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insomniamamma · 8 months ago

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I am going to get this tattoo. If I don't do it before then, this will be my 50th birthday present to myself. I may even incorporate something written in the Prospect machine-read script, IDK, i've got a couple years to settle on a design.

i really kind of hurt my own feelings on this one. Because this Ezra is so perceptive and present and I wish this for myself and everyone reading this. Isn't that what we all wish? To be seen? To not have to pretend for just a little while?

There is something about a smoothly competent man acknowledging his own weaknesses...yeah i need to mainline that shit.

I'm sure Ezra could book us back to back appointments.

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars. “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide-- “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“ A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only. And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you. What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further. And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside. “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide, “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.” “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder, gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain. “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it. “But the deposit—“ “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?” “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents. “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

“That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor. “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“ “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.” “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though. Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“ “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles. “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand. “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them. “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.” “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.” “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“ “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?” Ezra dimples at you. “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“ “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her. “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust. “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone. “Your daughter’s really something.” “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm. “This the orientation you want?” “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“ “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“ “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise. We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.”

Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says. Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either. “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.” “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?” “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil. “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?” “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?” “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“ “I’ve got a room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.” “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.” “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.” “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.” “I’m not scared.” “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“ “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple. “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly. “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.” So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone. “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours. ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever. “The fireweed—“ “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.” “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.” “Yeah? What do you think?” “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.” “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm. “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’ “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.” “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws. “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?” “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all. “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.” “Well you know what they say about assuming—“ “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so. “What’s your favorite?” “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape. “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot. “Ankylosaurus.” he says. “Really?” “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell. “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down. “You okay, darlin?” “Stood up too fast.” “Apple or orange?” “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice. “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same. Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.” “I thought I’d be okay-“ “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet, “That’s Laika,” you say. “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was. “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile. “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain. “So what got you here?” asks Ezra. “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“ “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful. “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown. “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away. “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“ “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“ “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough. “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.” “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms. “Cicadas?” “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.” “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say. “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

“The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase. “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.” “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“ “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples. “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,” “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

#Adira!!!!!!!#I made up this asshole and then fell madly in love with him #every day i wake up and tattoo artist!ezra isn't real #secretsprings #secret springs fic challenge #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra and cee

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multisaku-rarepair-cove · 2 days ago

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Results of our first Collab Challenge in the discord server!

We spun different wheels for Sakura ships (Top 20 Cove Rarepairs, Ultra Rarepairs [less than 10 total results on AO3], and WLW Sakura Rarepairs) and were randomly assigned a prompt

Artists: @hallous, @arichii98, @princessxgarbage, @kankuroplease, @ionahazuki, @mayskalih, @artofmintea, @slinkyagogo, @frostmarris

The art pieces were 3 Artists Challenges (different sketch, line, and color artist per oiece, randomly decided via wheel), but we also had some writers join in with wheel spins! Links below; check them out!

[Zabuza/Sakura]

◇ prompt: ANBU AU

◇ writer: @sakuradeservedbetter91

Link!

[Sai/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Captivity

◇ writer: @tifarhapsodos

Link!

[Mei/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Kage AU

◇ writer: @bluemingqueen

Link!

[Choza/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Arranged Marriage

◇ writer: @munchbell45

Link!

[Genma/Sakura] (BONUS fic!)

◇ prompt: Angels & Demons

◇ writer: @tifarhapsodos

Link!

[Artist breakdown + prompts below the cut!]

[Cee/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Fantasy AU

◇ sketch: Hallous

◇ lines: Arichii98

◇ color: Princessxgarbage

[Hidan/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Lost Heir

◇ sketch: Kankuroplease

◇ lines: IonaHazuki

◇ color: Mayskalih

[Neji/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Mafia

◇ sketch: Arichii98

◇ lines: Princessxgarbage

◇ color: Artofmintea

[Kaguya/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Jinchuuriki!Sakura

◇ sketch: Slinkyagogo

◇ lines: Kankuroplease

◇ color: Hallous

[Yugito/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Masquerade

◇ sketch: Artofmintea

◇ lines: Mayskalih

◇ color: Kankuroplease

[Konan/Sakura]

◇ Goddess + Knight (artist's choice)

◇ sketch: IonaHazuki

◇ lines: Slinkyagogo

◇ color: Frostmarris

[Yugao/Sakura]

◇ prompt: 1920s

◇ sketch: Mayskalih

◇ lines: Frostmarris

◇ color: Slinkyagogo

[Haku/Sakura]

◇ Vampire AU (artist's choice)

◇ sketch: Princessxgarbage

◇ lines: Artofmintea

◇ color: Arichii98

[Ibiki/Sakura]

◇ prompt: Spring Court | Fae AU

◇ sketch: Frostmarris

◇ lines: Hallous

◇ color: IonaHazuki

#multisaku #sakura rarepairs #sakura haruno #ceesaku #HidaSaku #nejisaku #kagusaku #yugisaku #konansaku #yugaosaku #hakusaku #ibikisaku #cove events #multisaku rarepair discord server #member art #member fic

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johnnyslittleanimalblog · 3 months ago

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Soes's Spring by Cees Via Flickr: old English sheepdog Soes

#spring #lente #keukenhof #dog #oldenglishsheepdog #oes #bobtail #flowers #yellow #flickr

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disneytva · 3 months ago

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Disney Channel CEE unveiled a new promo showcasing their premieres for the Spring with Kiff and Miraculous Ladybug.

