his cheeks flush before clearing his throat. "You look great. I had such a tough time deciding on an outfit I eventually had to ask my best friend Nadine for help." @tallulahturnbald

#c: tallulah #new gifs in one of the gif packs lets GOO lmao

18 notes · View notes

snowthornes · 1 year

Text

And then his words sunk in, and he stiffened. “The Shepherds?” His words came out rushed, urgent. “You’re— you’re Shepherds?” The dark-haired man blinked slowly, stoic and calm in the face of his teetering sanity. “Yes,” he said, straight to the point. “I am Blade Bronwyn, Commander of the Shepherds. This is my second-in-command, Trouble Alder, and my third, Tallys.” Ah, Thorne thought numbly, nearly straddling the line of hysteria. He could practically see his carefully thought-out plans crumbling before his eyes. So this is Caine’s infamous assassin-commander. He certainly looks the part. Blade looked at him as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. Thorne closed his eyes, took a deep breath… … Then flopped back onto the bed like a dead fish. A snort — a mix of what sounded like surprise and amusement — rang through the room, only to be quietly hushed by what sounded like the Norm woman. Thorne ignored the exchange, staring blankly at the ceiling. Shepherds. He thought bleakly. Of course they would be Shepherds. Of all the godsdamned luck in the world. Thorne had never planned on joining the Shepherds. TW: Panic attacks, swearing, mildly off putting imagery (Thorne has strange thoughts sometimes).

1 ✦ “No offense, but you look like hael.”

“Do you believe in free will?”

Thorne tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, studying the man with an air of casual inquiry. The man’s apparel was all in black, a wide-brimmed hat — also pitch black — perched on his blood red hair and shadowing his eyes from view. A little smirk was sketched on his mouth. He would remind Thorne of a charlatan, if he didn’t exude such an air of… ominous knowing.

“Why wouldn’t I believe in free will?” Thorne asked, smoothly hopping onto the sudden train of conversation with nary a flinch and responding with a smile of his own, unfazed. He wanted to see where this was going.

The man waved a gloved hand, his slight smirk still fixed in place. “You know,” he said airily, “There’s the matter of the One-God — or gods, if you’re daring enough to admit it. Most believe that Xe has a plan for each of us. Some fate or destiny in mind when we’re created. If that’s the case, doesn’t that mean that every action we take is predetermined, absolute — out-of-our-control?”

Thorne lightly grasped his cup of water, keeping his face politely interested as he inclined his head at the other man in a gesture to continue. He suddenly felt all too aware of everything: the cool touch of the necklaces looped around his neck, the weight of the man’s intense stare.

Hael. Anything that had to do with that damned One-God made his spine itch. But it was too late to escape the conversation, not without exposing how much it had truly bothered him—

The man sat back and took a drink, hair gleaming like blood under the black of his hat. He gazed at him over the rim of his cup, his stare intense and unwavering. “Then there’s the matter of magic,” he said lightly, smacking his lips — Thorne’s gaze snapped coolly to his face, smile sharpening ever so slightly. He must have noticed his eyes. “In a world where anyone could secretly spellbind another — can we ever truly know if what we’re doing is of our own will or someone else’s?”

Lazily, deliberately, Thorne sat back in his seat; now carefully scrutinizing the man with a stare of his own. “Free will, you say?” The man inclined his head in affirmation. His light smile never wavered, but Thorne knew that he was studying his every move just as he was studying him.

READ ON AO3 HERE

Note: If you can't open the link and you get the 'typo in href.li.' error, just delete https://href.li/? from the link in your browser and press enter :D

Hello! Thank you very much for opening my fic :D This won't be a chapter by chapter retelling of SHOH, but more of a fic about Thorne's own experiences in Blest as himself , not as an OC limited by the (very understandable!!) narrative constraints of the game. There will be scenes that weren't directly addressed in the game like Thorne's initiation to the Shepherds, so there will be quite a lot of headcanon-ing going on! This is very much a passion project and something I'm writing for fun — Thorne Briers and the world of SHOH are both very dear to me, and I couldn't resist the urge any longer. I hope you have as much fun following the story as I do writing it!

