#Mandy’s talkin tattoos

[mandylove1000]

Ok so. These are my tattoos and I’ll give a reason why for them (if there is one)

So the first one I got was the dream catcher (I know basic white girl shit) it’s kinda for my grandma on my moms side I never got to meet. She was always super interested in Native American culture and stuff so I kinda got it for her.

The second one is actually the quote right there. It’s from the first hunger games book and it’s when katniss sees herself for the first time after the glam squad. There’s just something about that quote that stuck with me.

Tattoos 3&4 the word is wanderlust and then the globe with a flower(obviously doesn’t look like a flower😂) I love traveling so this was a no brainer for me honestly. Yes the colors are patchy af. I don’t think my skin likes colors or something 😂

This is 5,6&7. 5 was honestly cause I wanted it. 6 is the name of a song weirdly enough. And 7 again just another phrase that I liked.

8,9&10. 8 is ; self explanatory if you know.(it’s actually covered up but I am still counting it bc I can still see it😂) 9 is always keep fighting. It’s something Jared Padalecki says and has made shirts/hoodies for (I have 2) 10 is a wave. I absolutely love the ocean and my happy place is honestly on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.

11…….can I act like this one doesn’t exist. No? Fuck ok. Soooooo this is a “matching” best friend tattoo. (If you need a sign to not get matching bestie tattoos HERES THE SIGN. DONT. FUCKING. DO. IT.) This is a matching one me and my now ex best friend got. It’s her hand writing the mermaid tail(well aware it doesn’t look like one) is her drawing as well. Her fave Disney movie she got the tangled lantern cause it’s my fave. Idk if the bitch still has hers I am honestly prob covering the tail part but keeping the word bc it can be a reminder of the time me and my family went to Hawaii. With that being said next.

This is 12,13&14. 12&13 are both runes from shadowhunters. Love that show had to have them. The heart is a nod to another ex friend but I don’t really care about that one. I’ve always like little heart tattoos so yeah.

This is 15,16,17,18,19. 15 a nod to Harry Potter and the flash(also just wanted it) 16 is actually the new ; which is shaped like planets and all that. 17 is my little Taurus symbol cause I am a Taurus. 18 is the Vikings V logo. One of my favorite shows and I needed it so badly. And last but not least 19 my arrow head for Arrow. Again another favorite show that I had to get it.

I will be adding more in a few days when I get my next 3. I’m honestly so freaking excited about it.

[arrowflier]

ok this is heavy shit, but i don't think ive ever seen a fic where ian and mickey talk about what terry did to mandy. like does mickey even know? i'm not sure how it comes up, but they argue more than once in season 11 about who's worse terry or frank, and it is obviously terry.

Please heed the warnings on this one folks, it's not fun.

In Death, Deliverance on AO3 or continue below

Warning: discussion of canonical rape and incest

“Have you gotten hold of Mandy yet?” Ian asks absently as he flicks through another mortuary brochure.

Mickey goes quiet from the other side of the table.  His pen stops clicking, his feet stop tapping.  Ian can feel eyes burning a hole in his scalp as he keeps his head bent over his task.

He waits.

The sounds start again after a moment, careful, deliberate, and the feeling of eyes is gone.

“Why would she want to come?” Mickey asks.  “Fucker’s dead, she should be glad.”

His voice is casual.  Too casual, too clear after a morning of crying in the corner of their bedroom over the very same thing.

Ian sits up.  Drops the papers he’s holding so he can look at Mickey, sitting there across the table.  His husband’s knuckles are white under his faded tattoos, clutching his pen and notebook like a lifeline.

He isn’t looking at Ian at all.

“I dunno,” Ian says slowly, trying to gauge his reaction.  Trying to figure him out, trying to say the right thing, like he’d already failed to do once that day.  “To see that he’s really dead?”

Mickey just snorts, and tap taps away, his pen hitting the table with military precision.

“She don’t need to be here to know that,” he says, and stops with the incessant tapping long enough to make a vague scribble in his notebook.  “She’s probably been pretending he’s dead for years already.”

“I know I fuckin’ would’ve,” he adds under his breath.  “If I had a goddamn choice.”

Ian doesn’t point out the obvious lie.  He bites his lip, bites his tongue, and tries to go back to his task.

Mickey has had enough heartache today.  Ian doesn’t need to add to it.

But it’s hard to keep down, hard to keep in.  Words are swimming before him, fine print on a white page layered with enough flowers and calligraphy for a wedding invitation, much less an advertisement for cheap embalming services.  He runs a finger over the edge of the heavy paper, and it catches, because of course it does.  Tears a tiny hole in the side of his pointer finger, a sharp but fleeting pain.

