#Seguin Light

[jadafitch]

Seguin Island Light Station, Georgetown. Seguin is Maine's highest and second oldest lighthouse. It's also said to be one of a number of haunted lighthouses in the state. Legend has it that a keeper, sometime in the mid 1800s bought a piano to entertain his bored wife. She practiced the same song over and over. Driven mad, the keeper axed the piano to pieces, then did the same to his wife, before ending his own life. Folks say you can still hear spooky piano music there.

[hischughes1386]

all the cards that came in the mail while I was on vacation!!

[hawkesoutdoor]

Time For LED #Upgrades Like These #Jeep #Headlights #Free #Order #Install #Quotes At Hawkes Outdoors 210-251-2882

[boxboxluckybird]

List of articles and books that are about Motorsports or Motorsports adjacent

Idk if y'all will have total access to these- I get to them through my university's library database- I'll give titles so you can find them- and if i have links to pdfs, ill put them in too

i will continue to update this list as i continue to read more books and articles :3 also i need to go on my uni laptop to get all the crash and safety books i have on there to put on this list

Motogp-

article about Franco Morbidelli and Joann Zarco's crash in 2020- gives full analysis with the numbers and a discussion of everything (link) Name of Article: Descriptive Kinematic Analysis of the Potentially Tragic Accident at the 2020 Austrian MotoGP Grand Prix Using Low-Cost Instruments: A Brief Report by Marco Gervasi et. al. (2020-10)

article about the myth surrounding Valentino Rossi- (it is in french but there is also an italian version) Name of Article: Valentino Rossi : la construction médiatique du mythe by Charlotte Moge pp. 363-383 (DOI link)

Book Chapter Valentino Rossi: A Uniquely British Look at an Italian Motorsport Legend by Sean Bell in "More than Cricket and Football: International Sport and the Challenge of Celebrity" (2016)

this one is all about the economy and how motogp affects tourism in Indonesia-

Do Satisfied Visitors Intend to Revisit a Large Sports Event? A Case Study of a Large Sports Event in Indonesia by Pahrudin Pahrudin Link to PDF (Article) (2024-12)

Formula One-

Book about racism in sports- (i used this as a main secondary source when researching historic racism in f1) it has an article about Lewis Hamilton and other racism in formula one Title- Race, Racism and Sports Journalism by Neil Farrington (2012) (i recommend his other book about racism in sports social media)

"Technology Innovations and Consumption of Formula 1 as a TV Sport Product" by Christopher Schneiders (2022-09)

Analyzing Brand Strategy on an International Scale: The Sponsorship Performance Cycle in Formula One Racing by Jonathan A Jensen, et. al. (2024-09) (Article)

When Success Is Rare and Competitive: Learning from Others' Success and My Failure at the Speed of Formula One by Micheal A Lapre (2022-12) (Article)

Green Light or black flag? Greenwashing environmental sustainability in Formula One and Formula E by Annals of leisure research(2025-01) (Article)

Technological Discontinuities and Competitive Advantages: A Historical Perspective on Formula 1 Motor Racing 1950-2006 by Mark Jenkins (2010-07) (Article)

Sandwiched Between Sport and Politics: Federation Internationale de l'Automobile, Formula 1, and Non-Democratic Regimes by Hans Erik Naess (2017-05) (Article)

The age-productivity gradient: Evidence from a sample of F1 drivers by Labour economics (2011-08) (Article) pdf link

Book Chapter Chapter 10: Aryton Senna, Alain Prost, and the Spector of Death by Becquer Medak-Seguin, et. al. in "Cultural Exchanges Between Brazil and France" (2016)

Smoke and mirrors: new tobacco products and Formula 1 by The Lancet (2019-05) (Article)

NASCAR-

"If It Ain't Rubbin', It Ain't Racin'" Article about Nascar by Lawrence and Barbara Hugenburg (2008-08)

A comparison of college football and NASCAR consumer profiles: Identity formation and spectatorship motivation by Shaughan A Keaton (2015-03) (Article)

"Sport, Spectacle, and NASCAR Nation: Consumption and the Cultural Politics of Neoliberalism" by Joshua Newman (2011)

Book Chapter Louise Smith: The First Lady of Racing by Suzanne Wise in "South Carolina Women: Their Lives and Times" (Volume 3) (2012)

Book Chapter The Most Southern Sport on Earth: NASCAR and the Unions by Dan Pierce in "Southern Cultures : The Fifteenth Anniversary Reader" (2008)

Special interest ones-

"Sports Medicine and Physical Fitness" by Ewan Thomas- pdf- link (2022)

"The future of motorsports: business, politics and society" by Hans Erik Naess, et. al. (2023)

"The Green Transition in Motorsport: Purpose, Politics, and Profit" by Hans Erik Naess, et. al. (2023)

More than "just a driver": A study of professional women racecar drivers' agency in motorsport by Jill Kochanek (2021-01) (Article)

'What on Earth are They Doing in a Racing Car?': Towards an Understanding of Women in Motorsport by Jordan J.K. Matthews, and Elizabeth C.J. Pike (2016-09) (Article)

tag list: @raikkonens @caleb-is-existing @books4ever03

[hoe4hockey]

NSFW A-Z for Tyler Seguin

Warnings - smut, and mentions of smut. DNI if you are a minor.

Cooked this up after a lengthy, in depth discussion with my best friend ❤️

A - Aftercare

Forever the gentleman, Tyler is always wanting to make sure you are comfortable and looked after. Regardless of whether it was a particularly rough session or just a quickie.

Grabbing a warm wash cloth for you or running a bath. He believes aftercare is an essential part of having sex.

B - Body Part (Their/Yours)

His favourite body part of his is his arms. They are big, strong and he puts in the work to get them that way. The fact that they are covered in sentimental tattoos is pretty cool to him too.

His favourite body part of yours is your neck. You stares at it and commits every edge and line to memory. Once he watched you a little too closely while you swallowed and got hard.

C - Cum

Will take any and all opportunities to come inside you. Thinks that it is the highest form of trust. The way he sees it any joe blow from the street could come on your face or your stomach but you let “him” come inside you. That means something to him.

D - Dirty Secret

Would love to watch his best friend Jamie fuck you. See’s how the two of you interact at a team barbecue and thinks about how good he would treat you and how he’d love to watch him man handle you. Thinks about how he also wouldn’t turn down a kiss from his captain.

E - Experience

Tyler has been around the block… and then another 3 blocks. He isn’t shy about the people he has been with and thinks that all the people he has been with and the experiences he’s had has just moulded him into what he is and what he can do to you today.

F - Favourite Position

Love love loves reverse cowgirl. Loves watching you writhe and arch your back while your arse bounces in his face.

G - Goofy

Is always trying to lighten the mood and that doesn’t stop in the bedroom. Cracks jokes or names a sex position a funny name that has the both of you in fits of laughter.

H - Hair

Well maintained, won’t be completely clean shaven but will trim everything every couple of weeks.

I - Intimacy

Does like to keep things goofy and light hearted but craves intimacy. Loves fucking into you deep and slow and watching the face you make, the noises you make and how you moan his name. He’s loves knowing that you are his and that he can get all of these things from you.

J - Jerk off

He’s tired, he’s jerking it. He’s energetic, he’s jerking it. He’s hungry, he’s jerking it. He’s bored you can trust and believe he’s jerking it. Especially when you are away from each other and he can’t just pick you up and drag you to the nearest bed or surface.

K - Kink

Massive daddy kink. Moans and almost cries the first time you said it. Use’s it against you in public to try and embarrass you. “Come on baby, listen to daddy.” Your face heating up immediately. “You guys are gross.” - Wyatt

L - Location(Favourite places to do it)

Will literally fuck you anywhere and everywhere. Has no shame and has no problem in someone seeing. Has fucked you in multiple public bathrooms and walls around Dallas.

M - Motivation (What turns them on/gets them going)

He’s pretty much always ready and rearing to go but seeing you struggle to do something and you come over to him with a pout on your face is going to make him quite literally weak in the knees. Which he has no problem with because he was already planning on making his way down there anyway.

N - No(Draw a line In the sand)

If both parties are consenting and willing literally nothing is off the table. Will communicate all boundaries and give quite literally anything a go.

O - Oral

Loves watching you struggle to fit him all in his mouth, loves watching the tears stream down your face and saliva collecting at the sides of your mouth and running down your jaw.

Also loves watching you struggle to stay still while he goes down on you, reciting what feels like literal spells whiles he’s down there making you see stars. He’s come up for air once and seen the bruises his hands have left from having to hold you so tight.

P - Pace

Prioritises you and what you want can and will fuck you slow and deep but will also jack rabbit into you so hard and fast you’ve definitely hit your head on the bed frame.

Q - Quickie

1000% ready and willing. You could be anywhere and he is pulling you into a room to fuck you silly or a secluded part of the event to slip his fingers under your skirt.

R - Risk

Loves it, craves it even. Loves you and loves how much you trust him to put yourself into situations like this with him. Not that he needed the confidence boost but it definitely gives him one.

S- Stamina

Can and has gone from sun up to sun down, the cardio training he does helping him both on and off the ice.

T - Toys

Doesn’t think you need toys per se but does have restraints and cuffs to spice things up a bit. Bought you a clone-a-Willy for Christmas once and laughed so hard as you opened it in from of both of your families.

U - Unfair(How much they like to tease)

Doesn’t like to tease too much because he wouldn’t like it if it was done to him. But if he knows you are needy and wanting him extra bad will put his hand even further up your thigh than normal and his hand a lot lower on your back.

V- Volume (how loud they are or/what noise they make)

Moans and groans loudly and unapologetically. Isn’t ashamed to let you and anyone who might be around how good you make him feel.

W - Wildcard (random head cannon)

Wants to have a threesome for his birthday… him, you and another girl of your choosing. That’s it, that’s the head cannon.

X - X-ray

A bit above average length but thick. Coke can thick in fact.

Y - Yearning(how high is there sex drive)

Very high sex drive, if he can have sex he will be.

Z - ZZZ(how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Has never fallen asleep while having sex but he has rolled of you and when you looked back minutes later to as him something was cuddled into his pillow and snoring softly.

[reavenedges-lies]

NHL Captains & Alternates Primer/Refresher

All teams per the NHL Rule book (Rule 6, pg 7-8) must list either One (1) Captain and Two (2) Alternate Captains or Three (3) Alternate Captains during the game line-up submissions*. There may only be Three (3) Alternates if the Captain is not in uniform or if there is no designated Captain. No Coach, Manager or Goaltenders are allowed to act as a Captain or Alternate; Goaltenders are not allowed to act as captains due to (un)intentional delay of game as per the "Durnan Rule". They must wear either a "C" or "A" about three inches (3") high and of a contrasting color in a visible spot on the front of their jerseys. Only the Captain [ or any one (1) Alternate, if the Captain is not on the ice] is allowed, if invited by a referee, to discuss interpretations of the rules**. They may not leave the bench to protest or hinder any officials in light of a call on the ice, and are subject to being given a penalty (Abuse of Officials: unsportsmanlike conduct).

Notes:

(*) Some teams have named more than the regulation two (2) or three (3) alternates and are required to rotate the designation between players. The method of choosing who gets the designation when is left to team digression.

(**) Complaints about penalties are not considered 'a discussion pertaining to the interpretations of the rules', and any skater making such complaints are subject to a minor penalty in response.