This is an unpolished work; I'm still very new to writing. Hopefully I'll be able to improve my craft while writing this fic, and have fun doing it!

DISCLAIMER: The world and characters of "Shepherds of Haven" do not belong to me, but to Lena Nguyen. You can find her on Tumblr under the @ shepherds-of-haven. Thorne Briers is a character of my own creation, and the MC of this fic. Due to narrative reasons, there will be several lines lifted directly from the game (ex. when a canon character speaks). Please let me know if this is a concern!

#i finally finished rewriting it!!#it's... different. very different.#there's been a lot more canon divergence #but nothing too drastic!#let's just say that thorne's first meeting with the shepherds is going Very differently #i really hope i managed to keep everyone in character #i'm not very sure about the way i wrote blade speaking tbh #but i rather like the changes i've made!!#aspen writes.txt #shepherds of haven #shoh

38 notes · View notes

theerrorofmylife · 2 years

Text

Crime Fighter pt. 2

- So.... part 2... you guys asked and you shall receive! I meant to have this posted for Christmas but oh well. I am not confident whatsoever in my abilities to write smut, so please be kind. This is not for minors- I repeat THIS IS NOT FOR MINORS you’ve been warned.

Content: Reader stops by the Batcave under Wayne Tower after Bats calls them over for help on a case. However, things escalate because they are both incredibly desperate for each other.

Here’s Part 1: Crime Fighter

Warning: Sex, Lots of sex, kissing, making out, fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, THESE TWO ARE HAVING SEX, swear words, etc., I’m not sure what I missed but I know I did- HAVE AT THEE!

Rain pelted my helmet as I wove between cars and trucks in the upper Gotham streets, and holy shit was it cold. Days seemed to blur together since the migraine incident, and weeks became months became casually getting invited to the Batcave every other day. I’ll be the first to admit that I spent days and nights losing hours over him. Moments and singular little phrases blurred together the more I thought about it. Seconds spent holding his hand after he’d help me on my bike, little light touches on my back when we walked into a crime scene, the way he looks at me when I walk up to him after a case-well-closed. The little whisper that night… “he would love you” … the vivid memory of his lips on my forehead. I couldn’t care less if Bruce Wayne, billionaire recluse, loved me. I wanted this man, my Bat, to love me.

The stairs were all I could focus on as I made my way into the cave. Our latest case was still running through my head on repeat, slowly driving me insane. A series of medical equipment manufacturing plants had been robbed over the course of the last month, tallying up to a total of 7 buildings and over 25 pieces of equipment stolen. We spent night after night in the cave trying to figure it out, trying to stop whatever was going on before it happened. Over that time, I got to re-meet The Bat with new eyes. This man loves this one takeout place on South St. it was actually hilarious. To be fair, it was growing on me as well. If only we had been paying attention to the tiny details rather than trying to figure out the big picture, we would have noticed the tiny desk plant that went missing from the 5th building. Poison Ivy was using medical equipment to create a toxin that would grow plants in peoples lungs. Now, I never mind a good monstera deliciosa, but I do prefer them outside of my body. But that wasn’t important right now. Right now, all I could think about was the way he pulled me to his chest, turned us towards a wall and caged me with his arms so that a glass beaker would crash into his back rather than my face. I still vibrated with the ghost sensation of his hands.

“You called?” As he turned to greet me there was a smile on his face, a grin that had become so much more frequent, reserved just for when we’re alone. Parking my bike near his, a nervous glee set inside me, and I couldn’t stop the grin. He still hadn’t taken to removing the mask for me, but I knew that would take time, more time than we already had. And I was patient. For him, I would be patient.

“There’s some evidence I need you to look at,” I walked up past him to look at the monitors. He didn’t move, only made room by making a small space for me to stand in front of him. “You were always better at seeing the bigger picture.” He was directly behind me, the arm leaning against the table pressed against my side, he was so close I was sure he could feel my heart speed up at the closeness.

