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thelastofhyde · 3 months

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ii. santorini.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. tensions are high as you and joel spend your first day together exploring the popular island of santorini. back on the boat, joel gets a glimpse at more than he bargained for. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. mild smut ( female masturbation, mentions of oral sex + piv sex ), bickering, alcohol, mild angst, so much cheese it'll turn you lactose intolerant!! btw joel hates santorini and he makes that known, but none of his opinions reflect my own ( please don't be mean to me over things characters say <33 ) word count. 7.9k hyde’s input. the majority of this chapter was written with a mixture of medicine flowing through my veins, it's a miracle it's even intelligible. apologies for the wait, the holidays and health issues got in the way <3 as always, i hope you enjoy, comments an dreblogs are always appreciated !! previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

It is a known fact that your name and late rarely exist within the same sentence.

The mere thought of being late fills you with a sickness you cannot cure. The extremes you’ll go to avoid it know no bounds. From arriving four hours before a flight, to waiting in your car a whole hour before entering a lecture hall, adulthood is a phase in which you’d sworn to repair the damage of a childhood worth of not arriving late.

Late to school, late to birthday parties, late to dentist appointments.

It wasn’t that you were a particularly difficult child, running rampant around the house as your mother tried to dress you, or your father tried to feed you. Quite the contrary, really. Often, it was little-you who chased around after them, and who waited by the door, school bag in hand, tapping your foot with every second that ticked by on the clock. You were too young and hadn’t the ability nor the empathy to understand that your parents were held up with sorting through things directly influenced by your existence, like cleaning up the messes you left at the breakfast table, or fixing the doorknob you and your sister broke in an intense game of hide and seek.

Nowadays, you can count on one hand the times you’ve been late.

First, you were late to your own surprise birthday party, but that was down to you getting stuck an extra hour at work. It was out of your control.

Then, there’d been your graduation ceremony. Your father missed an exit and ended up taking you on a mystery tour of the city, trying to find the next turn that led to your campus. Again, out of your control.

The third time is the one you remember panicking over the most, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves as you sat squeezed between two strangers on a plane. Your sister, barely halfway through her third trimester, had gone into labour, and where were you? Stumbling around drunk on a private beach in Cancún, mumbling along to the lyrics of some early 2000s classic you forget the name of. Your niece, all 4 and a half pounds of her, had decided now was her time to shine and there was nothing, not even the 4 weeks she had yet to grow in utero, that was going to stop her. By the time you arrived, mascara smudged eyes and with the stench of tequila still on your skin, she was laying peacefully in her incubator, the tiniest little fingers clenched into fists and a name tag around her wrist. This too was out of your control.

But the fourth time you’re late, as you stride urgently across the wooden decking of the ship, weaving in and out of lounge chairs and polo-neck wearing crew members, it’s completely within your control.

Yet, it’s not entirely your fault.

An alarm that never went off. A game of hide-and-seek with your purse. An unfortunate slip on bathroom tiles adding another bruise to your knees. An elevator that refused to travel faster than the speed of a snail. It’s as though Lady Luck had set out in favour of being against you, doing her utmost to ensure you arrive exactly seven minutes past your deadline. His deadline.

Best be on the deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’m dockin’ without ya.

Your head whips from one side to another, eyes finding a familiar figure amongst the few passengers meeting their own private guides. It’s the same man from yesterday, out on the balcony, the memory of him cheering his champagne and shooting a tipsy smile your way replaying. Only now he’s clad in plaid, with a frown etched into his forehead as he stares at his watch. There’s another man, hanging off his arm, fusing with the collar of his shirt.

“She’s late,” you overhear him say, voice firm and leaking with annoyance.

“Maybe she just slept in!” The man next to him is cheerier, tired eyes full of optimism, even as he turns his head and stifles a yawn. “Give her a few minutes.”

“What kind of shitty tour guide sleeps in?” Balcony-Man huffs, and you can’t help but think of your niece and her pouty face whenever she fails to get her own way. “Does she think I’d not rather be asleep too? Lazy c-”

“See? This is why I told you to eat that damn croissant before we left.” The taller of them seems to snap, rolling his eyes. “Brighten up, Bill, or so help me God you’ll be leaving this boat a divorcee.”

Trying to tune their voices out, as the guilt of prying crawls its way into your bones, your gaze points down at your feet. The very same heels you’d worn last night, pretty as they may leave you, have you cursing at the Sun and the Moon. If you’d have just worn your sneakers, maybe you could have ran up the stairs instead of taking the snail-evator.

Joel, tour guide, Signore Miller’s voice- though your imagination can’t quite reach his level of arrogance- rears its irritating head through your mind, recalling his words from last night. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. That had been enough to awaken that stubborn mule inside of you, hell-bent on proving him wrong.

But now, late, and with him nowhere in sight, your heels seem to have had the opposite effect. They’ve proved him right.

Which leaves you here, moping so pathetically you’re incapable of appreciating the shine of a rising sun over the horizon of aqua blue water.

Five minutes, you decide. That’s how long you’ll allow yourself to dwell in self-pity. Then, you’ll trek your way over to the Excelsior lounge, hit up the breakfast buffet, and await the general disembarking time.

Who knows, maybe you’ll get a call to say there’s a miraculous spot opened up on one of the tour groups.

If not, you’ll be fine! You’ve travelled alone before, you’ve got an all-inclusive data plan on your phone and you’re pretty well-acquainted with the less-than-accommodating features of Google Maps. You don’t need help, or a tour guide, much less one as blood-boiling, skin-prickling, irritating as Joel Mil-

“Wasn’t sure how ya like your coffee, but you look like a milk, two sugars kind of girl to me.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case, think of him.

Turning a little too fast, you stumble a step or two back, and, sure enough, there he is. A tight fitting, dark grey t-shirt stretched over the swell of his biceps, a pair of washed-out denims, and two well-worn running shoes, one on each foot. Trailing up the swell of his tanned neck, you count the freckles up to his eyes, and find there’s bags under them. The growth of hair on his face is just as unkempt as yesterday, yet already it seems to have grown longer, making the litter of greys stand out more. The hair that sits atop his head is damp, and the strands that have managed to dry are being messed around by the morning air. He’s still got that ever-present frown stamped into his forehead, yet his mouth doesn’t seem to curl into a snarl as he calls your name.

You must stare a moment or two past his comfort level, for he clears his throat and nods down at his hand. Two to-go cups, the smallest streams of steam floating out the hole in each lid.

He’s extending one out- the one in his right hand- towards you. “If you’d rather black, you can take min-”

“No!” You snap back into your own body, all too quickly and all too volatile. Clear your throat, and then try again, this time with a little less of that im being held at gunpoint shake in your voice. “No… Thank you. It’s fine- Milk is fine.”

It’s more than fine.

In fact, he’s gotten it spot on. Down to the number of sugars you take.

But, still stubborn, you yearn to not give him the satisfaction of being right so early in the day, and instead settle for accepting the coffee out his hand. You welcome the golden warmth eagerly, eyes unable to resist slipping shut as you take your first sip. When they reopen, you find Joel watching you, intently. Purposefully, as though you’re something to be studied.

Clearing your throat, you glance to the side and spot Balcony-Man and his partner greeting an apologetic woman.

“Thanks for the, uh,” his stare is intimidating your nerves, setting you on edge of something you’re all to eager to jump off. “Coffee. Yeah. You didn’t have to… I mean, I actually thought you’d, you know, uh-”

“You thought I left without ya.” He states. All you can do is nod. “I could’ve. I did warn you not to be late.”

“You did.”

“I also told you to wear somethin’ other than them heels.”

“I know.”

“Yet here you are, late and in heels. You’re not very good at following orders.” He exhales something akin to a chuckle, as devoid of humour as it may be, and you swear he’s suddenly closer than you remember, knuckles brushing against your own as he bumps his paper cup against yours. “Just what am I gonna do with ya, huh?”

For a moment, you swear your heart has leaped from your chest and up to your throat, threatening to choke you with the beat of it. There’s no sense you can make of it, this reaction he rouses, a heat you can’t control creeping down your loins as you drag in a whiff of some manly cologne, the kind you’d usually turn your nose up at for being too overbearing. Yet, on him, it’s not. On him it’s just right, like he was born with pine soaked skin, and a tobacco stained kiss, and-

Before you can think of pulling in another breath, Joel’s stepped back, allowing a cool breeze to pass between you and get a hold of your senses.

“C’mon, we’re slotted in for the first tender that leaves for shore.”

“Oh my God.”

You’re half certain Joel’s growing sick of hearing those three words roll off your tongue. He’s likely felt this way since it first left your mouth, feet struggling to safely step out onto the dock as your mind became enchanted by the picturesque view in front of you. Only the burn of his hand meeting your lower back, nudging you ahead to make space for himself and the other passengers to step off the tender boat, was capable of dragging you back into your own body, the wanderlust that had gripped your soul yearning to be free to explore every building that sits carved into rock, every water-taxi that flows idly on cristaline water, every step that winds up and up and up the island’s cliff where, at the top, civilisation seems to lie.

The port you’ve docked on is rather small, with naught more than two docking strips and a walkway of shops and confection stands, with boats that find no space along the docking strips tying themselves to any safety they may find over the expanse of the walkway. It is no wonder the cruise floats safely out in deeper waters, alongside several other cruise lines, with no space for such large vessels. And, yet, the port is alive with something. The ground seems to pulse, like a beat of a heart, and the air, as fresh as the grass after heavy rainfall, almost dances its way down your lungs. Voices swim all around you, tourists scrambling past each other, fighting in a race towards something you’ve yet to identify.

“So this is Gialos, also known as the Old Port of Fira.” Somewhere, behind you perhaps, Joel’s voice pipes up, a speech so rehearsed and robotic, a part of your wonders how many times he’s recited it, how many people he’s recited it to. The other part of you, however, is much too fixated on the stairs ahead to pay him true attention, eyes following as two men and several donkeys descend. “That, up there, is Fira, the capital of Santorini. We’re going to need to take a cable- Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” You’re quick to react, a defensive rise in your voice. He meets it with a deadpan look and the crossing of his arms over his chest, which quickly becomes something you wish he wouldn’t do as you watch the tight fabric of his shirt stretch itself thin over the bulge of his arms. “No. Sorry, I’m just… Wow.”

You hope he appreciates the restraint you show towards repeating those three dreaded words again.

“You have all day to stare,” his words trip over his own irritated scoff, and you bite back a question of why he’s a guide if he seems to hate it so much, fearful he’s too honest to not tell you a truth that may hurt your fragile feelings. A truth where it is not so much his job he dislikes, but rather, your presence and all that it brings. “Right now, we need to move. Don’t wanna spend all day waitin’ in line now, do ya?”

This need for speed that hooks the other tourists seems to filter over into your guide, who’s forcing you forward, that heat of his palm now hovering inches away from your lower back. It’s enough to lead you where he pleases. As a pair, you weave in and out small clusters of people, till the space between you both and the large gathering crowd slowly diminishes. It is there where his once telepathic leading fails, with Joel turning left towards it as you stray right, over to the ascending pathway of stairs.

“Where are you going?” His tone is offended, almost, as he comes to a halt and watches you fail to do the same, to notice the space between you both and correct it like some puppy who’s been called to heel by its master.

“Where am I going?” The question, at first, is one you mistake as rhetorical. Staring back at him with an equaled confusion, you gesture to the stairway, as though it is the most obvious answer. Because, well, where else could you have been heading? He said so himself, that up there is Fira, the capital of Santorini, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to see it. “Where are you going?”

“To the cable cars, that’ll take us up the island.”

Above the crowd of people, hanging over doors of small businesses, lay several signs. CABLE CARS - 6€ ! stands out, impossible to miss. Symbols you scarcely recognise sit beneath it, in smaller text, and you assume it’s Greek. In the distance, you spy the movement of the mobile boxes, people being carted up the length of the cliff at a speed that promises them a journey of mere minutes.

“Oh.” So, perhaps his option makes more sense than your own far longer, more tiring one. Still, stubborn as a mule, you double down on your decision to take the scenic route, inching closer towards the first step. Your guide, still in the face, refuses to move, daring eyes willing you to continue. “You want us to take the lazy man’s route? You go ahead, I’ll take the stairs and meet you at the top.”

You press one foot up onto the first step, weary of where you rest the point of your heel.

Glancing a few steps further up, there’s the unmistakable sight of a mound of brown substance, no doubt excreted out of one of the donkeys that walk ahead, tourists mounted on their poor backs.

“I don’t think you understand,” he finally inches closer, if only slightly, hands clenched at his side. “There’s five hundred and eighty-eight steps until you reach the top.”

The number is more daunting than you expect, and you pray he can’t read this on your face. “Only? I’ll be up in no time then!”

You feel more than see the way Joel’s eyes travel down the expanse of you, stuttering almost over the curvature of your chest, the dips at your hips, till they rest at your feet. The question hangs loose between you, unspoken yet evident.

In those heels?

“Listen, Joel,” taking a second, third, and fourth step, you aim for a literal higher ground, staring down below as he continues to drift closer and closer towards the stairway. “If you’re not fit for the task, or the climb’s no good for your knees, you can just say it, there’s no shame. Like I said, I’ll meet you at the top. Promise I won’t even report the fact my private guide abandoned me in favour of his own comfort.”

Defeat has never come easy.

Well, to phrase it better towards the truth, acceptance of defeat has never come easy.

There was always something more to be said, another excuse to be given for any of your shortcomings. When you’d been turned away from the school’s soccer team, you’d told yourself it was because you were a girl- ignoring the fact three girls in your year made the cut. When you’d lost an arduous game of Monopoly, you’d sworn you’d caught your sister sneaking notes out of the banker’s pile into her own. When you’d been beaten, round after round, by your own niece at Mario Kart, you’d stuck your tongue out at her and told her you let her win out of pity.

All that had been before, of course, back when you still roamed school hallways, when your sister sat across from you at the dining table, when your niece still laughed freely, wildly, celebrating her own victories with an over-the-top, uncoordinated dance around the living room.

As changed as things may be, defeat is still your foe.

It is that reason alone that you bite back a complaint.

You’d enjoyed the initial moments of your trek. Maybe it was the salty air in your lungs, or the beautiful views of your surroundings, or the idle grumbling coming from Joel, a few paces behind you, kicking up dirt under his feet with every step he travelled up. Whatever the reason, adrenaline had been flowing, into your heart and through your veins, covering every square inch of your body, a tingling of nerves from the tip of your toes to the top of your spine.

But, by the 10 minute mark, a dull ache forms in your feet. Each step of your heel feels more life threatening than the last, as the stairs grow slippier, dustier, and well-worn the further up you advanced. By stair who-knows-how-may, you take a near fatal tumble backwards, the crunch of crumbling rock threatening to be the last thing you hear. Till he appears behind you, fast as light, huffing out a breath as you smack down against his solid chest.

“Mind your step.” From anyone else, you would mistake it as a sign of care. From Joel, you know better than to think it’s anything beyond a humourless taunt.

You try to keep count of the steps, from then on, an effort to motivate yourself to move faster with each ten-pace you count. By 50, you lose your place and begin counting all over again.

The journey is difficult in other ways, too, with the constant passing of donkeys who obligate you to stand aside and make way for them. And the distant movement of cable cars, firing up and sliding down more times than you can keep track of.

When a particular step proves itself too steep, you can no longer hold back and, finally, a hiss slips out between your clenched teeth as pain shoots up your ankle, the leather of your shoe rubbing even harder into your brittle skin, threatening the promise of a blister yet to fully swell. Pushing the pain down, alongside a complaint, you take another step. Hiss. Then another, hiss. You can fight it no longer, bending at the waist to slip off your heel and examine the irritated skin.