The promo has new footage for the next Big City Greens episodes!

#Big City Greens #BCG #Shane Houghton #Chris Houghton #Disney Channel

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 10 months ago

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Four Names

A microfic written for Day 5 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Matchmaker, Matchmaker - a little push for our stubborn duo!

680 words

Rated G

Albus Dumbledore has an important choice to make...

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Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, staring at the list in front of him. Four names, from which to make his choice. One by one, he considered them carefully.

Remus Lupin had the character, certainly, but Albus couldn’t help thinking that Remus had enough on his plate, what with managing the effects of the lunar cycle on his health on top of his N.E.W.T. workload. At times, Albus wondered whether his choice of Remus as a prefect had been too much; this would certainly be a step too far.

Next, William Foster, of Hufflepuff. Albus made his decision quickly, though with more than a little regret. William would make an excellent Head Boy, but choosing a second muggleborn Head Student was more of a statement than he wanted to make, given the current political climate.

Jonathan Corner wasn’t really a contender either. He was competent, efficient and (clearly, as the Ravenclaw prefect) extremely intelligent, but he was unfortunately somewhat abrasive, and lacking in the leadership qualities that Albus felt were so important in the role.

That only left Josiah Carrow. None of Albus’s other objections applied to the Slytherin prefect - he didn’t have any health issues to consider, his pureblood status would satisfy the need for balance, and he was certainly the most natural leader of the group. Josiah was the obvious choice - and yet Albus hesitated.

The problem was that Albus wasn’t supposed to know about the Carrow family’s close links to Tom Riddle. He wasn’t supposed to know that young Josiah had already been introduced to his inner circle. And he certainly wasn't supposed to know that Josiah would be taking the Dark Mark at a ceremony scheduled for some time in August, and would be a Death Eater himself by the time he returned to school in September. No, he wasn’t supposed to know any of it - but thanks to the latest intelligence received by the Order of the Phoenix, he did. And he couldn’t in all conscience pair his stand-out pick of a Head Girl, Lily Evans, with an actual Death Eater of a Head Boy.

So - what to do? Albus tapped his quill on the parchment thoughtfully, considering his options. He’d never chosen a head student from outside of his prefect group before, but perhaps, for once, it might be his best option. Was there someone else that would fit the bill? Someone who thrived on more responsibility, not less. A pureblood who wasn’t a blood fanatic. A charismatic and popular leader. When Albus thought about it like that, one name in particular suggested itself immediately; James Potter.

Lily, of course, might have an entirely different set of objections to James as her Head Boy than she would if Albus were to appoint Josiah Carrow. Albus probably wasn’t supposed to know about that either, but wasn’t blind, and nor was he as unaware of the… less academic aspects of his student’s lives as many would have suspected.

He’d seen their relationship change over the years, from indifference to antagonism and finally blossoming into friendship. Over the spring term, he’d noted the lingering gazes and sudden blushes and he’d wondered if he would soon hear murmurs that spring’s blossom had become summer’s blooms - but it hadn’t happened, not yet.

Albus would never, of course, appoint a pair of Head Students if he wasn’t totally confident that they were up to the job, but neither was he averse to finessing his selection if offered… other possible advantages. He generally kept it very well hidden, but the fact was that Albus Dumbledore was a hopeless romantic, and in this case, he couldn’t help but wonder if throwing the pair of them together in this way might not provide just the little push they needed. The more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face. Decision made, he selected a fresh sheet or parchment, and began to write.

Dear James, Congratulations on your appointment to the position of Hogwarts Head Boy! Please find enclosed your badge…

#jily week 2024 #jily #james potter #lily evans #jple #albus dumbledore

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delinnquentt · 3 months ago

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recently I got a little too nerdy and I was bored so I made a hypothetical hero billboard chat of UK. This is just for funzies. I also made up their quirks

1. The Doctor

quick fix- allows him to troubleshoot, find quick solutions to problems, determining the most effective way to handle a given situation.

(I don’t like this tbh, I’ll come up with something better later)

2. Adele

Harmonic construction- her singing can solidify creating objects like weapons or barriers (like the voice thickener gadget from doraemon)

3. Ed Sheeran

orange jucie- manipulation of citrus based substances can attack ppl with corrosive acids/ boost his own performance w/ vitamin rich secretions

4. Emma Watson

Spiral Guns- her hair springs into coils when storing kinetic energy which can be released as bursts of energy

5. Cee Chyna

deception- allows her to secrete a gas from her skin which causes people to hallucinate and open to becoming more obedient.

