#i see that so much i love that for her she has that thrilled unencumbered manicsl enthusiasm needed to play god like that. love her

[maretriarch]

my lesbian pop star op-ed

jojo siwa: real lesbian actually counter culture with a unique personal sense of style

chappell roan: straight woman from the midwest who got drag brunch poisoning. many such cases

[motownfiction]

if they ever cook your goose

Maggie’s reaction to seeing Roy is always the same, even when she tries to change it.

She spends all day in her room, just preparing. She always wonders what brilliant stories he’ll have this time. When the kids were younger, he used to have stories about how he went to college with the guy who wrote the second Star Wars movie, how they were both English majors, how he dated tons of girls who ended up with miniature arcs on Days of Our Lives and General Hospital. Of course, he never introduced Maggie to any of them, but she’s not angry about that anymore. She doesn’t admit to it, anyway.

And then, when Roy finally arrives at the house, she’s thrilled to see him. It’s just like when Mom and Dad brought him home from the hospital. Maggie remembers it. She was barely over two years old on an unusually balmy evening in mid-February. They put the brand-new baby in her arms and smiled like Maggie never remembered them smiling before. Mom said, His name is Roy, and Maggie said, I’ll love him forever.

She’s never told anyone, but it’s her earliest memory.

It’s that smile. At first, when Roy was really little, Maggie loved it when he smiled. When he was two, and she was four, she thought she had the cutest, sweetest little brother who ever lived. Maggie always felt so much older than Roy, so much more sophisticated. But, of course, that was then.

And as Roy got older, his smile didn’t change. Only instead of using it to be the cutest little brother on the block, he used to get away with things. Stealing candy out of the drawer on the day before Halloween. Knocking over Mom’s favorite vase and shattering it to a million pieces that Maggie almost stepped in. Getting a D on his math quiz because he was too busy reading unassigned books the night before. He did it all, and he smiled his way out of trouble.

If Maggie had tried that, Mom and Dad would have sent her to a convent.

Roy’s smile hasn’t changed. He’s flashing it at her right now, and he still looks like he’s a little boy. Thirty-seven is the new seven. Maggie wishes she could stay happy to see him.

And then she remembers everything he does … everything he is.

Roy, unencumbered by love, by children, by the fear that he’ll never be good enough to make it as an artist … Roy, who never saw any problem taking a risk … Roy, the bravest guy in the world, even when he looked like a wimp on the outside. He has everything because he lets himself have everything.

He has everything, and what does Maggie have, besides the ordinary?

“Hey, Mags,” he says. “Did you forget I was coming in?”

“Of course not,” Maggie says, wrapping her arms around Roy in an obligatory hug. “It’s just always a surprise.”

“What is?”

“When I remember you’re this much taller than me.”

Roy laughs.

“Wasn’t always,” he says. “Remember Anything Goes? Had to change that choreography on the daily. I thought you were gonna kill me.”

Maggie nods. She thought she was going to kill him, too. When Maggie was a senior at St. Catherine’s, and Roy was a sophomore, they were both in the school’s production of Anything Goes. Maggie talks about her role as Reno Sweeney all the time, but she conveniently forgets that Roy played Moonface, the bumbling gangster. Their duet, “Friendship,” was a hell of a time. When rehearsals began in the fall, Maggie was hilariously two inches taller than Roy, who wasn’t done growing yet. The choreography was all about the height difference, and Maggie had quite the edge. Until she didn’t. Roy kept growing like a forsaken weed. When April finally rolled around, he was seven inches taller than Maggie. The choreography swung his way, and he got all the laughs. Every night. Every show.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” she says, more to herself than to Roy.

“Me, too,” Roy says. “If you had, then I wouldn’t have met these kids.”

He opens his arms to Sadie and Charlie, who have been practically jumping around at the chance to see him. Like everybody, every time Roy walks in a room.

“Hey, these kids!”

Sadie leaps right into a hug, and Maggie realizes she can’t remember the last time Sadie wanted to hug her like that. But maybe that’s expected. Sadie’s eighteen, practically a real adult, what with Daniel and college around the bend. Plus, she’s always stuck to Sam’s side, even when it might have held her back.

But Charlie? He’s supposed to be hers. He’s the kid who loves her when the older two are bored of her. He has to be. So, why doesn’t he get it? Why is he just as happy that Roy is here? Doesn’t he get that this is hard for his mother? Doesn’t he care?

She knows she shouldn’t be thinking this way. She also can’t make herself stop.

“Hey, Uncle Roy,” Sadie says. “I can’t believe you wanted to come to this thing.”