A bead of blood wells up.  Bright red and warm, the same as it was when he and Mandy had pricked their fingers in the living room of the Milkovich house when they were kids.  When they had pressed their bleeding digits together and sworn to never part.

He wiped the blood away with his thumb.  Went to twist his ring with that same thumb by instinct, a habit born to comfort his anxiety.

For perhaps the first time since Mickey put the ring on his finger, it did nothing to calm him.  For the first time, it made him feel worse.

Because he was married to Mickey now, the love of his life.  Promised never to hurt him, in word or in deed.  Loved him too much to risk it.

But he loved Mandy, too.  And almost ten years ago, before he even knew what he and Mickey were, he had made her a different promise.

“Sometimes it can help,” he says softly, eyes on the smear of red on the inside of his hand.  “To see it with your own eyes,” he continues, raising his own.  “And to know that they aren’t coming back.”

Mickey catches his gaze, drops it.  Scrawls something down, sighs, and scratches it out.  He looks like he wants to say something, hand skating over his mouth, but he doesn’t.

Until Ian puts his hands on the table, and starts to push himself away.

“They?” Mickey asks, voice rough, and Ian stops.  Stills.

“What?”

“You said ‘they’,” Mickey repeats.  He sets his pen down, flexes his hand before letting it settle, empty, in front of him.  “What ‘they’ are you talkin’ about?”

Ian hesitates.  But Mickey is watching him, now, eyes red at the corners with tears shed and unshed, somehow still as soft as open as they’ve ever been despite his grief.

And he doesn’t want to say it, really he doesn’t.  But he needs to.

For Mandy.

“The people who—” He halts, coughs, though it does nothing to clear his throat.  “The people who hurt you.”

Mickey frowns.

“Who hurt you?” he demands, suddenly vicious.  “Are you talkin’ about that old fucker?”

It’s Ian’s turn to frown.

“No,” he says, then, “Wait.  What?”

“That why you were so fuckin’ off about him dyin’?” Mickey goes on.  His hands are fisted now, and he’s grabbed his pen again, pointing it like a weapon, not a tool.  “Cause I’ll drag that fucker out of his grave if he—”

“Mickey!” Ian interrupts.  He reaches across the table, puts a hand on his husband’s tensed arm.  “Mickey, I’m not talking about Ned.”

Mickey doesn’t calm.

“Who, then?” he pushes.  “If they ain’t dead, I’ll kill ‘em.”

He’s serious.  Ian knows he’s serious.  Knows he shouldn’t find it sweet when his husband threatens murder, but strokes his hand down Mickey’s arm anyway, lets it linger.

“Wasn’t talking about me at all,” he assures him.  His hand reaches Mickey’s fist, smoothes over rigid knuckles until it relaxes.  The abused pen drops to the table as Ian slips his fingers into its place against Mickey’s palm.

Ian thinks about what to say.  Thinks about what it might do.  To Mickey, hearing it.  To Mandy, having it told.

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything.  Maybe that would be better.

But Ian was never good at making the better choice.

“Was talking about Mandy,” he says quietly, and watches Mickey’s fingers tighten on his.

“What about her?” Mickey asks, gruff but light, like he isn’t suddenly cutting off circulation to Ian’s hand.  “Told you before, my sister can take care of herself.”

Ian nods, and looks up.  Sees Mickey worrying his lip with his teeth, white on red.  Sees blue eyes gazing at the wall somewhere behind him.

Not darting, like Mickey does when he’s avoiding something, but fixed.  Focused.  Wary, but listening.

“Do you,” Ian starts.  Hesitates, running his thumb over Mickey’s wrist.  “Do you know what happened when you were gone?”

Mickey looks at him then, brows furrowed.

“You heard from Mandy while I was in Mexico?” he asks, confused, and Ian sighs.

“No,” he corrects, then tilts his head and considers.  “Well, sort of, but that’s not what I—”

He shakes his head, cuts himself off.  That’s not the story he needs to tell today.

“When you were in juvie,” he redirects.  “The second time, after Frank.”

“That was a lot more than the second time,” Mickey points out, “but sure.”

Ian breathes a little easier.  He hadn’t even known how tight his chest was until it loosened.

But then Mickey keeps talking.

“I know your good for nothing brother knocked her up,” he says and the pressure in Ian’s chest is back, is worse.  “And I know you helped her out.”  Mickey shrugs, letting go of Ian’s hand, and leans back.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.  He leans back in his chair, balances on the back two legs, and raises his eyebrows.  “You think she’s sad she didn’t make pops a grandpa before he died?”