Current NHL Captains & Alternates under the cut. (per eliteprospects please take this with a grain of salt for the alternates as not every team has indicated who they are fully)

Anaheim Ducks: Captain- Radko Gudas Alternates- C. Fowler, M. McTavish, T. Terry

Boston Bruins: Captain- Brad Marchand Alternates- C. McAvoy, D. Pastrnak

Buffalo Sabres: Captain- Rasmus Dahlin Alternates- D. Cozens, M. Samuelsson, T. Thompson, A. Tuch

Calgary Flames: Captain- Mikael Backlund Alternates- R. Andersson, J. Huberdeau

Carolina Hurricanes: Captain- Jordan Staal Alternates- S. Aho, J. Slavin

Chicago Blackhawks: Captain- Nick Foligno Alternates-

Colorado Avalanche: Captain- Gabriel Landeskog Alternates- N. MacKinnon, M. Rantanen, C. Makar

Columbus Blue Jackets: Captain- Boone Jenner Alternates- Z. Werenski

Dallas Stars: Captain- Jamie Benn Alternates- M. Heiskanen, E. Lindell, T. Seguin

Detroit Red Wings: Captain- Dylan Larkin Alternates-

Edmonton Oilers: Captain- Connor McDavid Alternates- L. Draisaitl, R. Nugent-Hopkins, D. Nurse

Florida Panthers: Captain- Aleksander Barkov Alternates- A. Ekblad, M. Tkachuk

Los Angeles Kings: Captain- Anze Kopitar Alternates- P. Danault, D. Doughty

Minnesota Wild: Captain- Jared Spurgeon Alternates- M.Foligno, K. Kaprizov, J. Eriksson Ek

Montreal Canadiens: Captain- Nick Suzuki Alternates-

Nashville Predators: Captain- Roman Josi Alternates- R. O'Reilly

New Jersey Devils: Captain- Nico Hischier Alternates- J. Hughes, O. Palat

New York Islanders: Captain- Anders Lee Alternates-

New York Rangers: Captain- Jacob Trouba Alternates-

Ottawa Senators: Captain- Brady Tkachuk Alternates- T. Chabot, C. Giroux

Philadelphia Flyers: Captain- Sean Couturier Alternates- T. Konecny, S. Laughton

Pittsburgh Penguins: Captain- Sidney Crosby Alternates- E. Malkin, K. Letang

San Jose Sharks: Captain- Logan Couture Alternates- M. Ferraro, B. Goodrow, M. Granlund, L. Kunin, T. Toffoli

Seattle Kraken: Captain- Vacant Alternates- J. Eberle

St. Louis Blues: Captain- Brayden Schenn Alternates- J. Faulk, C. Parayko, R. Thomas

Tampa Bay Lightning: Captain- Victor Hedman Alternates- N. Kucherov, R. McDonagh

Toronto Maple Leafs: Captain- Auston Matthews Alternates-

Utah Hockey Club: Captain- Clayton Keller Alternates-

Vancouver Canucks: Captain- Quinn Hughes Alternates- J.T. Miller, E. Pettersson

Vegas Golden Knights: Captain- Mark Stone Alternates- J. Eichel, W. Karlsson, A. Pietrangelo

Washington Capitals: Captain- Alexander Ovechkin Alternates- J. Carlson, T. Wilson

Winnipeg Jets: Captain- Adam Lowry Alternates- J. Morrissey, M. Scheifele

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Seven Summers Ago

Pairing: Tyler Seguin x Singer!Reader

Summary: Years after their past relationship ended, she and Tyler Seguin cross paths again by chance when she performs at the NHL All-Star Weekend. The encounter is brief, happening backstage, but loaded with unspoken history. Though he has moved on, the weight of their past lingers between them.

Inspired by: 7 Summers by Morgan Wallen

The lights were blinding, the crowd roaring as her voice echoed through the arena. The NHL All-Star Weekend had always been a spectacle, a blend of the league’s biggest names and a whirlwind of entertainment. And tonight, she was part of that show.

Dressed in a sleek, stage-ready outfit, she moved effortlessly across the platform, the microphone cool in her grip. It wasn’t her first time performing in front of thousands, but something about this night—this city—felt different.

Somewhere in the audience, she knew he was there. She hadn’t seen him yet, hadn’t allowed herself to search the sea of faces, but the weight of his presence lingered in the back of her mind.

It had been years. Seven summers, to be exact.

The music faded, applause filled the space, and with a polite smile, she dipped her head in thanks before slipping backstage. The adrenaline still hummed in her veins, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sudden quiet. Away from the crowd, the noise, the lights—it was just her and the heavy pulse of memories she hadn’t meant to stir.

And then—she saw him.

Tyler Seguin stood near the far end of the hallway, half-shadowed by the dim backstage lighting. He hadn’t changed much. Still carried that effortless confidence, the kind that had drawn her in all those years ago. But there was something else now, something settled.

Their eyes met.

A beat of silence stretched between them, filled with things unsaid.

She could’ve walked away. Should have.

Instead, she exhaled and said, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips curved—not quite a smile, but something close. “Didn’t expect to be here.”

Another pause.

She shifted, glancing down the hall as if searching for an easy escape. There wasn’t one. So she looked back at him, really looked. The past lingered in the space between them, but it didn’t hurt the way it used to.

“You sounded good up there,” he said finally, his voice quieter than she remembered.

She nodded, offering the faintest of smiles. “Thanks.”

For a second, she thought that was it. A polite exchange, a moment of closure wrapped in civility. But then—

“You still sing in the shower, Superstar?”

The nickname hit her like a punch to the stomach.

It was an old joke, a memory tangled in late-night laughter and lazy mornings. He used to tease her about the way she belted out songs when she thought no one was listening.

Her breath caught for just a second, but she recovered quickly, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His smile was softer this time, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

But neither of them pushed for more.

Some things didn’t need to be spoken.

So she walked away, leaving him behind in the hallway—just like she had years ago.

But this time, it felt different.

The stage was waiting.

The opening chords of 7 Summers filled the arena as she stepped forward, gripping the mic just a little tighter.

She sang, not for him, not for the past—but for the story they had lived.

And as she took one last look before the final note faded, she knew.

She was finally free.

[honeydippedfiction]

Coming Soon...

February 17th - February 23rd

Next chapter for Revved To Fight

A Summer To Forget {Jack Hughes}

excerpt: “You don’t get to do that, Jack,” Y/N continues, her voice steady, but the pain is clear in her eyes. “I’m not your consolation prize, and I’m not someone you can use to prove a point. I’m done being invisible in my own life.” 

Jack’s face hardens, the words stinging more than he wants to admit. He can feel the weight of her disappointment, but he doesn’t know how to respond. There’s a part of him that wants to defend himself, to explain that he didn’t mean to hurt her, but the words are stuck in his throat.

Wait For Love {Quinn Hughes}

excerpt: I stood up, pacing the room. I can’t keep waiting, I thought. Waiting for the stars to align, waiting for the perfect timing—those were excuses, defenses against something real and raw. Real love wasn’t about waiting for a moment of perfection. It was about taking a leap, even when the world wasn’t quite ready for it.

Born For Leaving {Luke Hughes}

excerpt: Y/N would let herself hope. She’d let herself believe, even for just a little while, that maybe this time would be different. But deep down, she knew. She always knew that the clock was ticking. He would leave again. And she would be left standing in the wake of his departure, waiting for the phone call, the text, the brief exchange that would come when he had the time to spare.

You Should Probably Leave {Trevor Zegras}

excerpt: “You don’t have to be afraid, you know,” his voice was soft against her ear, barely audible, yet it lingered in the stillness of the room. “We’re here. And what happens tonight doesn’t have to mean anything… unless you want it to.”

His words brushed against her skin like a breeze, warm and inviting, but Y/N couldn’t ignore the unease that clenched in her chest. There was the pull of desire—the burning, undeniable ache to give in, to let go of her inhibitions and embrace the connection between them. But there was fear too. The fear of what would happen if this moment, this fragile thread between them, unraveled and left them with nothing but regret.

Any Man Of Mine {Tyler Seguin}

excerpt: “You’re something else,” Tyler said, his voice soft with admiration. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes lighting up with a hint of mischief. “You should be grateful for that,” she teased. “Not everyone can handle my… cooking skills.”

Tyler laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "I think I’m up for the challenge," he replied, feeling a shift in himself, a realization settling in his chest. He had been running from the parts of him he thought others couldn’t handle. But Y/N was different. She wanted those parts. She wanted all of him—flaws and all.

Just A Kiss {Nico Hischier}

excerpt: They had both tasted the sweetness of something unspoken, something fragile and full of promise. But neither was ready to take the leap. Instead, they stood there, locked in the tension of possibility, the air thick with everything they hadn’t yet said. The idea of taking things slow, of letting them unfold naturally, felt like the only thing they could control. And that, in itself, was a comfort.

[official-raoulin-the-bibulous]

Surrender in Abundance (aka Minister of Justice DESTROYS Heretic with FACTS and LOGIC)

NOTE: I've always wanted to exercise Frollo's character a little more in The Lords of Notre Dame, so I gave myself the opportunity to write Frollo interacting with Lord Pelegrin, who is an asexual celibate Cathar hermit and nobleman. I personally had fun writing Frollo being all smug about stuff. Enjoy! ^^

The moon was in its waning arc, surrounded by dark clouds that fogged the deep valley among the hills. The path full of mud and rocks glowed like a dense river in the black of night. There was a lone carriage being pulled by a guard riding on his horse. The carriage appeared to have a higher status, yet there was no one else along the path expecting who was in the carriage. The wheels rattled as it turned and ground upon the rock, and was joined by the soft clops of the horse’s hooves.

Frollo sat still in his seat as he held a basket, in which it contained grapes that were just as red as the altar wine he would occasionally sip during mass. Clearly, Frollo knew that Lord Pelegrin relied on a strict pescetarian diet ever since he knew about him. However, it was a distraction. Pelegrin could eat it, but there’s the other chance he could also be enraged due to the conflicting idea Frollo has. Either way, it would be the perfect trap for Pelegrin to surrender his esoteric ideas. Frollo lifted a corner of the napkin covering the basket to double check if the grapes were just as ripe as when he packed them hours ago. Indeed, they were just as fresh as before. Frollo smirked, and covered the basket.

Soon after, Frollo felt the carriage jerk and came to a halt. The guard had said their “whoa” to their horse, and the horse whinnied. Frollo looked out to see if the carriage stopped by the gate to a castle. The castle appeared to be a century old, but it was well kept by Pelegrin and the servants who lived and worked there.

Pity. I was expecting Lord Pelegrin’s home to be more desolate than this, the Minister thought to himself.

“Your Honor,” the guard announced as they opened the carriage door and held a torch in their other hand.

Frollo stepped out of the carriage while the guard holding the torch helped light the way. The two men walked up to the gate. Frollo picked up the knocker on the wooden door and struck against it three punctuating times.

“Who’s there?” a voice called out from the other side.

“His Honor, Judge Claude Frollo,” The guard responded.

The door was soon opened by a servant, clearly subordinate under Pelegrin’s service. They wore a warm-colored tunic with red stockings, akin to their master’s robes. They soon lead Frollo and the guard into the castle yard. The yard revealed a small thicket of laurel trees and shrubs. Pelegrin wasn’t joking whenever he implicitly stated that he was hoping to fulfill a prophecy, and both Frollo and Raoulin had a problem with that. There was also a small memorial on one of the yard walls dedicated to the people that had been murdered by the Church, so to speak by the Cathar Lord. Frollo took notice of these physical traits of the castle yard, but soon turned his head to face another door approaching him and the guard.

Everything seemed to be full of dread as Frollo and the guard stopped by that door. The servant only entered through that door to deliver the announcement. Frollo barely heard anything else, but only could audibly recognize his official title as the Minister of Justice. The guard soon left Frollo be, back to the parked horse-drawn carriage. Frollo waited for a couple of seconds more until the door leading inside was then opened by Lord Pelegrin Seguin.

“Lord Claude Frollo,” Pelegrin stated, almost at a loss, “I never knew you would come unannounced like this.”

“I’m never too busy to check up on how a fellow nobleman is doing a week after adelphopoiesis with the Legislator, Your Grace,” said Frollo. “Shall we discuss this in the Great Hall? I’ve brought a treat for you.”

There was a brief silence as Pelegrin pursed his lip.

“Right this way, Your Honor,” Pelegrin led Frollo on the way to the great hall.

The two noblemen arrived at the great hall, which was only lit dimly by the candles on the large table in the center of the chamber. Pelegrin gestured to another servant to lay out dishes on the table. The servant had the dishes laid out as soon as Frollo and Pelegrin arrived at each end of the table, without even breaking them accidentally. Frollo and the Cathar Lord took off their chaperons and sat down. Frollo placed his basket close to the candles, and opened the lid.

There, Frollo picked up the grape vines with his index and middle fingers and placed each of the share to his plate and Pelegrin’s. Pelegrin raised a brow in suspicion, as well as slight offense.

“Judge Frollo,” he began, keeping his irritation at a low level, “To answer your question, I… am bushed on why you would unite with Legislator De Caux. Don’t you know he’s relying on the physical pleasures of this world? Sex and wine are prime examples of those temptations–”

“You’re not eating, Seguin,” Frollo frowned.