“It’s not a ‘thing,’” Roy says. “It’s your graduation. I wouldn’t have felt right if I’d missed it. My students’ stories can wait.”

“Oh, Lucy would probably love to read them for you. You remember Lucy, right?”

“Come on, Sadie Lou. I haven’t been gone that long.”

“Well, a lot’s changed since you were here last. I’ve got a boyfriend, Sam’s read all of Les Misérables, and Charlie …”

“Is six-foot five,” Charlie says, cutting in for his own (awkward) hug.

“I can see that,” Roy says. “Shit, kid, and I thought six-two was tall. I gotta look up to you. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“It’s terrible,” Sam chimes in.

Maggie’s heart stops a little. When Charlie grew to six-foot-five earlier in the school year, she was proud of him. He’s taller than any other Doyle boy, any other Brady boy, too. He must have done something right, and she must have shown him how. It’s just like Sam to make fun of him for it.

Sam and Roy are the same height.

“It’s good to see you, Charlie,” Roy says. “Even if I do have to look up.”

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Mike says, suddenly joining the conversation like it’s absolutely nothing – like he doesn’t know that Maggie’s relationship with her brother is complicated. “It’s like looking up at a statue.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

He looks past Mike and Charlie and stares Maggie right in the eye. She almost chokes on her own breath. Anybody else can look her in the eye, and she’ll feel nothing. But when Roy looks her in the eye … Roy, who’s seen her doubled over the kitchen sink, vomiting from the flu, who’s heard her cry because she slammed her finger in the closet door, who remembers the stupid posters she put on her bedroom walls when she was eleven, twelve, thirteen years old … she can’t hide from him.

Even when she tries to bury him.

“Dad must be proud,” Roy says.

Maggie furrows her brow.

“Huh?” she asks.

“About Charlie. Being the tallest guy in the family. Dad must be proud. He always wanted me to outgrow him. I don’t think he was satisfied with an inch.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Sam jokes, and Roy laughs just hard enough to piss Maggie right off.

“Yes,” she says sharply. “Yes, he’s proud.”

They stare at each other for a little while. Maggie can feel her family’s awkward stares, but she doesn’t care. This is between her and the first person she ever loved.

He is begging her to stop.

So, she must keep going.

“Charlie,” Maggie says, never once removing her eyes from her baby brother, “why don’t you play that song you’ve been working on? I’m sure Uncle Roy would love to hear it.”

“Yeah,” Roy says, never once breaking his stare, either. “I’m sure I would.”

Maggie hears Charlie shuffle around to the piano. He sits, and he plays. There are no words, but there don’t need to be. Roy knows how to fill them in.

Be like the bluebird / and sing / tweet, tweet, tra-la-la-la-la-la.

What Roy doesn’t know – or what he’s figuring out – is that Maggie told Charlie to learn this song especially for him. To remind him of Anything Goes. To remind him that Maggie was still the star of the show, that Sherry Plinkett, the girl who played his girlfriend in the show, broke up with him a year later before the Welcome, Spring! dance, that he would always be the silly kid who tripped over his shoelaces on opening night.

He gives her a look like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

She gives him a look like she knows.

[gekkoinapeartree]

Ok Welp- it’s now technically Monday but like… I haven’t slept yet so it’s fine. Right? That’s how days work, it’s totally a thing.

Anyways.

So …. My tagging and then writing six sentences per tag per fic was a bit of a bust.

But! I did manage to write more. More COBB, a bit of Magically Required and some random thing that mind needed to figure out because of my own feelings being complicated and messy.

Also thanks to all the folks who tagged me this week… and Wednesday?? I think I posted Wednesday? Who even knows anymore- but thank you all the same!!

Everyone has been writing and arting such incredible work and I am in love with it all.

But yes!

Man this week has been strange and wrought with sick kiddos and alcohol and not getting enough sleep. I’ve lost track of the days.

Anyways I think I have enough of my rando fic to post here, it’s Agatha POV and it will eventually be her and Penny bonding through Pole dancing classes ( and possibly burlesque? ) but it’s kinda going off my own feelings of inadequacy, body issues and sexuality/sex stuff etc.

I don’t think it will be NSFW- it’s just gonna talk about thoughts on sex, and feelings just cuz — I guess processing those things is easier through writing other characters??

Who knows. But yes.

So no one’s read this yet, and I’m not sure how interested in Agatha being very Agatha in it, but Penny will be Penny as much as I can make her- and anyone else will just be kind of support cast I think?