6. Count Binface

Bin- he’s a bin lol can trap people in his infinite black hole bin void. (Hey! He kind of reminds me of Space Hero: Thirteen)

7. Free Science Man

Atomic rearrangement - can create completely new materials/compounds from original material.

8. Jack Whitehall

Tik tik- allows him to control time in a limited area.

9. Central Cee

Centre of gravity- can manipulate the centre of gravity of objects and people making them unstable.

10. Niko (he would somehow make his way up to top 10 idc)

Maximum confidence- when he is truly confident he can do something, he can actually do it.

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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kentocee · 1 year ago

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So Anxious • Gojo x Fem!reader • (18+)

CW: smut( sexting, nudes, dirty talk, masturbation, gojo being unnecessarily horny for reader, impatient!gojo), slight humor bc gojo is VERY unserious 😭

Cee’s Note: I heard this song on tik tok and it instantly reminded me of Gojo (don’t ask) but I hope y’all enjoy

Song inspo: So anxious by Genuwine

[Minors do NOT interact; explicit content ahead]

Satoru: Babe

Y/N: Yes?

Satoru: come thru ;)

**Delivered**

It was embarrassing the amount of times Gojo checked his messages to see if you responded to him.

Granted it only was a couple minutes but with his growing erection tightening his pants, his patience was running thin.

He knew you were at work but he was hoping you would be out already to help him with his little…problem.

Suddenly he noticed his phone lit up due to a notification and he nearly dropped his phone, fumbling to unlock it.

***

Y/N: im at work but I should be there in 30

Satoru: seconds? :D

Y/N: …

Y/N: minutes -.-

Satoru: :(

Satoru: :((

Satoru: thats too looooong :(((

Y/N: BYE! Ur so dramatic lmaoo

Y/N: ill be there before u kno it

Y/N: and then im all yours tonight ;)

Satoru: but I have a bit of a problem…

***

The tightness was becoming unbearable to the point where his print was visibly showing through his sweatpants. Suddenly it was as if a lightbulb appeared above his head.

***

Satoru: *image attachment*

Satoru: u see my dilemma

Y/N: OH

Y/N: O.O

Y/N: that’s a BIG problem alright

Y/N: it might be too much for me to handle

***

You were such a tease. Acting all innocent as if Gojo hasn’t had you folded like a pretzel on many occasions. But this was usually how it started. You feigned innocence and next thing you know Gojo would end up sending detailed messages on how exactly he planned to fuck you later on.

He knew this all too well, yet here he was falling for it yet again. Usually he was the one doing the teasing but the times when he was needy you were quick to seize the opportunity.

***

Satoru: my baby can handle it ;)

Y/N: and what if it doesn’t fit

Satoru: oh imma make it fit

Satoru: and u gonna take it like a good girl

Satoru: u gonna be a good girl for me?

Y/N: yes baby only for u ;)

***

“Sh-shit” Gojo groaned through gritted teeth, palming himself under his sweatpants.

The thought of him stretching your tight pussy to fit his size made his dick twitch subconsciously. He can just imagine the way your mouth would hang open and eyes widen as he bottoms out inside you. He can just imagine all the whines and moans through your pretty lips you make on his dick.

***

Y/N: how u want me to take it?

Satoru: want ur arms and legs around me

Satoru: want u so close to me

Satoru: wanna see ur pretty face wen I fuck u

Y/N: mmm can’t wait ;)

Satoru: i cant either

Satoru: need u so bad rn baby

Satoru: need to feel u

Satoru: need to hear your pretty moans in my ear

**Delivered**

All this dirty talk was just making him hornier by the second and he didn’t think he could wait much longer.

After a couple minutes, Gojo was once again checking his phone, anxiously waiting for your response. The longer he waited for your responses the more anxious he was getting.

After five minutes and no response, he knew you were still teasing him. Got him riled up and left him high and dry.

Oh how cruel.

His eyes wandered to the time almost as if it would go faster the longer he gazed at it.

“Fuck it”

Gojo slipped down his sweatpants and briefs, his cock springing out, bobbing slightly.

He closed his eyes and imagined his fist was your wet pussy. He started stroking himself at a desperate pace, trying to release what he’s been holding for what felt like hours.

The sounds of his low moans and wet sounds filled the air as he continued to chase his pleasure.

Just when he could feel himself reaching close, he heard a door opening from outside his room.

“Babe! I’m home”

Oh shit.

Gojo practically fell out his bed trying to pull his underwear and sweatpants back on.

When he finally made it out his room, he found you by the front door hanging your coat up and taking your shoes off.

“There you are! I told you I’d be home before y- TORU!”

Gojo had scooped you up and brought you over his shoulder, having your ass next to his head as your body dangled behind him.