A pause.

“I’m not eating these grapes,” said Pelegrin, lightly pushing the dishes away, “You know I only eat fish and vegetables.”

“Eh, but I insist on eating,” smirked Frollo.

Frollo could see Pelegrin sighed exasperatedly but softly. Pelegrin pulled a grape out of the vine, and ate only one. However, it had been so long since Pelegrin actually ate a grape. He hadn’t tasted the lovely, sweet yet sour juices flowing in his mouth and on his tongue since he was in his early twenties when he had first learned about the Cathars who once existed many years past, as well as aspiring to be one of them. But would Pelegrin give in to that long lost taste of that forbidden fruit?

“You know, before deciding to visit you, I have been spending such a lovely and sentimental time with Sir Raoulin,” Frollo said as he watched Pelegrin eat the one grape. Frollo even chewed some more grapes on his dish before continuing. “There were nights that were more… intimate than others.”

Pelegrin felt his lower eyelid twitch as Frollo boasted.

“One like you and me may say these things we did at night are…taboo,” Frollo gave a smug look, “But this is not the point I’m making here. Never mind what Sir De Caux and I did.”

“What… on Satan's Earth are you saying?” asked Pelegrin, now at the edge of his temper, with his eyebrows furled.

Frollo looked at the irritated Cathar, and raised both of his eyebrows.

“You deny the fact that God created our world and instead you say it was the Devil.” Frollo then ate another grape, “How interesting. Where did you learn this from?”

Pelegrin didn’t say anything. If he did answer Frollo’s question, it would mean certain death by either hanging or burning at the stake. But even then, if Pelegrin were to give up his philosophy then, he would consider himself already dead and doomed to reincarnate in that painful cycle. Frollo gulped subtly, but instead of a small burp, his stomach growled as it wanted to trigger him to regurgitate in abhorrence. His insides churned and climbed up to his throat, making him gag a little. Fortunately, Frollo found himself not feeling the urgent need to throw up completely. Even then, his face was distorted in a repulsed expression. Soon, Frollo took a deep inhale, and then a heavy sigh.

“Hmm… I must deescalate,” Frollo quietly whispered to himself. “Perhaps this should be more… civil. I can’t do… smugness and promiscuity.”

Frollo cleared his throat, his eyes looking down as he thought of other ways to stall Pelegrin’s time, and even have him surrender in abundance to the Church.

“Pelegrin, before you snap, we should discuss this in a dignified manner. You and me, talking about my views and yours,” stated Frollo. “What do you say?”

The Cathar Lord had his fist clenched, but he let go as he sighed.

“...Proceed.”

“Perfect,” Frollo smirked, “Now, in my view, it is said that God had created this world and saw it was good. It wasn’t until Lucifer coerced Adam and Eve to eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.”

Pelegrin listened closely, trying to find a point on where Frollo could be wrong.

“From then,” continued Frollo, “creation fell from grace with Man, and divisions of languages, cultures, governments… were made among Man. Then again, creation still grows to prevail and one day, Man will turn to God and become his Sons.”

The Cathar Lord rested his cheek on his palm as he listened to the Minister.

“False prophets, however, like you have perverted the Word.”

As Frollo finished his point, Pelegrin ate another grape from the vine.

“Lord Frollo,” Pelegrin began soon after he swallowed, “I have not perverted the Word. The Garden of Eden was Satan’s trap to keep the souls from seeking the awakening they seek to find. Sophia came to Eden and said to Adam and Eve that they will seek all of the spiritual knowledge.”

Frollo scratched his robes as he listened.

“You can say this, but your kind has divided the one Church,” said Frollo. “I only know you as of now, but if you lead this movement complete with followers and rites, you will divide it again.”

“I am a lone hermit seeking to fulfill a prophecy,” the Cathar Lord added, “A prophecy declared by Guilhem Belibaste in 1321; ‘The Way of Love will return once again when the laurel turns green again in 700 years.’”

Knowing that he had read about this prophecy and the Cathars in his college years, Frollo stifled a chuckle of disbelief. The original Cathars haven’t roamed Earth since a century before, and they practically deserved to be rid of according to Frollo’s eyes. Their so-called heathen ways, like the Roma population in Paris, inflamed Man’s lowest instincts, and they were stopped by the Pope, Crusaders, and Inquisitors before. Pelegrin noticed Frollo chuckle, and furled his eyebrows by a centimeter.

“Heh. Apologies, Your Grace,” Frollo lied by omission, “I was thinking about my years in education.”

Pelegrin raised an eyebrow.

“...Education?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?” asked Frollo. “I had discussions like this before when I was a young man.”

“...Riiiight…”

“Anyway,” Frollo cleared his throat, before eating another grape from his dish, “Are you married?”

Pelegrin sighed, with a hint of frustration growing to be more intense.

“Do you think I’m the type to be married?”

“Of course,” Frollo shrugged, “My partner, Raoulin, is married to Lady Jaqueline, and they both have a son: Beau De Caux.”

Of all the times Pelegrin had known about Raoulin, he had never known about Beau. Children who were born by their parents, in Pelegrin’s view, were more spirits to be trapped on Earth.

“The poor soul…” said Pelegrin, looking down on the table. “He’ll be taught the sinful ways his father does in his life: Hourly mass, wine, sex… Beau will grow up to be just as selfish as his father if he doesn’t see the Way of the True God of the Spiritual Realm.”

“All of these are necessary evils, Your Grace,” Frollo responded.

“How?”

“For drinking wine, Christ has said ‘Drink from it, all of you–This is my blood of the covenant,’” explained the Minister. “For a general view of sex, it brings new life and creation to the world. Mass is supposed to bring us together, and make anew to prove the Lord’s sacrifice.”

The Cathar Lord softly groaned, shaking his head.

“Your Honor, forgive me for interrupting but when I adopted children,” added Pelegrin, “Their mindset was already just as selfish as yours. They were nearly teenagers when their parents had passed on to the next life. Even then, when I told them that they were selfish in their beliefs, they shrugged it off. Mass is only an agent of the Pope to bind ourselves to the Material Realm.”

“Good,” Frollo smirked with another chuckle, “Even when you try to reduce the population while having children, they know that you live a life of sin and heresy.”

The smoke that Frollo had blown has fueled the flames at that point. Pelegrin clenched his fist, with his knuckles cracking.

“Judge Frollo,” he snarled, “You are the most despicable nobleman I ever knew. You’re wasting my time, and I clearly haven’t got all night.”

“Suit yourself,” Frollo sarcastically answered. “Heh. Maybe I could tell you more about what Mass is like.”

With the thrashing force he had, Pelegrin threw his plate with the grapes off the table. The plate flew across like an arrow that was fired from a crossbow, and made a loud shatter as it made impact to the wall. Pelegrin immediately stood up violently as well.

“Leave the castle now!” Pelegrin pointed to the door.

“Come now, we’re talking about our life and our ways of living, and you’re asking me to leave?”

“I don’t care,” snarled Pelegrin. “Get out or I’ll–”

“You’re talking to the Minister of Justice,” Frollo stood up from his seat and folded his arms, “Only I assemble the guards.”

“ I can’t believe I’m talking to a hypocrite …” Pelegrin muttered angrily in his Occitan tongue as he put on his chaperon stormed out of the great hall.

“By your logic, throwing a fit is rather sinful, and hypocritical at best,” said Frollo as he followed Pelegrin and put on his chaperon as well.

“My God, I could just…” Pelegrin growled and turned to face Frollo, but stayed deathly still as if he didn’t know what to do next.

“You could do just what, Your Grace?” asked Frollo.

The Cathar Lord looked at his hands. Would they be used as weapons?

“Go on. Strike me if you need to,” Frollo dryly taunted.

There was a long, dire pause as Frollo stared right into Pelegrin’s eyes. Pelegrin laid down his hands and sighed. Indeed, Frollo wasn’t planning on striking either.

“I… I can’t,” grunted Pelegrin.

Frollo laughed.

“Of course,” he smirked, walking out of Pelegrin’s way in the castle yard. “You, Cathars , are so cowardly in fighting back. It’s a wonder why the Pope has rid a lot of you… including that so-called prophet of yours.”

This nobleman is a lost specter, Pelegrin prayed silently, to which Frollo started to notice. God of the Spiritual Realm, I ask you to veer his course in life so he will one day truly see the light the way he claims to see. Even in his darkest hours, send him the news to surrender his selfish ways. Have his swords turn into ploughshares no matter how many times he shall refuse. Benedicte, parcite eum.

“Praying to your god, aren’t you?” sneered Frollo, before the Cathar Lord could conclude his prayer with an ‘Amen’. “May I remind you once more that there can only be one? ”

“Leave the castle, Claude,” Pelegrin growled, “And never come back. You wasted my time long enough.”

Frollo shrugged before walking up to the castle gates.

“Very well,” he said. “Your ideas seem to be over a century old in my book. You should consider this if you want to live and thrive.”

Frollo walked off in a subtle cocky manner. As he stepped back to the carriage and sat down as the carriage drove off to the misty night, Frollo watched Pelegrin angrily stare right back at him. Everything Frollo had said–The short quippy insults, the sneering, the threats, laughing it off–could easily describe him as right all the time. But even then, he had to keep that question open, and let that intertwine with Pelegrin’s time. Yet, how the hell could Frollo not be ashamed of himself for picking on a Cathar, or Good Christian as Pelegrin would prefer to describe himself?

The answer was simple. He hated him. Frollo hated how Pelegrin’s view of the world inflamed his truth and worldview. If he were to tell the King and Pope about Pelegrin’s existence, he would do so. Then, it would be better for the Minister to know that the Cathar Lord will cease to exist.

[goaliegossip]

https://www.tumblr.com/goaliegossip/779121105388617728/i-feel-like-it-is-weird-people-keep-commenting

I see people mentioning McDavid's side piece to Lauren constantly but she deletes it. Even on her wedding posts people were asking if his side piece was invited or saying they thought his wife was a brunette (cuz his side piece was a brunette).

Kate Seguin gets many comments about her stalker past. She deletes most of them but she answered one once saying that her husband was the one chasing her first (I thought this was hilarious because I've seen screenshots of what she did here on tumblr).

People keep bringing those stories back but I believe most wags don't have stories like Katelyn Byrd that's why they don't get the heat and people have a lot to say about Katelyn. Just by searching her name the cheating is the first thing that shows up so wherever she goes those stories will go with her

exactly! I feel like the wags with the most well known stories are the ones that are still consistently getting people bringing it up which is something anyone with even a little bit of media attention will deal with when such scandals get brought to light. it doesn’t help when they feed into it and reply. the. best thing to do would be to just delete the comments. katelyn’s friends replying is weird and kate seguin just made herself look dumb when she replied like that

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: my @wyattjohnston winter fic exchange fic for @senditcolton (whose writing i am OBSSESSED with - praise you like i should made me see the light on matty t) 🥰 i’ve never written for tyler seguin and my only familiarity with him was him showing his own headshot to get into the arena which immediately made me love him lol. i had fun writing this one and i hope you enjoy!!!

word count: 12.1k

tw: drinking , fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, hangovers, mild cursing

summary: new year’s eve in las vegas gets out of hand when you meet tyler, a gorgeous stranger in the club

After your divorce papers are signed, sealed, and delivered - on Christmas day no less, leave it to your jackass ex to find the only lawyer in the entire Fort Worth area willing to work on a national fucking holiday - your best friends appear at your front door with suitcases, bottles of champagne, and round trip tickets to Las Vegas, leaving on the 27th.

“No,” you tell them flatly, arms crossed over your flannel shirt, hair in a three-day old knot on top of your head. “I’m not in the mood to go anywhere, much less Vegas.”

You hadn’t even taken your parents up on the offer to pay for a plane ticket back home to New York for the holidays. It was too much to face them after your marriage had imploded and getting the third degree from your relatives wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do. Spending the holidays alone had seemed like a better option, even if the day had been a little lonely. But a spiked hot chocolate and a string of Christmas movie classics had kept you from getting too depressed.

“Honey,” Nora says, in her Christmas sweat set, the cartoon Grinch blazoned across the front giving you a nasty smirk, a patient smile on her face, “now is exactly the time to get away. You just shed a hundred seventy five pounds of jackass, you need a distraction.”

