#i think this about tattoo roulette all the time

[didhewinkback]

omg that reminds me of that one shawn mendes video on capital fm where he does something similar and now i’m wondering if that was a lie too. i remember it started a little discourse about people always questioning his sexuality

ugh i bet it was ! ! ! ! its hard for me to remember that those pre-recorded, pre-approved interviews are rarely doing anything truly surprising to a celeb but then paul did that and i was like wow glass has been shattered once again

[kjhbsies]

Romantic Roulette

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Football Player!Ellie x Classy fem!reader

Synopsis: Ellie, the charismatic star and team captain of the school's football team, finds herself entangled in a daring bet with her teammates. When challenged to win the affection of someone who is deemed to be "out of her league", - you, the one who everyone thinks is straight and seemingly Ellie's complete opposite - Ellie takes the wager with a huge confidence.

As Ellie made her way to pursue you, she soon realized that breaking your walls is no easy task. Unexpectedly, the more Ellie gets to know you, the more she finds your genuine charm and personality. Amid the game, Ellie discovers that her heart is no longer in it for the bet but for a chance at something real.

wordcount: 6, 473 Part II : PART III: PART IV

based on this request!

Romantic Roulette

Ellie Willams, one of the school’s most famous girls. Not only because she’s the football captain and has been distinguished as the best player in the nationals game, but because she has the looks that make every single girl drop down on their knees and worship her. 

It’s good, really. She loved the fame, the attention, and the girls that came with it. You can always see Ellie in different clubs, partying her ass out, not caring about the school tomorrow. She was always the center of attention in there, and you could spot her, always in the middle, with a ring of girls encircling her, wanting to even get a chance to just touch her hair or even her tattooed arm which everyone adores. 

Ellie always finds herself with different girls in her bed every single night. But she liked to think that it wasn’t her fault when they started catching feelings for her. Because, hey, she just wanted to have a good time, and she doesn’t really fully believe in some bullshit everyone calls love. She saw it as a waste of time, and thus she doesn’t even bother to commit to a relationship. 

Every girl flocked around her feet, wanting even to get a taste of her body, and Ellie wasn’t a saint to decline them. They wanted to please her, and who was she not to agree to that? She doesn’t even bother asking for their name because she knows that she will just forget about it by the time they are in bed. Ellie always has someone who she calls whenever she felt horny, and they would oblige immediately no matter what day or hour is it. And that’s one of the many perks that she loved about being herself. 

The locker room was loud as hell after their practice. Everyone was buzzed and energetic amidst the hot weather. Different conversations were emerging as the players were catching up with each other. 

Ellie walked out of the shower and everyone’s attention was already with her. Wearing her sports bra and grey pajamas, Ellie laughed as she heard someone talking about a funny incident last night. She sat down in one of the chairs inside while drying her auburn hair with a towel.

“Fuck it, man. You just swooped in and got to bed Atasha that fast?” Riley asked.

Ellie laughed loudly. “Sorry, dude, she’s practically begging for me all night while we’re at the club. It’s pathetic.”

“Damn, I was talking to her all night and she just immediately stood up when she saw you.” Riley shook her head, feigning her sadness.

“Sorry, dude. You should’ve seen her bouncing at my cock last night. She moans like a fucking chicken.” Ellie stood up, picked up her hoodie, and immediately wore it. Everyone hollered at her joke. Riley playfully smacked her in her arms. Ellie looked at her watch and groaned. “Ah, I still fucking have a history class.”

“Man, be thankful that Mrs. Garcia was your professor. Her tits are spilling out every time she bends over to pick up something in her bag.” Vanessa rolled her eyes before playfully moaning.

Ellie laughed again. “Sorry, dude, I was too busy looking at my seatmate.”

One of her teammates, Alex, went near them, engaging herself in the conversation after she was done showering. “Who?” She asked, drying her arms with a towel.

“You probably don’t know her but her name’s y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” Ellie answered before gathering her messenger bag and her bottled water. Honestly, Ellie doesn’t even know how she remembered your name. She doesn’t even talk to you in or outside the class that much. She can probably count on her two hands how many interactions you two had for the semester. There’s just something about you that Ellie can’t wrap her fingers. She can’t explain how much you attracted her.

The whole team fell silent and stole glances with each other before bursting out in laughter. This made Ellie look at them with a curious stare. Both of her brows rose, as she watched them holler, completely clueless.

“What’s so funny?” Ellie crinkled her nose. 

“Well, first off, we know her. She’s like everyone’s dream girl, dude. But you can’t take her out. You’re not her type.” Alex smirked.

Ellie looked at her with an offended stare. “What do you mean I’m not her type? I’m everyone’s type.” 

“Apparently, not for her. You don’t even know if she’s gay.” Alex argued.

“Everyone’s gay for me.” 

“Then try flirting with her, I’m telling you it won’t work. She’s way out of your reach.” 

“Dude,” Ellie chuckled, “No one is out of my reach. Wanna bet?” Ellie smirked, pulling up her wallet and raising it before Alex’s face. Everyone said a loud and long ‘ooh’ in unison.

Alex smiled back at her, “Ten dollars?”

“Make it twenty if I kissed her.” 

“Fifty… if you can take her to the bed. But if you can’t, then owe me those fifty dollars.”

Ellie laughed. “You think I can’t do that?” She traced the inside of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Fine. I’m in.” Ellie accepted the challenge.

To start, Ellie doesn’t know much about you. Only that you loved listening to Mrs. Garcia’s boring history lessons, asking so many questions about the topic, and attentively writing down everything the professor said. This is why you’re her favorite student. And also, you loved to wear those classy vintage dresses and you’re also polite as fuck. You’re the opposite of the girls that Ellie loved hooking up with. To be honest, you’re nowhere near Ellie’s type of girl but something about you that makes her drawn to your energy like she’s a moth to the fire – you. 

You’re not the type of person who would go having meaningless sex, and Ellie somewhat predicted it. Besides, her whole team was convinced that you wouldn’t budge, nor break down your defenses to Ellie. Because firstly, they believed that you’re straight. 

Yeah, believed.

Because Ellie wasn’t nearly convinced that you wouldn’t throw yourself at her feet. That you wouldn’t scramble at the sight of her. That she can’t make you question your sexuality. Because Ellie was full of herself she could do that. She always does.

“So… are you free tonight?” A girl in their class asked Ellie flirtatiously while tracing the tattoo on her arm. She sat down in front of Ellie’s table, riding up her skirt to reveal more skin on her thigh. If this were a normal day, Ellie would’ve said back at her. Probably ask her to be her date for the night, and make plans where they would fuck. But since she’s on a mission, and you could go inside the room and see the two of them, then you’d probably lose all of your interest. And Ellie doesn’t want that. 

“I’m not. Why don’t you just go back to your seat, Johanna?” Ellie sarcastically asked her.

The girl retreated and looked at Ellie with irritation. “My name’s Christine!” She said before angrily stomping her way to the front seat.

At the same time, you walked inside. You were holding your books in your right arm, and the other one was clutching the straps of your handbag. Your hair was in a simple style – the front pieces were tucked behind your hair neatly, revealing the gold hoops you were wearing. You were just wearing jeans and heels paired with a plain long sleeve that revealed your collarbones and curves that made Ellie’s breath hitch. 

Ellie’s gaze followed yours as you were making your way beside her. Ellie took the courage to flash you a charming smile while you were sitting. She doesn’t expect you to do anything, so when you flashed back a beam, Ellie almost gasped in shock.

“Hey, darling.” You greeted and Ellie didn’t know what to do. It’s like all of her flirting skills were gone after she heard your voice. Goddamnit.

Ellie cursed herself before silently shaking her head as if to gain back her consciousness. She’s starting to look like a fucking loser. “Hi… you look pretty.” She complimented you before smirking and looking up and down your body. 

“Wow,” You couldn’t help but smile shyly while gazing down. “It kinda means a lot to me since it’s from the captain of the football team.” You looked up at her, meeting her green eyes that were staring at you intently. “Though I was curious as to why you’re talking to me.” You joked. 

Ellie chuckled. “You knew me?”

You shrugged. “Of course, who doesn’t?”

“Well… I thought you weren’t paying attention to me.” 

You crinkled your nose. “I think it’s the other way around.”

Ellie’s tongue traced the insides of her cheek, before she leaned into her chair, still staring at you. “I just want to be friends.” 

You scoffed. “Friends? Didn’t you have a lot of that?”

“Well,” Ellie leaned in front of you. She rested her elbows on her knees. “Is it bad not to want you as my friend?”

“No,” You smiled. “But it was such an odd thing. You and I were seatmates ever since and you never really noticed me. So, what’s your intentions?”

Ellie’s heart jumped. She never expected you to quip back at her. “I’m just… scared to talk to you.” She shook her head, wanting to appear convincing but it’s just a lie. Yes, Ellie does notice you every time, but she never attempts to talk to you solely because she is too busy with other girls.

“You’re afraid to talk to me?” You asked back, finding her reason ridiculous because she’s Ellie Williams. Being afraid of a girl wasn’t in her vocabulary and you knew that. “There are tons of girls who want to befriend you, Williams. You and I weren’t exactly a perfect match.” You smiled at her before you looked in front of the classroom, where Mrs. Garcia was.

Ellie was left dumbfounded.

Did you just reject her?

“It should be fucking easy,” Ellie complained to her friends while walking back and forth. They’re at Dina and Ellie’s shared boarding house after all of their classes have ended.

Dina rolled her eyes, putting on her lip gloss in her bag after she was done using it. “Well, it’s good that you knew how to get rejected for once.” She then made her way to the couch, sitting beside her boyfriend, Jesse, who was lying down sideways while eating popcorn.

“Yeah, and she wasn’t supposed to do that. She was supposed to say yes and let us be friends so I could make my advancements on her like every other girl. But no, she didn’t.” Ellie groaned.

Dina glared at her friend. “Well, first off, not every girl is the same.” 

“No, Dina, I think they are.” She rolled her eyes stubbornly.

“And second, you should stop messing with her, okay? I know Y/n, and she’s a very kind girl. Playing with other’s feelings is cruel.”

Jesse nodded and hummed while putting a mouthful of popcorn in his mouth.

“And lose fifty dollars to Alex and hurt my pride? No way.” Ellie scoffed.

“What if she found that it was all a stupid bet?”

“She won’t, Dina.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Jesse asked with a muffled voice because of the food. Dina smacked him.

“Stop talking while your mouth is full!” 

“No one will tell her, okay? She can’t find out.” Ellie answered with a determined voice.

Dina shook her head at her. “You know what? Go on, do whatever you want because you won’t even listen to me. But don’t forget that I warned you not to continue this.” Dina pointed her finger at Ellie.

“Thank you, Dina. But I think I can handle myself.”  Ellie smirked at her to annoy her friend even more. 

The one place that you’ll find Ellie the most is with different clubs and bars – particularly the ones that are near the university. And the last spot that you’ll meet her is in the library. 

In her defense, what would she do here? She was not fond of reading books, not even the ones that she should use, and she hated the deafening silence in this huge room. Once, Ellie tried to come along with Dina and her friends in a group study and she just got numerous glares from the librarian that was telling her to keep quiet. Ellie never learned a thing, and she’s pretty sure that she just made a new enemy that day. So, Ellie swore not to go in here.

But today was the day that she broke that promise. 

Ellie strides into the huge library while holding a particularly dirty football that was fresh from the practice. She’s still in her sports attire. Her auburn hair was tied in a bun, and some strands of her hair were sticking onto her sweaty forehead and neck. She managed to change her shirt into a plain white one but her shorts were still the same. 

After their football practice, Ellie never got to shower and change completely because she knew that you’d be gone on campus already. So she just drenched herself in her perfume – making sure that you can’t smell even the slightest of her sweat. 

The same librarian Ellie encountered before was in charge of today. She recognized the football captain and made a face of grimace and disapproval at her looks. 

“Your shoes have mud in them.” She pointed out when Ellie passed by her.

In answer, Ellie just put on her charming smile. “Oh, I didn’t even notice.” She said before briskly walking away from her.

It was not hard for Ellie to find you. It was a Tuesday afternoon and most of the students were in their respective classes so the library wasn’t packed. Besides, how could Ellie not notice you when you were walking around the room with one of your mini-dresses?

“Hey,” ElliE came up behind you. And since you were immersed in the book you were holding, you almost jumped up in shock.

“Shit, you scared me.” You said in a hushed voice.

“Woah, you can curse?” Ellie asked, amused.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I’m not a saint.”

Ellie chuckled at your joke. “That’s shocking.”

You snorted. “Not really. So… what do you want for you to come rushing in here right after your practice?”

Ellie looked at her dirty shorts and muddy shoes. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yup. You were tainting the tiles and Ms. Loren looks like she wants to jab you at your jaw.” You looked behind her, nodding in the librarian’s direction.

“Oh… so that’s what her name is.” Ellie looked at the woman and offered a smile but she just huffed in answer. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked again, and Ellie turned her attention to you.

“Actually… yes. I was struggling with History classes because I’m not good at memorizing ton shits and Mrs. Garcia’s quizzes were really really hard. And because of the upcoming intramurals, we’re always at the field to practice which is why I missed a quiz at her.” 

“Last meeting?”

“Yup.”

“So that’s why you’re not there.” 

Ellie nodded. “I never got to pass any of her exams, and she said that my grades would go down if I failed another quiz. So… can you tutor me?” Ellie shot you with a pleasing gaze.

You looked at her with a surprised face. “Why me?”

“You're her favorite student, and you’re always the top of the class. Please…?” Ellie gave you a puppy eyes.

You stared at her face, contemplating about everything. You were about to utter a word but there was nothing that left your mouth. 