Gojo brought his hand up and smacked your ass, “That’s for leaving me hanging earlier”

“I dunno what you mean”

He couldn’t see it but he knew you were smirking behind him. Oh you were gonna be in for it.

With that, Gojo ran to his bedroom with you over his shoulder. He was bout to make his imagination a reality.

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lawsvalentine · 2 years ago

Note

Hii idk i saw u write for usopp so I had to 🏃🏾‍♀️. Can I please request a usopp smut where y/n likes him a lot but is conflict bc of him and Kaya but usopp also wants her. But after a emotional fight between they make love

I Like-Like You •Usopp x Fem!reader • (18+)

Live-Action!Usopp

CW: slight angst, jealous!reader, clueless!Usopp, kissing, implied sexual content

Cee’s Note: AHHHH ty for requesting LA!Usopp! He is so damn fineee 😮‍💨 i hope you like this and sorry this took so long. Also I didn’t go full smut bc I didn’t want to rush it sorry

[minors do NOT interact; explicit content ahead]

“So there I was….”

Usopp pauses for dramatic effect, “Surrounded!” He suddenly springs out of his seat, hands spread out in front of him, slowly backing away.

You and the rest of the crew were gathered on the deck, entertaining Usopp’s made up stories. Despite his stories being so outrageous and ridiculous, you couldn’t help but to find it endearing the way he gets so expressive when he tells them.

As Usopp continued reenacting the battle he never fought, your concentration started to waver as your eyes wandered to the way his physique moved from under his suspenders. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so his broad shoulders and biceps would unintentionally flex as he moves around.

‘Damn, he’s fine as hell’ you thought as you not so subtly checked him out.

But as soon as that thought came, you shook it out of your head. No point in those thoughts when he is clearly in love with Kaya. The thought of her immediately frustrated you. You joined the crew after Sanji so you were not present for the events that happened in Syrup Village, but you heard plenty about the “kiss” Usopp and Kaya shared.

You have had a crush on Usopp since you first met him, so when you first heard about the kiss, your heart shattered at the thought of him kissing someone else.

Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to be sociable with the crew anymore. You stood out of your seat, catching the attention of your crewmates.

“Y/N, wait, I’m just getting to the good part!” Usopp exclaims excitedly.

“Sorry, I’m not feeling so well. Maybe later, Usopp”

You don’t miss the disappointment in Usopp’s face at your words.

“Would you like some tea, Y/N? I’ll be sure to make it nice and hot just like you,” Sanji winks.

Zoro groans, “That’s your worst one yet, waiter”

The two start bickering and that was your queue to head towards the sleeping quarters.

You tried sleeping your sorrows away but to no avail. A few moments past and you hear a knock at the door. You call for them come in as you stood from the bed. The door opens slightly and the cute dread-head pokes his head through the crease. He has his usual dopey smile on his face that made you feel butterflies every time.

“Hey Y/N, I know you said you weren’t in the mood for stories but I promise they will cheer you up! It always worked for Kaya,” Usopp said excitedly as he shut the door behind him.

Your face fell at the mention of her name and suddenly you felt yourself feeling aggravated that he brought her up.

“Well, I’m not Kaya,” you snapped.

Your tone caught Usopp off guard and his dopey smile was soon replaced with a frown.

“I never said you were…” Usopp said, confusion written on his face, “I was just trying to help, what’s your problem?”

You scoffed, “My PROBLEM is you always bringing her up. Kaya this! Kaya that! You won’t shut up about her!”

Ok you were definitely trippin, but you didn’t care at this point. You couldn’t take this anymore.

Usopp blinked, “So you’re mad….that I talk about Kaya?”

You groan in frustration, you swear you might have to spell it out for him.

“I don’t wanna hear about little miss perfect whom you grew up with, alright,” you swallow the lump in your throat. This is was getting too much for you.

“Ok but why-“

“BECAUSE I LIKE YOU ALRIGHT!” you confessed.

Next thing you knew, you started to word vomit everything you have been holding in since you met him.

“I like you and not just as a friend, I like-like you! It just hurts every time you mention her because, I’m reminded that you two have known each other since you were kids and you two kissed and I dunno how to compete with that. But whatever, you probably don’t feel the same way, I get it! Just forget I even…mmph”

Your words were cut off by Usopp’s lips smashing against yours. Your hands flew up in shock and you stood frozen as his plump lips moved against yours. With the feeling of his hands gripping your waist slightly and his soft lips against yours, you finally allowed yourself to melt into the kiss. Your arms snaking around his neck as he slightly lifts you, laying your back against the bed, him following on top. You feel his tongue trace your bottom lip for access which you grant him. A soft moan escapes your lips as his tongue grazes yours.

After a few moments, you break the kiss to catch your breath.

“Usopp?” You were still shocked by Usopp’s bold move.

His shyly smiled at your expression, “I like-like you too, Y/N”

“But what about-“

“Yes I did have feelings for Kaya but I can’t deny what I feel for you,” Usopp confessed.