Sure enough, it’s been rubbed raw, broken and spilling a small pool of blood.

Behind you comes an exasperated groan and, before you can straighten yourself to even register what’s happening, Joel barges past you and the figure of him up ahead slowly diminishes the faster he climbs up hill.

“Hey!” You call after him, hobbling to slip your shoe back on, but it’s to no avail.

He’s long gone, growing further and further out of your reach with each passing minute.

Cursing him under your breath, you decide to hell with the no complaints of his preferred regard for his own comfort. He’s abandoned you, injured and hobbling up the steps, all because he has the patience of a toddler who’s been waiting far too long to go potty.

“Wear somethin’ a little more sensible…” You’re bound to seem deranged to any passers by, half hopping up the steps, mumbling to yourself in a mockery of his deep voice “Yeah, right, how bout I shove somethin’ a little more sensible up your ass. Oh, what’s that? There’s no room up there with the massive stick you’re already carryin-”

“A local man warned me bout ya, on my way back down. Said there was some no-good girl casting out bad juju.” You freeze, foot stopped in mid-air. Shifting your gaze up ahead, you find Joel there, skipping a step every so often as he grows closer and closer. At his side, dangling from two fingers, sits a plastic bag. “Told him it ain’t no juju or curses you’re casting, just throwin’ a little tantrum.”

Like a fish out of water, all you can do is stare at him, wide eyes and mouth agape.

Joel pays your silence no mind, almost delighting in it. With a pop and a crack from his knees, he crouches down before you, holding out the palm of his hand.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pointing towards your injured foot. “Lemme see.”

You’re hesitant, at first, but ultimately lift it and let him curl his grip around it, holding you in place as the shoe slips off you. A tut meets your ears as his eyes meet the bloodied mess, and you watch how he contemplates, for a moment or two, before wetting his thumb with his tongue and swiping it over your broken skin.

It stings, like salt in a wound or a bee’s stinger through skin, and you try to flinch back, retract yourself from his hold. But Joel’s strong, resilient, nails biting at the flesh of your ankle to keep you in place. His free hand digs into the plastic bag he’d discarded at his side and pulls out a white box. Fiddling with it for a short period, he manages to open it at last and slips out a bandaid. He rips that open a lot quicker, using his teeth, and slips it over your open wound perfectly, thumb and pointer finger smoothing it around the curve of your heel.

“D’ya see now why I told you to not wear those things?” You feel like a child at his words, reprimanded like you once were for touching your mother’s curling iron. “And why I said we should take the cable car?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you refuse to meet his eyes. But he just won’t let you be, craning his own neck to infiltrate the space you stare off into. There’s a pleased look on his face, smugness pulling at the right corner of his mouth. Alarmingly, you think of how it’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing him smile.

You continue your pursuit of silence, repeating a mantra of how you don’t care that he’d tried to look out for your comfort, or how he’d then tried to save you the effort of an uphill battle, or how his hand, big and warm and rough at the fingertips, is still holding your foot in place, absentmindedly rubbing your ankle in a circular motion.

“Look at ya, gone all quiet on me,” that corner of his lip curls higher. You register the rustling of the bag, his hand digging back inside it. “Ain’t one for bein’ put in your place, are you?”

Out comes his hand once more, though this time it’s not a box of bandaids. Now, resting firm in his grasp, sits a mixture of navy blue dyed cotton, stitched atop a flat, thick layer of a straw-like material. A slip-on canvas shoe. Joel doesn’t await permission, nor does he even ask for it. He simply takes charge, slipping it onto your foot, mindful as he straightens out the back to lay against your heel.

“Other foot, up.”

Switching feet, you stumble as your weight completely shifts onto your injured side. Your hands, reaching out to stabilise your swaying body, are quickly directed by his own to rest atop his head, curls of brown threading between your fingers. You contemplate asking what products he uses to achieve locks so smooth and shiny, then rethink it as soon as you imagine his reply of a disinterested grunt and a snarky ain’t use anythin’ but dirt water and a splash o’ whiskey.

“How’s it feel?”

Soft, you almost reply, then realise he’s asking about the shoe.

With a wiggle of your toes, you tell him it’s fine, and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know they’re surprisingly comfortable.

Joel rises with a bit of a struggle, yet refuses the help you offer. Rough hands scoop up your discarded heels, tossing them into the bag, and then he straightens his back, lets out a noise of discomfort, before nodding up ahead.

“C’mon, only got a hundred or so to go. We’ll be up in no time.”

The sun sits high in the sky when you reach the city of Fira.

Crossing over that last step, 588 painted in white across it, you huff out a sigh, exhaustion aching you out of any enjoyment of your victory over the stairway from hell. Before you can even utter a word of your thirst, Joel is already reaching into his bag of wonders, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water and passing it to you. Grateful, you take a sip, and lament the few drops that spill down your chin.

At least they don’t go to complete waste, cooling your skin ever so slightly.

It’s a shame to see Joel start moving again, moments before you’re even ready to gain back your breath, but you follow after him, nonetheless, mindful to not press your foot too hard down. Through streets he winds, past shopkeepers he walks. Eventually, after a few minutes, you ask him where you’re both heading.

“To catch a coach,” his hand moves quickly, tugging you closer as a bicycle shoots past behind you. Your own find themselves against his chest, and realise it is nothing like his hair. Solid, warm, wide. It’s almost a shame to lower them back down to your side. “Less you think you can walk from here to Oia, too.”

Truth be told, you don’t know where Oia is.

But you do know your walking for the day is over, happy to follow Joel onto the coach. You take the aisle seat, he’s by the window. Across from you both sits a couple, young and giggling into one another’s ears, as though the sounds of their joy is sacred to none but them. A pang of envy thumps your soul, and you quickly turn your face.

Only to find that Joel’s is grey.

Not the hair that lines it but, rather, his whole face, paled and blood-drained. It’s a sickly image, and one that’s quick to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay?” Any thought of keeping your composure becomes mute as you hear your own voice, a treacherous shake to it that gives your panic away. “You look…” There is no word kind enough for you to use to relay the image of him, so you lock your lips.

It takes a few seconds for you to get a reply, as your hand moves up to feel his forehead. It’s sweaty, warm, and you move to pull your hand back when he’s holding it firm in place, eyes slipping shut. “‘S cold. You’re cold,” seems to be his explanation. “I’m fine, it’s just- Carsick.”

“You get carsick, yet you work on a cruise.”

“Not the same. Ship’s big, somethin’ bout the size and my own visibility, ‘s what stops me getting seasick.”

You sit like that the rest of the coach, your hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes slipped shut.

“What’s your favourite stop on the cruise?”

As it turns out, Oia is exactly what you’d pictured Santorini to be.

White washed houses, deep blue domes for rooftops, turquoise waters, all for as far as the eye can see. Joel complains, more than tells you, of the rise in tourism over the years, of how it’s turned the beautiful village into a party-town for idiots abroad, disregarding the clean environment, shamelessly blocking paths to snap a frame-worthy shot, raising prices to the ceiling. When you ask him if he thinks he’s in part to blame, if people like him are to blame- running tours, bringing guests onto the island, earning a wage off the visiting of such a place- he grumbles out something about missing breakfast, needing lunch.

So you find a cafe. Or, more, Joel leads you to one. He greets the doorman, with a wave and a pat on the back, before sauntering his way through to a back terrace, overlooking the whole village, the water perfectly framing it. Stepping out and sitting down, the view robs the very breath out of your lungs.

It’s like sitting inside a postcard.

Joel asks if you like Greek food.

You tell him you’ve never had it.

He orders for you both, a mixture of different plates, and swears he’ll find something you’ll like.

It turns out you’re rather fond of baklava.

“Florence.” Joel’s taken his time to answer, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. Disbelief more than fear in his eyes, you have to wonder if it’s the first time someone’s thought to ask him, in all his years as a guide. Naturally, this leads you to wondering how many years that is. “It’s a real site. Full of history, a real story to be told.” He tilts a ceramic dish your way, eyes glancing down in an offering. You follow them, and spot olives. Shake your head, no, then smile, thanks. He shrugs, more for me, and pops two into his mouth. “There’s this…” he pauses to chew. “This library.”

“A library?”

“‘S not just a library.” He slips out the olive’s pip and raises another into his mouth. You try not to think about how thick his fingers look, rolling the remaining briny green pebbles around in the pot. “There’s a cinema built inside it. Plays some classic films. I always- or, I try to go whenever we dock.”

It’s hard to picture Joel inside a cinema, something about the setting too busy, too loud to place his scowling face in. Would he be the kind to have a favourite seat, perfectly picked to optimise the sound quality? Does he speak animatedly, excited any time he recognises an actor? Or is he a shusher, the kind to roll his eyes when someone dares to even clear their throat?

A part of you wants to ask him if your tour involves a trip to this library.

Something tells you it’s not a place he likes to share, though. It’s his own little corner, safe to sneak a moment of selfish indulgence amidst a week of catering to another’s needs.

“A cinema inside a library?” A waiter interrupts you, asks if everything’s alright. Joel orders another serving of baklava. “Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, you think you see a smile creep across his lips. “Suppose it is.”

Another interruption comes in the form of your ringtone, rippling the water in your glass as your phone vibrates upon the table. You’re well aware of how Joel spots the word Mum displayed across your screen. Just like you’re aware he sees how you swipe down on your screen and switch on aeroplane mode.

Before he can ask any questions, or the sudden silence can become too deafening, you throw out another question. “And your least favourite?”

“Least favourite stop?” You nod, affirmative, and he needs no time to reply. “Here.”

“Here?! How come?”

The baklava arrives, as if on cue, and you point down at it, as though it is reason enough to be enamoured with the island. It seems to do little to convince him, his hand reaching out to push the plate closer to you, inviting you to indulge yourself.

“Compared to the other stops, Santorini’s bland.” He says it when your mouth is too occupied to protest, stuffed full with layer after layer of pastry. “Kind of like a diamond, y’know? Real pretty to look at, empties your wallet, and, at the end of the day, ain’t much you can do with it.”

“People propose with diamonds.” You point out, and cough as a flake of pastry hits the back of your throat.

Joel’s already passing you your glass of water before you even think to reach for it.

“People propose with rings. Diamonds are just custom, not a guarantee.”

Sunset arrives with no warning, a hue of fiery orange melting down into the calm waters on the horizon. It’s Joel who makes the call to head back, one glance at his watch enough to tell you the last chance to catch a coach is nigh. It’s only as you go to call for the bill that he tells you it’s covered and you realise his earlier trip to the bathroom had been a ruse to go pay.

The trip back is calmer, quieter, with the coach full of sunkissed and heat exhausted tourists.

Again, you take the aisle seat, and Joel, the window.

Keeping an eye on him is easy, switching your gaze towards the approaching darkness of the night sky calling upon the street lights anytime he meets your eyes. When you notice the increase in breaths and the paling of his skin, you wordlessly unscrew the cap off a bottle and slot it into his hand, inviting him to finish off the last sips of your water.

Skipping out on a trip down memory stairway, you quietly follow him into the cable car and, when you reach the Old Port, you try your best to block out his smug remark of how easy and fast the ride was. A feat which becomes easier as you stumble halfway up the dock and turn back.

Like hours before, as you first stepped off the tender, your mouth falls agape. Only, this time, wider. The view of the island lit up in all its glory is enough to leave you breathless, hands scrambling to fish out your phone, open the camera and-

“You gettin’ on or what?” Joel calls out from behind, and you find him waiting on board one of the tenders, hand held out towards you.

It’s a demand, more than it is an offer, to hurry up. The collective of other passengers are watching the interaction, and a feeling you’ve come to know all too well crawls its way into your veins.

A burden, holding them all up, that’s what you are.

The feeling follows you back, as you slip into a damp seat and watch as the boat carries you further and further from the island, it’s lights twinkling in a way that chokes you up, drains you out, eyes stinging from more than just the salty air. You’ll love it, I swear! The memory plays out in your head, those words gushed at you. Hands squeezing your cheeks, a smile blinding you under its brightness. Just wait till you see it at night, the lights shine over it like stars!

You blink.

A tear pools at the corner of your eye.

“Here, look,” something nudges you. It’s Joel, inching his phone into your view. Through blurred sight, you glance at it. And find yourself, centre frame, lit only by the moon. In the back lies the whole skyline of Santorini, lights reflecting down onto the waters below. “Best view you can get, the whole island in one shot.”

Afraid to hear your own voice, you smile.

He answers by pointing his phone back at you, snapping another photo.

Back on the cruise, the two of you part ways, with Joel telling you to meet him in the same bar, same time as the night before.

Dinner had been part of your plans. With a glance over the listed restaurants on board, the ache in your tired bones asks you to stay in bed and make use of the room service. You listen, order something light, easy. It arrives in under 10 minutes and your hunger is satisfied sitting out on the balcony, watching the dark waves roll past.

Phoning your mother is the next port o'call.

Unlike with your food, that takes longer than 10 minutes. Much longer, and involves you countlessly reassuring her that yes, you’re okay, and no, you don’t need her to fly out and meet you in Naples.

“I’m a big girl,” you even throw in a laugh, hoping it’ll ease the worry lines you can picture splayed over your mother’s face. “I think I can climb up a mountain without my mum’s help.”

“Honey, you know that’s not what why I’m worri-”

“Did you know you can get carsick but, at the same time, not seasick?”

You hang up shortly after, with a promise to try your best to answer when she calls tomorrow, instead of hours later, when she should be fast asleep.

The time on your phone tells you there’s still forty minutes until you need to meet Joel. The image of that grandiose bathtub flashes before your eyes and, in record timing, you’re sinking into scalding waters, a complimentary bath bomb dumped in and granting you the childish gift of bubbles.

You try to relax, at first.

There’s no need to wet your hair, so you indulge yourself. Lay your head back, close your eyes. Feel your muscles loosen with the warmth, ignore the sting of soap in your blistering heel. Your hands struggle to find a resting place, until they meet your thighs. They sit still, for a moment or two, before one slips down, inching into the crease of where your legs meet.

Something stirs in your core, comes alive as you think of how long it’s been since you last felt someone. A few months, it has to be. A fellow graduate, if you remember correctly, that stupid robe still on his shoulders as he let his mouth come down on you.

Your hand is soon on your core, before you really notice, mind on a mission to recall the hazy encounter. When you think of his tongue, messy yet eager, your finger’s already on your clit, pressing against it with a tease of pleasure. When you think of his cock, uncut and thicker than your ex, splitting you open on his bedroom floor, your hips cant up against yourself, chasing friction. When you rewind how soft Joel’s hair had been between your fingers, your free hand grips one of your breasts, fingers pinching at your nipple.

Your eyes snap open.

Joel’s hair.

Joel.

Something you should not be thinking of right now, hand buried between your thighs.

You wait a few seconds, remind yourself of the graduate’s face.

His blue eyes, your fingers roll over your nipple.

His blonde hair, your legs spread wider.

Joel’s solid chest, your fingers dip inside your cunt.

Your breath is shaky, Joel’s annoyed groan echoes.

The shame of it, of thinking of him, is almost as tantalising as touching yourself, fucking your own hole full with as much of your fingers the angle will allow. It’s a one time thing, you justify. You just need to get it out your system. One and done, cum and done. No more of Joel Miller between your thighs, this is the closest he’ll get.

Someone knocks at your door.

You nearly miss it over the sound of your breathing, the pounding of your heart.

“Who is it?” You don’t like how weak you sound, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Another knock.

“Can I come in?”