“Am I now?” Yes, yes act coy and snarky, let him build the conversation because clearly, I’m way too distracted by his arm to do it myself. I felt him shift, moving behind me, the arm that was pressed into my side lifting so that his hand pressed against my lower back as he passed behind me. The warmth that sunk in and then completely dissipated was intoxicating.

“You know you are.”

“Mm, I thought you were the great detective here. Why do you need me?”

“I want you.” My heart nearly fucking stopped. The goddamn implication of that statement, the ideas that it gave me. Sure, I had thought about it, you can’t blame me when this hunk of brooding emotional baggage was around 24/7. Ever since I spent the night after my migraine, he became a plague on my most intimate thoughts. First just passing thoughts, fleeting ideas and images. Then little daydreams and purely innocent wants. But after a time, it became an infection; a shiver as his hand brushed my lower back, my thighs crossing as he looked at me a certain way, and the heady feeling when he put his hand on my knee during an interrogation. His hands were the curse that tortured me though, his hands were huge and the thought of them on my waist, on my thighs, dipping between them… I was a lost cause, and I knew it.

He seemed to realize the implication as well, his eyes on me, flicking about my face as if looking for the same reaction I was. I should fix this, I should speak up, I should SAY SOMETHING DAMMIT. My mouth opens and closes like a moron, and for a moment I think I’m suffocating because now his eyes are flitting between mine and my lips and oh god get it together. “Do you?” I'm an idiot.

“Always.” He sounded so breathless, as if he could not risk his words to disturb the space settled between us. Chills set upon my arms and not for the first time I was eternally grateful for his closeness. There was barely a few inches between us now, and I could practically feel the human radiator in front of me through my suit, but instead of overwhelming me with discomfort… I became desperate for his hands on me. An ache grew in my chest, a desperate need to be touched that damn near made me sick with nerves. Everything I ever wanted, and it’s right here waiting to make a move. My eyes moved from his to his lips and back again, only to find him staring back with a deep intensity that made my head dizzy. This silence was agonizing, and my hands shook from nerves. I got so focused on the fact that I was beginning to panic that I hadn’t even notice the few inches between us had become less than a few centimeters now, less and less by the second. When I felt his lips barely pass mine, the shaking inside me stopped, and the anxiety in my chest lodged in my throat as I pressed forward.

I have kissed many people in my time, each slightly different with the same overarching form of conduct. Every kiss before this one meant nothing when B kissed me for the first time. It was sloppy, I’ll admit, and it was clear he hadn’t really done it before, at least not in a long time, but he was a fast learner, and as his hands grabbed my waist to pull me into his chest, the force sent me reeling. I would like to say I was more elegant, less messy, but that wouldn’t be true. Because the moment I felt his hands and his lips and the way both made my head swim, I became so incredibly desperate for more that I could hardly be blamed for dropping all sense of decorum. When he broke away from me, I remembered that breathing was important and tried to regain myself as he leaned his forehead against mine. His hands tightened around my waist, and I felt the force with which he lifted me up and onto the table with ease. I barely sat on it, and a good portion of my thighs hung off the edge, but whatever care for stability I may have once had was overpowered by the concept of his hips between my legs. He looked down at me once more, and I nodded with extreme enthusiasm. I heard him chuckle lowly before his hand wrapped around the base of my jaw and he kissed me again. Clumsily, I pulled at his belt and tried to undo the clasp at the front. Instead of actually succeeding like I hoped I would B grabbed my hands, gently tossed them aside and did it himself. When the belt hit the floor, he began kissing my neck, inching his way down slowly, as his hand gently pulled at the waistband of my pants.