“I’ll do anything you want. Just… text me if you made up your mind.” Ellie says. She looked at the table in front of her and found a pen. She then gently took your left hand and wrote her number on it. Your heart raced at the first physical contact with her. 

“I’ll be waiting for your text… or call.” Elli winked at you before jogging towards the door, leaving you dumbfounded.

After the class, you decided to meet up with your friends at one of your favorite cafes. Today is the perfect day to get a nice cup of warm coffee since it’s somewhat windy outside. And maybe, the drink can give you something to wake you up from looking at the number at your hand. 

“What’s that?” Abby asked at the digits in your palm, causing you to jump at her voice. Her brow rose when she looked at you. She finished placing the drinks and food on the table, and you immediately got yours and took a sip of it.

“Whose number was that? You can’t stop looking at it ever since we got in here.” Nora pointed out.

You cleared your throat. “Ellie.”

“Williams?” Abby asked curiously. “Didn’t know you two have any contact.”

“Well, I told you all before that she is my seatmate in History class. But, I don’t know, she tried talking to me yesterday.” You shrugged, picking up a piece of the red velvet cake.

“Maybe she’s playing games with you,” Nora said.

“Come on, Ellie probably thinks she’s amazing.” Abby defended.

Nora rolled her eyes, “Abby, Ellie was a notorious playgirl. She wouldn’t talk to y/n just to be friends. And besides, I don’t think that was in her vocabulary.”

“Woah,” You chuckled. “Where does this grudge from her is coming from?” You threw your hands up in the air.

“Oh, so you don’t know how many girls have been crying and fighting each other because of her? Ellie is a heartless person who doesn’t care about someone’s feelings, and everyone is still blinded by it because of how she looks. Y/n, you should be careful because I think you’re her new target.”

“You shouldn’t scare her,” Abby said.

“I’m not. I’m just stating facts.” 

You sighed, heavily while looking at your hand once again. 

Nora has a point, but you still want to give Ellie the benefit of the doubt. She wouldn’t do that to you, right?

Right?

You were walking back and forth in your small room while looking at your right palm, and holding your phone on the other. You still have a lot of free time tonight since all of your school works and backlogs were done, so, you were now contemplating whether you should call Ellie or not.

I mean, you completely understood Nora’s complaints about Ellie since the rumors aren’t new about her. Sure, she’s a Casanova, but the thing is, you won’t even dare fall in love with her – let alone be one of her girls. You were just a kind student who wanted to help her classmate in a subject where you excelled. So, what’s wrong with that?

“Ugh.” You grunted while shutting your eyes tightly. You flopped down the bed before you quickly dialed the number.

“Hello?” Ellie’s raspy voice filled your room. You immediately sat down in your bed when she answered. You can hear loud music in the background, and a few people shouting and giggling. You figured out that she’s at a party. A girl asked Ellie where she was going but you couldn’t pinpoint what she answered because it was chaotic. “Who’s this?”

“It’s… Y/n. I- I’m sorry, is this a bad timing?” 

“Oh. Oh! Y/n? Is it actually you?” She asked, voice rising with excitement. 

“Yeah, I called to ask if you want to study tonight but clearly, you had other plans now, so let’s just do it some other time.” 

Ellie managed to scramble outside the house where she was partying even though it was a real struggle. After a long day of practicing, Ellie and her teammates got invited to a house party hosted by someone she couldn’t even remember the name of. Being stressed for a whole week, Ellie wanted to have some little fun for tonight. And besides, she wants to divert her attention in the meantime, rather than looking at her phone stupidly for the rest of the day which Dina pinpointed.

Ellie immediately shook her head at what you said as if you could see her right now. “No, no, it’s fine. I was just actually hanging around there, not drinking or anything.” She lied. 

“Really?” You don’t sound convinced by her answer. “Well, I’ll text you the address of my boarding house if you’d like.”

“Yes. Please. Thank you so much. I’m on my way.” Ellie said quickly before running towards her big bike. She ended the call, put her phone on her jeans, put on her helmet, and started the engine. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Riley shouted from the window.

“To study!” Ellie exclaimed before driving away.

Riley and her teammates looked at each other with a frown and a clueless stare. “Studying?” They all asked themselves in unison.

Because there is no way, Ellie would’ve left a party. 

And in her whole life, Ellie never even studied.

So, why is she leaving a party just to study?

After Ellie said that she was outside your room, you didn’t expect that she’d show up at your windows.

“Oh, my goodness!” You exclaimed in pure shock. “What are you doing in there?” You said before opening up the sliding windows. 

Ellie threw her backpack filled with snacks on the floor before she completely entered. She managed to change her alcohol and cigarette-scented shirt into a decent one just to make herself presentable to you. 

“Your landlady says it’s past curfew so she can’t let me in, so I managed to climb through your windows.” Ellie shrugged. 

“You could fall.”

“But I didn’t, so…” Ellie flashed her charming smile before scanning your room.

It is warm and cozy. It is filled with plants and different vintage collections. Ellie noticed at least five different lamps open and candles lit to give some light in your room. It is very neat, well well-decorated, and it smells really good. 

“I didn’t know vinyl still existed.” Ellie pointed out the small drawer of yours filled with different types of vinyl. Ellie walked to it and saw a vintage turntable. “This still works?” She asked.

“Oh, yes, it’s not quite as popular as it was before, but it still works.” You grabbed one and put it on the player to show her. Ellie’s brows rose and her mouth formed into a small ‘o’ when the music started filling the air.

“Guns and Roses. Classic.” She said when she heard the familiar sound.

You looked at her with a smile on your face. “You know that band?”

“Yeah, Joel - uhh, my guardian, he used to play their songs every single day to the point that he even wanted to try to learn it on the guitar.” She smiled and turned to you. 

“You know how to play guitar, too?” 

“Oh, a little.” Ellie chuckled. “I never really had any practice, unless it’s in a summer break.” 

“That’s nice.” You nodded thoughtfully.

“You really like collecting such antique things, huh?” Ellie picked up a small bunny ceramic.

“It’s like a small hobby I’d like to do from time to time. It’s really fun going to different antique or thrift stores trying to find something you’d like. And besides, I really like older things because of their intricate designs and very pretty artworks.” You explained. “Look, all of those artworks on my wall are all thrifted, even its frames.” You pointed.

Throughout the night, you two did study. You helped Ellie with understanding all the topics that she was struggling. You were surprised with how quickly she can memorize everything, leading you down to the conclusion that Ellie is smart, she’s just lazy. 

The two of you would take breaks in between as Ellie insisted because she can’t focus if they’re going to study for hours with no breaks. You obliged. Ellie then would ask you different things about your room, asking what you’d like the most in it, and you would explain and show her those things. Ellie asked you more about yourself, wanting to get some information while at it as her mind starts plotting what you love, and where she can take you out for a date.

You were talking about the things you love, and there was that spark in your eyes that Ellie couldn’t look away from. You were so immersed in telling her something, and Ellie got lost by looking at your face.

Time passed and the two of you didn’t seem to notice. It’s like the two of you are in your bubble that no one could even interrupt. Not even the storm, or the loud buzzing of Ellie’s phone because of her friends asking where she went. Tonight, it’s just you and her. 

“I’m nervous about the quiz,” Ellie says as the two of you are walking through the hallways. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” You looked at her and gave a warm smile.

“I don’t know what’s with that subject, but I always fail every quiz in that class. It’s like someone has put a curse on me or something.”

“Mrs. Garcia is a great teacher, but yes, I do get that her voice is so calm which is why many students are too sleepy to pay attention to her.”

Ellie chuckled. “Yeah, the only thing that I can see in her class was her boobs whenever she bows down to get something on her bag on the floor. It’s fucking distracting.”

You laughed, harder than Ellie thought you would’ve, making her look at you with an amused smile. “Fuck yeah. I thought I wasn’t the only one who noticed.”

Ellie stared at you for a moment, she started questioning Alex in her mind saying that you are straight and making her think that there isn’t even the slightest bit in your body that is gay. Your reaction to what she said makes her think about your sexuality, Ellie wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries. 

Ellie shook her head, wanting to keep her thoughts at bay. Instead, she changed the topic. “We have a football practice at 3:00 PM and I was wondering if you want to watch it…?” She looked at you with a sheepish smile.

“Were the girls watching you play weren’t enough?” You joked.

“There aren’t. Wait, you really think that I’m a playgirl?”

“Aren’t you?” You asked back with a small frown on your face. “I don’t think that you’re a playgirl, I know you are. Everyone does. I mean, my friend doesn’t even know why you’re talking to me in the first place.” You shrugged before looking away.

Ellie was staring at you really hard, wanting you to look at her but you wouldn’t, so she sighed dejectedly. She stopped in her tracks and held your arms to also make you stop. 

“How can I prove my sincerity to you?” 

You bit your lips as your hands gripped the strap of your bag tightly. You shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Ellie. We’re not friends or anything more.”

“What if I want you to be?” 

Your gaze fell on hers with a shocked look on your face. “What?”

“I want to be your friend, Y/n.”

You stared at her for a moment, weighing your feelings. You were used to people coming up to you and asking to be their friend. After all, everyone finds you nice and adorable. You loved friendly interactions, and never once have been doubting someone’s intentions. However, there is a huge factor when Ellie is the one who’s doing it — yes, Nora is right. Her lifestyle is much different than yours, and Ellie Williams’ reputation is not quite good. Everything about you two wouldn’t even intersect, and this is all new. Everything about here seems… artificial.

But then again, you took a look in her face, and gosh… how can you resist that? 

So, you slowly nodded. Mumbling a small ‘fine’ under your breath is something that almost made Ellie want to jump in joy.

It’s playtime.

taglist: @liasxeatt @darkerstarsstuff @amberputh @bready101 @teawithnosugar @elliesaturnsoftdrink @elliewilliamgfooc

[erikahenningsen]

🎲 Kiss Roulette! 41 please :)

40. An impulsive kiss

41. A kiss out of spite

Janis is talking to some girl.

Janis went to go to the bathroom ten minutes ago, and now Regina has just spotted her talking to some girl by the bar, while Regina waits patiently at the table in the corner that they have claimed.

Regina makes the herculean effort to give Janis—and this girl—the benefit of the doubt. She sets a time on her phone for three minutes, which is totally generous, not to mention more than enough time for Janis to tell this girl with the bleached tips and tattoo sleeve that she is happily taken.

Regina tries not to stare directly at them for the full three minutes, and fails—but it's the effort that counts, doesn't it? She looks at some spot above the bar where she can still see them out of the corner of her eye, and takes deep breaths in through her nose. She feels itchy all over, like if she just sunk her nails into the skin on her arm she'd feel better, but she settles for gripping the edge of the table.

The girl touches Janis's arm right as the time goes off, and Regina is out of her seat so fast she leaves her drink abandoned on the table, but it doesn't matter. She strides with enough purpose through the crowded bar that people part automatically, maybe assuming that she's experiencing some kind of emergency.

And, honestly? She kind of is.

"Janis," Regina says, almost breathlessly, when she reaches them. She had spent all of her time watching them thinking about ways to insult this girl's outfit, her hair, her stupid button nose that crinkles when she laughs at something Janis said, and now that Regina is here in front of them, she has no game plan.

"Oh, hey," Janis says—casually, like she isn't the first domino in what could very well end in murder.

The girl turns to Regina with such an annoyed expression that, before she can think it through, Regina grabs Janis by the front of her shirt, pulls her in, and kisses her.

It's a bit more forceful than intended, their noses bumping and teeth scraping in a way that Regina hates for a moment, but once Janis relaxes a little, it's good. The surprise has allowed Regina to take immediate control of the kiss in a way that doesn't happen very often, because Janis's love language is annoying Regina, but Regina relishes in having the upper hand, at least for the moment.

Regina tilts her head so their lips slot together, Janis's bottom lip in between both of Regina's, and runs the lip of her tongue over it at the same time she slides the hand not clenching Janis's shirt into the back pocket of Janis's low-slung jeans.

Kissing Janis never gets old in the way kissing Aaron or Shane immediately did, butterflies fluttering to life in her stomach before venturing outward into her chest, her limbs. The hand that wraps firmly, possessively, around the back of her neck doesn't help.

Distantly, Regina is aware of the girl huffing loudly before storming away. Her mission is accomplished, but she still takes a couple extra minutes to press their bodies impossibly closer, wishing they weren't in a public space so she could back Janis up against the bar, but Regina has been kicked out of enough establishments to know where the line is.

"What was that for?" Janis asks when they finally part.

Regina wrinkles her nose. Does Janis not know? "That girl."

"What about her?" Janis looks completely lost.

"The one touching your arm? She was totally hitting on you," Regina says shortly.

Janis stares at her for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Regina asks, immediately irritated by not being in on the joke.

"Babe," Janis says, smacking Regina's hand away where she pinches her side. "She's in the pottery class I take on Saturdays. She's totally straight."

"Oh," Regina says, doing a quick internal check to see if she feels bad about the show they just gave Janis's friend. She doesn't. "Well, she shouldn't be touching your arm in a bar anyway."

Janis raises one eyebrow. Regina hates when Janis does that. It's a reminder that Janis is amused—not intimidated—by her.

"Or you could just act normal in public," Janis says. "Like,even just a few days a week."

"I do act normal in public," Regina says, crossing her arms.

Janis raises a hand to her mouth, slowly wiping Regina's lipstick away with her thumb. Regina's eyes track the movement, and Janis notices and smirks.

"Sure you do."

[ghcstao3]

By God, would it be possible for us to get more of soap and his tinder adventure with ghost.

I beg you from the bottom of my heart to grace the world with more because this is simply the best thing on earth.

Please please please.

(hope it’s still okay i’m using your ask for this haha)

not sure why it took me so long but finally! more of the tinder adventure :) this may go on ao3 later but i haven’t decided yet

tinder roulette

2.9k words

-

Tinder, in Soap’s opinion, is more of a fun pastime than anything else.