A hand still between your thighs, orgasm titering on the edge, body fully submerged in lukewarm water. “No!”

“Ain’t safe to leave your door unlocked. Anybody could walk in- Jesus!”

You’ve never screamed louder.

Joel takes up most of the bathroom doorway, same clothes save for the shirt that’s got two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. You’re pressed right back into the bathtub, as physically far from him as you can get, knees pressed up to your chest, ankles crossed over.

In Joel’s defence, he’s quick to turn away, presenting you with a view of his back. A hand runs through his hair.

“Why are you in my room?!” You inch even further back, the water suddenly dropping several degrees.

“I asked to come in!”

“And I told you not to!”

“Well obviously I didn’t hear that!”

“Why are you in my room?” You’re back to your first question, eyeing up your towel.

It’s across the room, on the bathroom sink. No way for you to reach it without the risk of him seeing you reflected on something.

“You were late. Came to check if ya tripped on them heels and broke your neck.”

“I,” you’re not sure what time it is with your phone sitting by the bed, charging. That's now five times you've been late in adulthood. “Didn’t realise the time. I can meet you at the bar in ten minutes.”

He nods, and you watch him take a step, then immediately pause. “You know, I’ve heard a few things from passengers…” You may not see his face, but you swear there’s that half-smirk, smug look upon it. It’s practically dripping off his words. “The shower head, fourth setting. Seems to get the job done for most ladies on board.”

Grabbing the closest thing in reach- a bar of soap- you launch it and watch it bounce off his irritatingly wide shoulders. “Get OUT!”

You make it to the Tipsy Byson in 15 minutes.

Dressed more appropriately than the night before, your flared jeans and crop top garner less stares. It’s just as busy, if not busier, yet it’s not hard to spot Joel on a barstool, nursing a glass of something syrupy looking. Behind the bar is Luke, head thrown back at something Joel says.

They’re an interesting pair to observe, you realise as you make your way over. With Luke, so tall, so lanky, so bright-face, his energy warm and inviting, and Joel so- well, Joel.

“There she is,” Luke cheers, a little too loudly, calling attention to you as you slip into the stool next to Joel. “My new favourite customer.”

“Thought I was your favourite,” Joel’s yet to look at you, and it’s a relief. He’s looked at you enough for one day, one week, one lifetime.

“Sorry but she smells better than you, Joel,” the barman winks at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “ Plus, she’s a hell of a lot nicer to look at.”

Joel scoffs, you giggle.

“Not sure about the whole smelling better thing,” your response comes minutes later, after Luke’s already served you a glass of wine and turned away your cash, telling you he’ll put it on Joel’s tab. “But thanks!”

Unprompted and uninvited, Luke bends over the bar and takes an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know, smell alright to me.”

“Really? I’m not even wearing perfume, I forgot to pack any-.”

“Yeah! Go on Joel, give her a whiff, tell her she smells fine!” There’s resistance on his end, but Luke’s adamant, hand clamped on the back of Joel’s head, shoving him face first into your neck. Joel’s nose brushes against you. You hear him inhale. Exhale. Inhale again, then the urge to cross your thighs begins to nag at you. “Well?”

“Yeah, smells nice- Fine. Ya smell fine.”

“Be still my beating heart! Someone alert the press that Texas said something other than-”

Joel interrupts Luke’s dramatics, scowl on his face. “Don’t you have a job to be doin’?”

Only once the bartender is down the other end of the bar, engrossed in a heated discussion over what beer pulls a better head, does Joel speak again, sipping on his drink. Whiskey.

“So I noticed somethin’, when I was checking your bookin’ info.” You nod, urge him to continue, and take a sip of your own drink. Some country song plays over the speakers and you notice a sudden shake in Joel’s knee, his foot tapping to the beat. “Says there should be two of you in my guide team.”

“Oh,” the lump forming in your throat falls safely back into the pit of your stomach as you take another drink of wine. “Must be a printing error. You know how technology can be, always complicating things.”

“Hmm,” it’s easy to write off the awkward energy between you with the excuse of earlier events, and it’s the first bright-side you find to him walking in on your intimate bath. “Well, you know the drill for tomorrow. 7 am on that deck or I’m-”

“Docking without me, I know.”

You finish your drink first. When Joel orders himself another glass, you smile politely and turn it down. Yawn, then tell him you best head to bed.

Before you can slip out the entry, someone calls your last name. Loud enough to turn more than just your own head.

It’s Joel, approaching you, effortlessly parting crowds through the lively bar as though he is knife and, the people, butter. The loud music seems to ring louder in your ear, impeding you from hearing the words that leave his moving lips.

“What?” You call out, hands clasped over your mouth in an attempt to amplify the volume of your voice.

His response is to step closer, hands holding you in place by the waist as he leans down. A hot breath on your neck, the smell of whiskey on his breath, the soft brush of lips against your ear.

“It’s your turn to bring the coffees.”

series taglist. @auteurdelabre

#joel miller series #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fanfic

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racingline3 · 9 months

Text

Early Mornigs ~ Lewis Hamilton

♡ Lewis Hamilton x Reader (!Russell Sister)

Description: Early mornings at the Paddock become a lot more interesting

~fluff & a bit of angst ~

Weekend mornings were your new favourite time of the week.

It had happened by complete accident.

You had been extra early one Friday morning to the Paddock and made a beeline for the Mercedes catering truck to find it wasn’t completely set up. There was one table and chairs set up and someone was sitting there already.

But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Lewis Hamilton.

Being George’s older sister, you had met the man before, when George had first signed his contract, at a Mercedes Friends and Family event. You saw him around the garage but you were always hiding away in George’s side, keeping out of everyone’s way.

You had never spoken to him alone. But you did need somewhere to sit until everything else set up. You were far too aware that he was a multiple time world champion and practical living legend but you reminded yourself he was still a human being too.

“Hi…eh, Lewis?” You ask, “Would you mind if I take a seat?” You nod to the chair on the other side of the large table, while juggling your coffee mug, bag and laptop.

He looks up from his phone and recognition dawns on his face, he says your name like you chat everyday, “George’s sister right?”

You think that it must speak volumes about his character to bother remembering the names of peripheral family of your teammate at this kind of elite level. “Of course, take a seat.”

“Thanks so much. I didn’t mean to get here so early.” You apologize.

“No worries.” He waves away your apology. “It’s nice to be here before the craziness descends.” He smiles softly.

“Oh God, am I interrupting your pre race ritual? Pretend I’m not here.” You rush out, opening your laptop to put a barrier between the two of you.

“No, not at all. I just like to get my coffee before the mayhem. I’m not a morning person by nature so I like to have some time before jumping into the day’s meetings.”

You shut your laptop down with a click, “Oh that’s good, because it is far too early for me to start work.” You grin and crip your mug with both hands.

“You work this early?” He asks, his head tipping to the side slightly, giving you his full attention.

It was complicated to say the least, “Eh…I mean…not…”

“Some things are too difficult to talk about this early in the morning.” He says leaning across to you ever so slightly.

“Yeah.” You admit with a sigh.

“Wait, I thought you didn’t like Formula 1?” You look at him in disbelief as he remembers something you mentioned when you had been chatting to him and Toto when George was signing his contract. “It’s pretty unusual for everyone in the family not to be consumed by it all.” His smile is smaller, as if he’s self-conscious of remembering something so specific about you.

You lean over and fake whisper, “I probably wouldn’t watch motor sports if George wasn’t involved.”

He places a hand over his heart. “That’s cold.”

“It’s just cars driving in circles.” You quip, using the description that always drove George mad with indignation.

But Lewis just throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

“So you’re a good sister to come here and put up with all this then?” He asks as he idly traces a finger around the rim of his mug and you have the sudden ache for him to softly trace his finger like that against your collarbone.

“I love George. We all helped him make his dream come through, and now he’s helping me.” You say and Lewis doesn’t push when you don’t give anymore information.

“It’s nice when the first thing someone talks to me about isn’t my racing strategy, my thoughts on FIA regulations and the rest of it.” He admits.

“Oh damn, I was actually going to ask you about a race in 2015 when…” You say but laugh instead, “I can’t even come up with an example.” You shrug.

It was then you got hit by the effect of Lewis’ full smile, one that lit up his eyes and made your heart beat that little bit faster.

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

You spent all Friday evening overthinking it all. If you turned up to Paddock early again on Saturday and Lewis was there, would he think you were being a stalker?

You ignored the tiny voice that mentioned that if he wasn’t there, that you’d be disappointed.

So you turned up, the same time as the previous day and to your utter relief Lewis smiled when he saw you and pointed to the chair opposite him.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He grins.

“I swear I’m not stalking you.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop. The familiar grip of anxiety clasped around your throat.

“I’m going to have to call off the restraining order now.” He says with a straight face and you panic for a split second before his mouth twitches into a grin, “I’m just joking, I never thought you were. You know people usually follow me around to see the trophies and hear the on-track stories, I kind of think that would send you running.”

“Straight to a plane and back to England.” You confirm when your shoulders relax at his jovial mood.

He laughs again and you’re worried that the sound is becoming more addictive than your morning caffeine hit.

"I hate driving." You admit and he looks at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, "that's why I'm here so early. I avoid all the traffic and there's plenty of room for me to try and park without anyone looking at how many tries it takes me." You blush, wondering why his presence made you feel comfortable enough to say things you'd never tell anyone else.

Perhaps it's because it's just the two of you.

Perhaps it's the early morning.

Or perhaps that's just the effect that Lewis has on you.

He nods as he digests your words, "So you do what you're scared of despite the fear, that’s pretty brave you know. I'm here because once people know I'm awake my life is full of noise, full of schedules and training and sometimes I need a break, without offending anyone."

"So you can be Lewis and not Lewis Hamilton?" You ask.

"Yeah exactly." He says, his eyes might as well have been looking right into your very soul.

It was probably for the best that his phone started ringing. "Toto." He says as he glances at the screen.

"Time to go be Lewis Hamilton." You say softly.

"I'll see you tomorrow? " He asks as he stands up before answering his phone.

"See you then."

It had been that simple.

You and Lewis and met you every morning of a Grand Prix for months.

You had told him about the burnout you had at your corporate job and how George had come to your rescue and wanted you to travel with him for a year, seeing as you had taken extra part-time jobs for years to help fund his karting career.

About how your dream was to be a published writer and so while everyone timed laps, you were timing story pace. How you were very happy to let George take the limelight and had your pen name chosen.

He told you how claustrophobic life could be like for him. How he missed his family and normal life sometimes. How he felt such pressure on his shoulders. How hungry he was for another world championship.

The two of you, being each others’ rock for a while every time the storms of the Grand Prix hit. It felt like a special little bubble.

Until it burst.

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

You have a skip in your step as you enter the catering area, you had come up with the resolution of a plot twist that had been annoying you and can’t wait to tell Lewis about it.

But Lewis isn't at his, your, usual table.

You stop before telling yourself he must be running late and get your coffee.

And wait.

You even send him a text to see if he's okay. You had long since swapped numbers, you delighted when your little bubble extended to everyday life as you sent him driving memes and he sent you pictures of Roscoe.

You know he had had a bad qualifying but that had never stopped him turning up before. He doesn't even read the message and you sit there until your coffee turns cold.

It was only worse later on in the day when your heart was practically flooded with ice when Lewis walked right past you in the Paddock, ignoring when you said hi and disappearing into the crowd.

He knew you hid from the media, wearing a peak cap at all times and never speaking to many people at a Grand Prix so as not to draw attention to yourself. So the mere act of saying hello to him was a big deal.

And now you were left standing in the middle of the chaos watching as Lewis Hamilton walked away and you wondered where the hell your Lewis had gone.

You had kept your meetups as a sweet secret just for the two of you. Now you wished you had yelled it from the rooftops just so that someone else knew about it and so you know it wasn't all a dream.

The next time you got close to him was when he was going for the drivers parade and you called to him.

He reached up and put his sunglasses down over his eyes and walked by you like you were just another person of the omnipresent crowd around him.

You go straight to George. He looks up from some stats he's looking over and frowns when he sees your face. "What's wrong?" Your little brother knows you well.

"Nothing. It's just…has Lewis been acting differently with you today?"

He seems to ponder it, "No but…"

"But what Georgie?"

"Is there something going on between you and Lewis?"

"What?"

"I just heard some rumors. You were seen together and you know how the gossip rumor works, you’re practically married by now." He shrugs.

"There's nothing happening. I just thought we were friends." You admit. "He's been off with me today."

"I'm sure it's not on purpose, Lewis is a good guy." He huffs then and crosses his arms, "But if something happens I'm going to have to have a talk with him."

You roll your eyes with a laugh, "You don't have to protect me Georgie."

Someone called George from inside the garage and your talk was cut short. You could do nothing but go along with the flow as the race set up and the lights went out.You felt a headache coming on. It just worsened as you watched the race, trying to pretend to be normal.

Trying to pretend that Lewis hadn't hurt you. Trying to pretend that you hadn't given Lewis your heart over the past few months and he may as well have driven his car over it.

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

As the race trundled on, you wondered when exactly you had fallen in love with Lewis. The realisation hit you as hard as a car hitting the wall on a street circuit.

You had fallen in love with his smile, his way of thinking, his values, his terrible dad jokes, his very soul.

He had once told you that you were brave. So you mustered all you could, shoved your anxiety back down your throat and stalked across the garage post race like a woman on a mission.

You didn't care who saw you. You didn't care if everyone posted it on every social media platform.

You followed Lewis into his trailer, jumping up the step and stopping the door closing behind him.

He looks at you as you close the door behind you, sweat stuck to his skin and his breath still slightly laboured from the race.

"What is going on?" You ask, trying to get his attention as he looks out the window of his trailer before shutting the blinds. "What are you doing?" You ask, completely bewildered.

It was like all your nightmares coming true.

Was he ashamed to be seen with you?

"What are you doing here?" He asks, his voice hard.

"What is going on Lewis? I thought we were friends." You fire back as gruffly.

His eyes soften, "Of course we are."

"Then what the hell is happening?"

"What's happening is that people have found out we hang out."

"So you don't want anyone to know that you know me?" Your stomach churned at the thought of being some dirty secret for him.

"No I don't." He says, then his armor falls away, "Because then you would be sucked into my media storm and you don't deserve that. It's better if we keep a distance."

"You didn't want to tell me any of this?" You wonder aloud.

"Because people change when they have a chance at fame."

"And you thought that of me?" You hated that your voice broke over his lack of trust in you.

"No. Not for a second. But you don't want this. You hate fame. You want a quiet life and I can't give you that." His voice was strained. "So it's...."

"Better to keep our distance, apparently?" You tossed his words back to him.

He nods, "Because it hit me, if I spend much more time with you, I won't ever want to let you go, and you won't want to stay amidst the chaos."

He stole the air right out of your lungs.

"I like you. I’ve started to look forward more to seeing you than the races at weekends." He says, "And I don't want to keep hold of you if you don’t any of this, so I'm letting you go before this gets...,"

"Lewis." You say, your voice practically strangled by emotion. "I'm not going anywhere."

The air became heavy, your heart started racing as if it had been given a jump by DRS.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I figured you're better off without me and the crazy rumours." He says.

You don't know where you find the courage to take a step towards him. "What if they're not rumors anymore?"

He gently encircles one of your wrists with his hand, ghosting his thumb over your pulse point.

“You’re right. I don’t like the limelight, I’m shy and quiet and I don’t care about Formula 1 further than you and George love it. I don’t care about any of it, Lewis. I don't want you for your fame. I care about you. I want you."

He lifts your hand so it's placed on his shoulder, you dig you fingers into his race suit immediately as if you plan to hold onto him for dear life.