“Please…” He slipped one hand into my hair at the base of my neck as his other undid my pants, slipping into my underwear where the pad of his forefinger gently pushed against my clit. Jolts of sharp pleasure ran up my hips and I had to actively refrain from bucking my hips up against his hand. The rough fabric of his suit rubbed against my thighs as he shifted his stance, pushing my legs apart. He pulled my hair gently so that I leaned back only slightly, enough for him to place his lips against mine. My hands shook as I wrapped them around his shoulders, the wonderful sensation giving me jitters.

“Hey, hey look at me, is this ok?” He nudged my nose with his and I looked up into his eyes. Those ice blue eyes. I nodded very enthusiastically. “Is this?” His hand slipped further and brushed his fingertips against my entrance.

“Yes.” Slowly dipping his fingers inside me, I sighed at the stretch. I was by no means a virgin, I’ve had plenty of partners of varying origins, so sex was no major endeavor for me. Usually. B’s fingers were huge, and callused and two alone made me lose my breath. This nauseating weight started in my chest, and I felt myself tightening around his fingers and his other hand pulled away from my hair and grabbed my hips to pull them farther off the table. I was barely sitting on it now and I was beginning to feel pressure in my lower abdomen. Little moans and breathy pleas were all I could manage, it just felt so good. He slowly moved his hand, pulling his fingers out before slowly pushing back in, pushing the pads of his fingers against the inside. The pressure began to get intense and my hands on his shoulders clawed into the armor of the suit. He continued to move slowly, only removing his had from my hips to place his other thumb against my clit. With both his hands occupied I lost my ability to speak as my walls sporadically tightened and released with his fingers still inside me. I was breathless, gasping and rocking against his hand ever so slightly. After a few seconds he removed his thumb from my clit, then slowly pulled his hand away.

“What do you want? I need for you to tell me.” Fuck, words are the last thing I wanted to think about. Resting my head against his shoulder, I tried to regain my breath.

“For the love of all things holy, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m-” My back hit the table with a soft thud as he pushed me down. My pants, albeit having fallen low on my thighs, were tugged off all together. His hand on my chest stayed there as his other hand lifted my knees to rest on his shoulders. My breathing regulated easier while laying down but that didn’t stop my breath from catching when I heard this belt come undone with a click. His left hand left the loose belt, pushing between my legs again to rub my clit slowly. My eyes roll back, and I hear him take a harsh breath before letting slip a low groan. It took effort, but I leaned my head forward just enough to look between my thighs where I got a perfect picture. With one hand rubbing my clit with his thumb, the other was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down at the same pace as his thumb. His head was thrown back, eyes closed with his mouth open. He was big, bigger than I expected. I threw my head back gently, whining little obscenities as I tightened around nothing. “Mm!” I whined when his hand pulled away but sighed as I felt the light pressure of him lining up with my entrance.

“Shhhh relax, I got you.” His hand that wasn’t guiding his dick inside me came to rest on my hip, rubbing little circles with his thumb. He was slow to push in, taking his time to allow me to acclimate to the stretch. Again, 100% not a virgin, but holy shit. There was a slight sting, then immense pressure as he filled me to the limit and then some. The push was so satisfying and filling that it forced me to sigh out all the air in my lungs. He was easily 8 inches and him taking his time gave me the wonderful opportunity to feel every bit of him.

“Fuck…” I was gasping quietly as he slowed to a stop, I couldn’t feel his thighs against my ass which meant he wasn’t even fully in. I hadn’t even realized my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, I looked up to see his eyes closed, brows drawn in concentration, with his mouth slightly open to let out ragged breaths. To say that it was hot would be an understatement. My eyes were focusing and unfocusing as I watched his eyes open. His once ice blue eyes were darker somehow, and his pupils were blown wide. He looked predatory. Suddenly I felt the drag of him pulling out and then the heavy push back in. There was heavy friction that sent sparks of pleasure up my abdomen. It was absolutely amazing. He began moving, pulling out slowly only to push back in with force. It wasn’t anything erratic or rough, but it was firm and precise, like he was doing it on purpose. As much as I loved the slower pace, I was more needy than I realized, so I moved my hips with his. Slowly lifting to match his, he seemed to get the idea, grabbing my hips harshly. His fingers were bound to leave bruises, but I wasn’t opposed to that at all. I wasn’t opposed to any of this, finally having B to myself like this and knowing that I wasn’t totally crazy thinking he would want me like this as well. His movements were harsher, hitting deep and I slowly adjusted to fit him entirely so his thighs brushed against my ass as he moved. It felt absolutely amazing, the slow build of pressure below my abdomen creating a slightly nauseous feeling in my stomach. But that needed fast when he pulled out.