She muscles past you and nearly drags her rolling suitcase’s wheels over your bare toes. You pull your foot back and lean against the wall as Katie and Nic follow her inside, a makeshift parade to celebrate your divorce. Nic at least has the decency to shoot you an apologetic look as she passes, whispering, “I tried to get her to settle for a little trip to a spa, you know, manis, pedis, massage. But you know Nora…”

“Never Takes No for an Answer Nora,” you finish when Nic trails off, smiling a little despite yourself. Nic gives you a little smile and bumps your hip with hers.

“Seriously though,” she says as you close the door behind her, “if you really don’t want to go, Nor will understand.”

You sigh and shake your head. “No, I…it’s probably good for me to get out of town,” you admit reluctantly. It’s been a depressing few months, full of anger and tears and tense phone calls and curt emails. You’re tired of being sad, of being angry, but mostly you’re tired of being in the same city as your asshole ex-husband. Even though you moved out of the house you shared and into an apartment, the entire city holds reminders of your relationship. Now that the divorce is official, you’re starting to wonder if staying in Fort Worth is the right move. Your friends and your job are here, but the risk of running into Jason is astronomically high and maybe a change of scenery would be good. You rub at your forehead - that’s a problem for the new year.

The girls leave their suitcases in a pile in your front hall. Two pairs of Nikes and a pair of Ugg platforms join the suitcases and you’re pulled into a pile on your couch - the college tradition for a broken relationship. Back then it had been cheap wine coolers and binge watching The Bachelor. Now, Nora hands you a bottle of champagne, cheers when you pop the cork, and drops her head to your shoulder after you take a huge gulp. You drape your legs over Katie’s lap and rest your cheek on the top of Nora’s head. It’s not the way you thought you’d be spending the holidays, but you’re so grateful for your friends.

“In about an hour, we’re going to start helping you pack,” Nora says, taking the second bottle of champagne from Nic and swigging from it. “But right now, it’s time to tell us every single negative thought you’ve had about Jackass Jason and didn’t want to say before.“

“Have to cleanse the energy,” Nic says, “by putting all his negative traits into the air and I’ll light some sage.”

“Sage?” You lift an eyebrow, warm and cozy in the cocoon of your friends.

Nic digs into her giant purse and pulls out a wad of sage, tied up with white string. She beams. “Sage! It’s very cleansing.”

Katie cackles a laugh. She kicks Nic’s thigh lightly and grins, “never change those hippie ways, Nicky.”

“Pass me a lighter,” Nic holds out her free hand and wiggles her fingers. Nora drops a well used plastic Bic onto her palm and you lean in to cup your hands under the sage bundle. The last thing you want is ashy smudges on your couch.

It takes two tries, but eventually Nic manages to get the lighter to catch and she holds the flame to the top of the bundle. It immediately starts to smell of the burning herb and smoke rises to the ceiling when she blows out the small fire. You cough a little, the scent of sage stinging your nose. Nic rolls off the couch and begins to wave the stick around, explaining what she’s doing as she goes.

“So, we’re getting rid of all of Jason’s negative energy and karma,” she waves the stick and you wince when a little clump of ashes falls to the carpet and then sigh when Nic’s bare foot grinds them further into the fibers.

“Jason never lived here,” you point out reasonably, the bottle of champagne lighter in your hand as you take another drink. Your chest already feels lighter and less knotted with grief and anxiety.

Nic looks at you like you’re an idiot and you feel strangely chastened, taking another swig from the bottle. “Honey, his negative energy and toxicity was absorbed by you and all the stuff you took from the house. We have to just, like, get his energy out of here.” She cocks her head at you, squints, asks, “would you consider cutting your hair? Hair holds onto a lot of trauma.”

“No!” You yelp, hand flying up to clutch at the knotted mess on top of your head. “I thought you were the ones to talk me out of breakup bangs when he first left? Now I’m supposed to cut my hair?”

“Just a suggestion,” she says, even as the other two chime in from the couch to encourage a change in your hairstyle. Nora mentions a bob and you resist the urge to kick her.

With a roll of your eyes, you say firmly, “I’m not cutting my hair. Let’s move on from this.”

Nic nods and finishes sageing the apartment, leaving a faint haze of smoke in the air and you’re honestly very grateful when she puts the bundle in a ziploc bag and stashes it back in her purse. “Okay,” she beams, dusting off her hands, “bad energy officially cleansed. We can move onto the fun part!” She drinks from the bottle that you’ve mostly emptied on your own and before you can ask what the fun part is, you’re being pushed into your bedroom and the girls are rummaging in your closet for your suitcase.

They work in coordination, while you’re sitting stupid in the middle of your bed, to throw your skimpiest clothes into the opened suitcase. You watch as a colourful array of fabric is tossed from your drawers and wonder what, exactly, they have planned for the trip.

“This one, for sure,” Katie’s voice is muffled from deep in your closet. Her hand appears, the mirrored minidress you bought and wore for the Eras Tour swinging from its hanger. The mirrors sparkle under the hi-hats in your room and throw discs of light onto your bedroom walls.

“What are we doing in Vegas?” You ask finally, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “I mean, I love that dress, but can’t this just be a chill trip? Like what if we just got tickets to see Adele? And I can cry to her music?”

“Absolutely not,” Nora shakes her head and Katie shakes the dress at you again. “We’re going to get you to forget about the jackass and the divorce one way or another. Whether it’s drinks or dick, that’s your choice, but you deserve to let loose after taking care of him all these years.”

“Besides,” Katie pipes up, “how good do you think we are that we could get last minute Adele tickets? That shit was sold out months ago!”

Tears prickle at your eyes, your nose burning a little. Divorced at 27 isn’t exactly how you pictured your life going after meeting Jason in college, getting married at 22, and supporting him all throughout his time in law school, but you’re beyond grateful for your girls.

“No dick,” you murmur, a shaky smile on your face. “I’m not ready for that, but drinks I can do.”

The trio cheers and starts tossing more clothes into your suitcase.

——

The next day is spent nursing your mild hangover and repacking the drunken mess you’d all made of your suitcase the night before. Once you’re packed to your satisfaction - mirrored mini dress and platform heels included - you run out for a quick wax before meeting the girls for a manicure.

“I meant to say it last night,” you say watching your crusty old gel polish disappear into dust, “but let me know what I owe you, for the flight and hotel and everything. I’ll Venmo you.”

Nora waves you off, apologising quickly to the manicurist when she complains as Nora’s hand is ripped away. “Don’t even worry about that. I used miles for the flights and -“

“The guy I’ve been seeing?” Nic cuts in. “The hedge fund guy, Mark, he’s treating for the hotel suite.”

Katie’s eyebrows shoot up along with yours. Clearly she didn’t know about the hotel connect. “Whoa,” she grins, “Nicky with the high roller! Hold onto him with two hands.”

Nic blushes. “He’s really sweet too.” She continues talking about him for a few minutes until she stops herself and looks at you with wide eyes and an apologetic expression. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on and you’re going through -“

“Oh my god, don’t do that!” You cut her off. “I’m okay! I want to hear about the guys you’re dating. Just because I’m single again doesn’t mean I want death to love for everyone.” You snort a laugh that sounds a little forced even to your own ears. The girls share a look that you hate, but continue talking about the dates they’ve been on and the mediocre sex they’ve been having. Truthfully, you tune them out a little bit, cranky about the divorce, about the trip that was sprung on you, and embarrassingly enough, jealous that they’re having sex at all.

Even before Jason started the divorce proceedings six months ago, it had been nearly eight months before that the last time you had sex. You should’ve realized he was seeing someone else on the side because there was no way he had gone that long without sex. And yet. You’d been caught off guard by the cliched texts found in his phone, the lacy thong found in his car, and the divorce petition delivered to you while he was “working late.” Thinking back on it, you feel supremely stupid.

Now that the paperwork is signed and you’re officially, legally single again, you’re just glad you didn’t have kids or anything really significant to fight over. It’s almost a blessing that the process wasn’t as drawn out as it could’ve been.

You make a conscious effort to push all thoughts of Jason from your mind and try to be in the moment, a task made easier once you’re in the air en route to Vegas and then actually in the city itself. It’s both like the movies and not, colorful and loud and a little sketchy. But you immediately make twenty bucks on a slot machine in the airport, so you figure that’s a good omen for the trip.

The first four days of the trip pass in a blur - all you can eat buffets, drinking, dancing, spas, too little sleep, and too much gambling. You’re up nearly three hundred dollars after being down almost a thousand the day before, so that’s cause to celebrate with drinks. Not that you really need an excuse - you’ve had more alcohol in the last four days than in the last four months. You’re exhausted, but you’ve also laughed more than you have in a year and your face hurts from smiling. The entire city has a numbing effect on your lingering emotions and you feel yourself starting to rediscover who you were before the Jason of it all.

���Time for the mirrorball dress!” Nora singsongs, dancing around the suite in her plush robe. It’s New Year’s Eve and the city feels even sparklier than usual. The streets have been packed with people and the casinos are at capacity - apparently there’s a hockey game tonight too, so the sports bettors are having a field day. You’ve been going to different hotel bars and clubs the past few nights, but tonight is the big night out before you fly back to Texas tomorrow night.

The entire Strip is shut down to traffic for the night and you’re planning on going to TAO for dinner and dancing since it’s inside the Venitian, where you’re staying. It’s a major splurge, but fuck it, you’re about to get alimony from your corporate lawyer ex-husband. You still have Jason’s credit card, so you’re fully planning on putting dinner on his tab, before he realizes that the card is in your possession. For all the little details Jason remembers, he’s surprisingly bad about his finances.

For now though, you dig your hand into the pillowcase that had been full of the little shot sized bottles of alcohol four days ago and is now mostly empty. You groan when you pull out a little bottle of Pink Whitney, the pink lemonade vodka is your least favorite drink. You knock back the shot while the girls cheer you on, all three of them already in various states of tipsy. It honestly feels like you haven’t been completely sober since you left Texas.

Nic blasts a classic 2000s playlist while you’re getting ready and you dance around the huge suite, feeling light and floaty.

It’s complete chaos out on the Strip, even though it’s barely after 7. You could’ve gotten to the restaurant directly through the hotel, but you decide to walk outside for a bit to see what’s happening. It’s chillier than you expected, so by the time you get to the restaurant, you’re more than ready for a drink and dinner. You fill up on sushi and expensive drinks, gossiping about people you knew in college, spilling some more of the more extreme details of Jason’s cheating when you’re finished with your third TAO-tini.

“FUCK HIM!” Katie shouts in the middle of the restaurant, drawing attention to your table. You giggle and shush her drunkenly, waving a hand to get her to lower her voice. “No,” she shakes her head, only marginally quieter, “you really are so much better than that douche. When we get downstairs, we’re finding a man and you’re fucking him!”

Nic giggles and leans a little sideways in her seat, “new dick to cleanse Jackass Jason from your vagina!”

You flush with embarrassment as more people look over, but thank god the waiter comes by with the check. You toss Jason’s platinum AmEx onto the little dish and grin wickedly as you tell the girls, “dinner was on Jason.” They cheer and Nora laughs, “I should’ve ordered another drink!”

Once the bill is paid, with a generous 30% tip added, you traipse downstairs into the club part of the restaurant. The lights are low and the music is loud, plenty of people already drunkenly dancing just three hours before midnight. Nic and Nora join the fray immediately while you and Katie detour off to the bathroom quickly where you fix up your makeup and fluff up your hair, inspecting your face in the mirror. You look tired, but there’s a spark in your eyes that you hadn’t noticed was missing in the last year of your relationship with Jason.

“I’m serious,” Katie says, her solemn tone betrayed by the slight slur to her ‘s’. “Pick a guy in here and I will make sure you fuck him. You deserve a little fun.”

“I have been having fun,” you assure her, your reflection grinning at hers. The alcohol is making your brain pleasantly fuzzy, thoughts drifting away as easily as they come. “I don’t need a man right now,” you continue. “Even for the night. I just want to dance.”

“Okay!” Katie chirps, grabbing your hand and pulling you back out into the club. “Let’s dance!”

And you do. You find Nic and Nora and for a handful of songs, the four of you are jumping and screaming and having a blast.