“I thought it would hurt you more, all of this.” He admits. “And I never want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t push me away.” You tell him, “I know my own mind and I want to be here.”

He does exactly as you ask as he moves an arm around your waist and takes the final step towards you. He leans down, his mouth ghosting over yours, giving you another chance to back out, to run a mile.

So you lean in the rest of the way.

The world rearranges itself so there’s nothing but Lewis, how he tastes, how he feels, as he pulls you fully against him.

If this is the exhilaration of driving a Formula 1 car, you really can’t blame Lewis for loving it so much.

It was Toto Wolff of all people who barged in and interrupted the best damn kiss of your life. You pulled away but Lewis kept his hand on your back.

“Ah.” He says in usual straight talking manner. “This is why you’re so happy at our morning meetings lately.”

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #f1blr #f1 fluff #fl #formula 1 #george russell #paddock #paddock gossip #blurb #long blurb

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bad268 · 11 months

Note

Could u write a princess of Monaco and Arthur lecrelc , I see this being written so much for Charles and none for Arthur

thank you :)

Queen of Monaco (Arthur Leclerc X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (haha we have the same mind bc I was already drafting this before you requested it)

Warnings: death of parents and brother (mentioned), google translate, the Monaco curse is affecting Arthur now and that's a warning itself bro. I am in denial about the race results today, so I made this to make me happy.

Pronouns: She/Her

W.C. 4108

Summary: The beginning of the relationship between Arthur Leclerc and the Queen of Monaco.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Arthur's insta from January 29, 2023)

It was a normal day in Monaco. It was not a race week, and there were no pressing matters to attend. I had just returned to Monaco last week after attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States, but I just received my Bachelor's degree and wanted to return home before starting my Master's. I decided to take my first semester online, so I could go home and spend time with my family.

When I got back, my parents urgently began to train me for the throne even though I was not next in line. Despite having an older brother who was scheduled to become the King of Monaco after my parents, he had to serve in the military before he could move forward. They wanted to have me prepare in the event that something happened to him in battle.

I had never really been in the public eye due to my brother being the next in line. He was always the one attending meetings, trainings, and keeping up appearances. I was free to do as I pleased for the most part, but in 2015, they sent me to a training school in London. It taught the basics of monarchy and the foundations of how to run a country. It was the same one my brother attended. Even in my spare time, I found my passion in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics. It took some persuasion, but my parents allowed me to attend MIT after my graduation because they were so sure that I would not be needed. My brother is in the final stages of the training. All he needed to do was finish the last few months of military training, and then he would be crowned.

Upon my return, I learned that my mother was ill, so they wanted to get my brother crowned quickly. However, they practically had to start from square one since I was provided very minimal training in London. My father was furious, not at me, but at the situation they had been placed in. They told me the best thing I could do while they prepare the training is to memorize Monaco as it had been nearly seven years since I had been here.

I was walking down the pier, looking at all of the little shops that lined the pavement and the boats at the dock. There was a small ice cream shop, a couple of clothing stores, a few restaurants, and a salon. I realized that I had not had my hair professionally done since before college, so I thought it would be a good idea to treat myself.

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vou aider? (Hello, how can I help you?)” A lady greeted me as I stepped through the door. It was a small shop, no one else was in there, but it was cute and welcoming other than the fact that I could not remember French for the life of me.

“I’m sorry, my French is no good,” I replied sheepishly, fully prepared to leave, but the woman stopped me.

“Oh, not a problem, dear. My name is Pascale, what can I help you with?” She smiled, kindly, leading me over to one of the chairs.

“Well, I haven’t gotten my hair done in almost four years, so I think it’s time to freshen up,” I explained.

“Oh perfect, I can most certainly help with that,” She laughed, placing an apron around my shoulders. “Are you thinking about dye, highlights, trim, cutting…” She started listing more but I couldn't follow along with all of the terminology.

“Uh, probably just a trim,” I chuckled, “my parents would kill me if I showed up with short, dyed hair.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grinned and began cutting the ends, little by little, as we made small conversations. “What do you do for work?”

“I actually don’t have a job at the moment,” technically, “but I just came back from the United States. I was at MIT for the last four years, getting my bachelors in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics, and before that, I attended boarding school in London.”

“That’s interesting,” she hummed, “Sounds like you like Formula 1?”

“Not so much the races. I just like the cars,” I laughed in response. “I like learning what could make the cars better, faster, stronger, and safer, but the actual races aren't something for me. I watched one too many accidents end badly, so I can never find enjoyment in it anymore. The last race I went to was in Japan, and I lost my best friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, dear. If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Pascale consoled. I looked at her confused through the mirror. She just set the scissors down just as her phone got a notification. She pulled out her phone and opened the notification. It was a text message with a picture. “That is my son, Charles, and his best friend, Pierre. They’re in Formula 1. They went out karting today, and he just sent me this.”

“Oh, Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly! I know them,” I recognized immediately. “That’s your son?”

“Yeah, he’s always had this passion for driving, so I’m proud to see him living his dreams,” She smiled, putting her phone back, and resumed cutting my hair.

“Well, I’m proud of him too, and I don’t even know him.” I laughed.

“Maybe, if you’d ever change your mind, you could join us for a race,” Pascale offered. “Only if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll have to see, but probably not,” I declined nervously.

“It’s not a problem, dear,” She said, patting my shoulders. “But you are all done. How do you like it?”

My hair was shorter by a couple of inches, but it felt so much lighter and healthier than it did earlier today. “I love it so much, Pascale! Thank you so much! How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, just promise you’ll think about joining us? It would do you some good to get to know more people, and you could even check out the cars before the race! If you’re not comfortable staying for the race, you can always leave. Just promise you’ll think about it before immediately rejecting it?” She pleaded.

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I laughed, “but only because you were so persuasive!”

–

The next time I was out in the streets was nearly a week later. My time was being packed with different trainings and attending private events, but nothing public yet so as to not stir up controversy. I decided to go to a local bakery and get some tea and some food. The food in the castle just did not compare to my favorite bakery. Not by a long shot.

When I walked in, there were not a lot of people in there. It was a small shop with only two tables and a counter. There was the person behind the counter, Ella, and three people at the tables. One sat by himself and the other two occupied the second table. I approached Ella and ordered a tea and sandwich. She said she would bring it right over once it was finished, and I approached the man sitting by himself.

“Bonjour,” I greeted, my French was slowly coming back to me but not enough to carry a full conversation. The man looked up from his phone at me. He had blue eyes and shady blonde hair. He had airpods in and took one out as I approached the table. “My name is Y/n. Would it be alright if I sit with you? The other table is filled.”

“Of course,” He responded immediately, moving the bag that was hanging on the other chair to the floor. “I’m Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur. Thank you for letting me sit with you,” I laughed, taking the seat that he pulled out for me. “I really appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He chuckled along, “It was just empty anyway.”

That was the start of an inseparable bond. It was strange having someone so close again because even though I had some friends in school, they were never as close as Arthur was. For the first couple of months, any time that was not filled with training was spent with each other. Whether it be chilling in his apartment, driving around Monaco, boat rides, and random trips around France and Italy, we were content with doing random acts of entertainment. It didn’t take long before he asked me to be his girlfriend.

One thing we knew would be difficult is the time commitments. With his recent change from Formula 3 to Formula 2 and more royal training for me, we knew it was going to be more time-consuming. That didn’t stop us, however. Tuesdays were the most random day of the week, but neither of us had any responsibilities.

One day in particular, the day before he was set to go to Australia, we were at his apartment, and I was helping him pack since he *conveniently* forgot. We had gone to get smoothies and acai bowls earlier that morning before heading to his apartment. Then, after we ate, we put on some music as background noise while we packed and conversed back and forth.

“Would you ever come to a race with me?” He asked as he pulled a couple of shirts out of his closet. “I know you didn’t have a good experience at the last one, but would you be willing to give it another time?”

“I don’t know, A. I get anxiety just knowing you’re racing,” I explained. Moving to fold the shirts he’s pulling out.

“That sound like an improvement!” He laughed, jumping over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I put the folded clothes in the suitcase. “When we first started talking, you said no immediately. Now, you’re saying you don’t know.”

“What can I say?” I leaned back into his embrace, “You are pretty persuasive.”

“What are the chances of you coming to the Monaco Grand Prix with me?”

“The odds are in your favor since I don’t go anywhere,” I laughed in response. He turned me around in his arms. He was pouting and had his head tilted slightly. “No, don’t do the puppy face. You know I can’t say no to that face.”

“Please?”

With a heavy sigh and a joking eye roll, I caved. I was about to vocalize my decision, but my phone started ringing. This time, my sigh was out of annoyance after seeing it was from Mila, my personal guard and trainer. “I need to answer that, but yes, I promise to go to the Monaco Grand Prix with you.”

“Of course,” He exclaimed, kissing me all over my face. “I will take care of everything. You go take the call, and I’ll finish packing in here.”

With a small smile, I walked out of his bedroom to the living room and stepped out onto the balcony before answering the phone. “Hi, Mila. What did I forget?”

“Nothing, but are you near the palace?” She responded. Just the tone of her voice made me nervous.

“Not really, I’m about 20 minutes away. Do I need to head back?”

“Yes, let me know when you get here.” And with that, she hung up. I walked back in to see Arthur with his suitcase fully packed by the door.

“I need to head home,” I started. “Something’s not right.”

“That’s fine,” He reassured, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll need to head out for my flight soon anyway, so I’ll walk you to your car.”

During the drive back, my mind wandered. Was there a meeting I missed? I couldn’t remember having anything scheduled on a Tuesday. Most meetings were on Mondays or Wednesdays and policy training sessions were Thursdays and Fridays. Maybe there was a last-minute meeting.

Pulling through the gates, I texted Mila once I parked in our car park, and a few guards were waiting for me. “Hi, what did I miss?”

“Y/n, we need to talk,” one of the guards, Chris, said, and right then, I knew things were worse than I thought. We walked through the corridors to reach one of the meeting rooms, but the only person in there was Mila. The guards immediately turned around and left the room.

“Mila-”

“Have a seat,” She cut me off, gesturing to the seat next to her. I took it hesitantly as I looked at her skeptically. “So, I’m not going to beat around the bush with this. As you know, your mother, the queen, was sick.”

“I assume she died then? That’s what this was for?” I cut her short. However, there was something on her face that said she wasn’t finished. “Okay, I’ll let you continue.”

She shook her head dismissively, “No, it’s fine, but you’re right. She passed away early this morning.”

“So my brother will be crowned when he comes back?”

“That’s the next news,” Mila paused. I encouraged her to just rip the bandaid off because I was getting impatient. “Your father went to the base to get your brother, but there was an explosion. There was a gas leak, and somehow the building they were in exploded. We’re still waiting on the details.”

“Wait, so my entire family…” I trailed off, but she knew where I was going. She just nodded solemnly as she pulled me into her side. “So that means…”

“It means you are to be the queen.”

Third POV

Ever since the Melbourne Grand Prix, Arthur has been talking about how his girlfriend was going to join him on the paddock for the Monaco Grand Prix. To say that his friends and brothers teased him would be putting it lightly. Any chance they could, they asked questions about this “girlfriend” of his that they had never heard of, and Arthur was willing to spill all of the details. On the Thursday before the Monaco Grand Prix when he was driving to the track with Charles, he accidentally let it slip that he actually had not heard from her recently. He asked Charles to check his phone to see if she had texted him recently.

“Wait, you haven't heard from her in over a month and you’re not at all worried?” Charles asked, very concerned for someone he’s never met.

“No, we’ve definitely texted recently,” Arthur responded in disbelief. When they pulled up to a red light, Charles showed him that the last message from her was April 1. “No, we’ve definitely talked.”

“Here, pull over. We’ll switch, so you can call her, and I’ll drive us the rest of the way to the track,” Charles said, already getting out of the car as soon as they were on the shoulder. He immediately dialed her number, and after a few rings, it went to voicemail. He thought about leaving her a voice message, but she was already calling him back before he could start.

“Hey, traffic is hideous, but I’m almost there,” She started her explanation. She was sitting in the backseat with a couple of guards, and Mila as her driver took them to the track. “Are you already there?”

“No, we’re not there yet,” he laughed. “Charles and I are still stuck in traffic, but we noticed that I hadn’t messaged you since the Australian Grand Prix. Thought I would call to see if you were still coming.” Charles was half listening to the conversation, but he was smiling to himself, hearing how lovestruck his younger brother sounded.

“Oh, definitely,” She chuckled. Mila nudged the girl with a knowing grin. “I’ve just been insanely busy recently, but I promised. On the bright side, I finished my training!”

“No way, I’m so proud of you, ma chéri!” Arthur cheered. Charles was a little confused as he pulled into the track, but let it go, knowing Arthur would explain it later. “Does that mean there will be a ceremony or something?”

“You could call it a ceremony, yes,” She giggled. She noticed that they were only a few blocks away from the car park of the track, so she turned her phone away toward her shoulder as she directed a question to Mila, “Could I jump out and meet up with Arthur before the race? I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll be in the box before it starts.” Mila turned to discuss it with one of the guards who was entirely against it. “Please, I won’t leave Arthur’s side, and you know he’s trustworthy.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight, Mila!” Arthur’s voice could be heard through the phone despite it not being on speaker. She gestured to the phone at her shoulder as Mila tried to reason with the guard.

“I’ll go with you,” Mila said as she started collecting their passes and jumping out of the car that was stopped in the traffic going into the parking lot. Y/n immediately climbed out of the back, pulling her phone back up to her ear.

“Alright, Arthur, where do you want us to meet you?”

First POV

“You seem to have gotten shorter since Melbourne,” I laughed as I ran into Arthur’s arms from where he was waiting at the Dams garage.

“You’re wearing heels,” he pointed out after we pulled away. “What are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“You say that like you don’t like me in heels,” I teased back.

“Ok, lovebirds,” Mila pulled our attention away from each other, “I am going to head up to our seats. Don’t tell anyone I left.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Thank you, Mila,” I responded as she started walking away.

“You have seats?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to rely on you for the passes for Mila, so she bought us hospitality seats,” I explain. It wasn’t the whole truth, but I could not just tell him that in the open. “Is it possible to talk somewhere away from the cameras?”

“You’re not breaking up with me, right?” He immediately jumped to conclusions.

“No, no, no, no,” I quickly shut down. “Je t’aime trop pour partir, mon amour. I just want to tell you something. (I love you too much to leave, my love)”

“Je t’aime, ma belle, (I love you, my beauty)” He whispered, pulling me in for a light kiss before leading me back towards the driver’s room he shares with Ayumu. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat on one of the beanbags as Arthur sat right next to me. I took a deep breath before deciding the best way to tell him was just to say it fast. “Arthur, I need to tell you about my family.”

“Are you trying to have me meet your family already? You could meet my brothers and maman today if you want,” He rambled.

“I can meet them, but you won’t be able to meet my family. That day you left for Australia was the day I found out they passed away.” I paused looking at his reactions. He looked sorrowful as he grasped my hands and ran his thumbs across the backs of my hands. “Maman had an illness, and papa went to get my brother from the base.”

“Your brother’s in the military?” He asked.

“Was,” I answered. He looked even more confused at that before I continued. “He was serving in the military as his last stage of training. Kind of like my trainings, he had to serve in the military.”

“What kind of training did you need to do? Was this part of your degree or something?”

“No, that’s the big secret I haven’t been able to tell you,” I whispered, putting my head down as I felt guilty for not explaining this sooner.

“Anything you have to say, I will accept you either way,” He reassured me as he pulled me into his chest and kissed my head. “I understand that you have your reasons for hiding some things, so whatever this is, it is not going to stop me from loving you.”