We shall see- since it’s more of a “hey I’m sorting my thoughts” type thing, I don’t think it’ll have too much of an actual plot. So maybe it’ll be terrible? I hope not but whatever. That’s how the phoenix crumbles and lights up like a sad and tiny funeral pyre.

Anyways to the snippet!!

Agatha tentatively pulled her tights off, feeling abnormally self conscious around her new classmates. She wasn’t used to this feeling - feeling concerned about being judged.

She was usually the most beautiful face in the room, she knew. And she wasn’t being cocky or self involved about it either. It was more of a fact. She saw how she turned heads, saw eyes linger over her. It usually made her want to scream.

The long studio mirror stretched out in front of her. Girls of all sizes were around her, chatting amongst themselves unencumbered by the near nakedness of their pole dancing shorts and tightly fitted shirts.

She was the alien in the room- the newcomer among this coven of lean muscled dancers. Exotic dancers her mind supplied, in her mothers quivering voice.

She had been less than thrilled when Agatha had told her about having signed up for Pole dancing and Russian Exotic Dance.

So that’s the new one that probably will just stay in WIP purgatory until I finish the other fics.

And since Magically Required hasn’t been updated in forever 😢 (sorry!!!!) …. Here’s a snippet of that too. ( also I already have decided I do not give a fluffy fox tail about posting 6 sentences- just whatever I feel like sharing so… deal with it ? Please? And thank you? )

Here it is! Chapter 8 on its way….

Any other boy, upon hearing this sound, would have come in their pants instantly. Any other mage would have used magic to lube up their throbbing cock and throw Snow over the nearest surface to fuck him as deeply, wildly and passionately as he deserves.

I however, like the cursed undead creature I am do neither of these things. ( although I feel like I coud. The fact that I haven’t given in to this temptation already is unprecedented.)

No, instead I, T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch remain completely frozen in horror.

My fangs have popped.

Fuck my life.

Taggos!! @ileadacharmedlife @confused-bi-queer @moodandmist @fatalfangirl @gampyre @takitalks @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @aristocratic-otter @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @johnwgrey @mrskrementz @annabellelux @bazzybelle @f-ing-ruthless-baz @nonbaznary @penpanoply @wellbelesbian @wishwars @otherworldsivelivedin @martsonmars @exlibrisfangirl @henreyettah @krisrix @love-inthetimeof-x @letraspal @rhienfic

Mk if you were tagged and you tagged me: this is a thank you and a preemptive tag for next week ( or Wednesday in case I miss it!? I hope not! )

If you were tagged and you don’t know who I am : I read your stuff! I love it that’s why I follow you! Hugs to you and your brilliance!!

If you were tagged and you didn’t tag me: go write six sentences of absolutely anything- journal? Writing prompt? Outline? Letter to a friend? I mean *i’d* prefer something that’s a WIP but like who needs that pressure! You do you and know that I love your work!!

I’m doing my tags in a blanket like this because, like a chump I don’t want to have to keep check who tagged me. It’s laziness on my part I know, but know I appreciate you and this entire fandom as a whole and that this whole scene has added some very needed pep to my step so thank you friends <3

Xx kristi

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Cursing; a little angst; mostly fluff tho Summary: When Marcus had first come to your lecture to ask for your help, he had been hesitant. 

Over the course of the following week, you spent more time with Marcus - both on the phone and in person - for the sake of getting a little more comfortable with one another. But to your surprise, there really wasn’t much that needed to be eased into. You went over to his place a couple more times, and he surprised you by showing up at your office once. He even plopped himself down on your crummy little office couch with a stack of quizzes and an answer key while the two of you chatted.

You’d been stunned to find how easily conversation flowed between the two of you, beyond his work at the Bureau. Sure, the two of you talked about his work, but he liked to hear about yours, too - about the student that had come to you for help with her thesis on Han Van Meegeren; about the freshman in your Art History 101 class that had turned up reeking of weed and raised their hand to clarify that you were discussing Michelangelo the painter, not the Ninja Turtle. Now and again, though, as things quieted between the two of you, Marcus would remind you how grateful that he was that you were doing this - that you didn’t have to, that he owed you one. You’d always lightly wave him off, tell him you’d never been to Austin and were getting free cake out of it. Marcus told you about growing up in Austin, living there; the band he’d been in in college, playing bass and singing; he told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancé, and that he hadn’t given up on love yet. You told him about the endless days that you had spent at museums and galleries as a child, taking tours and falling in love with art and history. He never pressed you for details about your grandmother, about how you were moved from place to place, about when and how you began to fence her work for her. With Marcus, those things really didn’t seem to matter. But you felt so safe with Marcus, so comfortable that, well— You would’ve told him, if he asked. -- When Marcus had first come to your lecture to ask for your help, he had been hesitant. When the two of you got off of the plane in Austin, he was downright nervous.