Sweaty and thirsty, you break off from the girls and wobble towards the bar, weaving in between the throngs of people. The line for the bar is two or three people deep, so you settle in for a wait, looking around the room and people watching. The crowd seems pretty typical for New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas, but your gaze lands on a group of men and your heart skips a beat.

There’s at least four of them huddled together, maybe five, and you know you’re drunk, but you didn’t think you were drunk enough to be seeing double. You blink and they come into sharper focus - not seeing double, just two incredibly handsome, dark haired and bearded men. Another dark haired man with no beard and a curly haired blond man. They’re all in slacks and white button downs in various states of unbuttoned, like they came from the office or something. They don’t look out of place in the club though, with drinks in their hands and the way they’re grouped together.

They’re laughing and shoving at each other, like overgrown frat boys, and you can’t look away. You’re captivated by the way they hold themselves, clearly confident in their bodies. Even in the dark of the club, you can see the faint outlines of ink through the white fabric of one of the guys’ shirts.

You’re still staring like a creep when the tattooed guy turns and looks directly at you, making and holding eye contact. A little gasp slips from your lips and your stomach flips, the familiar and nearly forgotten feeling of arousal sparking to life in your stomach. His friends shove at his arms, laughing. You blink and look away, feeling shaky and not from the alcohol. A faint flutter between your legs has you pressing your thighs together. “This is stupid,” you mutter to yourself. Ten seconds of eye contact shouldn’t have had you reacting like this. Yes, it had been a while since you last had sex, but jeez.

You rub your fingers over the bridge of your nose and nearly jump out of your skin when a deep, unfamiliar voice says, “what are you drinking?” right in your ear.

“Oh!” You turn, stumbling just enough that a hand shoots out and grips your elbow to steady you. A warm, broad hand. Attached to a tanned, tattooed forearm. Attached to a broad chest barely covered by an obscenely unbuttoned white shirt - tattoos and chest hair exposed and making your body react. Attached to the dark haired man you had made eye contact with. You blink up into warm brown eyes and ignore the way your stomach clenches up. His thumb brushes against the inside of your elbow and your skin feels like it’s on fire.

His mouth, full lower lip and thinner upper lip surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, quirks up at the corner. “In case I wasn’t clear,” he says and you can hear the laughter in his tone, “can I buy you a drink?”

A faint smile touches your own lips and you nod. “Double vodka cranberry,” you say, voice a little raspy from screaming along to the music.

Mystery Man nods, smiling, “good choice. Come with me?” Without waiting for an answer, he slides his hand down your forearm and laces his fingers with yours to pull you behind him while he uses his broad shoulders to muscle past the crowd around the bar. When you reach the bar, he does a quick maneuver, dragging you in front of him so you’re sandwiched between the bar and his chest, heat pouring off his body. He leans forward a bit, pressing against you, and catches the bartender’s attention. Your entire body feels too warm, the thin fabric of your thong growing damp from the solid mass of his chest against your back.

“Double vodka cranberry for the lady,” he orders. “And double scotch on the rocks for me.”

His forearms come to rest on the bar top, trapping you in the circle of his arms. The alcohol is lowering your inhibitions and your intrusive thoughts win out and you arch your back a little, pressing your ass into his crotch, turning your head to look back at him. He wears a shit eating grin on his face.

“I don’t usually let strangers buy me drinks,” you say, heart pounding in your chest. He doesn’t feel like a threat, doesn’t feel like someone you should be afraid of. You lean a little closer to him, something crackling in the air between your bodies.

Something flitters across his expression, but you’re just this side of drunk and can’t manage to identify it before it’s gone. “Tyler,” he introduces himself, trailing a finger over your arm and up to your shoulder where he plays with the thin silver strap holding your dress in place. “Not a stranger now.” Goosebumps lift on your arms as his fingertip twists in the skimpy strap. His gaze is searing, flickering from your eyes to your lips to the hint of cleavage exposed by the draping of your dress. Your nipples tighten under the fabric, pinching almost painfully.

You offer up your own name in return, taking the drink directly from the bartender when he returns. You sip at it and it tastes stronger than a double or maybe that’s just Tyler’s proximity that’s clouding your senses.

He takes a sip of his own drink and leads you away from the bar, giving you another opportunity to watch his back muscles move under his shirt as he works his way through the crowd. A gym rat, you think, with the way he’s all lean muscle and quiet strength. He’s muscled, but not disgustingly so.

“What are you doing in Vegas?” He asks, when you’re alone again, just off to the side of the bar. You can see the girls out of the corner of your eye, staring at you with matching ‘you go, girl!’ expressions on their faces. You giggle a little.

“Celebrating,” you reply vaguely, taking a sip of your drink and fluttering your lashes. You’re flirting, you realize. You haven’t flirted with anyone since Jason. The bubbly feeling in your chest expands and you smile up at him.

“Huh,” he laughs warmly, “what do you know, me too. And the only thing my night was missing is a pretty girl.”

Alcohol fuels your confidence, along with the hungry way Tyler’s gaze takes in your body, and you reply, “good thing you found me then.”

Your gaze lingers on the notch of his collarbone, the dusting of hair over his chest, the dark lines of his tattoos. Your cunt gives an enthusiastic throb and you swallow heavily.

Tyler leans in a little and you catch a whiff of spicy cologne mixed with the scotch on his breath. This isn’t his first drink of the night either. “Would your friends mind if I monopolized your time tonight?”

Biting your lip, you look over at the girls. Katie is moving her hand near her mouth in the universal sign for blowjob and Nic is giving you the biggest, most encouraging puppy dog eyes. Nora flashes you a double thumbs up, spilling some of her drink in the process. A laugh huffs through your nose and you look back up at Tyler, “no, I don’t think they’ll mind.”

“Good,” his smile is adorable, his hand lands on your waist, and you completely forget why you told Katie you weren’t interested in a hook up tonight. “Want to dance?”

You’re not quite sure how it happened - one minute you were dancing with Tyler, one of his arms wrapped securely around your waist while your hips gyrated against his pelvis, the hard bulge of his cock obvious every time you moved and the next minute you found yourself pressed up against a wall in the VIP section of TAO, with Tyler’s tongue deep down your throat and his hand sliding up the side of your thigh, fingertips playing at the hem of your dress. Your hands are fisted around the collar of his shirt, pulling him as close as you can while you moan into his mouth and cant your hips towards his, spreading your legs a little to encourage his hand’s exploration.

His fingertips make contact with the soaked fabric of your thong and you whimper, knees going weak. Tyler’s lips turn up in a smile against yours and he uses more pressure, finding your clit easily through the fabric until you have to pull back and gasp for air, your head thrown back while you pant.

“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, kissing a trail down your jaw and over your throat. “You’re fucking soaked.” He sucks gently at your pulse point, your heart hammering in your chest.

He slips his fingers under the fabric, rough pads of his fingers catching against your slick folds. “Oh my god,” you mutter, grinding against his fingers. “More, please, Tyler.”

He obeys, thumb catching on your clit and middle finger teasing at your entrance before sliding inside easily. A whine catches in your throat and it feels so good, too good. Between the alcohol and the lust and the months long celibacy, you’re at the edge of an orgasm in less than a minute, dripping around Tyler’s fingers before you can even process that you’ve come. White spots dance in your vision and it could be the strobe lights or the searing pleasure from having your clit rolled between Tyler’s thick fingers.

“Good girl,” he grins against your neck, beard and teeth scraping against your skin. Your face already feels rubbed raw with beard burn, but you don’t want him to stop. “Think you can do it again?”

Truthfully you think that you’re so worked up and horny you could come just from Tyler looking at you, but you nod and squeak out a yes.

Tyler bites a mark against your collarbone and drops to his knees, wedging his shoulders between your thighs and forcing them apart. He looks up at you from between your legs, dark eyes even darker with lust and a wicked grin on his face, “hold on, baby, gonna make you see fireworks for the New Year.”

You laugh at the corny line, choking off into a prolonged moan when he buries his face between your legs and presses his tongue flat against your cunt, the wet heat of his tongue pressing your damp thong into your sensitive clit.

You’re beyond thankful for the darkness of the VIP area and the loud music because you can’t contain the noises that Tyler’s drawing from your mouth. You tangle one hand in his hair - fuck, it’s so soft - and hold his face up against your cunt. The other hand reaches blindly for the magnum bottle of champagne you’d been sharing. Technically it’s the second bottle and it’s more than half gone when you tip it up to your mouth for a drink.

“I - ah! I don’t usually doooooh my god, right there - this,” you gasp, writhing over Tyler’s face. His nose is pressed against your clit and his tongue is flat against you, licking with purpose. You grind against his face, making sure the tip of his nose rubs against your clit.

“What,” he pulls back with a wicked grin that only grows when you whine and try to push him back in place with your grip on his hair, “get your pussy licked?”

The bottom half of his face is glistening in the strobe lights and you feel the blush rise on your chest knowing that your body did that to him.

“Um, yes,” you admit quietly, “and the whole, uh, stranger in a club thing too.”

His smile turns a little soft, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Happy to be your first then,” he kisses the inside of your thigh and lifts your leg so it’s draped over his shoulder and you’re spread even wider for him. You’re impossibly exposed to him and all it does is make you wetter. Tyler tilts his head back a little and opens his mouth, you instinctively pour some champagne into his mouth, the both of you laughing when it splatters onto his face and shirt, making the white fabric nearly see-through. He wipes a little at his face, fingers scraping at his beard, and he shrugs. “Was gonna get all wet and messy anyway.”

He holds his champagne covered fingers up to your face and you lick at his skin, sucking his fingertips into your mouth and letting them rest on your tongue for a moment before he pushes them a little further past your lips, until saliva is dripping down his palm.

Tyler’s head is back between your legs, a strong hang gripping at your thigh, his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucks at the swollen bud and your leg kicks out, the heel of your platform smacking against his back with an audible thunking noise. He grunts into you and you moan an apology, his fingers falling out of your mouth so you can take another gulp of champagne. The bubbles fizz on your tongue and burn going down.

He buries his wet fingers into your cunt, curling and pumping, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Not that anyone would hear you with how loud the music is in the club. You grind your hips against Tyler’s face and feel him smile, the coarse hair on his face scratching against your inner thighs when you subconsciously try to close your legs around his ears.

“Gonna kill me,” he pulls back and mutters, nipping at the junction of your thigh. You jolt when his hands squeeze at your asscheeks, the scrape of the sequins on your dress adding more overwhelming sensation. He adjusts your thigh over his shoulder, his other hand trailing down your leg and wrapping around your ankle. He pulls back a little and you whine at the loss of sensation. “I like these,” he says, his fingers tapping against the sparkle of your platforms. “When I fuck you later, I want you to keep these on.”

You laugh, about to deny that this is going any further than the club, when his mouth is back on your cunt, tongue stiff and warm as he licks at your clit. All thoughts are gone from your head, aware only of the pleasure Tyler’s giving you. His hands are all over your body, fidgeting from your thighs to your ass and back again, calloused fingertips ghosting over your skin and making you shiver.

You close your eyes against the pleasure building in your body, tears pooling at your waterline. How the fuck did you go this long in life without realizing that you’ve never had a satisfying orgasm? And some random, gorgeous man in a club in Vegas is the one to satisfy you over and over? It’s a shame this is a one night thing.

—-

Sunlight streams in through the windows and you screw your eyes shut tighter, nausea rolling your stomach even though you haven’t moved. It’s like an ice pick is stabbed into your temple, the throbbing somewhere deep in your brain a harsh reminder that you’re not 21 and immune to hangovers anymore.

You press your lips together and lift your hand to rub at your temple, trying to keep your movements as slow as possible so you don’t vomit. Something hard and sharp knocks against your brow bone and you crack one eye open to see what the hell it could possibly be since you don’t remember putting any jewelry on last night. A huge twinkly diamond ring stares back at you from your finger.

The ring finger.

The left ring finger.

…fuck

Your eyes fly open and you ignore the wave of nausea and shooting headache to look around the hotel room. The unfamiliar hotel room. The sheets slide down your chest, exposing you to cold air and making you shiver. Your nipples pebble from the cold and you look down, eyes widening at the little bruises and bite marks scattered over your chest and stomach. You’re naked under the sheets save for a pair of black boxer-briefs looped around one thigh, like you tried to put them on last night and got tired halfway. The fabric is soft and worn and they’re absolutely not your underwear.