“What if it is complex with more spotlight than you already have?” I asked, throwing my head to rest on his shoulder and looking into his blue eyes. “What if it’s a big change?”

“When we go public, it will be a big change, but I’m willing to do anything for you, ma princesse.”

“Reine, (Queen)” I whispered.

“Quoi? (What)” He responded just as fast.

“What if I told you my parents were the king and queen of Monaco? And my older brother was the prince of Monaco? And now that they’re gone, I will be the queen of Monaco? What would you do?”

He went silent for a few seconds before whispering, “Are you serious?” My silence was enough of an answer for him to jump up, pulling me with him as he starts laughing and spinning us in circles. He set me down after a couple of spins before holding me at arm's length, “I would completely understand. I mean you probably didn’t plan on taking the throne because of your brother, and you’d just come back from studying. I only tell people who need to know, and when we met, I wasn’t someone who needed to know. We haven't talked since you found out, so I could never be upset with something like that.”

“But now, if we tell people, you will be heavily scrutinized as people will see you as a potential king,” I signed, happy to know he isn’t upset with me, but still wanting him to see all sides before completely agreeing to move forward. “You’d have more on your list.”

“The only question I would have is if it would interfere with racing,” He turned serious.

“I would never let them keep you from your passions,” I laughed. “They have to respect it by order of the queen.”

“Well, then I would see no issues against continuing to be by your side, ma reine,” he chuckled with a mocking bow.

“Merci mon beau prince, (Thank you my handsome prince)” I mocked back, “now by order of the queen, go win this race.”

“And Arthur Leclerc passes Fredrik Vesti in the final turn of the race,” Crofty shouted over the radio during the final lap of the race. I was up in the hospitality seats with Mila and the guards but headed down to the pitlane a couple of laps before since I was going to be presenting the trophies. I was standing at the pit wall with Charles, Lorenzo, and Pascale, who I met (again) just before the race. “The Monaco Curse is broken for Arthur Leclerc as he wins his first Monaco Grand Prix!”

I left the pit wall to meet everyone at the podium and stopped to meet up with Mila on my way over. She and the guards escorted me through the crowds. “I’ll tell you now, one of you will need to tell Arthur not to out our relationship when I give him his trophy.”

At the podium, I stood behind the steps as Alice announces the winners. “In third place, we have Théo Pourchaire! In second place, we have Frederik Vesti! And in first place, breaking the Monaco Curse, the home favorite, Arthur Leclerc! Presenting the trophies today is the future Queen of Monaco, Y/n.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said to Arthur as I handed him the trophy.

“Merci, now if only Charles could win,” He joked, taking the trophy and posing with it.

“I’ll tell him you’re talking crap about him,” I teased back, moving away to grab the next trophy for Dams. I handed them all out and expressed my congratulations to the other two drivers before posing for the picture and immediately ducking back as I knew Arthur would try to spray me. I walked down the stairs to meet up with Charles before he heads back to Ferrari for his own race. “Arthur’s talking shit about you. You better win.”

“I’m starting sixth, so we have hope,” Charles responded as he rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t box for hards at the last lap again and you’ll be fine,” I laughed as if it were really that simple.

“Maybe I broke the curse for both of us or maybe I just had some good luck today,” Arthur said, coming up behind us and throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh yeah, what good luck did you have?” Charles teased, punching Arthur into me.