Ian tries to swallow, but his mouth is like dust.

“No,” he manages to get out, not much more than a whisper.  “I think she’s glad she didn’t make him a father.”

Mickey drops.  His arms, from his chest.  His chair, to the floor.  And his face, the light in his eyes, to a dull, disbelieving stare.

And Ian doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to push it further.  But it’s too late to take it back, so he might as well go forward.

“It wasn’t Lip’s kid, Mickey.”

The words aren’t even out of his mouth before Mickey is standing.

“No.”

Mickey is up, and Mickey is moving, pacing the length of the table with furious strides.  His hand rubs over his mouth, his nose, buries itself in dark hair before falling, empty and grasping, to his side.

“Mickey,” Ian tries, reaching out.  “I know that this is—”

He doesn’t get to finish.

“No, no,” Mickey says, laughs in his face before pacing some more.  “No, you fucking don’t!”

His hip hits the edge of the table, and he shouts wordlessly, all pain and anger.  He shoves at the sturdy wood, sends it squealing across the tile floor, papers flying in every direction as it resettles.

“I’ll kill that fucking rat bastard,” Mickey grunts, kicking at his own chair.  It falls with a crash, because Mickey isn’t there to catch it—he’s already leaving the room with long strides of short legs, making for the door.

Ian chases after him.  Catches his arm right before he gets hold of the door handle, has to release it when Mickey whirls on him.

“He’s already dead, Mickey,” Ian says, but Mickey’s scowl only deepens.

“Then I’ll piss on his fucking grave,” he yells into Ian’s face, his own red and sweating, “and feed his corpse to my goddamn useless brothers for letting it happen!”

“Mickey,” Ian tries again, but Mickey brings both arms up, shoves him back.  Follows him, stays in his space, eyes hard and unblinking.

“Don’t Mickey me!” he growls, shoving a finger into Ian’s chest.  “How long have you known?  Why didn’t you fucking do something?”

And Ian understands Mickey’s anger, really he does.  But his own is starting to rise.

“I did do something,” he snaps, pushing Mickey’s arm away.  “I helped her take care of it!”

“Please,” Mickey scoffs.  “Taking care of it would have been putting a bullet in Terry’s fucking skull, Ian!”

There’s quiet after those words, which settle heavily between them.  The silence is broken only by Mickey’s heaving breaths, by the squeak of Ian’s lip as he bites it too hard.

It lasts for too long.  Long enough for Mickey’s breathing to even out, for his shoulders to slump.  For their gaze to falter, Mickey’s eyes dropping to the floor before he squeezes them shut.

Ian breaks the silence first.

“They why didn’t you?”

It’s a short question, a simple one.  But Mickey misunderstands it anyway.

“I didn’t know!” he insists.

“Not for Mandy,” Ian says, “for you,” and watches Mickey’s face contort.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Ian pushes, hating himself even as the words leave his mouth.  “After he held you at gunpoint and made you do it, why didn’t you put a bullet in his head yourself?”

Mickey doesn’t answer.  Ian does it for him.

“Because he was your dad,” he says.  “And you were afraid of him.”

He steps forward, into Mickey’s space.  Mickey doesn’t pull away.

“You didn’t want me to help,” Ian says, lifting his arms to Mickey’s shoulders.  “You didn’t even want me to know.”

He pulls Mickey forward, unresisting.  Tucks Mickey’s head into his neck, holds it there, his own lips pressed soft to black hair.

“Mandy didn’t, either.”

“Still should have fucking done something,” Mickey grumbles, his words a wash of warm air over Ian’s skin.  His hands come up to Ian’s back, tighten there on his shirt like a lifeline.  Ian can feel the pressure of it on his skin, knows it’s going to bruise.

He doesn’t pull away, either.

“Yeah,” he admits, quiet and sad.  “I know.”

They stand there like that.  He’s not sure how long.  Long enough for Mickey’s heart to slow, and his own to resume beating.

“We can do something now,” Ian says after a while, and lifts his head.  Waits for Mickey to look at him.

“Let’s call Mandy,” he suggests.  “Together.  And if she wants to come down here, I’ll set everything up so you two can take a shit on his grave and burn the plot to ashes when you’re done.”

Mickey looks at him, long and hard, then  tucks his head back down onto Ian’s shoulder.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, gripping even tighter.  “That sounds nice.”