Of course, that isn’t to say he hasn’t used it for its intended purposes—hookups, if anyone is to be honest, it really isn’t a dating app—but it’s long since lost its novelty and has instead become something solely built for Soap’s entertainment.

And Gaz’s, too, apparently.

“I can’t believe how many men on here actually use those stupid fishing pictures on their profiles.”

Gaz has been hoarding Soap’s phone for the better part of an hour, now, liberally swiping left and right on others’ accounts as per routine when neither of them have anything to do. Only this time he’s essentially just been swiping left for a variety of reasons that are mostly beyond Soap.

“I don’t like how he’s holding his phone.”

“Then swipe left,” is usually Soap’s unhelpful and unheeded input.

“Already did,” is what Gaz will say.

Soap sighs as Gaz continues browsing. Normally it’s more fun for Soap than what it’s been that day, but something about the current selection feels… lacklustre. There hasn’t been much of anything funny or fascinating to pique his interest, so Gaz’s say has remained precedent.

It usually does. Just more so today, which Soap is completely fine with—at most he might chat with someone that matches with him (or, again, Gaz might chat with someone under the guise of being John, 28), and otherwise he’ll do absolutely nothing.

Until he hears Gaz suck in a sharp breath beside him. Which could be either a very good or very bad sign.

But by the way Gaz tenses, finger hovering over the screen like he’s afraid he’ll be electrocuted if he does anything, Soap takes it as a very bad thing.

Soap finally looks back at the screen after having been off in his own head for the past fifteen minutes.

At first glance, there isn’t anything that Soap sees that makes him think Gaz’s reaction was warranted. Then, and unfortunately, he starts connecting the different things he’s seeing across the profile—the glaring Simon, 32, the cheesy bio classified underneath it.

And the photos. God, the photos. Soap would hate himself for his immediate recognition coming from a set of bare, scarred and broad shoulders if he didn’t have the excuse of being familiar with the identifiable tattoo that stretches up Simon, 32’s forearm.

Gaz turns to Soap. “You don’t think…?”

“If I’m being honest, Gaz,” Soap says slowly, “I dinnae want to think about this at all.”

Gaz’s thumb inches closer to the screen, and Soap’s heart stops when he sees the hint of a mischievous grin begin to form on his fellow sergeant’s face.

“So then you wouldn’t mind if I…?”

“Gaz,” Soap warns.

“What? It’s probably just an old profile like yours. And besides,” Gaz huffs, and Soap really does not like where this is going, “aren’t you at least a little curious to see what happens? Given your…”

Soap scoffs. “No, because nothing will happen. So hand over my—“

He makes to grab for his phone but is unsuccessful when Gaz, with stupidly lightning reflexes, stretches his arm out of Soap’s reach, and, very much to Soap’s dismay, presses down his thumb and swipes right on their lieutenant’s profile.

“See? What’s the worst that could—oh.”

It’s glaring, that horrible, awful, eyesore of a pop-up that reads It’s a match!

Soap thinks he might die. This is when and where he lays to rest permanently. Because what the fuck?

Gaz winces, sheepishly handing the phone back to Soap. “That is… this is a good thing, innit? Means he likes you back, right? Right?”

Soap doesn’t take it right away, instead shrinking in on himself, desperately scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms as if it’d erase the last minute of his life. As if it’d erase his entire existence. Because even if they matched—a fact in and of itself that Soap is still having a tough time processing—Soap will eventually have to face Ghost knowing that they had, whether or not the man has checked his own notifications, and that idea alone is mortifying.

Soap is going to kill Gaz.

“This is what I get for not listening to my Mam about goin’ to mass,” Soap groans, plucking the phone from Gaz’s hold. The first picture on Ghost’s profile stares back at him—a goddamn mirror selfie angled in a way that hides his face, but definitely not the definition of his arms thanks to lighting and a muscle tee Soap would have never thought his lieutenant to own—and he doesn’t so much as hesitate to exit out of the notification so he can forget this all happened as soon as possible.

Which would be never, in all honesty, but Soap’s an optimist.

Most days.

“You think I could get a transfer before I have to see him again?”

Gaz quirks an eyebrow. “A transfer by this afternoon? Ain’t gonna happen, mate. Not even the higher-ups could manage that.”

Soap frowns. “This after—what are you talking about?”

Gaz makes an affronted sound. “What am I…? Training, you idiot,” he snaps, smacking Soap upside the head. “You’re on duty with him later. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“‘Course not.” Soap pauses. He tries to smile but all that forms is a grimace. “If I asked you to fill in for me…“

“Absolutely not,” Gaz says. “You’re facing this yourself, mate. Today. And then maybe after you and Ghost can snog, or something.”

Soap jabs his elbow into Gaz’s side. “You act like this isn’t your fault.”

“But it’s a yes to the snogging?”

As much as Soap might like to entertain the thought any other time, he just groans as he stands from the ratty couch kept in the common room with nothing more than the intention to hide away until facing his inevitable doom.

It’s great, the things he’s feeling at the moment. So great.

And of course that feeling stays all throughout what seems like no time at all before Soap is procrastinating his way to training, an extra weight on his shoulders and far too many thoughts swirling around his head that all cease the second he makes eye contact with Ghost.

A pissy Ghost.

“You’re late,” the lieutenant says.

“Sorry, sir,” Soap mutters. He keeps his gaze anywhere but on Ghost. “Got… caught up.”

Ghost grunts. “Right.”

The silence that follows is characteristic on Ghost’s end. Soap, however, can’t bring himself to say anything without the fear of it somehow leading to asking Ghost if he’s been on his phone at all since that morning without reason to justify the question.

But obviously Ghost picks up on his nerves, and given the man’s irritatingly blunt nature, it’s no surprise he’s confronting Soap about it the moment the recruits are busy and out of earshot.

“You tense, sergeant?” Ghost says. Never a question with him; always an accusation.

“No,” Soap lies. He can’t look over to his colleague without that stupid picture appearing in his mind. “Just…”

“Tense?” Ghost repeats.

Soap sighs. Concedes, “Aye. Tense.”

When Ghost says nothing, Soap finally risks a glance at his lieutenant only to be met with Ghost’s own gaze—too intense, too piercing. Soap hadn’t known brown eyes could look so cold until Ghost.

Soap can’t help but feel as if Ghost already knows. Because in all honesty, he probably does, and there had never been any use in trying to maintain what little remains of Soap’s own dignity.

If he had had any to begin with.

Ghost tilts his head. Scrutinizes Soap further with those eternally analytic pupils of his. “And for what reason, sergeant?”

Soap is going to throttle his superior officer. He’s going to wring the man’s neck, get discharged, and never have to worry about this ever again. Because Ghost is taunting him, clearly, and how unfair is that?

“I think you know, sir,” Soap grumbles through grit teeth, because he supposes he may as well face this head-on now as much as he fears the moment it’s said aloud.

But to his surprise, Ghost actually falls back just a bit, shifting his weight between feet in that awkward, stilted way he rarely does.

Like a kid caught with their hand shoved in the cookie jar.

“Well, don’t dwell on it too much, Johnny,” Ghost finally says—the words are quieter, softer this time. “Was an accident.”

Soap curses the crumbling feeling of hope in his chest that maybe, best case scenario, this whole incident would lead to a confession. But of course not—Ghost swiping right on Soap was an accident.

“Ah. Well.” Soap clears his throat, shying away from what’s become a much kinder gaze, “So was—for me too. Gaz had my phone.”

Ghost hums. Some look glasses over his eyes before he turns from Soap and marches away to continue barking orders at the rookies. Soap doesn’t know if it’s any better than having them both linger in a suffocating awkwardness.

An accident. Right. Why did Soap think it could ever be anything else?

The remainder of training is torturous, with the way Ghost doesn’t utter a word to Soap beyond anything work-related, or some professional-opinion bullshit—all the while was an accident rattles around Soap’s head as the day progresses at a snail’s pace.

He can’t decide if it all being an accident makes the situation any better. He can’t decide on a lot of things today.

And clearly, for Ghost, it doesn’t matter either way.

Soap is going to kill someone. He just hasn’t figured out who yet.

*

“He said it was an accident.”

Gaz hardly looks up from his tray as Soap slumps into a seat across from him. The mess hall is filled with the hushed buzz of chatter, sporadic and spaced out about the room. The open, public environment is the only reason he feels safe enough talking about it—it’s the only place he isn’t concerned about having Ghost suddenly appear in that eerie, ghostlike way of his.

“Told me not to worry about it,” Soap continues, “as if he hadn’t been making me more worried with his weird interrogation.”

“Remind me why you like him like him again,” Gaz mutters before shoving another forkful of food in his mouth. He chews and swallows unreasonably quickly. “Starting to seem like you don’t actually have feelings for him, mate.”

Soap huffs. “Only because it’s obvious the bastard doesnae feel the same. What’s the point, Gaz?”

Gaz stares at him. Blinks once, twice. “I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

Soap groans loudly, sinking low in his seat. He wishes just one person could give him a straight answer to resolve this entire thing. A be-all-end-all solution to put him out of his misery—because even if Ghost says it was an accident, it still happened, and it still means Ghost is active on his own Tinder to some horrifying-to-think-about extent.

And Soap is horrified to think about it. Not to mention terribly conscious of the fact.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Soap grouses. Admits, “I just told him it was a mistake for me too.”

Soap has endured many looks from many people, and he doesn’t think anything compares to the incredulity on Gaz’s face at that moment.

“You know, I felt bad for getting you into this up until you said that,” Gaz tells him. “But hearing that shit is just unbelievable. You hear yourself, right?”

“Every fucking day,” Soap sighs. He buries his face in his hands, shoulders bunched as he grumbles nonsense into his palms. “What do I even do now?”

“Nothing,” Gaz says, then pauses, shrugs his shoulders. “Or tell him the truth. Maybe he also lied.”

Soap frowns, brows furrowing deeply behind the cover of his hands. The idea never occurred to him, because what would be the likelihood of Ghost ever lying about something as trivial as this? Near zero, Soap would think.

But the idea gives him just a piece of that crumbling hope back. And so does the tone of Gaz’s voice that hints he may know more about something than he lets on.

He always seems to. Soap doesn’t know whether or not he should be thankful.

Before he can decide, however, Gaz is continuing with his ever-so-sage counselling, “If you’re going with the latter, you’d better start looking for him now. ‘Cause if he was lying, he will be avoiding you at all costs.”

Soap huffs, finally letting his arms drop back to his sides as he begins to get up. Once standing, he says to Gaz, “I hate that you’re right.”

Gaz snorts. “Usually am.”

Despite his eye roll, Soap does plan on heeding his advice instead of arguing that no, Gaz is definitely not usually right. Because he isn’t. So what if he’s just on the nose today?

Soap sets off on his search.

*

It takes well over an hour to locate Ghost, after checking all of his usual spots and hiding places several times over, and asking just about everyone he saw if they knew about the lieutenant’s whereabouts.

The answer, of course, is always no idea, but it was worth a shot anyway—only considering he still manages to find Ghost on his own in the end.

Elusive bastard. Soap thinks if the disappearing act is kept up, he might start to be inclined to agree that Gaz was onto something about Ghost’s own dishonesty.

Maybe it’s a little unethical to be confronting him right out of the showers, though.

It’s a surprise Ghost doesn’t appear to be immediately alerted of Soap’s presence with the loud thud of the door swinging shut, his back remaining turned to Soap all the while the sergeant works up the courage to clear his throat.

And maybe admire the planes of his lieutenant’s back just a moment. He’s pulled on everything but a shirt already—even one of his gaiters has made it on before the hoodie that lies in a heap on a bench beside him as he dries his hair.

Again, though, Soap is more focused on the muscles that had him recognizing Ghost in those photos earlier that day.

“Can I help you, Soap?” Ghost grunts. He drops the towel he’d been using for his hair next to the hoodie he shortly pulls over his head—Soap is only allowed a brief glimpse at damp, tousled, blond hair before a hood is obscuring it.

Soap isn’t sure why he thought Ghost hadn’t noticed him enter.

“You lied to me before,” Soap says. He may as well bite the bullet now—to drag this out any longer than a day seems childish, really. He’s old enough to know that, but stupid enough to have let Gaz have access to his phone, and to still have a Tinder account in the first place.

Ghost tenses. His back stays to Soap as he freezes, and just barely Soap is able to make out the sharp intake of breath.

“Thought I told you not to dwell.”

Soap shrugs, though Ghost can’t see it. “You tell me a lot of things, sir.”

Ghost seems to consider this in the minute rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, in the echo of a distant, residual dripping and an overhead fan.

He finally ducks his head, the sound of fabric shifting as he shoves his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. “Maybe I did lie. Maybe I didn’t. S’pose it doesn’t matter either way, does it, Johnny?”

“Why not?” Soap cocks his head. “I mean, Gaz did have my phone, but he had a point about getting my head out of my arse.”

Ghost turns, then, eyes narrowed at Soap with something akin to skepticism. “And what point is that?”

And for what reason, sergeant?

“That I needed to grow a pair and tell you how I feel,” Soap confesses. “To just use this whole thing as an excuse to do that.”

Ghost blinks, those stupidly brown doe eyes of his widening. “Is that what this is?”

Soap chews the inside of his cheek. “If you were lying.” He attempts something playful, but it falls flat. Meek.

There’s still so much distance between them. Too much. And with the way Soap’s heart currently swells with hope, he’s praying that changes soon.

He just has to wait on Ghost.

“I didn’t think anything would happen,” Ghost says.

“Neither did Gaz,” Soap replies. “But I could forgive him.”

“Only if I was lying?”

Soap nods.

“Then you’re a better friend than I’d be, Johnny.”