“Maybe just the future queen of Monaco.”

~~~~~

#arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #formula 2 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #arthur x reader #f2 #f1 #dams racing

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swearyshera · 8 months

Text

Thank you!

This may end up being a long, rambly post because I'm a little emotional. But bear with me.

I am so incredibly thankful for all the love you've sent this week, and it humbles me to realise how much this silly little parody blog meant to people. Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, asking, going absolutely unhinged in the tags... I read them all, and they've spurred me to keep going through 32 months, over 5000 posts, 40GB of screenshots and the wildest, most brilliant time of my life.

I'd love to thank people individually, but there's so many of you that I would inevitably miss someone out and that seems unfair! But I will say a special thank you to the She-Ra Uncut team, who I'm proud to consider some of the greatest friends I've made through this fandom, and whether we make many wonderful things, or never make anything again, I hope we can consider each other friends for life.

(Sob story time, feel free to skip!) In 2015, I had a huge breakdown. I was off work for 8 months, in hospital for a week, had therapy twice a week for a year... It was fucking awful. And though I got better, I never really felt like I had a reason to, and that I was just treading water until the darkness came back with vengeance. Then, as She-Ra ended, I made some silly posts that ended up as Etheria Nine-Nine, which led me onto what would become Sweary She-Ra. I had no idea how much this would change my life.

The response to this blog led me to write a script for a She-Ra Uncut trailer, and I loved it. I wrote more and developed a love for the craft, that I wanted to continue. It became a joy, and gave me a dream for the first time I could remember. So I kept writing, I kept learning and improving. In September 2022, I was sat in the Lowry theatre in Salford surrounded by the laughter of an audience watching a play that I wrote. That was the most incredible feeling of my life.

And I wouldn't have had that without thinking "Catra should be allowed to say fuck".

So while, it may be over (and it was pointed out to me that Sweary She-Ra ran for longer than the actual show did!), it's hopefully not the end. I'm very keen to make an audio sequel if I can, maybe several, and I'm not going to disappear into the ether. And hey, I don't know what the future will bring.

But there is a future.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, everyone.

Alice.

(PS - Hi Crew-Ra, if you're reading this as I maybe suspect one or two of you may be. I am sorry but also not sorry, but also hire me when the strikes are over 😁. Thank you for making She-Ra, I love you!)

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in1-nutshell · 21 days

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Third request since you opened them, I just have a lot of ideas. I was rereading the Bee's team meets megatons daughter with the opposite personality Buddy and it got me thinking. You know how Knockout, Breakdown, Steve, and maybe Soundwave? Couldn't tell. But you know how all of them switched side because of Buddy in that one fic you wrote? (Or maybe not, there's a nagging thought in the back of my mind that I dreamed that.) Imagine they all notice that Buddy's missing and there's a slight panic because yeah, Buddy can take care of herself but why wouldn't she tell them? They find out that Buddy's back on earth and now there are a few ex-cons standing at the scrapyard's gate. (Or maybe Knockout never left earth and already knew she was there? Because there's that one episode where Bumblebee and Strongarm are thrown into the car lot with the uhm, wheel cuff things, and it pans out to a very suspicious cherry red Aston Martin. I refuse to believe that's not Knockout. And since Fixit (I think, can't remember.) and the humans had to go and rescue them maybe Buddy tagged along and Knockout saw them? Buddy might've also seen Knockout and decided to get the wheel cuff off of him as well. (Or maybe he didn't have a wheel cuff, can't remember. Jeez, how much have I said that?)) Anyways this was just a really long ramble of an idea that can be taken multiple ways. So do what you wanna do with this.

There's a bit of an explanation on the timeline in here. If it sounds a bit confusing, feel free to let me know so I can explain it better.

Also, added a little extra in here...

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality reactions from Knockout, Breakdown, Steve, and Soundwave finding out she went missing

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Familial, Cybertronain reader

RiD 2015

Going through the canon timeline of megs daughter.

Soundwave does get sent to the shadow zone through an altercation.

Buddy never finds out what happened to him.

She believes that he left Megatron during the chaos.

She was a bit sad that he never came back to talk to her or anything, but she also believed that he was taking some time to find himself after being a Decepticon for so long.

Knockout and Breakdown end up having joint stay between earth and Cybertron.

The pair loved driving through Earth scenery and was a place to escape Cybertron for a while.

Most of the Decepticons had started their new lives on Cybertron now that the war was over.

Buddy was no different.

Not only had she started a brand-new life, Buddy and Steve had recently become Conjunx Endura after a while of dating.

Steve had been on an away assignment for his work when Buddy left through the portal of their shared habsuite.

Steve walking into their home.

“Buddy! I’m back!”--Steve

Silence…

“Buddy! I’m back?”--Steve

Silence…

Steve starts looking around the home.

“Buddy? Buddy if this is another joke, I don’t like it!”--Steve

A few minutes later…

Knockout looks at his monitor seeing Steve calling.

“Breakdown its Steve!”--Knockout

“Put him on.”--Breakdown

Steve shows up on the screen.

“Hey Ste—”--Breakdown

“SHE’S GONE!”--Steve

Breakdown and Knockout out jump a bit.

“Gone? Who’s gone?”--Knockout

Steve has his servo on his helm.

“BUDDY! BUDDY’S NOT HERE!”--Steve

“Calm down Steve. Maybe she went out for a walk or something. Or maybe she went to go visit a friend. Remember last time?”--Breakdown

“…Maybe your right…”--Steve

“But if she doesn’t come back in a week then let us know.”--Breakdown

“Steve nods and hangs up.

One week later…

Steve starts calling Knockout and Breakdown.

Breakdown answers.

“Hey—Primus Steve!”--Breakdown

Steve looks tired and on the verge of a literal break down.

“SHE’S STILL NOT HERE!”--Steve

Soundwave, meanwhile, had spent his time looking for Megatron’s signal. He escaped the shadow zone a couple weeks before Buddy showed up, so he didn’t know that she was here.

Soundwave picks up on a frantic link between Knockout, Breakdown and Steve about Buddy disappearing.

He follows the frequency to Breakdown and Knockout which scares them half to death.

“Soundwave!”—Breakdown and Knockout

Soundwave stands there with his arms crossed.

“Breakdown—Knockout—Buddy?”--Soundwave

“We don’t know. Steve just told us she went missing from their home.”--Breakdown

Soundwave clenches his servos a bit.

The sound of a portal gets their attention.

Out pops out Steve.

“I’m here! I’m—SOUNDWAVE?!”--Steve

“Explain.”--Soundwave

“Steve is here to assist us on the search for Buddy.”--Knockout

Soundwave steps to Steve.

Knockout and Breakdown step to Steve’s side.

“He is Buddy’s Conjunx Soundwave. He has the right to be here.”--Breakdown

Soundwave freezes a bit hearing it.

“Buddy—Conjunx?”—Soundwave

Steve gulps a bit but puts on a brave face.

“Yes, I’m her Conjunx. A Conjunx that’s worried for her safety. We’d really appreciate it if you helped us find her.”--Steve

Soundwave pauses a bit and turns to Knockout.

“Continue.”--Soundwave

“As I was saying, a day’s weeks ago I was booted and taken to the yard where I saw this other Autobot get stuck there too, awfully annoying mind you. And then look who shows up but Bumblebee and his new crew.”--Knockout

“He has a new team?”--Steve

“Yes, and I swear I heard him say ‘Buddy’. I thought at the time he was remembering her from Cybertron, but now that she went missing, there is a chance that Bumblebee might know where she is.”--Knockout

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”--Steve

“Slow down Steve we don’t even have a trail on where—”--Breakdown

“Signal—found. 30—minutes—east—city. Coordinates on—commlink.”--Soundwave

“Now we go!”--Steve

Steve transforms and speeds down the road.

“…He’s good to Buddy. Their a good match for each other.”--Breakdown

Soundwave looks at Steve’s retreating form.

“Soundwave—will see—about that.”--Soundwave

It’s nighttime when they arrive to the scrapyard.

Knockout thinks about literally knocking on the door.

They hear Buddy yelling.

“Okay we need a good plan—”--Knockout

Steve uses Breakdown like a steppingstone and launches himself over the high wall.

“Or we can go in guns blazing I guess…”--Knockout

“Soundwave—approve.”--Soundwave

Breakdown offers Knockout and Soundwave a way over.

He could wait until they opened the door.

Soundwave and Knockout are now over the wall.

All the scrapyards’ alarms are sounding.

The team is on high alert when Fix-it mentions the Decepticon signals inside the scrapyard.

Bee tells Buddy to get Denny and Russel out of the area.

Buddy grabs her friends and sets on leading them to the other side of the scrapyard with Fix it.

Steve is dodging blasters and staffs like it was his job back in the Decepticons.

He is slightly hurt that Bee didn’t recognize him but then again, he does have a pretty basic frame.

Steve raises his servos in surrender.

“HOLD IT! HOLD IT!”--Steve

“Freeze Decepticon!”--Strongarm

“Hey! I said hold it! Now, I’m not here to hurt anyone—”--Steve

“I am.”--Soundwave

“Soundwave?!”--Bumblebee

The weapons get charged up and ready to attack.

“WE are not here to attack. Listen, Bumblebee, we’re just here to—”--Steve

“Where did everyone go?”--Breakdown

Breakdown and Knockout walk in on the standoff.

“Knockout? Breakdown? What is going on?!”--Bumblebee

Steve face palms.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain but everyone here seems to keep on interrupting me!”--Steve

Silence.

“Now. We came here to ask you if you’ve seen Buddy around?”—Steve

“Buddy?”--Bumblebee

The team immediately gets ready to attack.

“If you think we’re about to give her to you, then your sorely mistaken.”--Drift

“So, you do know where she is!”--Steve

Grimlock steps up front.

“And you’re going to have to go through me if you want her.”--Grimlock

“Fine by me.”--Steve

Meanwhile, with Buddy...

“I think we’re safe here.”--Buddy

“Thank the Prime’s.”—Fix-it

“AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!”

Buddy freezes.

She quickly looks at Denny Russel and Fix it.

“Stay here.”--Buddy

With that Buddy sprints back.

Grimlock had grabbed Steve and slammed him to the ground when he tried to get past him.

Steve luckily manages to get out of his grip and falls back.

Buddy is sprinting back to the main part of the scrap yard ready for whatever she was going to face.

She hides behind some used oil barrel and takes a peek at who the trouble was.

Buddy spots Steve on his knees, holding his side a bit.

She runs out of her hiding place.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE! HOLD YOURE FIRE!”--Buddy

Most of Team Bee looks in shock that Buddy starts running past them.

“Buddy! Don’t—”--Grimlock

“HOLD YOURE FIRE!”--Buddy

The team hesitantly puts some of their weapons down.

Buddy rushes over to Steve, who was frozen seeing Buddy there.

“Primus Steve are you okay? That denting doesn’t look too—Oof!”--Buddy

Steve fights the shooting pain on his side and flings his arms around Buddy pulling her incredibly close.

“Oh, Thank the Allspark you’re okay!”--Steve

He lets go to look her over.

“Are you hurt? Where did you go? Were you kidnapped? What’s—“--Buddy hugs him tight making him go quiet.

He just wraps his arms around her and stifles a sob in his throat.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know this was going to be such a long mission, but when Prime calls you, you gotta go.”--Buddy

“Excuse me when Prime what?”--Steve

“CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN WHAT IS GOING ON?!”—Sideswipe

Team Bee is extremely confused.

Soundwave takes a few steps forward and Buddy launches at her uncle he hugs back surprising everyone.

Then she goes to Knockout and Breakdown.

There is a lot to explain.

Steve stays by Buddy’s side the entire time.

“Hey Buddy, who is… Steve exactly?”--Denny

“He’s my Conjunx.”--Buddy

Steve feels a swell of pride and love hearing those words.

Steve grabs Buddy’s servo.

“That’s still sounds nice, you know.”--Steve

Buddy smiles shyly at him.

“Your Conjunx!”—Team Bee

“How come you never told us?!”--Sideswipe

“It never came up?”--Buddy

“What’s a Conjunx?”--Russel

“The Earth equivalent of a significant other.”--Breakdown

“You’re married?!”--Russel

“How?!”--Sideswipe

Buddy looks at Steve.

“That’s a story for another time.”--Buddy

“No, that’s a story for now.”--Sideswipe

“Another time.”--Buddy

“Now!”--Sideswipe

In the end Knockout and Breakdown end up going back to their home on earth. They do offer their services in case something bad does happen in their area.

Soundwave decides to take some time for himself not knowing what to do with everything now that the war is over.

Steve decides to stay in the scrapyard with Buddy and Team Bee.

#maccadam #transformers x reader #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader

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kanmom51 · 10 months

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Feels appropriate today, doesn't it?

cr./@abtjikook

Did we mention that 8 July was 2800 days count from 8 November 2015?

And today we have the book spoilers.

I have sinned, I admit it. Could not wait to next week for my book to arrive and went and read the spoiler pages.

The way they talk about that trip.

We get confirmation that it was ever ONLY about the two of them.

We get confirmation that this trip meant EVERYTHING to them.

Not like we didn't know that already. But it's nice to hear it once again from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

The joy JK got from those little supposedly insignificant moments. Staying up all night because JM was looking through his phone, walking the streets and JM's feet hurting.

Do we see the connecting thread here?

Well, beyond it all being about the one person he also made the star of his creation - JM.

It's all about the mundane!!

They got to be a couple. Alone. Outside of their idol lives. Well, tried their best. And the gift of anonymity with their Halloween costumes. This was just what they needed.

So this trip, it wasn't about a start of a relationship (let's be real, they were 2 years into the relationship at that point). This trip was about them trying to be 'normal' human beings, a 'normal' couple, doing the 'normal' things couples do. No security, no managers, no fans (well they wanted that). Just being themselves together doing the mundane.

All of this isn't happening in a vacuum either. It's happening when they are struggling with their fame and life decisions (some of which were made when they were very very young).

Mundane.

A word I mentioned before too.

Because that's what gave them joy in this trip.

Because discovering that everything you felt for each other also survives that test, the test of being a 'regular', 'normal' couple. That is EVERYTHING.

Take all of that and add the effort that JK went to with arranging the trip. Paying for it. The timing (just almost their 2 year anniversary), the room number choice.

So yes, we get the significance of GCFT. And the significance of it's release date: 8/11/2017.

Do we remember JK's excitement one GCF Tokyo was uploaded?

Almost 6 years on, reading those lines, and JK's choice for GCFT kind of hits you hard, doesn't it?

I woke up pissed off today And lately everyone feels fake Somewhere, I lost a piece of me Smoking cigarettes on balconies But I can't do this alone Sometimes I just need a light If I call you on the phone Need you on the other side So when your tears roll down your pillow like a river I'll be there for you I'll be there for you When you're screaming, but they only hear you whisper I'll be loud for you But you gotta be there for me too But you gotta be there for me too Last year took a toll on me But I made it with you next to me Around the world and back again I hope you're waiting at the end But I can't do this alone Sometimes I just need a light If I call you on the phone Need you on the other side So when your tears roll down your pillow like a river I'll be there for you I'll be there for you When you're screaming, but they only hear you whisper I'll be loud for you I'll be loud for you I got you, I promise But let me be honest Love is a road that goes both ways When your tears roll down your pillow like a river I'll be there for you But you gotta be there for me too But you gotta be there for me too Boy, I'm holdin' onto something Won't let go of you for nothing I'm runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you There was a time that I was so blue What I got to do to show you? I'm runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you Runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you Runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you Said, I'm runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you But you gotta be there for me too But you gotta be there for me too

And then you take Letter

Baby, don't leave, just stay with me, yeah To you who saw me greater than my little self (to you) So that I can only deliver as much as I received (Uh-oh) So that I can keep my word (Uh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by your side, yeah Because I don't know what days awaits us (Yeah) I'm scared even though it looks like it (Uh-oh) Don't forget to always say "together" (don't forget)

JM's reply?

I absolutely adore these young men.

I am still to read the book. Can't wait. I'm sure there will be more to add. But at this point, from the few pages shared, I think it's also safe to say that 2018 issues were not about their relationship. Far from it.

They were struggling with themselves. Adjusting to stardom. As much as they wanted the success, as much as they wanted it all, when that dream became a reality is when it hit them that being a star, being famous, being successful, it comes with a price. And that price is at times hard to accept, hard to digest, hard to adjust to and to some impossible to live with. And that is what they were going through. What next? How far? How long? How much? Is this what I really want to do with my life? What price? Is it worth the price? Each of them dealing with it in their own way. JM and JK there for each other, helping each other through it all.

#Jungkook #JK #Jimin #JM #Jikook #Minkook #Kookmin #GCFT #Jikook Tokyo

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datura-tea · 3 months

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holy shit this year marks 10 years of this blog and moz!! i can't remember the exact date i started posting here - my archive says i have one post from november 2013 but let's disregard that - but i do remember it was around late 2014/early 2015 :)

^ one of the very first moz art pieces i ever drew, for fallout week 2015!!

memories and art through the years under a read more bc it got long

2014 → baby's first rpg!! i started playing fnv on my cousin's jailbroken xbox late 2013 and finished mid 2014 and i loved every minute of it. i remember waking up at 8am and playing almost nonstop until 2am the next day haha!

i didn't play moz on my first playthrough - but i did start creating a character that would eventually become her: a shorthaired ex-boxer who punched her way through obstacles when diplomacy failed. i remember she spent a lot of time with boone. i liked him then, because he saved my ass more times than i can count. but i digress. this is draft 1 moz essentially

2015 → this is the year that i was doing my thesis so i could graduate but i was so depressed and stressed about it that i distracted myself by replaying fnv on pc, where i played through the dlcs for the first time. i fell in love with the dlcs' oversarching story; particularly ulysses, who i became obssessed with, especially since i couldn't find any content of him at the time. in the game, i played as moz; i had most of her personality and choices down, but her backstory was still up in the air.

fun fact: this was an existing sideblog that i remade to be a fallout blog so i could look for ulysses content, and when i couldn't find any, i made some myself, featuring moz as my main courier six. originally, i didn't ship them, but eventually i ended the year as a courier/ulysses otp shipper.

this was the year i started drawing digitally - my uncle let me borrow a drawing tablet and i used an old copy of photoshop i pirated hehe

2016 → i graduated this year!! and promptly fell deeper into my depression. this was the year that it got so bad that i had to be medicated. through it all, this blog and moz and ulysses and my fandom friends were with me. and for that i am truly grateful :) this was the year i figured out how to lock transparent pixels so that i could color my lineart lol

2017 → i started hammering out moz's backstory this year i think. there's a lot of sketches of her and her family in my files. i experimented with shading and backgrounds here but that experimentation was pretty short-lived

2018 → i started using references seriously!!!! i did a lot of oc on oc kissing this year, featuring mostly moz and many friend ocs haha

2019 → didn't draw much this year. actually this year was a blur and i can't remember much from it except from it being the year of my terrible no good bad copywriting jobs... anyway i did manage to continue my courier/ulysses brainrot and make this piece, which i'm still proud of

2020 → pandemic time. i spent a lot of time asleep at home and i think this was also the year i started doing commissions?? shoutout to anyone who has ever commissioned me - thank you so much, i truly appreciate it!!

2021 → i switched from my old-ass pirated photoshop to clip studio paint and never looked back. also i did a bunch of commissions for my grandmother's surgery, which failed, and i distracted myself from the sadness by drawing my ocs over and over and playing disco elysium

2022 → by this year, i've got moz down pat and have started vaguely developing other ocs instead. but she's still always at the back of my mind

2023 → i bought new brushes from true grit texture supply and immediately found new favorites that i started using for everything. i tentatively started incorporating background elements in some pieces!

2024 → while it's still too early to say where this year will lead me art-wise, i will say that i started experimenting in realistic paint studio (which i bought in 2021, the same time as clip studio paint) a few days ago and i'm liking the results so far. we'll see!

all in all, these last 10 years have been quite a ride, but i'm glad i stuck around and i'm glad you guys stuck around too!! much much love 💖💖💖

#shh peri shhh #god. look at that old art... i took the ones that i still kinda liked but the rest...#well i don't hate them. but they're old and of their time and i wish i could redo them lmao #my art #moz

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watermelonsugacry · 1 year

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i saw this edit on tiktok AND IT REMINDED ME SO MUCH OF BANDMATE YN AND HARRY THE AUDIO, EDIT, EVERYTHING!!

and i was wondering if u wanted to u could use it as prompt for a little scenario or something !!