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader(f)    Chapter 14

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.4k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Master List

 Twenty minutes went by and the quiet of her house had Y/N feeling confused. On the one hand, the quiet meant no one was around and she was safe, which helped her calm her nerves and steady herself. But on the other, every noise made her heart jump in fear that someone had arrived.

 Y/N's phone buzzed. 

 We're here. Nat sent.

 Y/N got up and unlocked her bedroom door. She carefully peeked through the blinds in the living room to see Nat at the door and Bucky, Sam, Clint and Luke in the driveway parking their bikes.

 She hurried to the door and let Nat in.

 Nat hugged her immediately. "Are you okay?"

 "I'm better, now that the panic has subsided. I can't believe I freaked out like that." Y/N hung her head, ashamed.

 Nat rubbed her back and reassured her. "You've been through a lot today. Now, tell me what happened."

 Nat made a pot of coffee while Y/N sat at the island and rested. 

 "I shouldn't have been outside, alone." Y/N shook her head.

 "But you were and there's no sense in worrying over the past. What happened next?"

 Y/N nodded. "I thought it was one of the prospects coming back but it wasn't. This guy," she paused. "He drove by real slow. He stared right at me but I couldn't see his face. But his tattoos, I don't know, i just had this... flash of a memory from the accident. He had a cassette tape tattoo and above that was a blue skull with a red mohawk. I didn't remember seeing that until I saw it tonight. I'm sorry."

 "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. You experienced a trauma and got a concussion. Sometimes you don't remember things right away." Nat handed her a cup and sat across from her. "Did you see his kutte?"

 Y/N shook her head. "I didn't think to look. I'm sorry."

 "Something you gotta learn around here. Don't apologize unless you messed up. If you're gonna be with a biker, you gotta toughen up and stand up for yourself. You do still want to be with him, right? All this hasn't scared you off, has it?"

 "What, no!" Y/N sat up straight. "Of course not! I love him, Nat."

 Natasha smiled. 

 More boots at the door and both girls looked over. Steve and Bucky came into the kitchen, both going to their perspective women.

 Steve took Y/N in a hug. "Sorry I bolted, babe." He only spoke loud enough for Y/N to hear him.

 "Don't be. I wanted you to get him." She admitted.

 Bucky chimed in. "How close did you get? Could you see his kutte?"

 Steve's jaw ticked. "No, he wasn't wearing one. I caught up to him as he was leaving the neighborhood and got pretty close but I lost him on the highway."

 "If he wasn't wearing a kutte, he might have been hired by someone outside of a club." Nat suggested.

 "Who would want to go after Y/N?" Bucky asked. "You got any enemies? Any unhappy clients?"

 "None that I'm aware of." Y/N answered.

 "Maybe it's about Steve." Bucky shook his head, trying to think of any scenario that made sense.

 "We can sit here guessing all night but it won't help. Nothing will till we get that guy. He's got the answers." Nat huffed.

 Bucky’s phone rang. "Yeah?...You did what?" Bucky stepped out the back door to finish his call.

 "Nat, can you give us a minute?" Steve asked her.

 "Of course." She grinned.

 Once Nat was out of earshot, Steve sighed. "I got so close, babe." He leaned over on the counter. "I almost had him."

 "It's okay. Thank you for trying."

 "I feel bad for leaving you like that."

 Y/N hugged one of the arms he braced himself with and leaned her head on his bicep. "I was fine. I called Nat as soon as you left."

 "You were panicking."

 "I'm a big girl, I took care of it." She smirked as she looked up at him.

 "And I'm so proud of you." He held the side of her face and kissed her head. "I need to get you a gun."

 Y/N chuckled. "I grabbed the biggest knife in the kitchen."

 "That's my girl." He grinned.

 Bucky came back inside, the phone still pressed to his ear. "We're coming to the club now. Meet us in church."

 Steve tensed. "Who was that?" 

 "Frank. He broke protocol but got… I don't know what he got yet but. he's on his way to the club and we are, too. Get your helmet. Let's go."

 All of them rode back to the clubhouse to find Frank rapping his fingers across the conference table. He jerked upright when Bucky strode into the room.

 "Pres, I'm sorry. I couldn't-"

  "Have you lost your mind?!" Bucky slapped the back of Frank's head so hard that Frank cursed as his head flew downward.

 "I said sorry!" Frank rubbed the back of his head.

 "What's going on?" Steve demanded. 

 "Start talkin'" Bucky crossed his arms and sat in his chair at the head of the table. Everyone else sat too.

 "I told you I didn't like the way Mandie was talking to you, Miss Y/N. I got a real uneasy feeling. So, I followed her home."

 "You what?" Nat raised her brows.