The two of you used the flight going over your story again, running through some of the particulars of the week’s schedule that you hadn’t gotten to go over the week before. You also began to ease into that casual PDA that you knew his family would expect from the two of you - holding hands intermittently, touching the other on the knee to draw the other’s attention: twice, he’d leaned over and murmured in your ear to comment on the show that the person sitting in front of you was watching; once, you’d reached out and brushed back a stray strand of hair that had come loose from his otherwise controlled coif. 

He’d been a little uneasy as you’d gotten on the plane, and slightly jittery during the trip. It wasn’t a lengthy flight, so it didn’t take terribly long for his nerves to intensify. His leg had started bouncing somewhere over Atlanta. It hadn’t gotten any better as the plane had started to descend. What discomfort had triggered in Marcus was a hometown fact info-dump that you could never have seen coming. And god, it was some of the nerdiest shit that you’d ever heard. “You know this airport has one of the country’s longest commercial runways?” He told you as he hauled your suitcase off of the baggage carousel. “Really?” You asked teasingly. Marcus nodded, seeming to miss your tone as he lifted his own off of the carousel and set it down. “It used to be an old Air Force base, back in the— the 40′s? It actually opened to the public in, uh—1999 and—” “Hey,” You reached out, cupping his face to focus him. He went quiet, lips parted in surprise. You offered him a gentle smile. “It’s going to be fine,” You insisted. Marcus’ shoulders relaxed a little, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss to one of your palms. The feeling sent a wave of warmth through you, and you smiled, sweeping a thumb along his cheekbone before you let your hands fall away. You had to remind yourself that those little touches would be commonplace throughout the week.

“Before we get out there,” He said quietly. “Mm?” “I know I’ve said this before, but I really, really appreciate you doing this. I mean you didn’t have to, and… I wanna thank you for being here with me.” You felt your stomach flutter at his thanks, and you nodded. “Thank you for trusting me to be,” You returned. Marcus’ eyes searched your face for a moment, warm and kind, and the urge to hide bubbled up in your chest. You didn’t know what he was looking for, and you didn’t know if he would find it. “C’mon. We don’t wanna keep your mom waiting,” You added, taking hold of the handle of your suitcase. Marcus nodded, shifting his bag onto his arm and taking hold of your free hand. You intertwined your fingers, glancing up at him to make sure it was alright. He smiled, giving your hand a squeeze in turn. “How do you know so much about the airport, anyway?” You asked curiously. “Oh-- I’ve got a cousin that works here.” “You’ve got all the inside dirt, huh? I see how it is.” “Marky!” You heard crowed from a little ways away. “Marky?” You repeated quietly, glancing up at him, and grinning when you saw an embarrassed flush tipping his ears. “Do not start using that--” “Oh I’m so using it,” You laughed as the two of you approached the woman that had called out to him, “Gimme your bag,” You urged, gently untangling your hand from Marcus’ to take hold of his duffel so that he could hug his mother unencumbered. “Thanks-- Hey, mom,” Marcus grinned, embracing his mom. You grinned, watching the two of them, listening as the two chattered a little as they held to one another. He was nearly a head and a half taller than she was. “Is there someone you’d like to introduce me to?” She asked, peering at you around his arm. Marcus smiled, leaning away from her. “Yeah, there is. C’mere, sweetheart,” He murmured, holding a hand out to you. You felt yourself thrill a little, bashful as you ducked your head a bit. The two of you hadn’t discussed pet names, but ‘sweetheart’ sounded...so terribly dear coming out of that man’s mouth. You stepped closer to Marcus as he introduced you, passing his bag back when he gestured for it. “This is my mother, Jill Pike.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pike,” You said lightly, holding your hand out to shake hers. “Call me Jill-- Oh, come here,” Jill laughed, tugging you in for a hug without a moment’s hesitation. Your brows rose at the tug, but you took the hug that was offered, smiling and laughing a little bit. “Jill-- it’s a pleasure to meet you. Marcus talks about you all the time.” “Oh,” Jill leaned away, holding you at arm’s length, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too! I’ll admit Marky has been light on the details,” She shot Marcus a look, as he made careful study of his shoes. “Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid that’s my fault,” You cut in quickly, “I’ve been told I’m a little hard to pin down.” Jill’s brows rose. “Mark, this one is a firecracker! Where’d you two meet?” She asked, hooking her arm through yours and steering you toward the exit. “Work. She’s been kind enough to assist us on several cases. We’d be lost without her.” You shot Marcus a thankful smile over the top of Jill’s head as the two of you walked through the parking lot. “He’s being too sweet-- You guys’d be fine.” “No, not true,” Marcus volleyed back, “That break in the Rosepoint case? It would’ve taken us months to find that dealer-- and the forger.” “Weeks at best.” “You cut the time down, sweetheart, just-- Take the compliment,” Marcus pouted a little, and you rolled your eyes, smiling. “Well, I’m glad I could help.” 