BUT OMG I CANT WAIT FOR THIS MOVIE TO OCME OUT ITS GONNA BE SO BANDMATE YN AND HARRY AH

ok but the Daisy Jones and The Six mocumentary series is so 1d!yn and harry...like it's literary the Jamacia, Writing Fine Line, and Building Harry's House series!!!

and as for that tiktok...

-2010-

The band is lined up in a row on stage as they perform a cover of You Are So Beautiful. They're already halfway through the competition and that first place award seems to be getting closer and closer each week.

In the center of this line-up, Harry finishes singing his part before taking a step back to let Zayn continue the song. When he does so, the sixteen-year-old looks to his female bandmate to his left. YN bobs her head along to the music, getting lost in the song.

After pulling her cardigan closer around herself, she slightly turns her head to meet her bandmate's gaze. Harry thinks she looks absolutely angelic with the orange lights illuminating the stage, the smoke swirling by their feet, her bright eyes looking back at him, and her gentle smile resting comfortably on her lips.

It still feels surreal that he first met this girl at his Band of the Bands competition the year prior, falling for a stranger he never got the chance to talk to. Thinking he'd never see her again, he's heart beat picks up at the realization that he's now singing with her, that they're in a band together!

The two teenagers break their gaze, looking at the cloudy ground while attempting to tame their smiles before taking a hold of their microphone stands to continue the song.

-2015-

After Harry finishes singing the second chorus for You & I, the band all take a moment to feel the music and take a step back from their microphone stands. The band is getting closer to their last show for their last tour before they take their well-needed hiatus.

Harry puts his hands behind his back and can't help but naturally look over to YN next to him. She strums her acoustic guitar before letting it ring out with a shake of its neck.

She looks at him and the wind knocks her out of her chest. She remembers the first year when they were placed in a band together. She wasn't a person who had crushes on guys easily but she found herself succumbing to his mop of curly hair that has now grown out past his shoulders and the dimples that still dig into his cheeks. Instead of a stylish scarf around his neck, she can see the two sparrows adorning his chest.

Out of muscle memory, she strums her guitar when the beat drops as she gets lost in the sight of her bandmate. Harry throws her a wink with a smirk gracing his mouth.

The two are definitely in another mindset than what their media-training has instilled in them for years as they continue to stare at one another for the rest of the song. The stadium full of screaming fans is drowned out and they're the only ones on stage.

-2018-

Harry looks fondly at YN as she sings Zayn's high note with her eyes closed and a scrunch of her cheek. They tilt their upper bodies to face one another as they sing the romantic lyrics. Their bodies bob to the mellow beat and their voices blend beautifully together as she sings her adlibs and other high notes for the song.

No, nothing can come between

You and I

After YN's name comes out Harry's lips, the fans absolutely lose it when they see how she walks to the center of the stage in her gold, rainbow colored dress. The two former band mates embrace, naturally digging their faces into one another's necks, and the arena practically vibrates from all their screaming.

As they sing Still The One, the audience is trembling in excitement, tears streaming down their faces as they shakily record the performance. If the fans only knew that they’re secretly treading into the deep end past friendship and into something more behind closed doors.

The two of them don't even acknowledge the crowd all that much as they sing. They dedicate the words to one another with so much love behind their eyes and passion from their lips.

As they sing the chorus and Harry continues to strum the guitar she gifted him, he stares fondly onto the womn next to him. YN closes her eyes as she sings, taking the sides of her exquisite dress and lifting it besides herself, extending out and letting it flutter itself back down. A faint breeze of wind from the fans surrounding the edges of the stage delicately pushe her hair back and he thinks that she looks unworldly.

Looks like we've made it

Look how far we've come my baby

Even after they finish the song, as the fans scream at the top of their lungs, the two former band members stay standing there for a minute longer. They lock eyes, their chest rising and falling at a steady and peaceful pace. A soft smile it's on YN’s lips and a dimpled smirk on his.

SINCE 2010 masterlist

taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall @rosehel @sucker4angstt @isalove @diorchives @mrshiddlestyles02 @fdl305 @tiaamberxx

#i binged the show the other day and its SO GOOD #harry x 1dbandmember!reader #1dbandmember!yn #harry styles x reader #since 2010 series #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles and reader #harry styles and y/n #harry styles fic

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writingonleaves · 6 months

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and what if i really thought some miracle would see us through?

universe: nico hischier (though he doesn't appear in this part) x clementine sandoval x hughes brothers

warnings: cancer, grief, sadness, spoilers to first part (linked below), not proofread

title: "ronan" by taylor swift

word count: 1k

author's note: uhhh surprise?? reached 50 followers today (which, by the way, thank you SO much you're all so wonderful) and had a burst of inspiration and wanted to get out of my writer's block. tried something a bit different and put my journalism degree to use. if you haven't read the first edition of this au yet, please do!! hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!

Hockey Fights Cancer: Hughes Brothers Edition

From The Athletic

L - R: Miguel Sandoval with baby Quinn Hughes, 1999, Miguel with Clementine Sandoval, Jack Hughes and Luke Hughes, 2005, Jack Hughes with his mother Ellen Weinberg-Hughes and Maeve Sandoval, 2019, Clementine, Quinn, Jack and Luke, 2020. All photos courtesy of Clementine Sandoval

*****

Family values have always been ingrained in the Hughes family.

With Quinn, Jack and Luke drafted in the top 10 during their respective draft years, they’ve always acknowledged that it takes a village to get where they are. Talent is the obvious driver, but it’s also about the support to elevate that talent.

But it hasn't necessarily always been family with the Hughes surname that has influenced them. According to Jack, there’s another surname that “should be added onto the back of my jersey.”

The Sandovals consist of Maeve Sandoval nee Brennan, Miguel Sandoval and Clementine Sandoval. Miguel died in 2015 from pancreatic cancer, and he is who all Hughes brothers are playing for as teams across the league celebrates Hockey Fights Cancer nights starting this week.

“Growing up three streets over from the Sandovals in Toronto was such a prominent childhood memory,” Quinn said. “Every memory I have from that time has them in it.”

Ellen Weinberg-Hughes, the Hughes brothers’ mother, and Maeve played collegiate soccer together at the University of New Hampshire. Maeve met Miguel at UNH, Ellen met Jim Hughes post-grad and the four of them became a unit.

“I still remember meeting Maeve when she was a junior and I was a freshman,” Ellen says. “So outgoing and so skilled. She may have been the first upperclassman to make me feel really welcome.”

Though both couples would have lives that took them to separate places — Ellen and Jim to Florida and New Hampshire and Maeve and Miguel to Massachusetts — they would eventually all meet back in Toronto.

Clementine was the first child born in 1997, followed by Quinn two years later, then Jack and then Luke. As the only girl in the mix, she naturally fell into the older sister role.

“I always forget that I don’t technically have any siblings,” Clementine said. “But these days, whenever people ask, I just say I have three younger brothers. Because it’s true.”

Clementine is currently a second-year resident at New York University Langone Health, focusing on a combined emergency room and pediatric residency. After spending her undergrad and medical school years in California, when she was notified of her placement in March 2023, Jack and Luke immediately asked her to move in with them in Hoboken.

“It was a no brainer,” Jack said. “After being in different states for so long, it felt like it was meant to be. Who gets the chance to live with one of their best friends?”

When Miguel was going through treatment, Clementine had just finished her junior year of high school. Quinn was 15, Jack was 13 and Luke was 11. He died days after Quinn verbally committed to the University of Michigan.

“I was young, but I still remember how positive Miguel was when he must’ve been in so much pain,” Luke said. “He always had a smile on his face and made it to every game of ours he could. I got a hattrick in the last game of mine he came to. I’ll never forget that.”

Miguel couldn’t skate for his life, according to Jim. But that didn’t matter. If he wasn’t at his daughter’s soccer games, he was going to the rink to watch the boys.

“Miguel was known to be vocal in the stands,” Jim said. “Any bad call and he was immediately on his feet. I know he’s upstairs watching every Canucks and Devils game as passionate as ever.”

Last season, Jack and Luke revealed to Amanda Smith, the New Jersey Devils Team Reporter the reason why they chose 43 and 86. April 3 was Miguel’s birthday, and Miguel always said that Jack’s “bright and bold” personality was as loud as both of his brothers combined.

“I often think about how [Miguel] never got to see us play in the NHL or for our country,” Quinn said. “Which is so unfair in so many ways, because he always believed in us and was such a loud cheerleader. There are days when I just get sad and I wish he was still here, but then I give Maeve or Clem a call and then it’s usually okay.”

Jack said that Clementine has always been the bright spot amongst the emptiness left by Miguel’s death.

“It puts things into perspective, the way Clee has lived her life beautifully and the way she thinks so positively,” Jack said. “I’ve always seen her as an older sister, but she’s also just one of the best people in the world. Miguel’s energy lives through her.”

“Having Clemmy in our life has been such a blessing,” Luke added. “She’s taught me so much and always looked out for me. I know the three of us try our best to look after her as well.”

Luke still remembers one specific moment during his draft — Clementine and Maeve made it to all three boys’ big days. The morning of, Clementine pulled him aside and gave him an envelope. Immediately, Luke knew what was inside. Quinn and Jack had gotten theirs during their drafts.

A letter addressed to Luke from Miguel. Written two months before he died.

“Dad gave those letters to me to give to them and was very specific about his instructions,” Clementine added. “‘Honey, pull them aside on their draft day, and just give it to them without any context. Only for their own eyes to read.’ I remember being like, how do you know they’re gonna get drafted? And he was like, ‘I just know.’”

All three of them still have their respective letters. Ellen and Jim have theirs as well — Maeve gave them theirs on Quinn’s draft day. Letters were a Miguel staple, according to Clementine. She herself got one when she graduated college and probably will get one when she gets married.

“I can’t imagine the amount of courage and strength that took him,” Quinn said. “Knowing that he wasn’t going to be there for such big moments and writing something anyways. I carry mine with me on every road trip.”

Next week, when the Devils host their Hockey Fights Cancer Night during their home game against the Canucks, the Hughes brothers will be playing for Miguel. Clementine, Ellen and Jim will be in the stands while Maeve — an elementary school teacher — will be watching from Boston.

“We’ll for sure be thinking of him that night, but whenever we step onto the ice, 43 or 86 on our back, we always think of him,” Jack said. “I hope we’re making him proud.”

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #hockey fanfic #devils #canucks #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #hockey au #hockey blurb #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl #the blue au

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swan-of-sunrise · 7 months

Text

A Night on the Town

Summary: Steve and (Y/N)’s first date, as told through the eyes of an extremely nervous ninety-seven year old super-soldier and a lovestruck historical-fiction novelist.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! Today, we'll be getting a little look at Steve and Booksmart's first date after the Battle of Sokovia but before the last chapter of Age of Ultron, and I'll warn you now that there's so much freaking fluff in this one-shot! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

A Night on the Town May 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

Ever since taking the super-soldier serum in 1943, Steve Rogers had grown accustom to dangerous battles filled with death-defying stunts and adrenaline-inducing action. He almost never experienced pre-battle jitters and now that he was cementing himself in the twenty-first century alongside a team of other similarly super-powered people, he knew that there was no need to be nervous with his fellow Avengers fighting at his side, no matter if they were battling aliens from the opposite end of space or murderous androids controlled by artificial-intelligence. But as he parked his motorcycle on the street in front of (Y/N) and Sam’s house, Steve’s heart pounded in his chest and after switching off the engine, he was forced to wipe his clammy hands off on his dark jeans.

“It’s just a date, Rogers…” He reassured himself, getting off the motorcycle and reaching into the back compartment to retrieve the bouquet of pink roses he’d carefully picked out for (Y/N). “A date with a woman who’s completely and utterly out of your league.” When his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, he nudged the compartment closed and withdrew the device to see who was texting him on his day off, only to heave a sigh when he saw that it was Natasha.

Nat: Go get her, super-soldier 😉

Nat: You’d better give me all the tea tomorrow, or else I’ll decorate your shield with stickers.

Nat: Have fun!

“What the hell does ‘the tea’ mean…?” Steve murmured to himself as he shook his head at the spy’s eccentricities and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He took a moment to make sure that the roses hadn’t begun to wilt on the drive over and when he was satisfied with their appearance, he made his way up the driveway by the familiar yellow Volkswagen Bug and stepped onto the porch; nervously swallowing and wincing at how dry his throat had become, Steve ran a hand through his hair before pressing the doorbell and taking a step back, a smile making its way onto his face despite the anxiety fluttering away in his stomach.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal (Y/N) and the breath was instantly knocked out of his lungs at the stunning sight. The historical-fiction novelist was dressed in an off-the-shoulder green blouse, short black jean skirt, sheer black tights and dark brown ankle boots, and her (Y/H/C) hair was fixed in the same intricate style she’d worn to the party at the Avengers Tower. Silver hoop earrings and a delicate book-shaped pendant accentuated the graceful slope of her neck, and her subtle touches of makeup brought out the sparkle in her (Y/E/C) eyes. While Steve stared in stunned disbelief, the hints of apprehension written across (Y/N)’s face melted away into a sweet, red-hued smile that he couldn’t help but return tenfold. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, (Y/N). You…You look so beautiful.” The historical-fiction novelist mumbled a bashful word of thanks and Steve held the bouquet out for her to take. “These are for you. I, um, I remember you saying in one of your emails that pink roses were your favorite.”

(Y/N) beamed as she accepted the bouquet of roses and took in their sweet-smelling scent. “They’re stunning, Steve, thank you! Let me just put these in some water-”

“I’ve got it, Booksmart.” A smirking Sam appeared at the doorway with his roommate’s purse in his hands, swapping her for the bouquet and giving Steve a look of exaggerated sternness. “Good to see you, Cap. So, you two’ve got a fun night planned; you’re gonna have her home at a respectful time, right?”

“Hi, Sam. I-”

“You don’t have to answer him, Steve, he’s just being a smart-ass.” After flashing Steve a smile, (Y/N) shot her best friend a glare and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night than annoy us, Birdbrain?”

Sam dramatically sighed and shook his head. “Sadly, not all of us are lucky enough to snag a date with a super-soldier, but I might meet up with Nat later and go to that new bar that just opened downtown. You two have fun, but not too much fun!”

They stepped down off the porch and made their way down the driveway to Steve’s motorcycle, and (Y/N) waited until the front door closed behind Sam to heave an exasperated sigh. “He’s a real character, isn’t he?”

“He’s certainly one of a kind, that’s for sure.” They both chuckled as he reached into his bike’s back compartment and withdrew the spare helmet. “I haven’t been out to very many restaurants here in D.C., so I was hoping that you’d know of a good one we can eat at tonight. Whatever you’d like, I’m game.”

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up in excitement as she fastened the helmet’s strap under her chin. “In that case, there’s a great food truck downtown that serves, hands-down, the best Mexican food. How does that sound?”

Steve straddled the motorcycle and waited for the historical-fiction novelist to lower herself onto the seat behind him before switching the engine on. “I’ve never had Mexican food, but I’ve always wanted to give it a try.”

“Trust me, you’re going to love it!” She exclaimed over the engine’s rumbling, and Steve smiled a little to himself when he felt her arms wrap around his waist. “1560 Wilson Boulevard, you can’t miss it!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve shot her a teasing grin over his shoulder and reveled in the feeling of her arms tightening around him as he peeled away from the curb and sped down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seated side-by-side on a brick planter box a little ways away from Pa’ Tortas El Papi’s bustling food truck, (Y/N) and Steve enjoyed their plates of street tacos and ice-cold Coca-Cola’s and fell into easy conversation as Tejano music played in the foreground and string lights twinkled in the tree branches above. (Y/N) was pleased and a little relieved when Steve told her how delicious their dinner was, knowing how different Mexican food was to the super-soldier’s usual cuisine, and there was a proud grin on her face as she watched him eagerly finish his second plate of tacos and regaled him with stories of her many trips to the food truck with Sam. With Steve, (Y/N) felt completely at ease and all of her worries – about the fallout of the Battle of Sokovia, about the legalities surrounding her breached studio contract, about Ultron’s defeat – were put out of her mind by the super-soldier’s comforting and near-addictive presence.

“I like this song,” Steve stated after they’d lapsed into a comfortable silence, both of them enjoying the last of their sodas while they people-watched from their secluded planter box. “It has a nice melody.”

“‘Amor Prohibido,’ released as a single in 1994 from the album of the same name and sung by the incomparable Selena Quintanilla…or just Selena, if you prefer, sort of like Beyoncé or Cher. It’s about forbidden love and wanting to be with someone despite everyone else’s misgivings about their relationship.” When (Y/N) glanced up from her empty glass bottle and caught sight of the awestruck expression on the super-soldier’s face, she felt her own face begin to warm in embarrassment and she awkwardly cleared her throat before continuing. “Anyway, it’s a very good song…one of my favorites of hers, actually.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “Sometimes I forget just how knowledgeable you are when it comes to music, and then you go and knock me onto my ass with a pitch-perfect summation of a random song’s background and details. It sounds cliché, but I don’t know any other word to call it other than incredible, (Y/N).” His azure eyes were shining as he spoke, and (Y/N) knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant every word he uttered; her lips curved into a smile before she wordlessly pressed a kiss onto the smooth skin of his cheek and scooted closer to lean her head on his shoulder, smiling even more when she felt his large hand gently wrap itself around hers. “My Spanish is a little rusty, but I’ll bet that there’s a music expert around here that could translate some of it for me.”

“‘Aquí solo importa nuestro amor, te quiero…’” (Y/N) quietly sang along to the impassioned tune and gave Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze as she translated. “‘All that matters here is our love, I love you…’”

Although they’d finally confessed their love for one another just two weeks prior, saying those three simple words aloud again sent a warm tingle throughout (Y/N)’s body, and she was reminded of the super-soldier’s breathtaking grin and the feel of his soft lips caressing hers as they stood in the deserted hangar of the old S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier.

Instead of replying, Steve simply closed his eyes and hummed along to the melody of the song as a light blush dusted over his cheeks, and (Y/N) seized the rare opportunity to study her distracted date; his handsome face was fully free of the guarded expression he’d continuously worn when they first met, making him appear younger and resemble the ninety-five pound man he’d always been before his recruitment into Project Rebirth, and her heart warmed in her chest when she realized her role in helping him open up and slowly but surely join a world that he once believed that he would never belong in. Not many people are lucky enough to see the man behind the shield, (Y/N) thought as she rested her head back on Steve’s shoulder and smiled to herself, but right now I feel like I’m the luckiest person alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Doc, uh, are you tellin’ me you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

“The way I see it, if you’re gonna built a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?”

The auditorium echoed with chuckles of amusement at Doc Brown’s reply and while the time traveling car suddenly blazed its way back onto the screen, Steve bit his lip to hide his disbelief from (Y/N), who was engrossed in the ongoing film right beside him. When he picked a 30th Anniversary screening of Back to the Future for his and (Y/N)’s first date, it hadn’t occurred to him that it was a film revolving around time travel, and the irony of being a man out of time taking his incredibly modern girlfriend to see it was definitely not lost on him. It was a fun film that took a more science-fiction route in regard to the time travel aspect – and as someone who’d gone from 1945 to 2012 in the blink of an eye, it was a nice change of pace seeing someone go from present day to being a fish out of water in the past – but Steve started to feel slightly uncomfortable when the high school-aged George McFly was introduced.