 Frank nodded and ran his hands over his face before he continued. "I know, I know. I didn't ask permission and I was just starting to feel bad about it when a bike pulled up to her house. Mandie came out side and screamed at this guy. I was too far away to hear but she slapped him and then he grabbed her throat and threw her back. He said something to her, looked like he was pissed too, then he rod off. I called you right then." Frank looked at Bucky.

  Steve slammed his hand on the table. "I knew something was off with her! Mandie. That two-faced-"

 "I don't understand." Y/N ran her fingers into her hair and stared at the table. "Why would she do this?"

 "So, we all agree Mandie hired someone to get rid of Y/N?" Nat asked the group.

 "I agree." Said Frank.

 "Yeah," Said Steve with balled fists. 

 "No," Bucky shook his head. "All we know is that Mandie got in a fight with a biker. We don't have proof she hired anyone to do anything and we don’t even know what biker she was fighting with."

 "Then how do we get proof?" Steve asked.

 "You." Y/N looked at him.

 "What?" He looked at her confused.

 "This really is about you." Y/N shook her head. "Mandie is such a-... She got so pissed when we said I love you. I mean, stupid pissed. She was mad at me the night you turned her down at the bar, too. I knew she was crazy but this, this is nuts."

 Steve leaned closer to her, "You really think she'd do all this, over me?"

 Y/N looked at him with an expression that said she was exhausted. "I've known Mandie for way too long. She absolutely would."

 The room quieted.

 Steve grumbled and stood up. "I need some air." 

 "You needed to sit down." Bucky said sternly. 

 Steve's jaw snapped shut. 

 "This is your girl she's after. You're gonna sit until we sort this." Bucky pointed a finger down on the table. 

 "I just need a second, Buck." Steve didn't look him in the eye and he had to speak through gritted teeth.

 Bucky stood up. "In this room, you call me Pres." The fact that Steve was avoiding eye contact was really making him angry. He slammed his hand on the table. "Look at me, punk!"

 Steve snapped his head up and glared at Bucky. 

 "Sit. Down." Bucky said again.

 "Yes, sir." He said sour and sat down. 

 Nat shook her head, annoyed with both Bucky and Steve. "Mandie is jealous. That kind of psycho jealous that makes people do crazy things. If she left you at the bar and hired someone to wreck your car, I bet she's crazy enough to try again."

 Frank nodded. 

 "We don't need her to try again." Bucky spoke to her in a much more respectful tone. "We just need proof."

 Nat looked from Y/N to Steve. "I think I have an idea."

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

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[wehangout]

I can Still hear You Saying (You Would Never Break the Chain)

AO3

“Knew you’d come.”

You didn’t know. Had no clue. You used to know. Used to know that you could turn up after however long away and Ian would climb on you without a second thought. Used to know that you could say whatever the fuck you wanted and still be Ian’s first choice. Shit, you used to know everything there was to know about Ian Gallagher, up until that day in front of his house.

Sure, the luggage was fucked up, taking your baby had been a shock, and the porno was a kick in the fucking teeth, but …

That moment, staring into Ian’s wet eyes – you didn’t know him, not anymore.

And you don’t know him now.

You had sat on those stairs, hands shaking and mind praying the only way a Milkovich knew how – desperate and hating yourself more with every passing second. Because you didn’t know if he’d turn up. Not anymore.

You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?

The fuck, indeed.

But now he’s here. Ian’s here and he’s kissing you – he’s kissing you like maybe he’s missed you, maybe this isn’t entirely one-sided, maybe the end wasn’t really the end. And it’s good, it’s everything, it’s better than you’ve ever imagined.

You’ve imagined. A lot. You tried everything to move on, but nothing worked. You couldn’t fuck him out of your system, you couldn’t scratch the tattoo away, and you couldn’t go a single fucking day without thinking about him. Wondering, hoping, wishing maybe today was the day he’d come back and visit … call, send a letter, a postcard, a fucking smoke signal, anything, Ian, please.

But there was nothing. There was never anything and it should have helped, going cold turkey should have eased you out of all things Ian Gallagher, but the exact opposite happened, and it fucked you up.

He has a boyfriend.

You didn’t know that either.

 His kisses used to tell you everything. You would know exactly what kind of fuck he wanted from you by his kiss alone – lots of tongue meant he was impatient, needy, didn’t want to wait anymore; tiny bites on your lips and jaw meant he was feeling playful, that he wanted to laugh with you as much as he wanted to fuck you; and heavy, open-mouthed kisses … fuck, that usually meant he was about to tease you until you couldn’t breathe.