“B? No no please don’t sto-” I was pleading with him, there is no way he could be stopping now, I think I might kill him holy shit.

“Shhh, come’ ere.” He slowly pulled me to my feet and turned me before I could fall, “Is this ok?” I nodded, not entirely sure what he meant but I’d probably agree to anything if it meant he’d continue fucking me. He pressed me forwards till my hips were against the table and on instinct I laid down on top of it, my ass high behind me. His hands immediately grabbed my hips, lifting them off the table and realigning himself with my entrance. My toes barely grazed the ground beneath me and something about not touching the floor while he slowly pushed back into me was intoxicating. It was different, the drag of his cock in me was pressing against the pressure in my abdomen, increasing it greatly. His rhythm became so much harsher, snapping into me with a force that shook the table. I couldn’t do much but whine and try to breathe but every time he push back into me so hard, I heard his thighs hit my ass and felt the table shift, the air was forced from my lungs. Through my own sounds and the sounds of us together, I heard him from behind me, muttering explicatives through gritted teeth and groaning lowly. One of his hands tore away from my hip and I heard fabric moving before his hand hit the table above my head, holding his mask in his fist. His mask…. Oh fuck. He’d taken his mask off. I suddenly felt his forehead against my shoulder, his hair falling and brushing the side of my face. His lips pressed against my shoulder, then moved up my neck as he continued to move inside me. I was stunned. Not only was I beyond thinking with the overwhelming amount of pleasure running through my system, but I couldn’t move past the idea of him removing his mask. But his other hand pulling away from my hips, letting me softly settle on the table again before wrapping around to press his fingers to my clit distracts me, and I’m lost in the feeling again. I let out little moans with every thrust, barely able to keep my breath as the hot tightness between my legs grew worse and worse. His hips move faster, and the pressure is becoming more tangible as I feel a sharp tightening in my hips before an overwhelming release. It’s a confusing mix of tightening and relaxing as my walls contract around him. I try desperately to breathe through it, but my mind falls blank, and I can’t think of anything but the pleasure rocking through my body. B continues to move, slowing his finger on my clit to gently coax me through my high, his thrusts losing rhythm but not force. He kept moving in and out of me, breathing heavily, until he pushed all the way in and stilled. He buried his head in my shoulder, moaning loudly now as my body brought him over the edge, barely moving now. His hips jolted every now and then as he slowly came down from his high, heat flooding my lower body as we both slowly relaxed into each other.

“Mm,” he rubbed his face into my shoulder, “Are you ok?” I nodded slowly, still fuzzy in the head. He chuckled quietly, shifting to kiss my shoulder again. We stayed like that for several minutes, still pressed together, cum dripping between the two of us. Suddenly, with a sharp kiss to my cheek, he pulled out of me. I whined, the rush leaving me with nothing, no energy to move or string a sentence together. I stayed still, acutely aware that he still had his mask off. I may be… very dazed, but I had enough sense to know that if he wasn’t ready for me to see his face then I wouldn’t move until he wanted me to.

“B?” He hummed in response, “your mask?” He was somewhere behind me, and I didn’t have the energy to push myself off the table.

“Do you want me to wear it?” What a loaded question. I respected his privacy, his identity, and the deep-seated secrecy that comes with the job. But I also don’t think I could live without seeing him after this.