Unsurprisingly, Steve was the furthest thing from popular in high school; he was short, skinny and interested in art and the few girls who’d acknowledge his presence were only interested in fishing for a date with Bucky. The only real difference between him and George McFly was that, despite his abysmal success rate, he always fought back against his bullies instead of cowering from confrontation like George. However, it was George’s infatuation with Lorraine that struck Steve; like him, the high-schooler was hopeless with girls and had a difficult time expressing himself around his crush, something that Steve still struggled with over eighty years later. It had taken nothing short of a world-ending threat for Steve to finally confess his love to (Y/N) and when the adrenaline of the Battle of Sokovia finally wore off, so too did his forwardness.

Bucky always made this sort of thing look so damn easy, Steve silently bemoaned and swallowed thickly, his eyes trained on the screen as he contemplated whether or not he should wrap his arm around the historical-fiction novelist’s shoulders. He reached into their shared bucket of popcorn and sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers suddenly brushed against (Y/N)’s; when he looked over at her, she was smiling at him and he felt himself smile back as she tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth that was accompanied by a flirtatious wink and returned her attention back to the screen.

It wasn’t until George and Lorraine’s much-anticipated dance in the school’s decorated gymnasium that Steve found the opportune moment to make his move. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he moved his arm up and slowly lowered it to rest around (Y/N)’s shoulders; he was careful to avoid the bare skin of her shoulder and curl his fingers around the silky material covering her upper arm, but the respectful gesture didn’t stop him from feeling the warmth radiating off of her or detecting the subtle uptick of her heartbeat at his careful touch. Steve’s own breath hitched when the historical-fiction novelist not only scooted closer to his side, but also rested her head on his shoulder; he didn’t bother fighting the smile that stretched across his face as his body relaxed and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, feeling nothing but love for the woman sitting beside him while they both watched George and Lorraine finally share a sweet kiss.

“Earth Angel, Earth Angel, please be mine. My darling dear, love you for all time. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon was shining high in the darkened sky when Steve finally took (Y/N) back home. After the movie, they’d spontaneously decided to visit a nearby ice cream parlor and enjoy their frozen treats while strolling around the block arm-in-arm, and it wasn’t until they noticed several bars beginning to close for the night that they realized just how late it was; they were having too much fun eating their ice cream and laughing at (Y/N)’s many attempts to teach Steve how Instagram filters worked, but they were mainly just enjoying spending time in one another’s presence. The rumbling of the super-soldier’s motorcycle ceased when he parked in front of (Y/N) and Sam’s house and switched off the engine, and silence settled over the street as he gallantly walked alongside her to the porch.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” Standing on the porch, (Y/N) gave Steve – who was nearly eye-to-eye with her from where he stood at the base of the steps – a teasing grin. “You sure know how to show a lady a good time, Captain Rogers.”

Steve chuckled at that. “Yeah, well, you’d be the first lady to ever think that; most of Bucky and mine’s double dates usually ended with my date forgetting that I existed and both gals trying to make a move on Buck.”

“I suppose it’s their loss and my gain, then.” While Steve’s cheeks turned pink at her compliment, (Y/N) shrugged off the leather jacket he’d insisted on letting her wear when she started to shiver during their stroll, cringing at the cool night air on her flushed skin but handing the jacket over to him; she took a moment to admire the super-soldier’s muscular physique while he slid his jacket back on and was forced to clear her throat before continuing. “Well, I…I should probably head in; Sam’s probably spying on us as we speak and waiting to interrogate me.”

“I’m sure he’d be at the window if he hadn’t fallen asleep while watching reruns of NCIS.” A teasing smile of his own curved his lips upwards when (Y/N) furrowed her brow in confusion. “Good hearing’s just one of the many side effects of being a super-soldier.”

Sometimes, it was easy for (Y/N) to forget that the man standing before her was Captain America, a bonafide superhero who could lift a ton without breaking a sweat and who miraculously survived being frozen in ice for nearly seventy years. To her, he was just Steve Rogers, a handsome man who strived to learn as much as he could, who had a dry but witty sense of humor and who made her feel well and truly loved. “I meant what I said earlier,” (Y/N) quietly admitted and reached out to hold one of Steve’s hands. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in…well, a pretty long time.”

Steve’s azure eyes softened as he nodded in agreement. “Me too. I wish it didn’t have to end.” When she arched a brow at that, his eyes widened in panic and he stammered out, “T-That’s, um, that’s not what I meant, I wasn’t trying to…not that I don’t want to, you know, but…I swear, I’m not implying that you and I should…” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck and let out an embarrassed groan. “Ninety-seven, and I still can’t talk to a beautiful woman without gettin’ tongue-tied.”

(Y/N) giggled. “That’s true…” Smiling, she brought her free hand up card her fingers through his hair before gently cupping his smooth jaw. “But it’s also one of the many things I love about you.”

Steve gave her a breathtaking grin and leaned forward, his impossibly-long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his soft lips met hers; the gentle and passionate way that Steve kissed her made her feel cherished and while his hand moved to rest on the curve of her waist, she couldn’t help but marvel at how the highly-trained super-soldier’s touch was nothing short of reverential when it came to her. His kisses were addictive and as they finally separated for air, she found herself moving forward to press one last lingering kiss onto his swollen lips before pulling away far enough to meet his hooded gaze. “That was…”

“Scandalous? Inappropriate?” (Y/N) jokingly offered. “Something that would’ve ruined both our reputations in the 1940’s?”

“Incredible.” Steve finished, and the tender gleam that filled his azure eyes as he looked at her caused her own cheeks to flush. “You’re incredible, sunshine.”

That was the first time he’d ever called her something other than her given name, and the added emphasis on the term of affection certainly wasn’t lost on her. In the back of her mind, she resolved to ask him about it one day but in that moment, she all but glowed and bit her lip in a poor attempt to hide her bashful grin. “I know how busy you are with the move to the Avengers’ new facility and the fallout of the Battle of Sokovia, so I’m not sure when we’ll be able to go out again but I hope it’s soon.” After Steve nodded in agreement, (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss onto his cheek and with a small pang of reluctance, she pulled away from his arms and finally let go of his hand. “G’night, Steve.”

“’Night, (Y/N).”

They shared one final smile before turning away from one another, (Y/N) to unlock the front door and step inside and Steve to walk down to where he’d parked his motorcycle. She gave him a wave once she saw him sitting astride the bike and stepped into the house, but the brief chime of her cell phone forced her to quickly lock up before checking her unread text messages.

Steve: I don’t think that there’s an adequate enough way to thank you for such a wonderful night, sunshine, but I was hoping I could take you out again tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at eight for dinner and another movie?

While her heart practically burst out of her chest with happiness, (Y/N) typed out a brief but enthusiastic reply and tiptoed into the living room to wake her sleeping roommate, but not before giving the vase of pink roses sitting on the kitchen counter an appraising smile and taking note of the fading rumble of a familiar motorcycle outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there we have it! What did you think of their first date?? Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345@crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovyqueer @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

#stumblin' in #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america fic #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #ultron #marvel cinematic universe

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knickynoo · 9 days

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Back to the Future Part II, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 2: Marty McGamblerPants

Previous posts here

• As Marty ventures into the Café 80s, a lot of what unfolds is pretty close to the movie, so not much to say there. There is an interesting line as Griff and Biff exit the café, though, where Biff says, “Listen, Griff, don’t you go loanin’ that McFly kid any money—even though he probably needs it, him and his old man both.”

I wonder: is he saying that just because he wants to take a dig at the state of the McFly family’s finances or because Griff has loaned money to Junior before? If he has, that’s quite the interesting thing to ponder considering I don’t see Griff as being the type to do much of anything out of the kindness of his heart, but I absolutely do see him loaning money to Junior just to be able to use it against him and force him into doing things.

• If I’m remembering correctly, Junior doesn’t actually say no to Griff in the café. He mentions it being dangerous, says he should discuss it with his father, and then eventually says okay once he’s thrown over the counter. Book Junior does say no, though, and he says it like this:

You know that’s Marty’s boy; he’s got nice manners just like his dad. I love Junior so much.

• When Marty gets approached in 2015 about saving the clock tower, the book notes that the guy asking for the donation is Terry. When Marty won’t donate the hundred dollars, Terry goes on to talk about how, back when the clock was struck by lightning, “—a hundred bucks was worth something.” He then points to Biff (who is across the street) and starts to talk about how Biff, “—tried to shaft me out of three-hundred bucks for fixing his car.”

I kind of wish they had included this context in the movie because it was only a handful of years ago that I realized the guy asking for the donation is Terry the mechanic from 1955. And while that information isn’t important, it would have saved me a good deal of confusion in those hundred or so watches growing up when I had no clue who he was. And the thing is, I could see the obvious old-age makeup, so I knew he was supposed to be someone, but I didn’t know who until I read it online after starting this blog. Before that, I was always like, “Why did they go through the trouble of badly doing old age makeup on this random guy for this one scene? Why didn’t they just hire an old man?”

• The discussion about the Cubs between Marty and Terry just reminded me of the unnecessarily long Dudes Talking Sports conversation between Marty and Doc in the novel for the first movie.

•The book makes it very clear that Marty’s motivation for buying the sports almanac is due to his anxiety over finding out his future self is a “loser.” Like…there is no other reasoning—not even the general lure of wealth—noticeably at play here. Marty just desperately wants to avoid being described as someone who “flushed his life down the toilet” and he sees the almanac as his guaranteed way to prevent that fate.

Why wasn’t this included in the movie?? All my times watching it, and I’ve NEVER gotten the sense that buying the almanac is the result of Marty being afraid of what he learned in the café. It always just seemed like Marty was simply being impulsive, irresponsible, and greedy. And frankly, it also has always struck me as a little out of character for him. He’s impulsive, yes, but good-hearted, honest, Marty McFly wanting to cheat at gambling for fun? Never seemed quite in line with who he is.

The way the book frames it changes it so much though! It’s so much easier to be sympathetic toward Marty buying the almanac with the context that he’s doing it to save himself and his family. Kind of flabbergasted, honestly. This would have been a great detail to have in the movie. Imagine seeing the excited grin and the “I can’t lose!” and him telling Doc with a mischievous grin, “Maybe we can place a couple bets?” replaced by a Marty who’s conflicted about his decision but desperate not to become someone everyone around him is ashamed of. Because there is no sense of that in Movie Marty. He just sees the almanac and does this

Now I’m wondering: is there anyone who watched the movie and DID conclude that Marty bought the almanac specifically to avoid being a loser? Is it only me who thought he was just chasing easy fame and fortune for funsies??

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #bttf ii: the novel

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writefinch · 1 year

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Communion

(cn: piss, foot stuff)

It clicked for me about a month ago, years after it had become apparent to the people who knew me, but I'm not short-sighted and self-pitying enough to think that meant I'd wasted time or could've made the leap sooner. If I was less kind to myself I'd say 'boy, I had the maps and I knew the landmarks so how'd I end up in the wilderness so long' but I was sailing through fog, and you know what? When I saw that landmass looming in the distance, I sailed towards it.

I didn't know totally what it meant, still don't in fact. Last year I joked about being a cis boy dyke, and since then I've struck the 'cis' and I'm shaky on the 'boy' and the part that was a joke was the truest thing of all. Am I a boy? Maybe. A woman? I don't think so. A man? I truly fucking hope not. A good girl? Put a collar on me and we'll see.

The thing about fog is that you can't just step back and get a big picture view of everything. My instincts tell me that if I want to figure things out I should look at them at a remove, see where it fits into everything around it, map things out and move forward cautiously. That's what I want to do, it's what I've always done, but fog makes it impossible. You have to get in close if you want to see things, you can't keep it at a distance.

I couldn't move ahead and start hormones right away, not for a few months, for reasons I won't get into here. Delays don't sit well with me brain because I know my brain and I don't trust it, I don't trust it not to treat this like some other big rewarding involving project like learning Polish or playing Go, decide we're too busy and it's too scary and shove the whole thing into a mental oubliette to never see the light of day again. Sure, my friends call me Charlotte now and I've got she/her next to my Discord username, but I wanted something stronger, I wanted something that would cut into me.

I can't remember the name of the first trans woman I knew as a person, rather than as a punchline to a cruel joke. It was on Tumblr and it must have been after 2015 because I remember she had an Undyne avatar, but maybe not, because surely Violet, the "boy" I'd been practically engaged to, had come out as trans at that point? Surely I knew Skeeter, that poor, vicious mess of a girl well enough by then? It must have been earlier than that, the ponies had turned me queer by 2013 at the latest.

No, no, the Undyne-avatar lady was the first time I saw someone I knew be openly *Marxist-Leninist*, she was just also trans.

Anyway I don't know what it was, but even though I was rock-solid confident in being cis and a guy (a guy or a dude, it never bought me any joy to think of myself as a 'man'), something about trans women just really stuck with me. I found their stories compelling, I found their experiences interesting and oddly relatable, though I didn't suffer dysphoria as I thought they described it. I made friends with some trans girls, some of my friends became trans girls, and suddenly most of my friends were trans girls. I burned at injustices done to them, I bought hormones for friends, donated to trans street medic projects, helped newly-cracked eggs get in touch with DIY medding sources, y'know, normal cis ally stuff.

Recently, I realized that I loved trans women. I fucking love them so much. I fucking love all of the varied and fractious transfemme communities that have allowed me to be a part of them, as nothing more than a cis guy who draws a lot of porn. I'm not going to say anything about Blahaj and Bridget and pink coding socks because I know the girl who fucking hates that silly terminally-online stereotype and I know the girl who *is* that silly terminally online stereotype and I love them both and love so many trans girls in all their aspects between and beyond those boundaries. I have never found myself so close to any group of people, so filled with admiration and wonder and love and lust for them, so overjoyed by their trust and friendship and confidence in me, so blessed to call myself a friend and contemporary, as I have of the trans women in my life.

I had accepted some time ago, with no pain and more than a little pride, that I would admire them but be apart from them, that my place would be as a welcome guest, that I would be among them but not one of them, and--

A crack has opened within me to let the light seep in.

I'm one of them. I really am one of them, they're mine and I am theirs and I never want to let this go, this revelation is a gift that I'm barely beginning to comprehend and I can't bear the thought that I might let it pass me by and slouch back into darkness.

So, I would bring a change upon myself, in a way that was small but could not be un-changed, a vow that could not be forgotten, only consciously recanted.

I cut out a lot of the idea before I brought it up, mostly out of time and expedience. I thought of a prayer to Inanna, but that felt like a clumsy thing to rush, and I decided I'd make a shrine to her only once I had the wisdom to pay Her proper respects. I liked the idea of getting caned or whipped in a purifying way first, but that felt too much like regular kink, just inspiration for another drawing. The idea of doing the ritual under psychedelics intrigued me but, well, I've never done anything but amphetamines and poppers before, and I didn't want to dull the experience of either the ritual or the drugs by combining the two under my own inexperience - though, I did include poppers.

Alice, Emily and Lily - not their real names but you get the picture - were very good about it. They told me it was a cute idea, and we met up at Emily's ground-floor studio flat on Sunday night. We'd have been playing board games anyway, and they even seemed a little excited by the idea, even if they weren't buzzing from anticipation like me.

I'd only worn the clothes once since I'd bought them - black tights, a knee-length straight skirt, a black blouse - but my heart didn't pound like that the first time I put them on. I shaved my face upwards and against the grain, my skin still annoyingly stubble-grey, but that would show much less in the candlelight.

When I stepped out of Emily's bathroom the girls had already set things up, candles and all. They were sitting on chairs in a semi-circle, backlit by flickering orange candlelight. As I approached they got stage giggles; I did too, it felt infectious.

Once the giggles had cleared, Alice, in the middle, asked me to state my name and purpose.

'My name is Sophie, and I am here to recieve communion.'

'Very well,' said Alice, and pointed to a spot between their chairs marked in white tape. I knelt there, a bowl of water to one side and a small bag at the other.

I turned to Lily, bowed my head, and asked her if I could wash her feet. She nodded, and I took the bowl and wash cloth and gently cleaned her feet with warm water. Once they were clean and free of sweat and sock lint, I bent down to dry them with my hair. She nodded her approval, and I asked Emily if I could do the same for her. Likewise I cleaned her feet and likewise dried them with my hair. Alice did not get her feet out, for me nor anyone, and instead allowed me to lick her shiny black boots, which only had the faintest hint of grit to them.

Once I had performed the ablutions, the girls daubed me. Alice held my jaw firm in one hand as she applied mascara to each of my lashes with the other, Emily let me rest my chin on her fingertip as she painted my lips a vibrant red, and Lily stroked my hair as she marked my cheeks with blush. They cooed and called me pretty, and Lily's blush felt superfluous.

I presented each of them with a gift: An Adventure Time tarot deck for Lily, a sharpening stone for Emily, a guide to mushrooms for Alice. They accepted the gifts, and gave me gifts in return: a simple black choker from Lily, a bottle of amyl nitrite from Emily, a stack of trans zines from Alice. My voice cracked a little as I thanked them, and cracked a little more after they watched me take a few long, heady hits from the poppers bottle.

Alice asked me if I was ready to recieve communion; I begged her, please, yes.

She took a blister pack of 2mg estradiol and popped out a single blue pill. I knelt and looked up at her, eyes open, heart thumping, mouth wide.

She placed the tiny pill on my tongue and said, 'Sophie, this bread is your flesh, which is given to you.'

Then, she stood up, unzipped her jeans, pulled her limp cock out of her underwear and pushed it between my lips, which I wrapped tight around it.

'Sophie, this wine is your blood, drink this in rememberance of yourself.'

It took her a moment to start pissing, and her urine immediately washed the pill down my throat. It tasted fucking disgusting, almost as salty as seawater with that weird, almost chemical aftertaste. It turned my stomach, and I felt euphoric as I sucked it down.

After that they praised me and called me a girl and a faggot and a whore, and I kept sucking Alice's cock until Emily wanted a blowjob too, and from there it turned into regular lesbian sex, Lily's chastity cage clinking fruitlessly against mine as Emily went around biting us both and Alice had me lick her armpit clean of sweat, fingering and kissing and pinching until we all got tired enough to start watching movies in Emily's bed.

I got up and fetched drinks and sandwiches for everyone and something happened between aftercare, the aftermath of a religious service, and an after-action report. They all kept calling me a pretty girl, which I *really* liked, and Alice asked me how the whole thing had turned out, if I felt anything had changed, and I had to eat two salami and cucumber sandwiches before I could figure out my answer.

Something had changed, but the change had happened months ago, and it had taken communion for me to see it. It didn't clear up my questions or reveal hidden knowledge, I don't know if I'm a she/her boy or a he/him girl, I don't know if I'm actually a woman or just not at all a man, I don't know if this is a thing I've become or if I've been this all along and it's taken this long to discover it. I don't even know if I've really settled on Sophie.

All I got from communion, from this sacred connection of love and knowledge from other trans girls to me, was surety in the things I already kinda knew:

I'm transgender as fuck and I'm a big fucking dyke.

#stories

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