It’s enough of a confession for Soap. It’s likely the closest thing he’d ever get to one from Ghost.

And that’s alright. Because it’s the best thing to be getting out of what (admittedly) mild fiasco he’d gotten into.

“I’m only so willing because it ended me here,” Soap says. He stalls a moment, almost unashamed in the way he properly looks Ghost over. “And I’d really like to compare those pictures to real life, if I’m honest.”

Ghost huffs. He grabs his towel and slings it over his shoulder before he’s moving toward the exit just behind Soap. Soap’s heart jumps as he gets closer, closing that distance, until Ghost is leaning down to Soap’s ear and murmuring, “I can make that happen.”

The lieutenant teases Soap’s hand, pretending to grab at it but stopping at a mere brush of fingers before he disappears out the door and leaves Soap to stand alone, dumbfounded.

But only for a moment. Because goddamnit if he isn’t immediately trailing Ghost to his quarters after that.

-

(taglist!! i didn’t forget i swear: @sketchscientist @crazy-phan-girl13 @crazies-unanimous @hanniballecterkinnie @lunainlove @lucibell-writes )

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.

Word count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​ @joliettes​ @trifoliumviridi​ @bornbetter​ @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @chelsey01​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @heliosscribbles​ @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @tillyt04​ @cicaspair418​ @fan-goddess​ 

A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜

Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.

One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?

Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…

And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.

I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.

I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.

“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.

I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”

The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?

He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”

“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”

I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.

When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.

He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”

“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”

“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.

Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.

I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.

“Checking in?” the girl asks.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes, I guess.”

She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”

I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.

Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.

The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.

A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.

You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”

“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.

“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.

He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

I’ll always be here.

A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.

I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.

You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.

Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.

Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.

You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.

You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.

You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.

Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.

The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Engines pumping and thumping in time…

What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!

Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.

The arena is empty except for one man,

Still driving and striving as fast as he can…

And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup,

But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…

Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.

He’s going the distance,

He’s going for speed,

She’s all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need…

And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.

You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.

It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.

You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.

“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”

Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.

Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~

I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.

“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”

Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”

I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”

I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.

“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

What the hell happened here—?

And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.

She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?

There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.

I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.

“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”

I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.

I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.

“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.

“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”

You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”

Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.

“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”

You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.

“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”

What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?

“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”

“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”

Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”

“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”

His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.

No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…

Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—

And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.

He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”

“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”

He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.

The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.

I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.

You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.

I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.

You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?

There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.

You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.

“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.

“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.

It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.

You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.

You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.

During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.

You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.

Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.

San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.

You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.

“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”

“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.

[lady-october]

Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only) Previous Chapters : Available on Ao3

Story Content : Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Sadism/Masochism, Dom/Sub, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Breath play, Dirty talk.

Summary :

“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.” She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him? This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.

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Chapter 19: Why am I this way?

Chapter title is lyrics from "LosT"

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It was 7.35pm when I knocked on Oli’s door.

He’d sent me a text saying he’d come by my room around 8, instructing me to cover up – preferably in layers, and while bewildering, I’d done as he wished; slipping the sweater that Liam had hated so much over my mesh top and jeans outfit.

The only problem was that after having spent several hours attempting to stay sane as the guilt inside me expanded and grew until I felt like a fucking pressure pot, I decided that I couldn’t wait until the time Oli had decided to come and collect me.

Instead I took matters into my own hands, even though the hands in question were currently so sweaty I had to continuously wipe them on my jeans as I waited for him to open the door.

I took a deep breath, trying to collect my scattered thoughts.

I knew Oli and I weren’t a couple, and I knew I didn’t necessarily owe him anything, yet it still felt as if I’d just cheated on him by kissing Mat.

By enjoying kissing Mat.

While I knew it was perfectly normal to date, and even get physical, with more than one person at a time, I’d never actually done it before, and because it was all very new to me I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that I’d committed some terrible, unforgivable crime.

Which had me questioning if I only felt this way because of my anxiety, or if my feelings were warranted and I was just a horrible person, playing Russian roulette with people’s hearts.

Pull yourself together, Alice. You haven’t even slept with Mat.

I dried my sweaty palms on my jeans again, wondering what was taking Oli so damn long.

Wondering if I should knock again.

Just as my fist was about to connect with the door, it finally swung open with Oli behind it, fully in black with a half buttoned dress shirt, his tattoos spilling out from every hem.

He squinted at me, eyeing me up with suspicion, “You’re early, and in the wrong place.”

The door opened further to let me inside.

As I walked past him I was hit by the wonderful way he smelled, which was stronger than usual considering he was in the middle of getting ready and had probably just applied whatever magic product that produced it.

“I’m sorry, we need to talk.” I said distantly, slightly distracted as my attention went from his enthralling scent to immediately take in the room before me.

It had a similar light and airy colour scheme as mine and Liam’s room, but the ceilings were even higher, with a massive bed facing a stone fireplace on the opposite wall.

But the real showstopper was the view.

You could see the entire lake from the row of large arch windows, and since the sun had just gone down the mirror image of the moon was slowly dancing on the calm surface of the water.

“What about?” He asked, sounding even more suspicious than he looked as he shut the door.

Deciding I couldn’t stand up during this conversation, I walked over to the end of the bed and took a seat.

“Mat.” I felt myself starting to disassociate ever so slightly as I said his name out loud.

He was in the middle of buttoning his shirt as I spoke, causing his fingers to stop what they were doing entirely.

“About you and Mat?”

“Yes.” My gaze fell to the floor out of shame.

He audibly exhaled before walking over to sit next to me on the bed.

The mattress shifted from the pressure, but I didn’t dare face him, didn’t dare see his expression as the sound of my heart beating in my ears got louder and louder during the heavy silence that had fallen between us.

“Do you still want to go on this date with me?” He asked softly, with so much sadness in his voice that my eyes involuntarily flew straight to him.

Large hazel eyes, framed by hair that had been tamed into more defined locks, were swimming with vulnerability as they looked at me, causing the ache in my heart to intensify tenfold.

“Very much.” I answered with certainty.

He studied my face as several emotions flickered over his features.

“Then I don’t need to know.” He stated casually before he shot out of bed to continue buttoning his shirt.

Feeling panicked, I frowned deeply, knowing I needed to tell him what happened before I fucking exploded.

“Wait, but–” I started, but he cut me off instantly, raising his voice in the process.

“Alice!” He bit out, shooting me daggers for a split second before his expression softened. He walked back over to me, reaching down to scoop up my hands into his, guiding me to stand before him, “Let tonight be about us.” He pleaded.

As I looked up at the man that was glowing with so much adoration for me that it caused my chest to constrict, I knew I didn’t have a choice but to answer his plea, knowing my heart wouldn’t allow anything else.

“Okay.” I said under my breath, reluctantly.

His pleading features shifted to a warm smile, tension slipping away from him, “Thank you.”

Letting go of my hands he skipped over to the window for a quick look at the sky as he finished doing the last of his buttons.

“Come on, love.” Is all he said before he took my hand and hurried us to the exit, not allowing me another second to reconsider my decision, or to start up another conversation.

The look he shot me after shutting the door was so full of excitement I couldn’t help but smile back at his sparkling grin, some of the anxiety from not having told him what transpired between me and his best friend melting away in the process.

But confusion quickly claimed me instead, as I was being pulled in the opposite direction of the elevator.

“Wait, where are we going?” I laughed.

“Oh, don't you worry about that.” Stopping at the emergency exit at the end of the corridor, he shot me yet another devil's grin before pushing the door open, leading to a winding staircase.

“Are we allowed to do this?” I heard my words echo in the stairwell as we quickly ascended the steps.

“Turns out, when you pay people they let you do whatever you want really.” He looked back at me, “Well, within reason of course.”

“I see, so is that what you’re doing with me then?” I asked teasingly, causing him to laugh as we reached the top of the stairs that had led us to a large door.

“While I fucking love calling you my whore, I was hoping your reasons for following my orders when we’re alone wasn’t for monetary purposes.” He said with a suggestive smile, pushing the door open.

It was so dark at first that I didn’t see anything, but my eyes quickly adjusted.

We were standing on the rooftop of the hotel looking out over the lake, the short stone wall perimeter adorned in fairy lights, and a large pile of blankets and pillows in the very middle, next to a tray with drinks and some food.

Oli let go of my hand and began walking backwards towards the blankets, arms stretched out, looking proud of what he’d set up for us, “What do you think?”

I was in awe as I took in the space.

The thought struck me that I’d never had anyone prepare such a romantic date for me before.

“This isn’t what I expected.” I breathed.

With a frown his arms fell to his sides, “Disappointed?”

“No, it’s incredible – perfect, actually.” The smile returned to his features as he walked back towards me, “I was just expecting– I guess I thought you wanted us to be more open about us, and this is very… private.” 

He came to a stop in front of me, “We are more open – everyone knows we’re on a date right now– besides, I just wanted to get you alone again, no distractions this time, just you and me, so I can spend more time with you.” The suggestive grin returned as he leaned in closer, “Which is why I told you to cover up.”

I felt my brows furrow, “Because I’m distracting?”

“There’s nothing more distracting, love.” He said so seriously I almost laughed.

It was my turn to be suggestive, “I was covered up for most of last night, you still ended up coming twice.”

A light breeze came as his eyes darkened, causing his locks to sweep over his face, gently rustling the trees all around us, “You may have been in a baggy sweater, love, but I knew what was on display under that poor excuse for a skirt, barely covering your ass.” As he spoke his gaze wandered to my lips, the air quickly filling with the familiar electricity that always seemed to fly between us. 

Yet this time it stirred discomfort in me, as if it didn’t feel right to do this without him knowing about me and Mat.

“Not to mention the absolutely perverted lipstick you’d chosen, how was I not supposed to play with it? As soon as I saw it on your fuckable little mouth I knew exactly what I wanted to do.” His thumb was just about to connect with my lower lip, hovering not even an inch from it, to rub it just like he’d done last night. 

Heat spread throughout my whole body.

But the imminent physical contact also made me tense up; made me want to blurt out that I felt his friend's erection between my legs earlier, despite him not needing to know; despite him making it very clear that he doesn’t want to know.

Thankfully the hand fell away right as it touched me, with Oli shaking his head.

“None of that, come with me.” He said flatly, eyes wide, clearly attempting to keep us on track so we wouldn’t just spend all night fucking, which, for once, I was extremely grateful for.

Taking my hand, he swiftly led us to the blanket pile that he proceeded to lay down on, patting the space next to him for me to get comfortable as well.

As I took a seat, I paused to look at him, my heart still screaming to tell him what happened, making me question why I needed him to know so badly, while also wishing intensely that I didn’t feel like this at all so I could simply enjoy the night.

A couple of frown lines appeared on Oli’s forehead as I wordlessly stared at him, “Come on, love, lay down with me.”

His words were spoken gently, clearly worried, either about me or whatever he assumed was running through my head.

Attempting to shake off my thoughts, I did as he requested, making sure to leave a bit of space between us, not feeling steady enough for physical contact.

But my intrusive thoughts melted away effortlessly as soon as my head hit the pillow.

My eyes had adjusted further to the darkness, allowing me to now see the massive blanket of twinkling stars above us.

Having lived in cities my whole life, the night sky I knew looked nothing like this.

“That’s amazing.” I said distantly, lost in the natural beauty above us.

“I love the stars, I don’t get to see them too often though.” He said with wonder in his voice.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them this clearly.” The longer I looked the more my eyes adjusted, causing even more stars to appear, this time with very faint washes of colours behind them, giving me the illusion that someone was painting the vision before me as I watched.

“I used to dread coming here.” He started, and while Mat had already told me that, I wasn’t about to interrupt him as he opened up to me, “The first time was a bloody nightmare, thought I’d rip my hair out with how little there is to do. But that was back when I needed constant distraction to stay sane – also back when ketamine was a bigger problem.” He tilted his head towards me for a second, I would have met his eyes but they quickly returned to the night sky as he continued with his story.

“Second year they had to essentially drag me here, but I came more prepared – mostly with a lot of weed,” He huffed out a nervous laugh, as if talking about his old self had mentally brought him back there, “Bumped into a janitor as I was heading out to find somewhere nice to sit and smoke – stuffy old fella, he smelled the weed on me and pointed out that it’s not allowed here, but I could tell he didn’t actually give a shit, so thought I’d try offering him some. All he did was shrug and led us up to this roof to get high.” 

I felt myself smile, trying to imagine some rigid old man hanging out with Oli in his twenties.

“We had fuck-all in common; he was in his 60’s, religious man, never heard of our band – pretty sure he thought metal music was the devils music, but turned out his wife had just died so I don’t think he cared much about anything anymore.” He paused for a moment, sighing before he continued, “He was honestly kind of a prick, but he loved the stars, knew all the names of the constellations – told me them too. He tried really hard to describe exactly where they were, but none of it stuck, probably cause none of it really made sense to me.”

At some point my gaze had wandered to Oli as he spoke, his eyes sparkling as he dreamily stared at the sky above us, lost in his story. 

"Never saw him again either, don’t even remember his name, but every year after that I’ve been coming up here to look at the stars – well, whenever the weather would allow it. But since I never learned the proper names, I’ve just sort of been making up my own from whatever shape I see that night – kind of like cloud gazing. Like over there, that totally looks like a car, doesn’t it?”

He moved a bit closer, our shoulders connecting as he pointed towards an area in the sky, his intoxicating smell flooding me.

I swallowed, attempting to focus on what he was showing me, but I couldn’t see anything that even remotely resembled a car.

“I can’t tell if I’m blind, or if you’re making it up, but there’s no way there’s anything car-shaped there.” I retorted as steady as I could, trying to keep the mood light.

Trying not to be too distracted by his proximity.