You don’t know what his kisses mean anymore.

You thought you could, thought that being with him brought it all back, made you aware again of who he is, aware of Ian. You read that first kiss and everything in it, but then he pushed you away.

Then he told you he had a boyfriend.

There’s a chill in your gut, one that slithers its way up your chest, makes you ill. But you push it away, because he’s there. You didn’t know he would come, but he did and he’s pushing into you, lips gentle while the lack of lube borders on that side of painful.

But it’s worth it. It’s so fucking worth it to have him inside of you, have him moaning against your skin, whispering your name as he comes far quicker than you remember him ever doing so.

 You don’t know what’s going to happen now. It’s morning. He’s getting dressed and you’re barely fucking awake.

He spares you a glance. “Back to work and shit.” As if it was nothing, as if being with you again was just another fuck.

So, you ask, because you don’t know. And when he kisses you, when you hold onto him with everything you have, you still don’t know.

 “This goodbye?”

Yeah, he’s carrying a bag, and yeah, he fucked you good last night, but that doesn’t mean shit when it comes to Ian Gallagher. Maybe that’s why you have so many questions. There’s a huge fucking list of them that run through your head.

You taking your meds?

Who’s this fucking boyfriend?

EMT, man, really?

Did you bring the uniform?

You really takin’ your meds?

How’s Mandy?

Your family know where you are?

Seriously, though, you doin’ okay? Takin’ your meds?

You can’t ask them, though. Not those ones. You keep things casual.

“You ever been to the beach?”

“Want anything?”

“You got a better idea how to get cash?”

“You ever had one of those croissant-donut things?”

“Wanna fuck again?”

“Where should we stop for the night?”

“What the fuck?”

“You got a bank account?”

But then you can’t hold back. It’s dark and your alone with Ian. Like, really alone. Not sitting in a car, listening to music and talking shit or planning how to get across the border. You’re beneath the train tracks looking at the fucking stars, and everything hurts so good and so bad that you can’t help yourself.

Because he’s lying next to you. He said it was hard to see you behind that glass. You desperately want to attach your mouth to the corner of his jaw, and you know he’d be okay with that. He hasn’t mentioned his boyfriend once. He looks at you the way he used to …

“You ever think about me? When I was in the joint?”

The silence aches.

“A lot.”

Maybe you still know him after all.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Or maybe you don’t.

 He leaves you at the border. Leaves you with an I love you and a couple of grand, as if that’s supposed to make everything okay.

You don’t know him. Maybe you never did.

 He treats you different in prison. It’s weird. He’s still the cocky shit he’s always been, but then he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon or some shit, and it makes your insides gooey and your mouth stupid.

He blows you every night that first week. Every night, without fail, the second those lights go out he’s on you, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach, tasting and teasing you until his lips finally – god, Ian, finally – wrap around your dick.

Eventually the banging slows down. It’s less frantic, less impulsive, less every day. But it’s never less – never less good, never less intense, never less you and Ian.

It’s just less. And the less it is, the more he talks.

“I should have gone with you.”

“God, you smell good.”

“I’ve fucking missed you.”

Sometimes you say shit back, sometimes you touch his face, not knowing what to say. Sometimes you pretend you’re already asleep because you’re here, you’ve given up your freedom for him, but you’re sure as shit not ready to talk feelings again.

 There’s one guy who fucks with you as soon as he gets the chance. You’ve been in for nearly three months when he arrives, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him because – shock-fucking-horror – he’s friends with Terry.

He corners you one day when you’re leaving the laundry and it’s stupid, so fucking stupid. You knew he was out to get you, but you still walk that deserted hallway alone, you still don’t tell Ian, and you still mouth off to him when he pulls out his shiv.

He’s cruel and quick, but he’s small. You put up a good fight, break his nose and kick him in the balls, all the while he cusses you out with derogatory comments you no longer give a fuck about. But when he gets you with the shiv – and what a fucking surprise, he gets you right in your left ass cheek – everything goes rage-white.

You bite, you pull his stringy hair, you squeeze his wrist until he drops the shiv on the ground next to you. Then you pick up the shiv. You don’t aim, you don’t think – you drag it across whatever skin you can find, infinitely proud when you shove him away and see his face carved up.

“Don’t gotta worry about him no more,” Ian says later that night.

You’re out of the infirmary, but Terry’s buddy is still there. Seems you got a little too close to his eye.

“Why’s that?” you mutter, the good drugs the doc gave you kicking in.

“I took care of it.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, Gallagher?”

Everything’s a bit dopey, a bit tilted, but you don’t miss his smile. “I took care of it,” he repeats. “No one’s gonna mess with you again, Mick.”