“Fuck!” You yelp, gaze landing on Tyler’s prone form in the bed next to you. He’s flat on his back, one arm thrown over his face, the other out to his side with his fingers curled in your direction. “Oh my god!”

His chest is bare, tattoos a stark contrast against the white sheets and his tan skin. He’s got purpling bruises on his chest and stomach too, marks that you must’ve left on him. Marks that make a trail from his collarbone over his pecs, down his stomach, barely hidden by the sheet that rides low over his lap.

If you’re half wearing his briefs, he’s definitely completely naked from the waist down too. Before you can comprehend the thought, you wonder if you left marks lower on his body too.

Your head is moving around like it’s on a swivel, taking in all the details of the room that you’re pretty sure is Tyler’s. There’s a black suitcase in the corner and your dress is a shiny pile on the floor. Your thong tossed over the lampshade on the bedside table. You can’t find your shoes, until you notice them at the foot of the giant bed, left in a haphazard pile and you remember, faintly, Tyler’s words from last night - “When I fuck you later, I want you to keep these on.” They look like they were discarded in a rush, one ankle strap not even fully pulled from its buckle. His clothes are everywhere, tossed in a trail from the door that speaks to how fast you were trying to get him naked.

The hangover is clouding your brain, making it feel like your head is stuffed with cotton, and you haven’t even begun to consider what the ring on your finger means. Maybe it was just a joke? It had to have been a joke.

Tyler shifts, grunting a little in his sleep, and reaches his hand out in your direction like he’s trying to find your body. His movement startles you.

“Ah, fuck!” You yelp, scrambling out of the bed, legs all tangled in the sheets. The briefs slip down your leg and tangle around your ankle. You kick your leg wildly, the black fabric going sailing across the room with the force of your kick. Frantically, you yank at one of the blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed and wrap it around yourself like a toga. Your hands shake a little.

Tyler stirs and blinks sleepily, stretching his arms over his head, giving you a show with how the black ink of his tattoos move. His gaze is unfocused when his eyes finally open, landing on your blanket-wrapped form. A slow smile graces his lips and he rasps, “hey, morning.” There’s a smudge of your dark lipstick on his cheek, partially hidden by his beard. A bruise is sucked into the underside of his bearded jaw and you notice, for the first time, the ragged red nail marks on his shoulders and biceps. He looks like he was attacked by a feral animal - and it’s a jolt to the system when you realize that feral animal had to have been you.

You can’t even find words, mouth gaping open and shut at him like a fish. Now that you’re standing, you finally stop for a second to take stock of your own body. Sticky between the thighs, sore like you’ve never been sore before - in a pleasant, well taken care of way. Your inner thighs feel raw and you know that when you look later, you’re going to find beard burn on the sensitive skin. You can already feel it on your chin and cheeks.

“What is this?” You hold your left hand out to him, the gaudy ring - because now that you’ve gotten a better look at it, it’s not a real diamond, thank god. It’s cubic zirconia or something cloudier than a real diamond and it’s a huge oval, spanning the entirety of your knuckle - glinting in the early morning sunlight.

Tyler squints at you, rolling onto his side before sitting up, either unaware or unconcerned that he’s completely naked and the sheet pools low enough in his lap that you can see the trail of dark hair leading down to his dick and the hair at the very base of him. You try to keep your eyes from looking, but he reaches a hand up and rubs at the back of his neck, making his bicep pop and the sheet move around and you’re only a woman, you can’t help yourself from looking. Your clit throbs between your legs, clearly remembering what happened last night even if most of it after getting eaten out in TAO is a little fuzzy to your brain.

“It’s a ring,” he replies simply, looking like his brain is trying to come back on-line too. He shifts his hand and his eyebrows lift. “Oh, shit. I’ve got one too.”

Your gaze lands on the band on his left ring finger. It’s yellow gold, or something cheap that looks like yellow gold, and you hate that your immediate thought is that it looks good on him. The band contrasts nicely with his skin and he spins it with his thumb, your eyes tracking the rotation.

A little chuckle slips past his lips and you blink at him. He takes in your expression and laughs outright. “Come on, you can’t possibly think we what? Got married last night?” His laugh is warm and too familiar for someone you’ve known less than twelve hours. “That’s a Vegas cliché if I’ve ever heard one.”

You shake your head. “Right, no. Yeah, I’m just being stupid. It’s just—“ you hesitate, glancing around the room again, avoiding looking at him, noticing the - oh god - four condom wrappers discarded on the floor. No wonder you’re so sore. The tenting of the sheet in his lap isn’t doing much to hide his morning wood, the shape of him obvious even with the quick little glances you’ve been sneaking. Four times. It’s a minor miracle that you’re not walking bowlegged.

Tyler stretches again and looks around for something - his clothes, his phone, who knows - while clearly not caring that the sheet is covering next to nothing. “Hey, do you see my phone?” He asks, drawing your attention back to his face. “Just wanna check the time.”

He’s remarkably chill and you’re starting to feel a little crazy for overreacting so much to silly rings bought in a drunken haze. There’s a phone on one of the little decorative tables in the corner of the room and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his, but when you pad across the room to get it, you step on a piece of paper, crumpling it under your heel. Leaning down to pick it up, you fall back on your ass in shock when your eyes land on the words at the top.

Clark County Marriage License

“You okay?” Tyler asks, sounding concerned.

“No,” you manage to squeak out the word around the block in your throat. There in black and white - your name and Tyler’s. Tyler Paul Seguin, apparently, if the document is to be believed. You feel your stomach lurch when you see the date on the license. Last night, New Year’s Eve.

How drunk had you been?

Who the hell had let you get married?

You’re so caught up in the implications of the piece of paper you’re holding that you don’t realize Tyler’s out of bed and squatting next to you, wearing his briefs, thank god.

“Whatcha got - oh,” he cuts himself off, reading the words over your shoulder. “Oh. Shit. Wow.”

He sits down on the floor next to you and you look over at him, eyes wide. “We actually got fucking married in Las Vegas,” you breathe, chest tightening in panic.

“I mean, maybe we didn’t?” He says hopefully. “That’s just a license, doesn’t mean we actually did it.” He taps his fingers absently over one well-muscled thigh, an irregular beat that you somehow sync your breathing to. With a huge effort, you drag your gaze away from his fingers - long and thick and the last you remember, stuffed up your cunt and dragging an orgasm out of your body - and steady your breathing. One hand presses against your chest, fingers digging into your skin like you could reach in and squeeze your heart back into a normal rhythm.

The phone on the tabletop starts buzzing and Tyler reaches up to grab it - “mine,” he says, glancing at the screen and jabs his finger to silence the alarm. He reaches his hand back up on the table and comes back with a handful of Polaroids. He splays them out like a deck of cards and you look at them. “Huh.”

Each picture is blurry as hell, but they’re unmistakably wedding photos. You’ve got a little fluffy veil on. Tyler’s shirt is unbuttoned past is sternum, but tucked neatly into his pants. He’s got you dipped back at the waist, kissing you dramatically. You’re on his back, holding a bouquet of flowers in the air as you kiss his cheek. He’s holding you, chest to chest, one large hand splayed over your bare back, your hand slid underneath his shirt. The Little White Wedding Chapel sign behind you and Tyler in one photo makes what happened last night unavoidable.

“I think we got married,” Tyler states the obvious and you burst into hysterical, gasping laughter. He looks at you, concerned for a beat before starting to laugh himself. It’s not funny at all, but if you don’t laugh, you think you’ll cry.

Once you catch your breath, you hiccup a little noise that sounds like a sob and carefully put the license up on the table. Tyler watches you and then glances back down at his phone, wincing at the time. “So, uh, hate to get married and run, but I have to go,” he taps his phone screen. “I’m on a flight to San Jose in an hour and I really can’t afford to miss that.”

You catch a glimpse of his lock screen and it’s a picture of him cuddling three dogs, which makes you feel marginally better because at least it’s not a woman that he’s cheating on and any man that has his dogs as his phone screen can’t be a total sociopath. A little bit of the knot in your chest unravels.

“San Jose,” you repeat, finally catching onto what he said. “Is that where you live?” You ask the question realizing you know nothing about this man that you’ve married. You didn’t even know his last name until five minutes ago. Oh god. You’re going to have to manage a time difference while filing for divorce. Your thoughts spiral out. Can you even get divorced in a state that’s not Nevada? You should know this, you’re probably the divorce expert in the room. He isn’t giving off divorced man energy, but do you give off divorced woman energy? You hadn’t thought about that and now it’s all you can focus on.

Tyler laughs a little, drawing your attention and stopping your panic attack. “No, thank god. I’m, uh, not to sound conceited,” he says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but you really didn’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” You frown, studying his face. Maybe he looks familiar? But in that way that most dark haired white men look alike. You’re almost positive that you’ve never seen him before.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is awkward. But I play for the Dallas Stars, the hockey team? We played Vegas last night, San Jose tomorrow.”

You cock your head at him, this new information sinking in. Dallas. Just thirty minutes from your place in Fort Worth. You’ve obviously heard of the Stars, you don’t live under a rock, but you’ve never been to a game, never cared about sports enough to learn any of the players’ names. It would be a weird thing to lie about, but - “prove it.”

“Prove it?” Tyler repeats incredulously. You nod. He frowns and looks like he’s trying to make a decision. After a second, he huffs a little laugh to himself and mutters, “well, it already worked once,” before unlocking his phone and typing away on the screen. A second later he holds it up next to his face, a Google search open on the screen. A headshot - Tyler’s headshot in a green jersey - looks back at you. He grins wryly, “proof enough?” The search bar at the bottom of the screen shows that he typed in ‘tyler seguin dallas stars headshot’ and misspelled his own name as ‘tylor’ - you don’t know why, but it makes you bite your lip to smother a laugh. The little typo is endearing.

You look back and forth between the screen and Tyler, long enough that he starts to genuinely laugh. “C’mon,” he teases, putting his phone down on his thigh, “you’re a tougher sell than security at the arena.”

“Okay,” you offer him a tiny smile, “I believe you. I’m just, um, a little overwhelmed. I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever done it before either,” he replies, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be on the road for a bit, west coast swing, but if you put your number in my phone, I’ll have my lawyer start working on the paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

He coughs a little awkwardly. “The divorce? Or annulment? Divorce though right? ‘Cause we obviously slept together,” he gestures at the condom wrappers, “so we can’t just sweep it under the rug. Like Ross and Rachel in Friends.”

“No!” The word slips out before you can stop it and Tyler frowns.

“We can annul it? My knowledge of ending Vegas weddings is pretty minimal.” He pauses and then as if to reassure you, says, “my knowledge of ending marriages in general is pretty limited too.”

“No,” you chew at your lip, “it’s still a divorce. But, fuck, this is mortifying. A second fucking divorce before I’m even 28. Good fucking job with your life.” You mutter the last bit more to yourself than to Tyler, tears welling up in your eyes. That would be the last thing you need, to tell your family and friends about this whole debacle. Literally a week after your first divorce is finalized, you go out and get married again. Drunkenly. In Las Vegas!

Tyler’s eyebrow lifts and he doesn’t ask the question he so clearly wants to ask. You scrub a hand over your face, nausea returning but you’re not sure if it’s the hangover this time or the way he’s looking at you.

“What if,” he says slowly, studying you carefully for a reaction, “what if, we just…didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” You shift, the floor uncomfortable under your sore ass. The blanket wrapped around your body isn’t the softest and you’re starting to sweat a little despite the cold air pumping into the room. Tyler’s presence next to you is becoming distracting, the movement of his chest muscles, the rasp of his voice. Your body wants more of him.

“Didn’t get divorced…” he tilts his head at you, keeps looking you in the eye, even after your jaw drops and the blanket slips a little. “We could, I don’t know, just -“

“Stay married?” You finish for him, eyebrows up in your hairline. He nods, shrugs - why not? “Oh my god.”

Tyler’s phone vibrates on his thigh and he glances down at the alarm. It reminds you that you have no idea where your own phone is and you really, really need to talk to the girls. He jabs at the alarm again and looks apologetic. “I really do have to go,” he gets to his feet and holds out a hand to pull you up. A spark shoots up your arm when his fingers clasp around yours. He doesn’t let go right away, his thumb rubbing against the backs of your fingers. “Think about it,” he looks at you more softly than you think he really should be in this moment. “You said you don’t do this kind of thing,” he continues, “but new year, new you?” The tiny smile he gives you sends your heartbeat into overdrive and this cannot be good for your health.