However, that immediately became impossible when he turned to his side and moved even closer, pressing his warm, slightly stubbly cheek to mine, causing my breath to hitch before he took my hand, pointing my index finger to the shape he was trying to describe in the sky.

“You see these six stars here…” He spoke softly as he guided my finger in a circle over the six stars, his warm breath fanning my face, smelling minty, “That’s the front wheel – and these ones over here…” My finger was directed in a shape that loosely resembled an oval, a bit to the right of the circle, which was hard to follow since my attention has been hijacked by how his thighs rubbed against mine, how his hand so tenderly held my fingers in his, and how his hair tickled my face in the gentle breeze of the night, “That’s the back wheel. Then finally, this riiiight here…” Trailing my finger in the most jagged arch possible, I couldn’t help but frown as the vehicle appeared in the sky above me, “That’s the top of the car. You see it?”

It was truly one of the most horrible renditions of a car I could imagine.

“Oli, the only way you could convince me that’s a car is if a small child drew it.”

He laughed as he laid back down on his back, angling himself in such a way that our shoulders and temples touched, “That’s fair, it’s not my best work. You try one.”

It took me a moment before I even began searching the sky, being suddenly overwhelmed by the emotions building in my chest, which only multiplied when Oli sighed, snuggling his head into mine even more.

There seemed to be a confusing duality with every emotion I felt in the presence of the man next to me; pain made me feel pleasure, happiness so easily caused panic, and I found comfort in the discomfort he so deliciously crafted for me.

Which sadly meant that the most perfect night I could imagine was currently being ruined by the soul crushing guilt that intensified every time I was reminded of how I felt about him.

How I wanted nothing more than to cuddle into him right now, yet feeling like I didn’t deserve the joy it would bring me.

“Nothing, love?” He asked after a while.

“Not yet, just a bit longer.”

My eyes had been mindlessly searching as I filtered through my thoughts, and finally I saw something.

“Oh– a smiley face!” I exclaimed with a bit too much excitement than the situation warranted.

“Show me.” He said before pushing his arm under my neck, wrapping his other hand around my thigh in order to pull me close, nestling me up against him.

My pulse sped up as I was flooded with more emotions; more discomfort; more happiness; more panic.

With a slightly shaky hand I started tracing the mouth, “Right there.” I whispered.

He pressed his face closer to mine to get a better look.

“Oh yeah, I see it.” He breathed, before reaching for one of the spare blankets, draping it over us as we laid tangled up with my head on his shoulder.

It was a fairly warm night, and the blanket was thin, not adding much warmth or weight to us, yet it felt as if I was suffocating as I listened to his heartbeat under my ear, my fingers restlessly playing with the buttons of his shirt, his hand on my arm caressing me tenderly, lovingly.

I should be happy – content – yet the wonderful sensations caused my heart to break.

He released another long sigh, holding me even closer, and I could barely take it anymore.

“It’s all you can think about, isn’t it? The stuff with Mat.”

The question took me by surprise, even though I realised my mood was very clearly written all over me.

“Yes.” Afraid to say it out loud, the word had barely been a whisper.

He rolled me onto my back, perching himself on his elbow so he could look at me during this conversation.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked at him hovering over me, his beautiful dark locks falling over worried features, with the starlit sky as his backdrop.

I felt such deep disappointment in myself for not being able to let it go, not being able to stop the guilt from eating me alive.

The stunning man above me visibly tensed, his worried features turning increasingly serious, “Do you have feelings for him?”

Shaking my head, I answered with confidence, “No, I don’t.”

It was too soon, all I felt for Mat right now was interest – curiosity.

And attraction.

His eyes pinned me, “Then please, Alice, drop it.” 

A tear ran down the side of my face, “I can’t.” 

“Why?” He asked through clenched teeth, frustration clearly taking hold of him.

“Because it feels like I’ve cheated, and you said that was a dealbreaker.”

While it had been obvious something had happened between me and Mat from the moment I stepped into Oli’s hotel room tonight, this was the first time I’d said something that had actually confirmed it.

With that confession, some of the pressure inside me began to ease, making me want to tell him everything, despite Oli’s wishes.

Despite how much pain and anger was twisting his features, the volatile energy radiating off of him in waves as he wordlessly glared at me.

When he finally spoke the words were low, aggressive, “You aren’t mine.”

Logically I knew I wasn’t, I knew we weren’t a couple, yet the words stung and burned like acid.

“Then why does it feel like I am?” I whispered, more tears running into my hairline.

For a moment I thought he was about to break down, to join me in tears as I whispered the words, but the anger returned immediately, the air so thick with it I could barely breathe. 

“But you’re not. You’re not ready to commit to me, to be mine, are you?”

I wasn’t – not yet, not with this many unanswered questions; not with this much confusion.

Not with this many fears.

So I shook my head in response, not able to speak the words.

“Then fucking drop it.”

The words were already on my lips as he pleaded for me to keep the information to myself, begging me to spare him the details, knowing it would only hurt him further.

Yet I couldn’t stop myself.

“We kissed.”

His hand was suddenly at my throat, baring his teeth, a mixture of intense disbelief and pure rage burning in his eyes.

But it only made me want to keep sharing, keep pushing the knife in deeper.

“I also walked in on him last night, when he was– right as he–”

The tears were streaming from my eyes as I clumsily pushed the words out of me, needing them to leave my mouth so they’d stop torturing me. 

The furious man above me digging his nails into the flesh of my neck, yet refusing to apply any pressure that would stop me from speaking.

“Shut the fuck up, Alice.” He spat.

“...Right as he came.” A sense of relief washed over me as I finished my sentence.

His chest was heaving, the fingers on my throat shaking as the nails dug in deeper, hurting me in a way that did nothing but make me feel infinitely better as the pressure inside me subsided.

Meanwhile the pressure inside Oli was building, threatening to explode.

But that’s what I want, isn't it? For him to take it out on me, so I can feel less guilty.

Unease settled in my stomach at the realisation.

“Did you like it?” His words were mocking, vicious, dripping with uncontained fury. 

I nodded, feeling dizzy from the intense mixture of emotions and sensations, my uncontrollable tears flooding my eyes further, turning the man above me blurry before each blink.

He studied my face as he worked overtime to control his rage, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t want to have any secrets with you.”

With a sharp inhale the anger immediately fell away from him as I spoke the words I’d realised last night in my bunk, knowing that I couldn’t consider potentially starting something with Oli while keeping secrets.

“B-but that’s not the only reason.” I pressed on, knowing that not keeping secrets included sharing the realisation that hit me just a moment ago.

The fury returned to his features like it never left; as if he could read my mind.

“You want me to punish you, don’t you? So you’ll feel better?”

I felt my whole face twist in pain as the guilt punched me in the gut, hating how he already knew, hating how right he was.

Hating myself for being like this, for torturing him in the process.

“At any point did you stop to think how deeply fucking selfish that is?”

“I know– I know, I’m not expecting it, I’m so sorry, Oli. P-please, forgive me. I just wanted to enjoy tonight with you so badly– I, I’m–”

The hand on my throat moved to my mouth, covering it firmly, effectively putting an end to my rambling apology.

I blinked away more tears as he pushed my legs apart with his, the furious, unwavering stare darkening as he mounted me, the blanket that he’d so lovingly wrapped us up in just moments ago falling away from our bodies in the process.

“Do you want me to fuck the pain away?”

The air, already sickly thick from rage and pain, turned thicker still with lust, my whole body screaming for his; needing the sweetest of release that only he could offer, more than I needed air.

I nodded slowly against his hand, feeling shame for admitting it considering the circumstances.

His eyes darkened further, his hair falling over them, rendering them barely visible above me as his hips connected with mine, grinding his already solid length against my pussy so hard it hurt in the most delightful of ways through the thick fabric of my jeans, making him inhale a ragged breath while I moaned into his hand, blinking away more tears.

“I want to be more than your painkiller, Alice.” I could feel a deep heartbeat between my legs with his erection pressed against me, his breath coming heavier in the process, “But the relief works both ways, and I’m suffering a fair bit right now.”

He ground down on me again, my back arching into him, my legs wrapping around him.

Studying my face, he let go of my mouth, causing our breaths to mingle in the night air as another gust of wind rustled the trees.

“You’ll need a safeword tonight.” He breathed, “Say red if you want me to stop entirely, and pink if you want me to ease up. I will not fucking listen to any other words, you can scream ‘no’ till you turn blue – I won’t give a shit. Are we clear?” He asked, glaring at me.

A shiver ran through me.

Excitement, fear, adrenaline, and curiosity all blossomed in my chest, making me feel incredible.

Making me feel alive.

“We’re clear.”

He visibly swallowed, “Alright.”

Pushing off of me entirely, he crouched to collect me, effortlessly throwing me over his shoulder.

My heart was racing so fast I thought it would beat right out of my chest as he took long strides towards the door.

I realised I hadn’t thought this through, that he was probably taking me to his room – that we’d have to walk through the corridor that had been bustling with people every time I’d used it – including the other band members.

“Wait!” I yelled as he pushed the door open to the stairs, and was immediately met with a sharp pain on my behind, burning as the hand that had caused the pain trailed down towards my thigh, the thumb brushing over my pussy in the process. 

“That’s not the fucking safeword, is it?” His words echoed in the stairwell, followed immediately by another burning slap, the caressing thumb pressed harder against my core this time.

I whimpered in pain, considering using the safeword already, to avoid any potential awkwardness on our way to his room.

Which was foolish of me, knowing damn well how badly I needed this.

So I shut up, accepting that whatever happens, happens.

As soon as we were flooded by the bright light of the hotel corridor Oli spoke, causing my heart to sink.

“Hiya, mate, you alright?” The aggressive energy in his voice remained unchanged as he spoke the casual words.

“Yeah, good thanks.”

I felt myself go ice cold.

I couldn’t see him, but I knew that voice; it was Mat.

He’d answered flatly, sounding distant, obviously shocked by the vision before him.

But Oli didn’t falter, he never stopped taking long strides – nor did he stop inflicting pain on me.

When Mat’s legs entered my peripheral vision as we passed him, I felt another slap, growing more painful each time it happened, making me whimper louder.

I looked up at Mat through my hair as I was helplessly being dragged off, his eyes were dark with some unreadable emotion as he stood by his room, clutching his keycard.

All I could do was let him stare at me while my expression involuntarily melted into obvious pleasure as fingers dragged over my pussy, before we disappeared into Oli’s room.

... Subscribe to the story on Ao3 for future updates

[crinosg]

Okay so here are some more Disney Mirrorverse characters

Anger they didn't really change at all. They just made him slightly volcanic. He also has a sword (not pictured here).

Baloo basically looks like he walked out of a weird Furry version of Mad Max.

Baymax looks weird, it looks like they tried to integrate his power armor into his design. Not really a fan.

OH HI BEAST SOMEONE HAS BEEN TAKING LEVELS IN PALADIN HUH?

I like how they didn't really change Buzz's design. They just gave him a bigger gun.

Man if looks could kill Donald would already be in prison. I do like they made the effort to distinguish him from the KH version. The energy anchor is a nice touch too.

OKAY WHY IS DORY EVEN FUCKING HERE? Spare her the horrors of war I implore you!

I like this, its similar to her normal outfit, but clearly designed for combat with more maneuverability.

THIS IS THE MONADO'S POWER! I mean, EVE already has combat abilities, does she really need the flipper swords?

Again reminds me of Elsa's design. Its the same dress as the canon version, just designed for more maneuverability. And with big stupid WOW shoulderpads too. Also I guess she's just lobbing the poison apples at people now.

Yeah, remember Frank Wolff? Dwayne the Rock Johnson's character from the hit Disney Movie Jungle Cruise? Yeah no I don't either. Look, the movie had came out, they needed to promote it. Have Dwayne The Rock Johnson with a Swamp Thing arm.

This one is alright, feels like if they were making the edgy Pre MCU Frozone movie this is what he would look like.

Alright real big fan of this one. This looks like the Genie like a thousand years post Aladdin where he's become a powerful Genie lord and rules over his own kingdom and stuff. Just love the design here.

I like this. Pretty simplistic design.

Not gonna lie I could imagine canon Hades wearing this.

I think this is largely just a recolor of his canon costume. *checks* Not even a recolor, its basically just the same outfit.

Honestly never even seen Onward so I could not comment. It looks fine though, he looks like a DnD character.

So they took Judy Hopps and gave her a Zero Suit. I can dig it.

Again, this is something I could see Maleficent wearing.

So the question is how do they change up Maui for Mirrorverse? Answer, just make his tattoos glow. Its a cool effect to be sure.

this one is pretty good. No complaints.

I HAVE SEVERAL QUESTIONS. Why is Mike in power armor? Why is here here at all?

Pretty cute design, but I get the feeling Minnie isn't fully aware she's about to be going to war.

This is a nice design, its simple, and it builds subtly off Moana's normal look.

Why are his hands glowing? What does that add?

OH GOD THEY PUT OLAF IN A LITTLE CAPE I CAN'T. Why is he even here? Olaf cannot face the horrors of war. He looks so determined too like that face says "I'm about to kick some ass today!"

Okay the jacket is a bit much, but I am kind of digging the roulette wheel shield and the dice flail.

Again have note seen Raya, but this seems alright. Probably should make time for some of these newer Disney films, especially since I want to show support during the whole DeSantis....thing.

Really like this one, especially the sewing needle weapons.

Goddamn Scar, cut back on the vaping man! What the actual fuck with this one?

Okay I'm out of space for pictures in this one so gonna continue this in a part 2.

[watermelonsugacry]

i’d like to what happens to y/n in tattoo roulette 🫣🫣

Tattoo Roulette

A/N: another highly requested blurb for you all! more Late Late content is on its way lovies! 💚

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn

SINCE 2010 Masterlist

“Welcome back to the Late Late Show! We are about to play what is probably the craziest game we’ve had on our show. It’s a game that m’already regretting thinking of.” The audience members laugh while the band snickers behind him. “It’s time for Tattoo Roulette with One Direction.”