“No.” I heard him walking around behind me before a wet washcloth was placed beside me. His hands wrapped around my waist to lift me up. Once again, standing was not an option, but he held me up and turned me to sit back against the table. Looking up, I met his eyes, but now I saw the angular nose that accompanied them, and then his cheekbones, then his lips, and his jawline, and his eyebrows, and- “You…”

“Yeah…” Bruce Wayne. Billionaire, recluse, and... Batman. Of course, he was Batman, of course my Batman was Bruce Wayne, it made so much sense. The same night that had haunted me for weeks suddenly hit me like a truck. ‘He would love you’.

“You said… but if you’re…” He looked so worried, but it was his own fault for ruining any chance I had of a coherent thought.

“Is this ok?”

“Yes! But… that night, at the tower, you said-” He smiled, something he used to do only rarely.

“I know what I said.” But then… that meant…

“Do you?” With a low chuckle he shook his head, bright blue eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Yes. Now lay back.” My eyebrows shot up in excitement.

“Again?” This time he laughed, an actual laugh that was full and deep.

“Later, let me help you first.” I sighed in disappointment but groaned the moment his large hands grabbed my legs. I was still incredibly sensitive and the washcloth, no matter how warm and comforting, still rubbed my sore clit gently causing my body to jolt and shake a little. “I know, I’m sorry.” Once he was done, he gently helped me put my underwear and pants back on. I stood, leaning against him, and he helped me into the tower elevator. “Hey...”

“Hm.” I couldn’t really respond because I was trying to focus on standing rather than falling.

“I love you.”

@wolfie1494 @tumb3ld0wn @projectcampbell @niviiera @dur55 @spidercat

#batman #Battison #batman x y/n #batman x reader #battinson #batman2022 #smut #batmansmut #batman smut

102 notes · View notes

ineffablystupid · 2 years

Text

Okay everyone, we gotta talk about that scene where Crowley considers which star system to run off to.

When I decided to rewatch Good Omens, it was going to be casual–have a couple of laughs and memorize more bits of script–with not much planning or thought going into it.

However, me being me, decided in less than 30 minutes that was not what was to occur. I quickly rewound and started a tally of how many times Aziraphale decided to look Crowley up and down (Which that report is in progress. As of writing this, I’m to the end of episode 3, and there’s been a total of 42 instances. E1 has 13, E2 7, and E3 a grand total of 22), and then started dissecting the actions of characters as I always do. In episode 4, Crowley is seen in his house, trying to figure out where to run off to. In the beginning of the clip, we witness him walk up to his desk and spin the globe sitting on it.

Crowley spins the globe, but he does so gently, and when he stops the sphere from moving his touch is even more delicate. When tipping it out of the stand into his cradled palm, there’s a sense of consideration and caution in the movement, before it gracefully floats in front of him. But then he takes out the book. The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy, to be exact, and pages come flying out to float. However, unlike the globe, these pages somewhat chaotically whirl around, and without a care he plucks them from the air to look at, before tossing them roughly. His grip is firm, grasp sudden, and he’s not nearly as careful with these pictures of star systems. Which seems rather odd. A solid, hefty sphere is being held as though it’s a pricey ceramic vase, only to be contrasted by pieces of paper–the far more sensitive material here–that are roughly manhandled and strewn about.

He talks a bit to himself as he does all this, stating, “Beautiful Nebula, look at that. I helped build that one…” in a wistful–though seemingly mourning or even regretful way–and not even 30 seconds later he tosses the sheet into the air, whirls around, and sags against the side of his ornate chair that may as well be called a throne. He looks up quickly, as though on instinct, and words that can only be described as pained leave his mouth.

It’s abrupt, odd for a demon, but Crowley is trying to send his words to The Almighty. He still has faith, it seems, a rarity amongst the fallen. He even brings that up, stating how he only ever questions: “That's all it took to be a demon in the old days”. This seems important in the sense that he acknowledges that today being a demon entails more; spite, menace, vices, and Armageddon’s beginning. He doesn’t want everything to end, and Crowley throughout everything we’ve seen is a harbinger of nothing more than menacing inconvenience and migraines, despite what he says. Crowley isn’t your typical demon, and he unabashedly says aloud to himself something that boils down to I don’t belong down there, but I don’t belong upstairs either, so where do I fit? He’s not even sure God is listening at that point, but keeps his gaze upwards anyway, continuing to beg.