You blinked, still skeptical if this was real or maybe just another one of his lies.

“How will I know if you’re being serious?”

He smirked and slightly rolled his hips against yours, feeling his hard on through his jeans.

“Let me show you”

Cee’s note: part 2 with smut? 👀

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hearta54 · 1 month ago

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Iterations of You and Cench (Central Cee x Reader)

Summary: You go for a day of shopping in Camden's vibrant markets and record stores, you serendipitously meet Cench. The way the day uncoils means you yearn for more iterations of you and him.

Word Count: 1 600

Notes: This was requested by an anonymous user

You were walking down a bustling street in Camden and couldn't help but allow your eyes to wander over the jewellery. The markets a medley of bright colours caught your eye, the silver bracelets with its embossed designs transfixed you. Tentatively you raised a finger and traced it gently over the floral designs, stopping at the base of the petals and admiring the complexity of the design. You thought you should pivot and and compliment the store owner's craftsmanship.

A canopy of sheets in an intricate pashmina design draped over the jewellery stand and draped over her display cascading with motility in the Spring breeze, your skirt was swept in the gusts of wind.

The jewellery was embossed to imitate the flowers the lady has garnered inspiration from. Across the tables that were adjacent to each other there were other bracelets, pendulating in size as you moved your eyes across the display. In your periphery was jewellery strewn over necklace racks, the necklaces have pendants in deep reds, and ultramarine blue. Your eyes are bewitched by the emerald pendants that whisper to your consumerist tendencies. It’s a disposition you evade as you glance at the ring with a wide band, and detailed etches along its face.

“How much is it?” You ask smiling at the lady who is organising her stand for the commotion of the mid-afternoon rush.

“£20” pounds, she says.

You watch her calculatedly, trying to appraise the jewellery for yourself, it seemed as if it fade if it would fade if touched by a perspiring hand. The lady busied herself while you decided to compare the signet ring and the pendant necklace, you were intrigued by the alluring nature of the necklace. It was transparently obvious that the necklace had ubiquitous purpose and had so much utility, but, the ring was going to accordion with your outfits and was imbued with your personality.

“Thank you, I’ll take the ring please?”

“I knew you would,” they both erupted into laughter. The laughter reverberated and filled the expanse of the market, it was a medley of sounds. You were intrigued by all the market's stalls, but you magnestised towards the record store with its assortment of records and the decades of music you enveloped yourself with when you placed on your headphones in between stalls.

Slowly you approached the mirror fixing your skirt, it was ruched from the waist line and layered in between the gentle pleats of the skirt. If it was given a technical description it would be a handkerchief skirt, you had stitched it yourself and had allowed your hands to grapple with the sewing machine for hours. Your hands were strong yet subtle from hours of earnest work, your gaze adhering to the straight and zigzag stitch of the sewing machine. The curvature of the hem and the way that it extended towards the ground at the edges of the hemline was novel, you had not seen many of those before. You looked around before crossing the street, the eye catching outfits were innumerable. It was not an impervious skirt and anxious that it may be trailed along the puddled road as you crossed you bunched the material to quickly scurry across the road. The record store was geometrical, there were bricked cubes protruding from the building, the disparity between the other shops was starkly noticeable. You saunter into the store and glimpse records that are complementary to your headphones, there she goes again plays in your headphones and you start to look for the Andy Warhol record by The Velvet Underground. You reach for the record and glance the ivory cover and iconic banana and reach for the vinyl. Transcending the store you continue your search wonder struck by the organised clutter of the store, there is little room to meander. Each crevice and shelf is filled with a record or a CD, in the centre lies a carved statue player gifted by a revered local artist, you go to pick a CD, playing a game you have a deep affection for: Opening your eyes you regard a Fugazi CD for a second and are astonished at your prosperous luck.

Elated with the CDs and vinyl you had procured you walk languorously towards the counter. An old man stood behind a pile of new CDs he was formulating their barcodes and methodically serialising each record as he removed them from the trail of boxes. His shirt was buttoned with stripes that alternated between burnt orange and sea green, a curious combo, but fashionable nevertheless. That’s what you admired about the shopping you did in you area, no one was scared to be avante-garde or seeming ‘out of style’ there was novelty to be beheld each time the eye wandered.

Side-glancing the entrance to ensure that you were able to seamlessly exit without toppling any items in the cluttered store you noticed a man dressed differently. Not differently in the way you usually appreciated, or different in an accessory or an excessive layer that would be complementary. He was wearing a puffer jacket with a popularised insignia on the back between where each shoulder would be. His puffer enveloped him revealing a tracksuit she recognised from her insta feed as ‘Chrome Hearts,’ it was a interesting assemblage of clothes considering the spring heat. In spite of this you appreciated the rhinestones and bedazzlement of his outfit, it was a welcomed juxtaposition.