When James pitched this game idea to the band, everyone was relatively on board with it (expect one Irish lad that was notably less enthusiastic about it than the rest but was a good sport anyways and agreed to it after YN convinced him that if he happened to get picked, she would take the tattoo for him).

YN looks down and notices Harry's nervous habit of his thumb digging into the other tips of his nails. Not knowing that their hands are in view of James's camera shot, YN discreetly taps her pinky against her band mate's hand. She gives him a small smile, glancing at his hands in a knowing look. She's sees him do the same, nodding his chin to her other hand and to her surprise, she finds that her thumb has been subconsciously twisting the ring of her index finger—her anxious give-a-way.

They both huff out a quiet laugh through their noses, both revealing to each other how nervous they really are for this game. Fans rewind, pause and screenshot how Harry links their pinkies together, squeezing them other in a comforting motion before letting go.

After explaining the rules of the game to the audience, James goes to stand with the band. YN is standing smack in the middle of the line up, sandwiched between Harry and Louis. Despite wearing heels, she’s still about a head lower than the rest of the boys. 

Niall is just a bundle of nerves at the end of the line. YN honestly feels bad for the lad. She still remembers when she was getting yet another butterfly tattoo last month in her hotel room, Niall had come in to curiously check up on her. As her usual tattoo artist was working on the singer’s hand tattoo on the dining table, YN had her chin propped up on her other hand as she watched the needle paint her skin. 

He looked a lot like he did now: pale faced, jittery hands and wide eyes. 

“Niall, your hands are actually shaking!” James nervously laughs. It's clear to anyone that Niall's laughs and jokes are a means of attempting to cover up his nerves. After the blonde lad takes his pick, it was Harry’s turn.

“Harold, how y’feeling?”

“M’actually fine.” Harry chuckles. 

When Harry descends down the short steps of the platform, he takes a glance over to YN, throwing a smirk her way before facing the waiting red boxes. 

“YN, how are you feelin’ about all of this.”

“I love yeh, James. But I don’t fancy yeh this much to get this on my body.” The audience members chuckle while the host lets out his infamous high pitched laughs.

As YN looks at the row of red boxes, she goes to grab one, hesitates, and instead grabs the one next to it. The audience members all make a collective "oOo" sound and YN giggles when Harry makes a dramatic shocked expression, covering his mouth with his fist as she goes to stand next to him.

After it’s revealed that Liam, Louis, then James are safe—as much as she doesn’t want to admit it—she’s getting a little nervous. She had felt some sense of comfort in the fact that the odds of getting the stupid tattoo were 1 to 6, but halfway down the line with no red lettering inside the boxes made her start to get anxious.

YN balls her fists by her side as she does quick little giddy stepy-steps. 

“Alright.” YN throws her hair behind her shoulders before rubbing her hands together. “Let’s do this.” Her shoulders move sharply when she takes in and lets out a breath. 

Not a second later, the eerie music sounds off and the lights dim around her, leaving her in a solo spotlight with a red hue.

“Why does the lighting make me more nervous than the actual tattoo?” Her rings tap against the wooden box.

“Y’got this, YN.” Harry encourages from beside her. He tries to hide his growing smirk by running his fingers over the side of his mouth and YN tries to ignore the feeling of how that’s only making her even more nervous. 

She slowly tugs the tiny white strip of elastic from its slot to make the anticipation more exciting and to delay what’s inside the box.

YN squeezes her eyes shut, her teeth showing as she grits them together and she opens the box. The reveal sound goes off and when she opens her eyes, she lets out a sequel when the white words SAFE are shown. 

In true YN fashion, she’s quick to point a finger at Harry and laugh in his face. But her smile comically turns into a pout when she faces Niall with extended arms, “I am so sorry.”

The blonde lad laughs and he receives her hug, no doubt trembling in her arms. 

"Quite intimidating that light." Harry comments to her. She raises her eyebrows in agreement, hands on her cheeks as she lets out a giggle out of nervousness. The audience chuckles along with her as they anxiously wait for the results.

"Look at Niall's face!" James laughs hysterically, going in for a hug as well.

It was all down on to him and Niall—well her and Harry. And with that, her nerves came crawling back in. All that stood between her or Harry getting that silly tattoo was one word inside his red box.

"I mean—" Harry lifts the lid to reveal the red word TATTOO on the inside. The smirk on his face and the way he throws down the lid makes her tummy twist with a feeling she finds herself having to shove down more and more lately. Suppressing the feeling doesn't go down as easy when it's her turn to hug him out of sympathy.

During the commercial break, YN takes a small Snapchat video of Harry getting his Late Late tattoo, shaking her head in disbelief with a smile on her face. After handing her phone back to her PA, Harry beckons her over to him with a curl of his fingers.

"How's it goin', babe?" YN asks, leaning her hand on the back of his chair, the other rests on her hip as she watches the tattoo artist trace the lettering on his skin.

"Bloody hurts." He playfully scrunches up his nose and he's rewarded with her signature eye roll. They both know and share a secret, guilty addiction to the way the needle feels on their skin. It's a pleasure they both discovered and shyly confessed to one another when got their matching butterfly tattoos; one on her forearm and one on his tummy.

Taglist:

She knows he feels it now when he blinks up at her with his pupils dilated.

"Mhm, sure it does." She teases with a smile.

"Think I need someone to hold my hand..." Harry mindlessly waves his hand in front of her, playfully and dramatically looking up at the ceiling.

"M'sure I can find someone here to do that for yeh," YN humors him and makes a show of looking around the room. She lets out a laugh when he throws his hand down on his lap in frustration. "Alright, alright, yeh big baby."

The fans in the audience scream out in excitement at the sight of the two holding hands, the them being the top shipped duo out of the band.

The audience doesn't stop their giddy squeals and yelling when their hands stay intertwined together when James welcomes the cameras back in. The fans don't miss the way Harry looks up at her with a smirk tugged on his lips, squeezing her hand before eventually having to let go to show the camera his fresh tattoo.

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles  @mxltifxnd0m @luvonstyles

[riddles-n-games]

Can you write a headcanon about what types of tattoos each character would get? If they would get one…

Ok, but why did that remind me of the Tattoo Roulette game with One Direction on James Corden's late night show? Xander would be Niall, Nash would be Liam, Grayson would be Louis (the sassy mothertrucker) and Jameson would be Harry but much more willing and enthusiastic. Actually, I could see this happening on a very badly drunk edition of Drink or Dare.

Sure, I'll just do our main crew though. Here goes:

Nash-Personally, he really doesn't want one but if Libby asked he would. One of her fun suggestions would be a little cowboy hat on the base of his thumb. He thinks it's cute but for himself, he may just choose a motorcycle or a horse on his forearm. Something in black. Tattooing Libby's name would also be a must for him.

Grayson-This boy would be really against them but the only time he'd get them, very begrudgingly might I add, is if all his brothers wanted to get tattoos or because of a lost bet and he doesn't lose them often. He may get a dagger on his wrist. But, if he wanted something very personal, he would get a meaningful one that reflects a bit of the past and he would get it on his ribs, just to make it hurt, to punish himself for past wrongs like his haiku, the words Never Forget or Nothing Less Than Perfection. Although, for a bet, on a dare, his brothers (read: Jameson) would make him get a smiley face with I AM PERFECTION surrounding it on his abdomen.

Jameson-Wholeheartedly, this one would go all out and for fun probably pick something to go on his ribs even though it's the placement with the worst pain to get one since he has no self-preservation. Probably flames, maybe Ghost Rider. If he was one to already have tattoos, he'd probably have a bunch of stupid ones from like a dare or something. For some reason, one he'd get is a snake coiled around his wrist with the words from the Bible verse: Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. In honor of Avery, he would get Heiress tattooed over his heart or something funny like Property of A Very Risky Gamble along his collar bone. But his girlfriend's actual suggestion is getting the word EXTRAORDINARY on his finger.

Xander-He'd say he want one without any thought whatsoever about the process he has to go through to get it but then when he gets in the chair, he'd chicken out and pass out. Insert Stiles Stilinski fainting gif here. Although, he actually wants a really cool cartoony classic robot design in color on his arm if he did.

Avery-She's not necessarily fond of the idea but would totally do it for a dare or get one with Jameson. Avery entertains the idea that if she ever did, she might get a key tattooed on the inside of her wrist or a chess piece (we all know which one; the queen). Other ones that feel like a good possibility include getting her mother's name in cursive with little postcards on either side or Hannah, The Same Backward As Forward. One that she would get to commemorate to her relationship with Jamie is Heads or Tails on her ring finger with a small penny on the underside of the finger.

Libby-She'd get one on the back of her neck saying Love Yourself, some fun finger tats that Xander, Max, and Avery helped her pick out and get Nash on her ring finger where the wedding band would go. Also, a cute cupcake with Stress Baker underneath it would be mandatory on her arm or leg. Maybe the top of her shoulder blade. She and Avery would design some sort of special tattoo that they'd get together at some point in the future.

Max-Straight up would get AUSTRALIA with a kangaroo on her foot because she's real like that and also a fanatic for that crazy place (honestly don't understand how she survived). She'd also get a blueberry scone in honor of Xander who couldn't get one for himself because of the fainting incident. Maybe a quote from the Bible from John or a Star Wars quote on her arm.

Hope this is what you were looking for along the lines. I could make a part two in the future. Thanks for the suggestion.

[milogreer]

blake 🤗

rubs hands together like a supervillain. ↳ send me a character!

My first impression: BASTARD. i’ll kill you. get away from sunshine and bestie or i swear to god i’ll gut you like a fish you FREAK. etc LMAO i remember first listening to his confession audio and going to courtney like “he has been talking my fucking ear off for what feels like three hours!!!” 😭😭 he somehow managed to ride the line of annoying dickhead and actually scary villain and i absolutely couldn't stand him

My impression now: oh my god i have not been this brand of obsessed with a character in years. like. he is in my head CONSTANTLY, i’ve listened to the balance three times and i’m considering a fourth, i have at least two more rambles about him/bestie to post, he’s got the longest playlist out of all my redacted playlists. if he had merch i think i’d go broke. it’s brutal man i want him back so badly. i miss that freak.

A favorite thing: the devotion !!!! say what you will about his methods and i’ll likely agree with you but oh my god his devotion … to see the person you love the most die in your arms over and over again no matter what you do to change it and be so wrecked by it that you get involved with a cult trying to contact ancient gods for just the CHANCE to maybe save them. doing unimaginable things in your pursuit to keep them safe. to be so obsessively in love that it makes you delusionally cocky enough to look the god who just said they shaped your reality in the face and say “i’ll do whatever you need, as long as you save my love.” he's CRAZY

Least favorite thing: he is so fucking stupid LMFAO. like it’s a fantastic character trait to be so blinded to reality because he’s got tunnel vision but you can’t help but be like what the FUCK are you DOING when he does shit like dropping the ward to kill himself via shade so he can do exactly what brachium said not to. truly the guy in a horror movie you yell at for doing something so inconceivably stupid to push the plot forward and i wanna strangle him for it sometimes

Favorite line/scene: sigh … the last scene in “falling for your yandere childhood friend” … the switch on “i won’t be able to give you space” ?? COME ON. it made me sick on my first listen but now it makes me sick in the opposite direction 🫣 ughhh that scene is just so good because it’s really easy imo to go through this audio out of context of the balance overall and trick yourself into thinking like, oh, he’s just kind of a guy. aww. and then it switches and it’s like HUH?? “the things i think about you, how much i want you, it’s the stuff you’re not supposed to say out loud” + “if you pick this, it’ll be all of me - and we both know a lot of that’s not pretty” ?? oh it is so delicious.