“You wanna sit up front?” Marcus offered, taking hold of your suitcase and lifting it into the trunk of his mom’s car. 

“Why don’t you? Give you and your mom some extra face time before the week gets busy,” You said. 

Jill smiled, giving your arm a light squeeze before letting go. Marcus rounded the car, opening the back door for you and pecking your cheek before you got in. 

--

You’d been a little apprehensive when Marcus had told you that you’d be staying with his family for the duration of the visit. But apparently Marcus always stayed with his family when he went home now, and you didn’t want to further mess with the family dynamic. He’d reassured you that the house had room enough for you all to be comfortably situated. “My parents can be a little old-fashioned,” He’d warned, “You know-- unmarried couples can’t sleep together, that kinda thing, but the house has three bedrooms. I’ll be in my old room, and you’ll be bunking in Marnie’s with her massive canopy bed-- and her Air Supply poster.” You’d appreciated his reassurances. The two of you had certainly gotten more relaxed around one another in his apartment and your office, but it was one thing to be nearby one another. It was another entirely to share a bed. You felt your nerves roil up in you as Marcus and Jill chatted in the front seat. You contributed to the conversation a little, answered questions when they were asked of you, but said little else. You were careful not to use your phone for the duration of the car ride, not wanting to seem rude, or like you weren’t paying attention. As Jill pulled the car into the driveway of the house on the wooded hillside, you found yourself perking up a bit more, despite your trepidation. You noted Marcus glancing back to look at you, but couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eye as you tried to take in each new little detail. He and Jill were still chattering as the three of you got out of the car, but you bring yourself to contribute. You just couldn’t help stop yourself from looking around. You looked over the two-story home with exposed brick exterior and dark wooden door. You spotted someone peering out at you through the front window before hurrying away when you met their eyes. Marcus’ hand rested on your lower back as he murmured, “Are you alright?” In your ear. “You grew up here?” You asked, a little dazed. Moving around as much as you had, the places you’d stayed had never been any bigger than a two-bedroom apartment. You couldn’t imagine spending your whole childhood in a house— especially one as beautiful as this. “Yeah,” Marcus chuckled softly as he steered you up in the front walkway, “If you think this is nice, wait until you see the back porch.” “You have a porch?” “Oh, honey,” Jill laughed as she opened the front door, “We’ll have to get you down here more often.” 

--

Marnie was a streak of dark hair and lanky limbs that launched herself at her brother with a squeal of excitement the second Marcus crossed the threshold. He dropped his hand from your back just in time to catch hold of her, clearly anticipating the charge. You smiled, taking a step to the side to give them adequate room as Marcus lightly rocked them side to side. “Do you have any siblings?” Jill asked softly as the two of you watched the reunion, the two chattering between one another. You shook your head a little bit, glancing over at Jill and smiling. “Do you?” “Five sisters. Imagine that bathroom when we were all late for school,” Jill laughed. You turned back as you heard Marcus say your name. “Oh, I know who she is,” Marnie waved Marcus off as she broke away from her brother, “Honestly, no name has puzzled me more since you told me that you were talking Shlomo Ziegler to prom.” “Was...Shlomo going with someone else?” You frowned. “There was no Shlomo Ziegler. He heard the name on an episode of the Golden Girls,” Jill explained. “Oh, honey,” You turned a sympathetic smile up at Marcus before taking a step closer to Marnie. Marnie had the same kind eyes that her brother did. Their noses were the same, too, but her cheekbones and lips were like her mother’s. She pulled you in the same way that Jill did, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back to get a better look. “It’s nice to meet you,” You smiled, “I’ve heard a lot about you-- About all of you.” And that was technically true. “I’ll grab your bag and run it up to Marnie’s old room,” Marcus reassured, resting his hand on your lower back. “Oooh,” Marnie cringed, glancing between the two of you, “I meant to mention, um-- I’m staying here this week.” Marcus froze, glancing between you and Marnie. “W-Why?” “Well, Hazel and I thought it would be kinda cute, you know, spending the week apart. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and stuff.” “So I’ll...Sleep... On the couch?” Marcus frowned. Jill waved him off. “Oh, you and your sweetheart can sleep in the same room. You’re all adults now, christssake,” She laughed, reaching up and pinching his cheek. You glanced back at him, raising a brow at his stunned expression. This was going to be an adjustment, but part of the reason you were down there with Marcus was to help him roll with the punches. He could only do that if you did.  “Yeah, Marky,” You smiled, reassuring, “We’re all adults.” Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​​​ ; @spideysimpossiblegirl​​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​​ ; @elen-aranel​​​ ; @yespolkadotkitty​​​ ; @artsymaddie​​​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​​​ ; @lunaserenade​​​ ; @winniedaboo​  ; @empress-palpat1ne​​​ ; @randomness501​​ ; @nutmeg-20​ ; @leonieb​​ ; @the-feckless-wonder​ ; @lou-la-lou​ ; @captain-jebi​ ; @supernaturalgirl​ ; @naturenebula21​ ; @evelynseventyr​ ; @giselatropicana​ ; @heatherbel​ ; @marydjarin​ ; @annathewitch​ ; @absurdthirst​