“Drunk married in Vegas would be a really new me,” you reply faintly. His hand finally falls away from yours and you’re mildly concerned to realize that you miss his touch. Your fingers flex at your side.

His smile doesn’t waver and he reaches out to brush a piece of hair off your cheek, fingertips lingering on your skin. “I’ll be back in Dallas in two weeks. Think about it, I’ll take you to dinner and we can just…go from there.”

He says it so simply, like it’s nothing. Strangely enough, you do feel calmer than you had a few moments ago, Tyler’s steady calm rubbing off on you.

“Okay,” you nod, repeating yourself. “Okay. I’ll…two weeks.”

Tyler grins a little wickedly. “At least we know we’re good together in bed,” he teases, kicking at a condom wrapper with his bare foot.

A laugh startles out of your chest and you find yourself nodding in agreement. “I, ah, definitely agree with that,” you murmur, your entire face flaming with heat.

——

One Year Later - New Year’s Eve. Dallas. TX

Tyler greets you at the door, suited up and bouquet of flowers in hand. “Hi, Mrs. Seguin,” he grins at you.

“Mr. Seguin,” you laugh back, leaning in to loop your arms around his neck and kiss him soundly, nipping at his lower lip. When you pull back, you’re breathless. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

His hands roam up and down your back, catching in the fabric of your sparkly white minidress, sliding up under the hem to knead at the flesh of your ass. He grins wickedly when his hands don’t find any fabric covering your ass. You smirk at him and wink, giggling when he pinches a cheek.

You lean into his touch with a contented purr. If it wouldn’t make you late for your own party, you’d pull him inside the house for a quickie. You’d already had sex this morning - a wedding present, according to Tyler when he’d given you back to back, mind numbing orgasms with his tongue and dick before you’d returned the favor with a blowjob that had rendered him speechless for twenty minutes - but you would never get enough of being in Tyler’s arms.

“Does it count as bad luck if none of the guests know they’re coming to a wedding?” He asks, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Or a vow renewal, technically.”

The last twelve months have been a little insane and honestly, looking back, you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

After getting dressed quickly, Tyler had found your phone wedged in the cushions of the hotel room’s armchair. The battery was nearly drained but your screen was lit up with more than a hundred texts in the group chat with the girls and nearly as many missed calls. When you had finally called back, all three had shrieked that they were twenty minutes away from reporting you missing. You’d kept the little surprise of legally binding matrimony to yourself, but had admitted to the girls that you’d spent the night with Tyler and that he lived in Dallas and that you were going to see where it went. The flight home was full of whispered shrieking and more questions than you had honestly had answers for at the time. The gaudy engagement ring was buried in the bottom of your toiletry case, acting like the tell-tale heart, blood rushing in your head every time you thought about it.

When you got home, you’d shoved the ring in your jewelry box, determined not to think about it, but found yourself absently running the pad of your thumb over the underside of your ring finger when you let your mind wander to Tyler.

After Tyler had returned to Dallas from his two week road trip - during which you’d basically internet stalked him and spiralled out quietly about not filling for a divorce right away - you’d finally decided to give it, give Tyler a chance. He’d texted nearly every day he was gone, sending stupid jokes or a picture of something he thought would amuse you. Worst case scenario, you filed for divorce and went through the process all over again. By the time Tyler took you out for dinner at a quiet dive-y taco place in Fort Worth where you could actually hear each other, both of your memories of the wedding night had returned, although yours were coloured in a hazy film that made the whole thing seem like a fever dream.

The little ceremony had been officiated by an Elvis impersonator, another Vegas cliché, a fact that you’d learned when Tyler had found another Polaroid in his wallet when he was on the plane to San Jose. You’d cracked up when he finally showed it to you in person - Elvis in the middle, clearly past his prime, with you and Tyler on either side of him doing your best air guitar? Maybe?

“I think I’m trying to do an Elvis hip swivel,” Tyler had laughed.

“Whatever it is, it looks like we’re both mid-seizure,” you’d nearly snorted your drink out of your nose. Looking at the photographs was fun now, a little warmth building in the pit of your stomach, not the tight, nauseous coil of anxiety that you’d experienced when you had first seen them.

Other wedding details were still a little hazy, like where you had picked up the rings or what exactly the ceremony had consisted of, beyond being declared man and wife and being told to kiss and cement your “burning love.”

(What you remembered and what Tyler made sure you didn’t forget was just how good you were in bed together. The four condom wrappers on the floor were not an anomaly with Tyler.)

He’d gotten you tickets for games, right up against the glass so he could skate by you during warmups and tap his glove against the glass to capture your attention. After a few games, once you’d decided to really commit to the relationship and were official within your friendship circles, he picked up the habit of blowing you a kiss, grinning when you’d blush.

He’s really good at his job and you’re only a little surprised to find that you actually love watching him play. It’s horrific watching him get hit or tossed into the boards, but when he scores a goal and celebrates in a big hug with his teammates you’re always the first one on your feet, screaming your head off.

You’d brought the girls to a game early on in your relationship and all three of them had been surprised at how comfortable you were in the arena and how quickly you’d picked up the rules of the game. It was hard to explain that you weren’t just trying to make a regular relationship work, but a whole marriage. The stakes were just a little bit higher than usual.

The league had a break for the All-Star Weekend in early February and Tyler had surprised you with a trip to Mexico, where you’d soaked up the sun and gotten to know each other better, giving him all the sordid details about your divorce and sharing stories from your childhoods over icy margaritas and more tacos than your body knew what to do with. He’d told you about his early career, his misbehavior in Boston and how much he loved being in Dallas. The long weekend was slow and lazy, leaving so much time for the two of you to really talk and get to know each other. The experimental sex in a hammock on the beach was the icing on the cake.

After that, it was like a switch flipped and all you wanted to do was be with him. Truthfully, you sometimes forgot that you were thrown into the relationship with a marriage and settled comfortably into dating Tyler, folding each other into your lives, moving in with him, telling him you love him and hearing him say it back, cheering him on when Dallas made it all the way to the Western Conference Finals before being bounced in seven games by, of all teams, the Vegas Golden Knights.

Summer break meant a road trip to Whitby to meet Tyler’s family. A drive that should’ve been two or three days took nearly a week because you kept making random stops to see the silliest monuments advertised on the highways. You’d nearly killed him driving through Illinois, convinced this was the end of the relationship and you’d have to pull the trigger on the divorce, and then he had surprised you by stopping at a corn maze and getting lost in it with you almost immediately. Your stomach had hurt from laughing with him and making out like teenagers.

The trip to his hometown had been beyond fun, getting Tyler to show you his childhood haunts and seeing all the baby pictures of him with his mom telling you stories too.

On the drive back to Dallas, halfway through Oklahoma and in the middle of the night, while you’re pulled over on the side of the road to look at the stars, Tyler asked you to marry him. Again.

This time you had the moment committed to memory, the way Tyler’s hands had been shaking slightly with the black velvet box popped open in his fingers. The way Tyler’s speech rambled, like he hadn’t prepared anything or had forgotten his words just as he started talking, explaining how your relationship had started in an unconventional manner, but he couldn’t picture his life without you now. The way you’d started crying almost the second he had turned to you on the hood of the car with that gorgeous ring glinting at you in the moonlight and how you hadn’t stopped until he’d slid the ring home on your finger and kissed you like he’d never kissed you before.

Over the months, the wedding plan shifts and changes, from a summer wedding so you can have a real ceremony and party, the whole nine yards, to what it actually ends up becoming - a quiet inside joke with the two of you in order to keep your anniversary date, a New Year’s Eve party for your closest family and friends to be surprised at midnight when you and Tyler recite your vows.

It’s much easier to plan a party in six months than it would’ve been to plan a wedding.

Jamie Benn, Tyler’s best friend and the dark haired man in Vegas you had initially thought was just you seeing double, is tapped as the officiant, getting ordained online and getting really into his role, not knowing it’s basically all just a front. He just loves that he’s the only one in on the secret, constantly wearing a shit eating grin any time any of your other friends discuss wedding plans for a summer wedding that’s not going to happen.

“I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces,” you admit, hooking your hand in the crook of Tyler’s elbow and letting him lead you out to the car. He does a double take when he notices your hand.

“What’s that?” He taps on the ring nestled on your ring finger. Your original wedding ring from a year ago had been replaced with a real diamond, still an oval, but smaller and more tasteful. But that’s not what you’re wearing right now.

Your lips twist up in a sly smile. The huge, gaudy cubic zirconia is back on your finger, your second engagement ring tucked safely in its box in your drawer. “It didn’t feel right to get married without it,” you admit, flexing your fingers against his arm so the fake gem will sparkle.

Tyler’s laugh is contagious. “Everyone’s going to ask about it,” he warns you.

“Let them,” you shrug. “I want to wear my original ring on my anniversary.”

Hours later, when the surprise has been pulled off and Jamie announces that Tyler may kiss his bride, you fall into your husband’s arms, kissing him with all that you’ve got.

Fireworks go off outside the venue, the countdown to midnight at less than a minute.

“Happy anniversary, wife,” Tyler grins against your lips, quiet enough that only you can hear him.

Around you, the countdown continues, seconds ticking away until it’s January first.

“Happy New Year, husband,” you whisper back, laughing when he dips you back dramatically.

The party continues well into the early hours of January first, you and Tyler having had the foresight to rent out the venue for twice as long as a normal party. You spend the night flitting between dancing with your friends and cuddling up against Tyler’s side, tucking yourself under his arm and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your cheek is pressed against Tyler’s side, the wrinkled fabric of his button down soft under your skin. Your fingers play with the buttons, slipping them from their holes one by one until his shirt is more unbuttoned than not.

Tyler smirks down at you, his hand rubbing an arc over your hip, rucking up the fabric with each upward stroke of his hand, exposing your thigh inch my inch. “Undressing me already, wife? Can’t wait for the wedding night?” He winks at you and you laugh into his chest.

“I think that ship has sailed,” you murmur, sliding your hand under the unbuttoned shirt and over the smooth skin of his stomach, ridged muscles dancing under your touch. You yawn a little, the weird combination of overtired and wide awake making your brain buzz.

Tyler holds you close and leans down a little to whisper in your ear, “want your anniversary gift?”

“Mmm,” you hum, “I thought I already got my gift this morning?”

“That was a wedding gift,” Tyler teases. “This is an anniversary gift, and no, it’s not in my pants.”

You giggle and look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “Shame, I like what’s in your pants.”

“I’ll give you that later,” he promises, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Come on, I stashed it in the coat closet.”

He tangles his fingers with yours and leads you off, getting stopped every few feet by someone else who wants to gush about what a great surprise the party was. “Just couldn’t wait another minute to marry her,” Tyler grins in response every time, making you laugh at his side, the inside secret of your Vegas marriage a warm fizz in your chest.

When you finally escape off to the coat closet, you try to loop your arms around Tyler’s neck and lift up on your toes to kiss him. He obliges you happily, cupping the back of your head and giving you a searing kiss before pulling away. You whine, “I thought we were sneaking off for a wedding night quickie?”

“I literally told you that your gift wasn’t in my pants,” Tyler laughs, kissing your cheek. “Why would you think I wasn’t being serious?”

Your hands find their way underneath his shirt again, fingertips digging into the muscles of his back, and drawing yourself closer to him. “Because I wanted you to be kidding,” you reply. “A little coat closet quickie would be a fun way to start the year.”

“And normally, I’d agree, baby. But I think you’re gonna like this gift,” he leans forward and reaches behind you, giving you the opportunity to press your nose against his collarbone. When he pulls back, he has a fairly large, flat wrapped package in his hand.

“What’s that?” You ask, taking the gift from Tyler as he leans back a little, shoulders resting against the wall, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The package is lighter than you thought it would be.

He nudges your foot with his, “open it.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” you chew at your lower lip. Neither of you had really discussed the fact that it’s your anniversary or gift giving and now you’re a little embarrassed that you hadn’t thought about it. You sway a little on your feet, fingers ripping a little at the corners of the paper until it crumples under your touch and the corner of the gift pokes through.