“Hi,”

He opened his mouth and you realised that the dazzling silver details matched his grills. They encased the edges of his canine tooth on the upper row, the face left virtually bare. Amused you thought out loud:

“Even your grills supplement your outfit,” stopping yourself you batted your eyelids in awestruck shock of the words that had escaped your lips.

“Wow, miss, your direct, huh” he lets his signatory laugh fill the small space that you occupy together.

The man at the counter clears his throat declaring the brevity that constituted waiting in a line. You watch, intrigued as the guy in front of you whose name eludes you pays with his Amex, you mentally compartmentalise this but also mentally discard the observation: It was London, wealth was not rare, there was semblances of it on nearly every street, besides it was only this morning that you had seen a woman with a stack of designer bracelets on her wrist, it was not a new feat to you.

Outside you sit on a desolate park bench and gather all your belongs, you unwrap the muffin you bought earlier in the day. It's decadent flavours overwhelm you and you savour each bite.

You feel a figure behind you it is like static, curiously you turn your head, reluctant to remove your teeth from the delicious chocolate muffin you acquiesced to turning wholly around. Its the man from the record store, slowly your cheeks begin to warm, suddenly your flustered by his presence.

"I saw you buy that Fugazi CD, it seems that we have similar music taste,"

"Yeah, 13 songs?"

You enter an earnest discussion about the album and your pleasantly surprised about his know-how of the bands larger discography. Soon you are imitating the smile on his lips and you two talk boundlessly unaware of the time that has elapsed.

"Maybe we should have a shared playlist," you suggest with no inhibition.

Your dialogue begins to illuminate your mutual love of photography, food, and vintage fashion stores.

You notice a girl in the periphery stride towards him and your befuddled by them.

"Oh my God, Cench," they exclaim with little care for the eyes which look at them exasperated and confused.

The name that the girl said enlightens you of just who you have been speaking with for the vast early evening. It was Central Cee you think to yourself, you had heard his name be announced several times on the radio and had saved several songs of his to your playlist. You would never has guessed that his taste would ever include Fugazi and other bands and artist you cherished. It was a reminder that people's own personal artistry did not always serve as a testament to their taste.

You watch as who you now know as Cench smiles enigmatically and laughs at the girls jokes.

"...you know, you can find more posters at this place, I've been before and can attest to their quality, they even have ones of my music there,"

She takes the pamphlet and walks away, looking momentarily over her shoulder to grace him with an appreciative smile. It's a jarring feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, but swiftly you admonish yourself, you cannot be jealous over a guy you have known for less than one rise and set of the sun.

The trance your in is ruptured when Cench takes your hand and you are running through sprinklers. You are overjoyed to have your rumination be disrupted by the impromptu prancing through the sprinklers.

You notice that he has a marker pen protruding from his pocket and you quickly scrawl your number on his forearm, you want to have an iteration of such a day soon. You face him and you understand his smile, slowly you turn to him and and you notice that he has a smile that eclipses you with shyness.

...

The waiter places plates of food upon the table, the plates are steaming and you salivate looking at the ambrosial spread before you.

"Do you rate the munch?"

You laugh mirthfully and glimpse uninterrupted by blinks. You want many more iterations of this.

#fanfic #fluffy #romance #writers on tumblr #x reader #one shot #fluff #central x you #central cee fan fic

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bots-and-cons · 2 months ago

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Riab AU, part 4

A/N: I kinda forgot about this for a while since I've been so stressed, but I wanted to get back to it. I just finished my last mandatory school assignment for this spring, but I still have the voluntary course that I want to finish, but I'm trying not to put too much pressure on myself about that. Part 1 here, part 2 here and part 3 here. Also on a side note, totally not relating to this fic series or anything, do you guys know that thing when things get really good before they get really bad…

Arcee wasn't sure what to tell Optimus and the others about what had transpired with you. She wiped the side of her throat with her fingers, and noticed a drop of energon on one of her digits. She hadn't even noticed you had hurt her. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, and it irritated her to no end. Maybe Ratchet could do something, maybe he could somehow reverse the effect that Airachnid had on you. There had to be something, there had to be something someone could do. She was marching towards the main room of the base, as she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. If she hadn't pushed you away, if she had listened instead of just ignoring you, maybe things wouldn't have turned out like this

You were just sitting on your berth, looking down at your hands. What were you doing just a moment ago? Why had you been holding Arcee against the wall?

"What's wrong with me?" you muttered, staring at your hands, there was just a tiny bit of energon dripping from the tip of one of your claws.

"There's nothing wrong with you, with us. It's her that's wrong" the comforting voice came again.

"But I hurt her" you muttered, sounding bewildered.

"She hurt you first" the voice whispered, trying to justify your actions to you.

"That doesn't make it right"

It was like a kind of clarity had come over you the moment you had noticed the energon on the tip of your claw. A fog had lifted from your mind and as you looked back at the last few weeks. Maybe Arcee was right, maybe you hadn't been yourself.