[copias-thrall]

Let Me Take You on a Sexcapade

The Contest

(Note: This is going to be a series about Mary’s sexual misadventures with his band. Think of it as a porny, pre-Feral Cats supplement.)

*bj bang*

It’s a game Mary and his bandmates like to play. They’ve got groupies enough to go around for any given show, and it helps them work off the energy after a set. Sometimes the game is “who can bust first,” and other times it’s “who can bust last.”

Tonight it’s the former, and Mary pants at the sight of the girl sucking his cock like it’s a race to the finish because … well, it is. His cock is shiny with her spit, and he gets a little thrill watching it disappear into her stretched lips. His head lolls to the side—next to him Jamie’s eyes are closed, and he has his head laid on the backrest as a mop of dark hair bobs in his lap; his chest is heaving, and his lips are parted as he breathes out little puffs of pleasure. Mary must make some small noise because Jamie opens his eyes and turns his head toward Mary. He feels his body lean toward Jamie, his eyes dipping down to Jamie’s lips before meeting his gaze.

Jamie considers him.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck it—c’mere,” rasps Jamie as he grabs a fistful of Mary’s shirt. He crashes his mouth to Mary’s, the kiss all spit and hunger, and Mary shoves in his tongue eagerly.

Jamie’s hand tangles into his hair, and Mary moans—his own hand tangling into the brown hair in his lap. His heart pounds in his chest as he pumps the girl’s head up and down on his cock like a fleshlite while he sucks on Jamie’s tongue and bites his lips. When Jamie’s free hand flicks at Mary’s nipple, Mary gasps into his mouth.

“Know you like that, Goore.”

He does it again, and Mary knows he’s going to cum.

“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck …”

Jamie chomps into Mary’s neck, and Mary growls as he shoves the girl’s head down on his cock. He can hear her try not to gag around him, but his dick is already kicking before the pleasant feeling of his hot cum shooting through it causes his eyes to roll back into his head. He grunts his way through each pulse of his climax, his hips twitching in time to each wave.

When he finally opens his eyes again (his grip in the girl’s hair releasing), he’s met with the lust-dark eyes of his bandmate.

“Guess you won, Goore. Come get your prize.”

He tugs on the head of the girl in his lap, and she pops off with a wet noise, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Mary can see the arousal in her eyes right before Jamie pushes Mary’s head down onto his cock. His warm mouth envelopes Jamie’s cock just as the wet heat disappears from his own.

Mary’s decent at sucking cock—his lips look pretty when stretched around some fat dicks—but Jamie’s not playing tonight. Hand still gripped into Mary’s hair, Jamie pumps Mary hard and fast up and down his dick. Mary curls his lips around his teeth and flattens his tongue as Jamie uses his mouth to get off.

“Aww, shit—your mouth, Mare.” Mary makes a pleased noise, and Jaime pushes his head down until Mary’s nose is pressed into his pubes. “Dude, I’m gonna blow my load in you so hard, and you better fucking swallow all of it, yeah?”

Only once Mary makes a noise of assent does Jamie yank him up again.

“Oh shit. Is Goore sucking dick again?” says Brendan from across the room.

“Yeah,” grunts Jamie as he thrusts up into Mary’s mouth, gagging him. “Come get some. I’m fucking close.”

Mary’s one arm is squished under him, but the other is free, and he worms his fingers into a rip in Jamie’s jeans so he can lightly scratch at the exposed flesh there. Jamie moans and starts pumping Mary quicker.