Favorite interaction that character has with another: :modcheck: “looking for answers with your dreamwalker boyfriend” when he comes in to talk to elliott and sunshine 😫 i’m such a sucker for condescension and it just oozes out of him here. the patronizing little hums after “can i call you eli?” and “that deathwalker friend of yours really left you out to dry, huh?” and “but don’t worry. i’m sure he’s very proud of you.” >>>

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: I WANTED BRACHIUM TO BEAT HIM UP i’m so disappointed he didn’t get to feel brachium’s wrath bc he deserved to after putting sunshine and elliott through all that bullshit. i hope they face off again eventually somehow

A headcanon: when he turned 18 him and bestie went and got little tattoos out of one of those roulette/mystery egg machines. i haven’t decided what they got or where yet though because i’m too indecisive! he also has a snake tattoo like this :)

A song: I HAVE SO MANY. but the one that kicked off my blake obsession is explode by mother mother so it’ll always be one of the most important ones 💘

An unpopular opinion: kind of suggestive so i won’t Get Into It but i don’t think he’s as dominant as perhaps he would seem to be … i’ve been really back and forth on this though so don’t quote me here

[unhonest-iago]

Chuckle Sandwich Fic Masterlist

Blind Bitch Hrs [GN]

Chuckle Sandwich as academia

Incorrect History; Crystals

Fracking…more like sharting [GN]

First Impressions Matter [GN]

Can I have this Dance?; Slimecicle asks y/n to teach him how to dance [GN]

Love Languages [GN]

Everywhere I Go

Because I Care About You; Me infodumping about FOB via x reader fanfiction [GN]

Bouquet; How the Chuckle Sammie boys react to y/n gifting them flowers [GN]

Declare Yourself the Best Writer; Charlie reassures y/n when they doubt their writing abilities [GN]

Soda Pop; Y/n asks Ted to open their soda after struggling [GN]

Alphabet Improv; Victorious AU

Poems; Types of poems Charlie writes y/n [GN]

Working 9 to 5; Ted & Y/n are coworkers. Y/n helps Ted when it comes to slang while Ted helps y/n translate their frustrations into professional lingo. [GN]

Russian Roulette; Jschlatt & Reader play Russian roulette [GN]

Would it be Okay…? [GN]

Stutter; Y/n & Ted talk about Diego Hargreeves’ stutter [GN]

Horns; Bull hybrid Ted in attempts to escape y/n's yandere affections, ends up getting his horns removed [GN]

2 girls 1 cup (sfw); y/n, oblivious, asks Schlatt about a certain nsfw video after hearing about it through the grapevine [GN]

Jambo; Jambo wants to cuddle w/ Reader more than Schlatt [Fem]

Milk and Cookies; sleepy/soft schlatt x reader [Fem]

Knives Out; Reader shows Schlatt their knife collection [GN]

I’m Still Breathing; Ted x Reader + breath play [Fem]

Couple Costumes [Fem]

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me; Reader's an Enderdragon hybrid [GN]

My Hero; BNHA au

In a Bind?; The boys find out y/n wore his binder for too long [Male]

Under-dressed Alcoholic

No Shave November; The boys coax y/n into participating in no shave November [Male]

Sm0L; Ted discovers y/n is an age dreamer/regressor when they slip for the first time [Male]

Father Figure; how Chuckle Sammie reacts to finding out y/n sees them as a father/parental figure [GN]

Pained Oblivion; Slimecicle being oblivious to avian hybrid! y/n courting him [GN]

Band; What band instrument I think they'd all play

Out on the Town; Ted takes y/n out on the town, just headcanons revolving around that and 'em being tourists [GN]

Risky Business; Schlatt and Reader recreate the dancing scene from Risky Business [GN]

Little Chef; Ted & regressed reader decide what to do for the day [GN]

Passenger Prince; The chuckle sammie bois as your passenger prince [GN]

Slimecicle x Reader: Getting a Tattoo [GN]

Feverish [GN]

Jschlatt Headcannons

Bed Bugs; Regressed reader falls asleep during car ride w/ Ted [GN]

Rainy Mondays; Charlie & Reader spend a rainy day together [GN]

[zablife]

Playing a Game with Alfie

Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge.

Request: Playing a board game in a cafe. Requested by @dreamlandcreations.

Warnings: ethnic slur, injury, threat with a weapon, Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution.

Author's Note: Reader is a member/former member of Sabini's gang.

The man standing behind you jerked your head back by the roots of your hair painfully, asking one last time, “Who were you working with tonight, you little wop?”

“I already told you! No one,” you said through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t these goons believe you were clever enough to count cards? It wasn’t a difficult scheme. You were there to earn a little more money before leaving London and the Sabinis for good. Your only mistake had been overconfidence, returning to the casino two nights in a row. 

Unsatisfied with your answer, the man pushed your head into the wooden table in front of you harshly and you felt your cheek swell instantly. Suddenly the door to the small room opened with a bang and a hulking man lumbered toward you, leaning on a cane. He grumbled as he dismissed the men with a wave of his ringed hand and you glimpsed a small crown tattoo between his thumb and forefinger. Now you understood why you’d been subjected to questioning this evening. You’d caught the attention of Alfie Solomons, king of Camden Town.

He kicked a chair out to sit opposite you and stared as he stroked his beard for a moment in deep thought. “Bold of you to assume my casino is a charitable institution," he growled finally.

"Your pathetic security would make it seem otherwise," you retorted.

His eyes went wild for a moment before he asked, “Like games do ya, pet?”

“When luck is on my side. Wouldn’t seem so tonight,” you said spitefully.

“Well that’s a pity, ain’t it? Cause I’ve got a proposition for ya,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

You eyed him carefully, heart pounding in your chest despite your attempt to remain calm. “I’ve heard about you. You offer a deal or death so what do you want from me?” You swallowed harshly, pushing your dress from your shoulder to reveal a bit of skin to tempt him. 

His hand pulled back for a moment and he chuckled at you darkly. “Nah, that’s not what I’m after.” Feeling further humiliated by his rejection, you ducked your head and pulled the fabric back to cover yourself. His face turned serious as he rasped, “But you will properly make amends.” You looked at him with a mix of awe and fear, unsure what he would ask of you as you began to tremble involuntarily.

“I think you’re going to like this, being a gambling woman.” He pulled his revolver from his pocket and opened the chamber, emptying all the bullets except for one. Giving the cylinder a spin and clicking it back into place he asked, “Ever play Russian roulette?”  He looked into your eyes and smirked as he watched you bite back tears. Sliding the gun across the table, he arranged your hands over the weapon gently and placed his large hand over yours. He looked deeply into your eyes, content with the fear he had managed to instill.

“Go on, dove,” he urged in a low voice dripping with pity and gave you a reassuring squeeze. “I think you know how this goes. Hold it to your pretty head and try your luck. Once for every night you tried to fuck me over.” A single tear trickled down your cheek as you realized there was no way out. “Buona fortuna,” he whispered as he waited for the game to begin.

[fanichus]

FANfic cap 4

I went back with Demian... and he was with two skeletons, that I don't remember let them in but... I guess they come with him they look like...well skeletons but they're well dress one with a palet of blue, white and black, the other with red, black and gold. it's look like they were talking about something important cause they were talking really low almost like whisper's

*Hey so about tonight Devil what's the plan?*

The three of them turned to look at me at the same time as if they didn't expect me to come back or maybe something else, I just smiled

*Angel first of all let's set some of the rules, my mens here are going to escort us to the dinner, if they ask you how we met don't tell the truth you and I met recently somewhere, don't tell we meet since kids* their man's looks surprised to hear that, I didn't put attention to them

*Wait... wait were are you talking me?* I thought he said it just would be a restaurant that he wants to try but...

*To a restaurant I told you* how funny

*You know what I mean*

*Look I'm going to sign some documents, it won't be anything serious, we'll just sign and that's it*

*Ok but then why did you bring me and them?* I said looking to the skeleton, one of them looks like he wants to sleep, the other is looking carefully and is the one that answer

*I know that answer, by the way I'm Colt, and it's cause he wants to impress a beautiful lady like your self* He winked at me and smiled coquettishly at me, I smiled and I blushed a little at such words, Demian glared at him like he was going crazy.

*Right okay, but knowing your boss I know he it's just bring the two of you to feel important, but why including me?*

Colt and the other skeleton look at me with intrigue, I guess they didn't expect me to actually know him, that actually distracted me from my own question

*By the way, what are those boxes for? My birthday has already passed*

*All of those boxes are for you Miss, in each one there are different articles and my name is Roulette just in case, everything is for you that way one recognizes you*

*What...* I'm not liking this plan... I'm not... I'm not going to do it, I'm not doing it anymore.

I feel someone hugging me from behind making me stay still *Leave us alone for a moment please* the two skeletons leave the room and Demian began to speak and stroke my arms

*It's okay Lizy, I know you don't like to look different but it's not like those times this is different it's for your protection and I promise it's not those horrible colors you used to wear before*

I turned and looked at him trying to not think about those times but is hard, but...maybe...he is right, after all he has never lied to me *Demian I...*

*I know but I really want you there, When I finish signing I promise that it will just be you and me without a costume and with nothing else* saying that las part he started to smile at me...

And I smiled at that las part he knows how to make me smile, I can't deny him anything... and it's true what he says this time the situation is different *My my oh my are you seducing your Angel what a scandal, don't you think*

*Jajajajaja Please I don't need to... I know you allready adore me, otherwise you wouldn't be smiling at me like that* I couldn't resist the urge to hug him...

wow I miss this... wait he's very different... now... he has a lot of muscles

*Why do I always find them like this?* Asha seemed to be talking to himself, l let go immediately, because of the embarrassed

Why do I feel like a teenager who got caught having her first kiss or something more embarrassing

Time to simulate

*Is the suit okay?... Or do you think it needs some... correction?* I started pulling away from Demian and trying not to think about those strong... and muscular arms full of... tattoos... I wonder were else does he have more tattoos?

*Don't worry, the suit is excellent. If you don't mind, I'll pack it and bring it with me*

He did what? *Wait you can't do that I have to...* I try to take away the thing but...why are they taller than me *Asha give me that* I trip and Asha catch me

*Lizy you should be more careful*

Sorry for the spelling mistakes I wrote the chapter while I was outside @battlemaiden13 I keep tagging you because you and your story are my inspiration to write this, I've always wanted to do it and thank you

[aerodaltonimperial]

oh look a pinned post

ABOUT//

hi. i’m katy. i am a certified fandom old™️fair warning, i do not know how to use the queue so following me means you get all my hyperfixations in real time as god intended. this blog is typically wrestling, wrestling, more wrestling, and things that make me laugh so hard i snort liquid out my nose. i only watch aew. i’m in it for the little guys (and gals). i use A LOT of capslock. my tags are a mess and absolutely nothing is searchable, that’s just how we run things around here. generally speaking, i flail about my ride or dies and simply won’t talk about anyone i dislike, so for the most part, this is a hate-free zone. the exception to this is cm punk. i think that man should be lit on fire. do not follow me if you are a punk fan. i’ve probably already blocked you, but there’s a chance i missed if you are quiet about it and weren’t in the tags when i went on my sprees. other than that, no surprises; you know who you gonna hear about here!! pretty transparent.

i used to fill a lot of prompts. maybe someday i will do this again. i’ve got a young kiddo, and i talk about her. she is generally the reason i don’t get much sleep. i love getting asks and typically don’t sugarcoat things! i’m a matched set with @perhapswhoknowsvamp. 💚

YO DAWG I HEARD YOU LIKE MASTERLISTS AND STORY PRIMERS//

🖤 💚 the junglecorpse story video lives here 💚 🖤

TUMBLR FIC MASTERLIST//

reminder that my ao3 account is here

🖤💚junglecorpse (jack/darby)

ride | do you understand | alone together | they say we won’t last | why do they love you | hospital | playing us both | shower | discovery | salon | ‘down into the water black’ - epilogue | naked coffee | taste you | don’t leave me | hesitantly | ruin me | my plan all along | talk to you later | don’t fear the reaper | hospital roommates | can’t say it | just a little more | jekyll & hyde | i think i’m in love | the little things | i’m not leaving | good taste | rainstorm | forever | something good | worse than my mom | i know i’m in love | hot when you’re bossy | got something of yours

🧡💚junglehook (jack/hook)

kiss 83 | not what you want | in danger | lighthouse AU flashback | you’re a nightmare | got you against the wall | gum swap | wild things | the next stage | on top | where it hurts | backstage victory | candids | elevator | why didn’t you say anything | make me jealous | don’t know what’s next | lost and found | eventuality | love languages | still | wanna practice? | how much do you want it

💚🤜🤛🧡the besties (jack & hook)

college AU | besties break-up part 1 | besties break-up part 2 | ghost hunting | tattoo parlor | coffee shop | new friends | martha is the safe word | matchmaker | commit a felony | i need your help | too many miles | death threats | fell asleep | the theater | no one will find you here | concert | showing affection | party-hopper | thankful for you

⚰️🧡 darby/hook

you miss him too | comfort where you can | someone else | wound tending | the one i want | not the right one | surprise

🍊🖤 orange/darby

where it doesn’t hurt | haven’t died yet | comfort | fingers

🔮🍑spookypeach (anna/julia)

scents | promise | not the right move | wish it were me | an option | ceiling fan | you’re ready | i still miss you

the russian roulette of other wrestle pairings

kiss 48 | kiss 46 | hookcaster | absolutehook | tazhausen | danhausen/evilhausen | jack & julia | orangehausen | darbyhausen | nothing you can give me | junglehookhausen | half-deadjunglehook | max caster gets his shit rocked | jungleorange | the quad | let’s get him back | dariushook | orangehook treats | hook + darby treat | hook talks to RVD | orangehook manflu | hook vs. reader | bluehart | orangehook breakfast | half-deadjunglehook follow my lead | bluehart ice cream date | orangehook tell me how

chrono trigger

shallow regret | kiss 99 | ‘saints & martyrs’ - follow-up | how dare you | come to laugh at me | mist | destiny | as a yes | never wanted more

chrono cross

kiss 1 | ‘top shot’ - follow-up | feather | on a scar | breakfast | in danger | you weren’t obvious

current tag to search for all works written since the tumblr-pocalypse is tag so you don’t lose this shit. anything posted to AO3 is removed to keep this somewhat manageable.

[musewritingsforyou]

Tattoo Roulette

a/n: I'm finally back on track! here's another shortie with a slight bit of spice!

same universe, medic!y/n and today Lhh

1.6k short but sweet

fluff, based on the tattoo roulette one direction video, slight spice towards the end, super mild

tw: tattoos, sex alluded, slight pain kink alluded

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

I always love being on James' show. I of course am not actually on it, but because whenever the boys go on they always have a small performance afterward so I get to come along with them and sit in the audience while they do whatever they need before the show. James is actually friends with all of the boys and I have had dinner with him quite a few times, not to mention Harry and I have babysat for him on a few occasions. He is a wonderfully sweet guy and truly a comedic mastermind when it comes to things like making up games for his show or anything like that. It's always a treat to see what he is going to have the boys do for him.

I was with the boys backstage in their dressing room before they were about to go on stage, just grabbing Harry's ring to place on my necklace before I went out to my seat. Harry was looking very handsome tonight in his dark blue button-up (that was not really all that buttoned) and a suit jacket. His hair was starting to get so long that he was constantly moving it out of his face now.

“Haz do you just want me to put it up?” I noticed him flipping it out of his face as I was about to leave for my seat.