A shiver of fear you haven’t felt in a long time runs through you, but you pass out before you can reply. It’s not until two days later, when you’re in the infirmary getting your dressing changed, that you find out what Ian did.

Fucking tough guy, acting like he took the fucker out in his sleep, added Deep Heat to the anti-biotic ointment. It would cost him his cushy job, too, if anyone found out, but no one narcs in prison.

And no one wants that burning shit in their open wound, so they leave you the fuck alone.

 The Chatty Cathy attitude doesn’t go away.

Sometimes it’s little things that shouldn’t mean shit.

“You get a haircut? Fuck, man, you look good.”

“Hey, you want my last smoke?”

“You’re always been so fucking good at poker, Mick.”

Sometimes it’s filthy and leaves you panting.

“Remember the first time you rode me? I think about it all the fucking time.”

“Christ, no one sucks cock like you, Mick.”

“Want you to come on me, on my face, yeah, do it, I fucking want it.”

Sometimes it’s everything.

“I love you.”

 Prison food is shit, but you make it bearable. Ian makes it’s bearable. He takes your egg whites and swaps them for his yolks. You give him the milk for your coffee, and he sneaks you his extra sugars. He picks the broccoli out of your stew and replaces it with half his potatoes.

Prison showers are shit, but he never lets you go it alone, always has your back, and if you drop the soap, he picks it up because that shit ain’t a fucking joke.

Prison visits are the worst. He gets visitors – Fiona, Lip, Debbie and her kid – you get no one. But after a while, money starts showing up in your commissary, he gets back from visits with messages like Lip said to say hey, and his pictures from Franny say To Uncle Ian and Mickey.

 He gets a parole meeting. You want to crawl into a hole and die.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

But you don’t know. There’s still this itch inside of you that expects things to be like last time, that expects Ian to forget about you the second he leaves this place because you just don’t know.

But you’re beginning to.

[lettersforamanda]

FLAHERTY’S LOVE AMANDA!!!

1. What is today?

A: Amanda’s Birthday!!!!

L: Amanda’s Birthday!!!!

2. If you could give amanda a new nick name what would it be?

A: Squiggly

L: Scone

3. If she were a pastry what would she be?

A: Boysenberry Muffin top

L: Smores Poptart

4. What is Amanda's color aura?

A: Yellow with little specks of blue

L: Yellow and Sunshine

5. What is it that makes Amanda so cool?

A: So many things!! Funny, Fun, Spontaneous and Go with the Flow

L: Everything...Funny, Adventurous, Great tour guide  

6. What tattoo do you think she should get next?

A: Emma on the toilet with hayley as the toilet.

L: all puppies all over yo body

7. If she had a documentary about her life, what would be called?

A: Give me an “A”! Give me a “manda”!

L: It’s me Amanda!

8. What olympic sport would she be best at?

A: Louge

L: Louge

9. What Hogwarts House would she be in?

A: Slytherin but in a great way?

L: ^^ RT

10. What do you think her spirit animal is?

A: Otter

L: Liger

11. What cartoon would she be a character on?

A: Bob’s burgers

L: Powerpuff Girls (MoMo JoJo)

12. What should she be famous for?

A: Beef noodles

L: A whale trainer at seaworld

13. What would Amanda’s talk show be called?

A: ‘Manda be talkin

L: Come hang its me Amanda!

14. Who would be her co anchor?

A: LALA!!!!!!!! (the best talk show ever and if I could ever wish for a podcast or vlog, I would pair you two and lol forever.)

L: Caitlin bc you guys are fun and new Yorky

15. What do you think she would name her fish?

A: Squishy Charlotte

L: Charlotte Junior

16. What would she name a honky tonk she bought?

A: Giddy up Morgan!

L: ^ literally best name ever

17. … the club she bought?

A: Spanky’s meat joint

L: Dance Dance Dance

18. … the sandwich shop?

A: Meat smash dot com

L: Meat on Meat on Meat Boom Boom

17. … sushi?

A: Just keep swimming... into my mouth!

L: Nemo

18. What hair color should she have when she is elderly?

A: Pink

L: Fiery red

19. Why do you think she called Lala (you) a scone cake?

A: bc she is full of blueberries and quite frankly pretty white and dry

L: bc I ROCK

20. What *new brand* of soda should she be in a commercial for?

A: “Mandies” - energy drinks with tadpoles in it.

L: Boom Pow Sunshine

21. If she started a gang what would it be called?

A: Stanky stanks

L: The locals

22. What would be their initiation ritual?

A: Living under Emma’s bed for a week convincing her that she is haunted.