“What about us?” asks a feminine voice.

“Yeah,” says another.

“Well, sweetheart, Goore’s in one of his moods tonight. You can use him after we’re done with him. How ‘bout that?”

“He takes direction well—dontcha, Goore?” leers Titus.

Mary makes a noise of assent around the pulsing thickness in his mouth, already thinking of some sweet pussy bouncing on him or riding his face.

“O-oh f-fuck,” stutters Jamie right before he shoves Mary’s head down hard. “Fucking take it, Goore.” Mary flails a little, trying not to choke on the tip that’s pulsing in his throat. He can’t taste the salt of Jamie’s release, but he can feel the throb of his cock as his breath shudders through his orgasm.

Mary feels Jamie slump under him and the grip in his hair loosen, but he moves his mouth slowly up and down Jamie until he hisses and pulls Mary off.

“Fuck, Mare.”

Mary only has time to grin up at him before Brendan is yanking him off the bench and down onto his knees.

“Shit, dude!” he gripes, but then Brendan’s dick is in his face and pressing into his puffy lips.

“Suck it, Goore.”

Mary glares up at him, but wraps his mouth around him all the same. Brendan’s hand cups the back of his head, but—unlike Jamie—he’s content to let Mary do the work. Mary closes his eyes and throws himself into the job: he twists his lips around Brendan’s cockhead while pressing his tongue into the sweet spot; he bobs down the length of his cock, then flattens his tongue against the underside on the way up; he pulls off entirely and smirks as he taps the tip against his stuck out tongue.

“Fucking tease,” pants Brendan before his fingers curl into the roots of Mary’s hair. Mary closes his eyes, relaxes his jaw, and lets his mouth be used. He lets the spit dribble out of the corners of his mouth and down his neck. He lets the tears stream unencumbered down his face. He lets Brendan’s cock hit the back of his throat repeatedly as tries not to gag.

Brendan pants with the effort, and Mary focuses on the sound of the air wheezing through his nose rather than the surrounding chatter. When he cums, Brendan doesn’t slow down, more intent on the feel of Mary’s lips massaging his cock than on making sure Mary swallows every last drop of his release. Never one to make too much noise, the taste of Brendan on his tongue is Mary’s only real sign that he’s reached his climax.

Once Brendan’s cock stops twitching, he pulls himself out of Mary’s mouth with little fanfare. Mary doesn’t even get a chance to wipe his face before Titus is shoving his cock in.

“Slide those pretty lips up and down my dick, Mare. And touch yourself. Wanna see how hot you are for sucking me.”

Spreading his legs, Mary takes his soft cock in hand, gently squeezing it—coaxing it back into hardness—as he bobs on Titus’s cock. His jaw aches a little and his neck is a bit stiff, so he takes his time—hollowing out his cheeks as slurps slowly up Titus’s shaft. Titus lets out a huff of air, then yanks Mary’s hair back so Mary has to look up at him.

“Yeah, Mary, yeah, Mary … you love sucking cock, dontcha?” Keeping Mary’s head in place, Titus rocks into Mary’s pliant mouth. “Look at you all hard for my cock. Mouthful of dick and you’re a happy boy, aintcha?”

Mary hums in his throat, eyes and lips wide, as Titus’s cock slips in and out of his orifice.

“Fuck’s sake, Titus—stop playing with him and just get off already. We only have this room ‘til midnight and we promised the girls a turn.”

“Fuck off, Brendan,” he growls, his blown eyes never leaving Mary’s. “I’m gonna enjoy my turn.”

Despite his words, Titus shoves Mary back down his cock until Mary has to relax his throat to let his cockhead in. He swallows around it twice before he starts to heave with the effort not to gag. Titus lets out a Fuck before he pulls his dick free—the sticky lines of saliva following him from Mary’s mouth—and Mary coughs as he sucks in some air.

When he shoves back in he says, “C’mon, Goore—I don’t gotta do all the work, do I?”

Mary gives him the finger, but he wraps his hand around the base of Titus’s cock. He goes for fast and sloppy, jacking his hand up and down the spit-slick shaft as his mouth concentrates on the tip. Saliva is steadily dripping down his arm and off his elbow when he brings his other hand up to roll Titus’s now-wet balls.

“Shitfuck,” hisses Titus as his hand grips hard in Mary’s hair.