“No, no, it needs to flow!” I giggled at him but agreed and went to take my seat. I was right up towards the front with a wonderful view of the boys and James sat right in front of me. Paul and Lou were on either side of me watching as well and laughing at all of their jokes. A few times Haz would look over at me and smile, doing a not-so-discreet nose scrunch at me when he moved his hair out of his face, clearly regretting not letting me put it up for him before. Finally, they had finished at his desk and went for a break before the “game” section of the show would start. While the cameras weren't rolling James walked over to say hello to me with Harry following closely behind him.

“Looking lovely tonight, y/n, as always.” I laughed and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Such a gentleman James. What do you have in store for my boys tonight?” He smiled at me and wagged a finger back and forth.

“You'll just have to wait and see like the rest of them!” The crew called them back and Haz gave me a kiss on the cheek before he went back to the stage to join the other three boys standing there nervously. As James introduced the game I swear I almost thought he was joking. It was pretty unlike James to put himself in a situation where he could actually end up doing something as crazy as getting a tattoo, but it was clear he was not joking as the boys went to stand with their boxes on the other side of the room. I could see poor Niall's hands shaking from across the room, the boy hated the idea of getting a tattoo. Most of the other boys were unbothered by the idea, Harry, Liam, and Louis had all gotten them before and at this point (especially for Harry and Louis) it would just be another to add to the growing collection. I had been with Harry when he got tattoos before, as we have a couple of matching/corresponding ones we got together and I just go with him when he gets them. It's a whole event that we get to make a fun night out of. I wouldn't necessarily say that Harry has a “pain kink” but I will say this: getting tattoos turns him on. I don’t think it's actually the pain that does it, just something about that particular feeling is very enticing to him, it's similar to the high he sometimes gets after a big show on tour. The lighting turned to red on James as he was about to open his box, and he was taking a long time.

“James?” Harry was standing right next to him trying to encourage him.

“Harold?”

“open the box” after a minute James did, in fact, open the box, to reveal the blue “safe” on the inside. The only two left were Harry and Niall. Poor Niall was becoming visibly more of a nervous wreck with each box that was opened and declared “safe”. I got Harry’s attention and attempted to sign Niall's name to him, eventually, he nodded before walking over and giving Niall a hug, trying to calm him. He whispered something in his ear though I couldn't tell what as he went back to his own box and got ready to open it. Although before I hadn't thought about it at all, now I was starting to get nervous as the red lights turned to Harry.

“Very intimidating that light.” I heard him say and he moved his hair out of his face one last time before quickly sliding open the box. My breath got caught in my throat as Niall and James both erupted in screams and the buzzer went off to confirm that Harry was the one. He looked at me with a smirk on his face and shrugged before James opened Niall's box just to be sure and the show went into another commercial break. As they did the tattoo artist was brought back on stage and Harry walked over to me.

“You want to come closer to watch?” He still had that smirk on his face and I nodded but looked closer to where the artist was setting up, there were no seats anywhere near there.

“Haz, there are no seats over there.” His smirk got even bigger and I could see the little glint in his green eyes.

“I know. I want you to sit right next to me.” For a moment I legitimately thought he was joking but then I saw James ask someone to get me a chair and suddenly there I was, sat right next to Harry on camera praying to god I didn’t look too stupid. The cameras came on with me on the other side of them this time as James asked Harry where he was going to get it.

“I'm not sure, didn't really think about that before, to be honest, what do you think y/n/n, you get the final say.” I smiled at him and pretended to think for a moment.

“There's a bit of a blank space right below our heart” He took off his jacket and one of the cameras came over to do a side by side of one of our matching tattoos, our “heart on our sleeve” we got a couple of years ago together. Just as I remembered there was a little patch of no ink below the heart, right above the crease of his elbow. We agreed it was as good a place as any and the artist went to work with Harry's arm outstretched and his other resting on my leg, squeezing occasionally. The entire time he looked right into my eyes while he was getting it and I could see his pupils get progressively larger and larger with every passing second. Something else was also getting larger and larger with every second, though I prayed I was the only one who noticed. I raised my eyebrows at him and the look he gave back to me sent a nice chill down my spine. He was finished quickly, and to my surprise, I actually liked the little tattoo added in the blank space. It was small but fitting for the mess of little tattoos around that part of his arm. His pupils were still blown when he made a joke to the camera about being a little woozy before they turned away while the boys got ready to do a song.

He was in fact a little woozy so I handed him some water to drink while I helped him with his in-ear and mic. I was fitting the linear/mic box into the back pocket of his pants while he was taking little sips of water. Liam walked over to us and made sure his mic was all set before he leaned in close to me and said,

“not the first time I've seen Harry's eyes go like that you know.” He was referring clearly to the time he walked in on me and Harry in a hotel room (inevitable when you live with that many boys and your boyfriend for so long) and I swatted away at him.

“None of that Payno! It was one time!” he was walking away and dragging Harry along with him as he responded.

“And I'll never let you lot forget it!”. They went off to do the songs they had planned on and Harry and placed his jacket back on over the tattoo. He kept his arm out relatively straight for most of the first song even while he moved the other one around so I signed to him: how's it feeling?.

He signed back to me: arms fine, something else hurts.  I could feel my cheeks go bright red. I could only thank my lucky stars that they weren't doing no control tonight as they had originally planned and that we would soon be done with no after-party until tomorrow. Just a few more minutes and Harry would be dragging my arm out the door and back to our shared hotel room, hopefully, this time with no intruding band members to interrupt our fun.

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel

Pyke: Pt 1

League of Legends | Pyke x F!Reader

Chapters: Prologue | Viego | Pyke: 1

Read the whole thing on AO3 here

SFW

It's not that you even knew it was Pyke. You're running a clinic out of Bilgewater while you try to calculate the very specific angle you need to break the universe at to get you back home, because you can import just about anything there with no questions for the right price. And, well, there's always someone who needs healing in this place, so you're not wanting for customers.

He comes in dragging a co-worker whose arm had been near taken off by a sea-beast that wasn't quite dead. He says, urgently, that the man needs his arm to work, he doesn't have much to pay with but he'll give you a portion of his pay for as long as it takes.

“Flat rate for all fresh injuries,” you remind him, reaching out to touch the man's arm. The space around his bleeding arm blurs, and he yelps as it abruptly returns to its undamaged state. You've gotten in the habit of leaving the bloodstains–makes the healer act more believable. You don't want any bigger fish getting bright ideas about your powers–being a simple healer suits you just fine. “That'll be 30 gold.”

They both look floored. The injured man turns nervously to the other, who sighs heavily and says, “I'll sort it, don't worry. Get back to your kids.”

The formerly injured man ducks his head, thanking you both profusely as he scurries out of your clinic. You're left alone with his friend, who digs out a purse and begins counting out coins. He's a handsome fellow, tall and dark-skinned with sharp features. He's got the strong arms of a dock worker, and tattoos you've learned to recognize as Buhru. Unlike the Pyke you remember, his eyes are a sea-glass green and he has dark curls that fall past his ears. He has a bandana tucked around his neck, but most slaughter dock workers do to keep the smell of guts out. His voice is undistorted by the depths, a deep baritone that inexplicably makes you think he has a good reading voice, and he's wearing plain workers clothes with no distinctive fish jaws to speak of. So no, you don't recognize him.

He sets the last coin down, nods at you, and walks out. That, you think, is that.

Except next month he comes in with some other poor fuck. This one, at least, pays for himself–Pyke just drops him off, nods at you, and walks out again. Not that you know his name at this point. Two weeks later he's back, and you're about to ask who he's hauling in this time when you notice the limp.

“What did this?” You ask curiously as you roll up his tattered pant leg to reveal an ugly set of bruises and broken skin. He hisses when you touch it, and you think it might be broken–honestly, you're not too far off the docks, but he must be one stubborn motherfucker to make it here.

“Caught in a line,” he grunts as you pick out the worst of the debri. “Got dragged halfway down the dock.”

You wince. “That'll do it, yeah.” You rewind the wound and quickly wipe the blood off. Then you pat his (very solid) leg and stand. “Good as yesterday.”

He stands experimentally, then nods. Same as before, he goes for his coin purse to pay, then pauses. He checks one pocket, then another, then the first one again. Then he sighs deeply. “Must've lost it when I was getting dragged.”

“You work on the Red Docks, yeah?” You recall. He nods, and you whistle lowly. “That'll be long gone by now, then.”

He gives you a look that's half guarded, half pleading. “Give me a day and I can put the gold together.”

You consider him, or more accurately the corded muscles of his arms. “Tell you what. You're a big guy, and I'm in need of a strong arm for a personal project. When's your next day off?” He gives you a wary look, and you roll your eyes. “I'm not asking you to kill someone or smuggle drugs or anything like that, I just need some equipment lugged around. I'll pay twenty an hour for your time, and we’ll take the first hour and a half out your debt. Deal?”

He hesitates a moment, then sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

You shake on it, then immediately wince when he practically crushes your hand. “Oh christ, you really are strong,” you say, shaking out the sting.

He looks slightly abashed. “Sorry. Butcher's habit. I'll be back…day after tomorrow, should be?”

You nod. “Anytime around noon is fine, but we probably won't be getting back into town until dark. That fine?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He pauses a moment, then ducks his head. “Thanks.” And then he just leaves, as is his way.

—

He shows up at noon exactly. You feel a bit bad about making him haul your equipment crates down to the ferry, but he doesn't seem overly strained by the work, which leads you to believe your last porter was just trying to pad his hours. The ferry takes you to one of the islands about forty minutes out, and he lugs your equipment up to the hill. He's good at following instructions, and it takes less time than you'd expect to get your contraption set up.

“Okay, now we just have to wait for it to stabilize,” you say, dusting your hands off.

“What…is it?” He says slowly, examining the precarious mass of bronze and crystal.

“It’s a telescope that looks into the space beyond existence,” you say distractedly, opening up your bag and rifling through it. “Here,” you hand him a wrapped sandwich.

He blinks at it like he's never seen one before. You wiggle it impatiently at him, and he takes it almost automatically. You set your own aside so you can pull out your thermos and pour both of you a cup of ice tea. He takes that with no small amount of skepticism either.

“What is this?” He says, sniffing it. He sips, then makes a face that gives you absolutely no information on whether he likes it or not. “It's sweet.”

“It’s fruit tea,” you say, sipping your own. One nice thing about having time powers is it's just as cold as when you pulled it out of the icebox.

He gives the sandwich the same suspicious once over, though this one he doesn't eat. “This coming out of my pay?” He asks.

You raise a brow. “What? No. Jeez, what kind of shitty bosses have you had?”

“Won't argue shitty, but that's normal on the docks,” he says, eyeing you consideringly. “Must be well off, if you can afford to be nice.”

You shrug. “Always people who need healing in that city, and I'm not under anyone's thumb, so I actually get to keep what I make.”

His gaze shifts, now filled with a mix of both wariness and respect. “Not easy in a town like Bilgewater.” You shrug again, and he seems content to eat in silence.

“So how long’s it gonna take?” He asks, after you've eaten.

You make a so-so gesture. “Haven't tried this configuration before. Shortest it's ever been is ten minutes, longest is an hour.” You give him a considering look. “You play cards?”

–

He whips your ass in Bilgewater threecard, but you make a comeback in snap. You pause occasionally to fire the machine, but the viewfinder shows nothing but Void, so you adjust the crystals and return to the game. As sunset approaches, you adjust the crystals to catch the light, and you both squint on as the thing begins to hum and glow. You peer into the viewfinder excitedly, spinning the dials as you try to home in on anything that looks like reality–

Then it sparks and gives out. “Slut motherfucker,” you groan, throwing a card at the contraption.

“Didn't work?” He extrapolates.

“Nope!” You say with fake cheerfulness, grumpily getting to your feet to start taking the thing apart. “C'mon, that's it for today. Help me pack this piece of shit up and we'll head back.”

It's just getting dark by the time the ferry lands. He helps you lug the crates back home, and you count out his pay.

“It's a good thing you showed up yesterday,” you muse, scooping his pay into a separate bag. “Had to lay off my regular guy after he tried to steal my stuff.”

He glances up at you as he tucks the bag into his pocket. “You're out of a porter, then?”

You know that look. “It’s not regular work,” you warn. “And, uh, some days there will be a risk of getting slightly blown up.”

He gives you a considering look. “Define ‘risk’.”

You make a so-so gesture. “I mean, I'll let you know if I'm doing anything dangerous, but let's say…iunno, one in twenty? Promise I'll fix you up for free if that happens, though.”

He shrugs. “Fine with me. I'm down at Heimlich House most days. Ask for Pyke.” He inclines his head at you, and then walks out. It's probably for the best he does, because you're left staring at his back in sheer disbelief.

—

It's not, like, 100% Pyke Pyke. You think. You ask about him at the pub nearby, and Bard behind the bar asks if you mean tall Pyke, short Pyke or Pegleg Pyke.

“Tall Pyke?” You guess. He's certainly not short, and unless they're somehow talking about his dick, he's got both his legs too. “Buhru tattoos, green eyes, doesn't talk much? Hired him for a porting job, thinking of inviting him back on the regular. You think of any reason I shouldn't?”

“Tall Pyke, nah, he's the good one,” Bard says with a laugh. “Hard worker, sticks up for his crew. Mean motherfucker if you do him dirty, sure, but I don't reckon you're the type to go fucking anyone over. I'm sure he'll do you right, whatever you're hiring him for.”

You nod, sliding him a tip. “Thanks Bard. Hey, you got any of those battered fish things?”

So maybe it's not him. Apparently it's not an uncommon name–or was it a nickname? Not like Bilgewater had much in the way of legal records, honestly–nicknames were as good as official here. You just showed up and told people your name was Iso, after all. Him being called Pyke didn't mean it was Pyke, destined to be eaten by a big fucking fish, Blood Harbor Ripper Pyke. He isn't even a harpooner, he works on the slaughter docks. You're sure it's fine. Probably.