L: ^ I can’t beat that

23. What is your favorite Amanda story?

A: I know this isn't the both of us together, but my favorite story is: The people t thinking that Amanda is homeless and then calling the police. And her being like, “ya I’m calling the police on my homeless phone!!”. I don't know if that is exactly what happened, word for word, and I bet I am wrong, I wasn't there. All I know is that I think of it all the time, and it makes me laugh harder than almost anything.

L: Always and forever will be going ciao *kiss* ciao *kiss* everytime we saw each other in college. Also loved hanging out with you in NYC and honestly anytime we hang out :)

24. What do you want to say to her today?

A: Happy birthday Amanda, I am so lucky to have you as a friend :) hope you have an awesome day!! Miss you and love ya lots!!!

L: Happy Happy Birthday Amanda!! You are the best and deserve the best day ever *kiss* ciao *kiss*. Miss and love ya lots!!!

WE LOVE YOU BUDDY!!!!!

[mandylove1000]

20-22 I got them done yesterday so they are still fresh.

But 20 is honestly bc I loved it. And there are so many pictures of me over the years where I do that bc I HATE having my pictures taken.

21 is love is a dagger from Loki 🥺 I had to get the green and gold on it for him (ironically the colors are my high school alma maters colors and my moms as well) green is also my fave color and my birthstone so it worked out wonderfully.

22 is one of my more sentimental tattoos this is a matching one for me and my mom. It’s a momma and baby turtle. (I know that turtles never meet their kids but I have an obsession with turtles and so does my mom so yeah).

I’m honestly so grateful that we could get it together she told me when she was in the hospital in Jan 2019 that she wanted to get one. It’s definitely a healing and sentimental piece for me.

I honestly didn’t know if my mom was going to live at the time the doctors couldn’t figure out was wrong with her. Looking back now it was 100% Covid before covid was a big thing.

But yeah it was terrifying I was dog sitting at the time so I wasn’t even home. I was 22 almost 23 when it happened and the first thing I thought was oh my god that’s how old my mom was when her mom died.

I’m gonna end it here before I start crying but I knew I wanted to share the story and pics when I got them so yeah.

Ok so. These are my tattoos and I’ll give a reason why for them (if there is one)

So the first one I got was the dream catcher (I know basic white girl shit) it’s kinda for my grandma on my moms side I never got to meet. She was always super interested in Native American culture and stuff so I kinda got it for her.

The second one is actually the quote right there. It’s from the first hunger games book and it’s when katniss sees herself for the first time after the glam squad. There’s just something about that quote that stuck with me.

Tattoos 3&4 the word is wanderlust and then the globe with a flower(obviously doesn’t look like a flower😂) I love traveling so this was a no brainer for me honestly. Yes the colors are patchy af. I don’t think my skin likes colors or something 😂

This is 5,6&7. 5 was honestly cause I wanted it. 6 is the name of a song weirdly enough. And 7 again just another phrase that I liked.

8,9&10. 8 is ; self explanatory if you know.(it’s actually covered up but I am still counting it bc I can still see it😂) 9 is always keep fighting. It’s something Jared Padalecki says and has made shirts/hoodies for (I have 2) 10 is a wave. I absolutely love the ocean and my happy place is honestly on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.

11…….can I act like this one doesn’t exist. No? Fuck ok. Soooooo this is a “matching” best friend tattoo. (If you need a sign to not get matching bestie tattoos HERES THE SIGN. DONT. FUCKING. DO. IT.) This is a matching one me and my now ex best friend got. It’s her hand writing the mermaid tail(well aware it doesn’t look like one) is her drawing as well. Her fave Disney movie she got the tangled lantern cause it’s my fave. Idk if the bitch still has hers I am honestly prob covering the tail part but keeping the word bc it can be a reminder of the time me and my family went to Hawaii. With that being said next.

This is 12,13&14. 12&13 are both runes from shadowhunters. Love that show had to have them. The heart is a nod to another ex friend but I don’t really care about that one. I’ve always like little heart tattoos so yeah.

This is 15,16,17,18,19. 15 a nod to Harry Potter and the flash(also just wanted it) 16 is actually the new ; which is shaped like planets and all that. 17 is my little Taurus symbol cause I am a Taurus. 18 is the Vikings V logo. One of my favorite shows and I needed it so badly. And last but not least 19 my arrow head for Arrow. Again another favorite show that I had to get it.

I will be adding more in a few days when I get my next 3. I’m honestly so freaking excited about it.