Airachnid had slowly been solidifying her grip on your psyche the last few weeks, ever since you were rejected by Arcee. You'd started talking to her, answering her out loud. By Primus, the autobots must have thought you were going mad. She wasn't exactly displeased by that, the more they left you alone, the more they ignored you, the more you listened to her, the more control she gained. However, as she had finally managed to stain your hands with energon, even if it was a negligible amount, you had clearly pulled yourself back to the surface. You weren't falling under her control anymore, not as much at least. You could clearly still hear her, but now you were arguing back, you weren't just submitting anymore.

Arcee went to Ratchet, to tell him what had happened, but she couldn't get the words out of her mouth. Even if she could have, she didn't get the chance, as Ratchet noticed the fresh cut on the side of her throat.

"Was it (Name)?" Ratchet asked with a grave tone.

"I don't think there's much of them left in there. I think Airachnid's wormed her way in" Arcee said as Ratchet welded the small cut shut.

"I feared this might happen" Ratchet sighed.

"And you didn't say anything!? It's been weeks, and you've just been watching from the sidelines as they deteriorate!" Arcee exploded at Ratchet's confession.

"There's not exactly any research material on this topic, there wasn't anything I could do" Ratchet said in a defensive tone.

"Arcee?" a voice suddenly came from behind her, your voice, or at least something resembling it.

She whipped around, clearly on guard against you, but when she saw you, there was something different about you. You were crying.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I won't call you "Cee" ever again, just don't hate me. I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear. She's just in my head and I don't know what to do" you sobbed.

Arcee just looked at you for a while as you leaned against the wall, crying and muttering something she couldn't make out. Your optics weren't that harsh shade of magenta they had been before as you'd threatened her. They were a lighter color now, not as intense, as if your tears had watered down the color of your optics as well.

Your knees finally stopped holding you up and as you fell and closed your eyes, you hoped you'd never have to open them again. Instead of you hitting the cold, hard floor, you felt someone catching you and a pair of familiar arms wrapped around you.

It still wasn't easy. Arcee didn't exactly like the idea of holding you in her arms in the form you were in now, but what else she could do. If you had really come back to her, even for just a moment, she needed to hold you. She needed to apologize for ignoring you and being so horrible towards you.

"I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean it. She's making me do and say things I don't mean" you sobbed as you wrapped your arms around her as well.

You could feel Arcee tense up for a moment as you embraced her, but she didn't let go of you. You just held each other, until your sobs subsided, and you could stand on your own two feet again.

"It's going to be okay" Arcee promised.

You just nodded and wiped the last of your tears off your cheeks.

Airachnid knew all it took was time. You hadn't escaped her yet, even if you'd managed to swim your way to the surface and were in control again, she knew it was only a matter of time before you started listening to her again. Even if Arcee had your heart now, Airachnid swore she would take it for herself. Your heart and the rest of you would be hers. She would regain control.

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #maccadam #autobots #arcee #airachnid #tfp scenarios #reader insert #transformers x reader #tfp x reader #transformers angst #riab au

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gisellelx · 8 months ago

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Cullen vs. Cullen

Been working seriously on One Day the Sun Will Rise and for some reason, I really needed to see this scene in my head. This is a teaser of a one-shot, set in between the events of Ithaca Is Gorges before it goes AU at chapter 14/15, and about a year before the beginning of One Day.

Mineral, Virginia Early spring 2011

The doorbell startled him.

The house wasn’t even so much a house as it was a cabin. Tucked up in the mountains; four bedrooms, two irrelevant bathrooms. It was remote; the actual property was just over two hundred acres, but 98there were nearly two thousand more undeveloped around them. Edward had joked that they had finally bought a refrigerator, what with the abundant deer and elk and bear nearby. It was entirely remote; when he had been working, Carlisle had traveled nearly ninety minutes by car to the small town of Mineral. Living here again, he hadn’t seen a human in months.

They had been absolutely on top of one another as a family of seven here, but it had been a last-minute move from Calgary sixty years earlier and there had been only so much Carlisle had been able to do. He was thinking of the bickering, the way the girls argued over space in front of the mirror, the walls that Esme was constantly repairing as Jasper and Emmett got into play-tussles they refused to take outside, when he opened the door. And even though his mind had been on the rest of the family, it still took him just a hairsbreadth of a second longer than it should have to make sense of the person on his stoop.

Well, that and that it had been five years.

He greeted the man with silence, and Jasper only raised his eyebrows.

“Carlisle Cullen?” he said.

“Not the name I’m using at the moment, actually. “

An eyeroll. “But it’s one you have.”

“At one point in my life, yes.”

“Allow me to specify. You are the person who used the alias Carlisle Cullen IV, date of birth listed as the fourth of May, nineteen seventy-two?”

He didn’t like changing the actual day of his birth. But doing so had been advised by no less than Jasper himself, as the number was increasingly used as a substitute identifier. One child being born on his father or grandfather’s birthday was a sweet coincidence, too many February seventeenths was statistically improbable. He’d picked this recent one as an homage to the new Star Wars movie, though in the end, Hayden Christiansen had delivered a rather insipid performance.