He nearly begins to ask more questions, even, before stopping himself. Suddenly all his attention is on the humans, and he shoves his own well-being aside, ignoring the questions surely ratting in his brain just as they did before he fell all those millennia ago. His tactic changes, and if he wasn’t begging before he surely is now, reasoning with air. The compassion in which he speaks of humanity brings things into perspective, if you simply remember the globe and the off-handed remark involving that nebula.

He helped sculpt the stars, with gentle hands and loving thoughts before he fell. Crowley doesn’t hold as much passion for them as he once did, it seems, and there’s a sense of self-isolation he instills when he mentions that past. A memory treated akin to an ancient box on the top closet shelf; looked at, but untouched and left alone. It reeks of self-loathing and the thoughts I deserve this, a common theme Crowley shows. He doesn’t deserve to be recognized for his niceties–though is unable to give an explanation as to why–and he no longer cares for his own creations and collaborations now that he’s a being of the occult.

But humans, now that’s where he fits in. He loves the society of Earth, the antics of man and the shifting environment. Earth is what he knows, he's been there since the start, and whether intentional or not, he's likely shaped how humanity is, just a tad. He still has compassion, which is still odd for a demon, and for the most part it's directed at the mortals who are unaware they're on the clock.

That's why he acts the way he does when he first appears in the scene. Perhaps subconsciously, he handles the globe almost reverently because of all the worries he has for the planet, for humanity. He's taken that care once held for creations as an angel and transferred it to something new; unfond of his past. That's likely why he handles the pages so roughly, his aggression and frustration channeled into something he lost and can't quite harm anymore.

Crowley is hurting quite a bit; Aziraphale, the one person he can trust, shoved away his offer of escape, and that only compounds the mess set in front of the viewer. Crowley feels powerless, and we see a vulnerability when he states his thoughts, praying to the only person he feels has power. That desperate draw in the words "Okay, I know you're testing them, you said you were going to be testing them," before his gaze moves away from the ceiling and the heavens above it. "You shouldn't test them to destruction…" he continues, and we see a rare moment of extra vulnerability, his prayer sounding akin to a child begging their parent to do something.

Which, in reality, is all this scenario is. Despite having fallen, despite the supposed "unforgivable" quality of being a demon, he still cries out with what little faith he has left, uncaring of how he's fallen. He doesn't want to lose a place that feels like home, his angel, everything that he cares about. He doesn't want Armageddon, unlike all the other demons. But then, he pauses. He spits the words, "Not to the end of the world," and bats the globe harshly away, the thing flying through the air before hovering right on back to where it was. His face morphs into something of dread, and the scene cuts.

This final bit here is interesting; he lets a bout of anger get the best of him, he attempts to remove his attachment from society it seems, but mere seconds later, he finds himself unable to let go. The globe is the perfect symbol for this, and it helps us visualize that, even if it's only a few seconds of action.

Struggling with his past, his fall, and his assistance in the stars, it's not shocking to see him crumble in such a sudden, rocky way. His friend (cough cough lover cough) left him, so he turns to the only place he can think of. The supposedly all-seeing, loving, forgiving Almighty. But his esteem struggles, and he tosses it all away for society's continuation. He adores Earth, even if he won't admit it, and Crowley finds it impossible to let go. Who can blame him? It’s his home, with his music, and Bentley, the flat, Aziraphale, and so, so many memories. It’s very… special, compared to a job he had before he was tossed from the skies, and even if it’s just a stupid little thing, the globe represents his entire world. Literally. And who would willingly let that slip away? Not Crowley, obviously.

#Dubious Decides to Dissect.#show analysis #good omens #crowley #good omens crowley #That scene with the pages #Episode 4 good omens

60 notes · View notes