Tyler shakes his head. “Don’t care. It’s kind of something for both of us anyway,” he says and you wait for the little joke, the tease that you can let him unwrap you later, but it never comes and that’s how you know your husband is about to make you cry with whatever this gift is.

You can feel Tyler watching you as you pull back the paper - leftover Christmas wrapping that’s so clearly been wrapped by a man, too much tape and messy folds. God, you love him - and expose a frame. It takes you a second to process what’s behind the glass, but when you do, you hiccup a little gasp and tears well at your lash line.

Behind the glass is your marriage license with last year’s date and your pair of wobbly signatures. The Polaroids you’d taken that night surround the license and you trace trembling fingertips over the image of you kissing Tyler on the cheek.

“Tyler…” your voice cracks on his name and he gives you a soft little smile.

“This year his been batshit insane, baby,” he leans into your personal space and cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. “But I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk Vegas married.”

Tears are sliding down your cheeks and you nod, “I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk Vegas married, too.”

His laugh is muffled by all the coats surrounding you, but it’s warm and it feels like home. He pulls you into a hug, the frame smushed between your bodies and digging into your stomach, but you don’t care. Tyler’s hand curls around the back of your neck and you wipe at your eyes with the back of your wrist, black mascara smudges streaking across your skin. You giggle a little wetly, “I’m such a mess, oh my god.”

“Everyone will just think you dragged me off so you could have your wicked way with me,” Tyler teases, smirking at you.

“Coat closet quickie for the newlyweds,” you reply, grinning. You settle the frame on the floor, the back of it leaning against your leg, and really wrap your arms around Tyler’s neck, pressing a kiss against the hollow of his throat. The spice of his cologne invades your nostrils and you press your nose harder against his throat, enveloped in his warmth.

Tyler rests his chin on the top of your head and hums, rolling his hips against yours lazily so you can feel the bulge behind his fly. “I could give you a real quick one, just to make sure you don’t have to lie,” he ducks his head to whisper in your ear, kissing at the hinge of your jaw. His hand slides down to graze your ass and you’re nearly ready to say yes, suddenly desperate for him, when a loud bang on the door has you jumping back, heart pounding from the shock, nearly cracking Tyler’s chin with your head. The frame bounces off your leg with your movement, falling to the floor with a little clatter that you hope isn’t broken glass.

“Fuck!” He yelps and you clap your hands over your heart, gasping. “Jesus, who is it?”

Jamie’s voice is choked with laughter as it comes through the door. There’s a slight slur to his words too, as he shouts, “stop fucking on everyone’s coats, we’re doing body shots.”

Your jaw drops open and Tyler rolls his eyes at the interruption. He bangs on the door with a hand and shouts back, “fuck off! I’m trying to spend some time with my wife.”

“Actually,” you say slowly, a little smirk forming on your face, “body shots could be fun…”

“Yeah?” Tyler lifts an eyebrow at you, palm flat on the door.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a wicked grin, “you know I like the way champagne tastes on your skin.”

Tyler’s eyes shut like he’s in pain and your gaze slides down to see the bulge in his pants grow. “You’re a fucking menace and I’m so fucking glad you’re my wife,” he mutters, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you out of the coat closet, nearly knocking Jamie over in his hurry, your shrieked giggles drowned out by the music from the party.

The next morning, afternoon really by the time you finally open your eyes, you wake up with half of your body draped over Tyler’s completely naked one. His hip and thigh is securely wedged between your legs, his morning wood hot against the outside of your thigh. One of your arms is in the sleeve of Tyler’s button down, the rest of the fabric draped over your back like a blanket. The hangover pounds at your temples and the sunlight blinds you and it’s such a deja vu moment you almost think you’re back in Vegas, right until the moment Tyler’s hand twitches against your lower back and he rubs his bearded chin against the top of your head. You melt against him, sighing happily.

“Anniversary party slash vow renewal every New Year’s Eve?” Tyler rasps against your hair, sliding his hand up your spine.

You hum into his skin, “as long as you get me electrolytes and a greasy breakfast on January first, I’m in.”

“How about a headache relieving orgasm first?” Tyler rolls you gently onto your back, already kissing a path down your body. You shiver with each brush of his lips and your legs fall open for him to slot himself between them. He rests his chin on your hip bone and looks up at you with a soft look in his eyes that doesn’t match the hungry smirk that curves his lips.

“What?” You ask, angling your neck to look at him, raking a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was. There’s a little streak of glitter against his temple and you brush your thumb over it, wiping the smudge away.

He shakes his head a little. “Just thinking about this past year,” he lifts one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “How fun it’s been, how glad I am that we did the surprise last night.”

“Getting soft on me, Seguin?” you tease, poking at his side with your foot. He wiggles away a little from your touch, ticklish even though he won’t admit it.

“You know I’m anything but soft for you,” he laughs, nipping at your skin. “Let me prove it.” He presses a kiss against your hip bone and then lower and then there’s no more thoughts, just you and Tyler and the rest of forever stretching out in front of you.

[mommahughes19-23]

5 Seconds of Summer fics:

Close as Strangers - B.B (Brock Boeser)

"Through the tears I can hear that I shouldn't have gone, every day it gets harder to stay away from you..."

English Love Affair - R.L (Ryan Leonard)

"Today, I'm 7,000 miles away, the picture burning in my brain ; kissing in the rain..."

The Only Reason - M.R (Matt Rempe)

"Don't talk ;

Let me think it over..."

Never Be - J.H (Jack Hughes)

"I need your love to light up this house ; I wanna know what you're all about..."

Story of Another Us - M.R (Morgan Reilly)

"I got a long term plan with short term fixes..."

Unpredictable - Q.H (Quinn Hughes)

"We can run down the streets, with stars in our eyes..."

Ghosts Of You - C.L (Curtis Lazar) *trigger warning*

"Here I am waking up, still can't sleep on your side..."

Lie to Me - T.D (Thatcher Demko)

"Problem was I thought I had this right..."

No Shame - A.M (Auston Matthews)

"I only light up when cameras are flashing...."

Jet Black Heart - M.T (Matthew Tkachuk)

"Everybody's got their demons ; even wide awake or dreaming..."

Beside you - E.P (Elias Pettersson)

"When we both fall asleep underneath the same sky ; to the beat of our hearts at the same time..."

Best Years - B.M (Brandon Montour)

"I wasted so much time on people that reminded me of you ; gave you a million reasons to walk away..."

Lover of Mine - T.S (Tyler Seguin)

“When I take a look at my life and all of ny crimes, you’re the only thing that I think I got right”

Tags : @puck-luck @skylershines @quinnylouhughesx43

Im super excited!

[hawkesoutdoor]

#jeep #rubicon #rhinorack #install at Hawkes Outdoors in #SanAntonio #Te...

[marviless]

end of beginning

jamie benn/tyler seguin | 8.1k words | rated teen

Jamie has thought a lot about what he’d feel when that final buzzer rings, when the lights go off, when the game is over and he’s no longer an NHL hockey player anymore.

(or: a last game, a conversation, and the story that begins once a chapter is closed for good)

READ ON AO3

[germanpostwarmodern]

Since the 1990s Jean Prouvé’s furniture and mobile houses have fetched enormous results at global auctions that went hand in hand with a general reappraisal of his work. One of the major galleries dealing with Prouvé originals is Galerie Patrick Seguin in Paris whose namesake ranks among the leading experts in everything related to the engineer’s furniture and mobile architecture. Therefore it is no wonder that the present (sort of) catalogue raisonné of Prouvé’s furniture was published by the latter. The two volume set is an updated version of the initial 2007 edition and features a comprehensive catalogue of Prouvé’s furniture in volume one and a selection of interiors furnished with his key pieces as well as an overview of his prefab, movable houses in volume two.

Organized along ten categories the first volume provides a comprehensive overview of the sheer variety of Prouvé’s furniture: chairs, armchairs, office chairs, stools and benches, desks, school furniture, tables, lights, beds as well as interior furnishings and storage are testament to his broad interest in solutions for basically every aspect of furniture design. Each design is presented on the basis of a piece from the Seguin collection representing the most original version of each piece, supplemented by the editors with drawings, vintage photographs, advertisements and a brief history of the genesis and specifications of it. Preceding the catalogue are interviews with Prouvé’s daughter Catherine, Renzo Piano and design historian Raymond Guidot who offer not only insights into his personality and design ethos but also the intrinsic logics of his designs that resulted from Prouvé’s natural understanding of the material properties of metal and wood.

Of course the present tomes are also gorgeously designed and contain a wealth of profound information about every single piece of Prouvé furniture. What’s more is that through the countless detail photographs the reader gets a real understanding of the construction of each piece and how these sprung from the mind of one of the most original designers/engineers/architects of the 20th century. Worth every penny!

[laresearchette]

Tuesday, April 01, 2025 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES? SCARFACE (Paramount + Canada) WOULD I LIE TO YOU? (BritBox) STREET OUTLAWS: LOCALS ONLY (Discovery Network Canada) 8:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT? THE DEATH COAST (Premiering on April 08 on USA Network Canada at 9:00pm)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA AMERICA’S TEST KITCHEN: THE NEXT GENERATION (Season 2) FARGO (Seasons 1 - 4) LEGALLY BLONDES LEGALLY BLONDE 2: RED, WHITE AND BLONDE MAMMA MIA: HERE WE GO AGAIN! MOONSTRUCK THE NEW PINK PANTHER SHOW (Seasons 1 - 2) PINK PANTHER AND PALS TOP GUN WEST SIDE STORY

CBC GEM DANIEL TIGER’S NEIGHBOURHOOD (Season 6)

CRAVE TV DATELINE: WHAT HAPPENED TO ANTON BLACK?

DISNEY + STAR LOST TREASURES OF ROME (Season 2, all episodes) NATIONAL PARKS: USA (all episodes) THE SPY WHO DUMPED ME

NETFLIX CANADA BANGER (France) GARNACHAS: GLORIOUS STREET FOOD! (Mexico) LOVE ON THE SPECTRUM: SEASON 3

2025 BKT WORLD MEN'S CURLING CHAMPIONSHIP (TSN/TSN3) 11:00am: Sweden vs. Canada (TSN) 9:00pm: Canada vs. Italy

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 6:30pm: Nationals vs. Jays (SN Now) 7:00pm: Diamondbacks vs. Yankees (SN360) 10:00pm: Atlanta vs. Dodgers

NHL HOCKEY (SN1) 7:00pm: Capitals vs. Bruins (TSN2) 7:00pm: Panthers vs. Habs (TSN5) 7:00pm: Sabres vs. Sens (SN360) 7:30pm: Lightning vs. Islanders (SNWest) 9:00pm: Flames vs. Utah (SN1) 10:00pm: Oilers vs. Knights (TSN3) 10:30pm: Jets vs. Kings

NBA BASKETBALL (TSN4) 8:00pm: Raptors vs. Bulls (SN Now) 8:00pm: Warriors vs. Grizzlies

THIS HOUR HAS 22 MINUTES (CBC) 8:00pm

CANADA’S GOT TALENT (City TV) 8:00pm: The judges hear touching stories, get a surprise, and are visited by a celebrity guest.

THE EDIFY SHOW: HEARTIES TUESDAY (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm

SON OF A CRITCH (CBC) 8:30pm: Mark's sketch show gets its big break the same night as Fox's mom's wedding; Mary organizes it, and Fox finds the courage to give a speech; Mike Sr. confronts Pop over a health concern.

SMALL ACHIEVABLE GOALS (CBC) 9:00pm: Kris celebrates her daughter's first period with an over-the-top celebration as Julie navigates marital insecurities with some light stalking. Meanwhile, Evan awkwardly attempts to make work friends.

HIGHWAY THRU HELL (USA Network Canada) 9:00pm: Jamie unveils his new railway wrecker to pull up a semi that's gone off Highway 1; Team Reliable's Andy tackles a gravel truck that's rolled off; MSA's Gurk takes on the controls of the 50-ton for the first time for a foggy Fraser Valley recovery.

HALIFAX COMEDY FESTIVAL (CBC) 9:30pm: Hosted by Jon Dore and featuring performances by Ava Val, Charles Haycock, Derek Seguin, Orny Adams, Louis Ramey, Fiona O'Brien, Curran Dobbs, Sean Lecomber, Landry, Farideh and Joze Piranian.