Even more reason to drop it, he supposed.

“Jasper—”

He found himself cut off. “Carlisle, knock it off. I’m doing a job I don’t want to do. Will you please confirm that? Aloud?”

It was an expression Carlisle wasn’t used to seeing on Jasper’s face. Resolve, yes. Compassion, yes. Annoyance, usually with Edward? Yes.

But not this. Jasper’s eyes looked pained. Weary.

Carlisle couldn’t blame him. It had been a long five years.

“Yes, I’m that Carlisle Cullen,” he replied.

“Thank you.” Jasper held out a legal-sized manila envelope. “This is for you.”

Carlisle took it, flipping open the top. He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, and glanced at the top of the first page.

IN THE SUPERIOR COURT OF CAYUGA COUNTY STATE OF NEW YORK Esme Anne Platt Cullen, plaintiff vs. W. Carlisle Cullen IV, defendant

He looked back up. Jasper’s arms were crossed over his chest.

“She’s serving me.”

A shake of the head. “She’s divorcing you. I’m serving you.” He gestured to the envelope, his arms still crossed. “Everything you need is in there. You have thirty days to respond or file countersuit.”

He didn’t want one suit, much less two. Carlisle leafed through the envelope at full speed. Everything was documented. The houses were in there, the hedge fund, CEE Inc, right down to the two and a half years of “our finances should look like a normal couple’s” 401(k) savings as an employee of Clallam County , WA.

He looked up when he reached the end. “Who prepared this?”

“Jenks.” Jasper shrugged. “Everything is mostly down the middle, but with a few carve outs, so you should read it.”

Carlisle shook his head. “I’m the one who left. I told her she could have everything.”

Jasper shrugged. “Pretty sure that if she could, she would be completely rid of you; but as it happens, she actually owes you alimony for this current marriage, seeing as 'Carlisle' hasn't bothered working for the last half decade.” Jasper pulled several pages out of the envelope. “You’ll need to have a bank account she can deposit to. So you’ll need to have your old identity in parallel for at least six years.”

Six years. Longer than he wanted to stay connected.

“What if I just made that guy…disappear?”

Jasper’s brow furrowed. “Are you somehow under the impression that more people being dead is helpful, here? Even fictionally?”

It was fair, he supposed. He stepped back into the door frame. “Do you want to come in?”

He shook his head. “I really don’t think I should.”

“Did Alice come with you?”

“Yes, but she stayed in Charlottesville. Better shopping. And she doesn’t want to get near you and—well, you know.”

He knew. He’d asked Alice to stay out of his business. It worked some of the time. Others—well, there was a reason her calls were directed to voicemail.

He turned the envelope over in his hands.

“Well. Thanks, I guess.”

Jasper shrugged. Neither of them were very big on hugging each other at the very best of times and this was not that. Gesturing to the envelope, he said, “Thirty days. FedEx is fine. I assume you’re not going to contest it.” He turned and began to walk away, at human speed. But he made it no further than the bottom of the steps when he turned around, frowning.

“Carlisle, I just need to know something.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”

Jasper looked from the envelope, to the house, to Carlisle. He frowned again, that exhausted expression returning to his face.

“Just…are you certain you’ve done the right thing, here?”

The wind was still whipping, making the trees creak and the sunlight shift across them. Carlisle had always liked that about the woods; how even in silence it was never quiet, a tiny reminder that standing still, by himself, he wasn’t ever fully alone. He looked back at the house. It needed fixing up. It would be stressful to do that without Esme, but he wasn’t exactly not handy, and he still liked the feel of a saw in his hands. He’d stay here for a few years, maybe, then pursue something new, re-setting to an older version of himself that he thought he’d left behind forever on that cold October night in 1918. But he was used to that self, and there was a certain aspect of this that felt….normal. That even in his grief, felt as though he was coming back to a strange forgotten familiarity.

Slowly, he nodded. “Most days? Yes. Some days, less so.”

Jasper’s frowned deepened, but bobbed his head slowly. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it. But…godspeed, Carlisle. I’ll see you again someday, I’m sure.” And then he was gone, the wind at his back rustling the trees, flashes of dappled light that disappeared as he fled into the lower canopy. Carlisle listened and watched until the forest was once again still.

When the wind died, and the sound of his—son? Former son? How did he even talk about this?—disappeared into the forest, Carlisle pulled out the sheaf of papers again. A lump rose in his throat and he gulped, tamping it back down, pressing all the feelings that were rising back into their places. Edward. Esme. Everyone who had been. And everyone who was gone.

Closing the door the door behind him, he laid the papers on the dining room table, seeing again the words at the top:

Esme Anne Platt Cullen, plaintiff

Today, he realized, was going to be a “less so” kind of day.

#carlisle cullen #my fic #teasers #one day the sun will rise

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