When Titus’s balls tighten and his breathing stutters, Mary takes a deep breath, relaxes his throat, and takes him all the way down. Titus lets out a great moan as Mary feels his cock begin to throb and kick against his tongue; Titus’s hand holds him in place with a pressure at the back of his head as he rocks shallowly into Mary through the aftershocks. Mary gives one more swallow before Titus lets go and pulls out; his cock is still drooling cum, and he growls at Mary to clean it up. Smirking, Mary makes a great show of lapping his tongue around Titus’s cockhead, and Titus twitches with each pass.

When he’s done, Titus bites his lips and brings his hand down to wipe away the drool on Mary’s bottom lip and chin with his thumb. Mary leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering shut, but Titus doesn’t linger.

“That was so hot,” says one of the girls, and Mary’s eyes snap open.

Of the four they’d invited into the green room, three have remained (Donnie went off with his flavor of the week a good half hour ago). One is bouncing on Jamie’s cock, and the other two are looking at him with naked want. Mary wipes the rest of his face off with the collar of his tee and rests back on his toes as he takes his semi in hand. Trademark smirk and bedroom eyes in place, he lightly jacks his dick as he catches their gaze.

“Well, ladies: how do you want me?”

[madamichaicha]

Chapter 7 - “A DECADE AWAY”

**Apparently there has been a recent glitch on fanfiction.net, which resulted in this particular chapter not showing up correctly. When I go to check the content/chapters of the story it is there, and it even previews correctly, but for some reason it is not visible when clicking through the chapters as a reader. Which is SUPER inconvenient. I want to apologize for this bug, but hopefully, it is only temporary. 

SO, I WILL BE POSTING THE COMPLETE CHAPTER BELOW.

Thank you for bearing with me. I love you all!

CHAPTER 7: SENTIMENTS

"I missed you too, Sakura."

A sad smile graced her lips as she looked upon the mismatched set of eyes that were watching her closely. She could tell Kakashi meant what he said, it was written on his face... or at least the parts of it that were exposed. In their time together on Team 7, she had gotten pretty good at discerning his micro expressions. It made conversing with someone who covered three quarters of their face a lot easier.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “No one's called me that in a long time. Never thought the sound of my own name would be so weird.”

“It's not weird to me. I've thought about it... about you... a lot over the years,” he slurred, his body swaying slightly with his words. “I'm glad I found you, Sakura-chan.”

“Kakashi, I think you might be fever drunk.”

“I'm not drunk, you're drunk.”

“Oh, I think you're loopy enough for the both of us, but thank you. I'm glad you found me, too,” she smiled, drawing close to kiss his cheek chastely.

As her lips made contact, she could feel the heat radiating off his skin and through the mask. His fever had spiked again. Every time she would bring his temperature down, it would return like wildfire. Sakura knew then, that he was definitely not well.

Now was not the time to get sentimental.

“Your fever is definitely back, Kakashi. Sorry, but these damp clothes will have to go, and you'll need to eat this soup. Your body is fighting off a nasty cold.”  

“Dr. Haruno... are you trying to get me naked?” his playful voice accused, his arms coming up to cover his chest innocently.

“I'm trying to get the wet clothes you've been in all day off so that you can eat your soup and break this fever of yours.”

“You jus' wanna see my face, don't ya?”

“Kakashi,” she pleaded flatly, “I'm trying to make you feel better. Work with me here.”

“Nope,” he added boyishly, a finger coming up to boop her nose.

Suddenly, an impish grin lifted the corner of her mouth. As much as she was enjoying this lighthearted version of Kakashi, his fever was worsening, and these clothes weren't helping. If he wanted to do things the hard way, she was game.

“Fine. If you won't do it, I will.”

Before he could object, she reached down to his waist, pulling out his shirt tail. With one swift motion, his long sleeved shirt was ripped over his head and discarded on the floor.

“S-Sakura... what are you doing?” he stammered as she crawled onto his legs and went for his belt buckle.

“You're being deliberately stubborn, and refusing doctor's orders. So, I'm taking matters into my own hands. Now give me these pants!”

She had hoped her brazenness was enough to pull him out of his stupor. With the shock seeping through in his voice, Sakura hoped he would just concede and give her the dank and damp clothing. She feared her bed, too, would soon begin to smell of seawater. But by the time she got his belt unbuckled and his fly unzipped, Kakashi fell back into the bed and began to squirm.

“Oh no you don't! You are starting to reek, and my bed is getting wet. Please just let me have these clothes so I can wash them.”

The wriggling actually ended up helping her shimmy the pants off his legs, so maybe he was beginning to hear her voice of reason. She couldn't really tell though, as he was rather quiet and drowsy looking.

With the pants joining the other discarded clothing on the floor, Sakura climbed back onto the bed, intentionally ignoring the sight of him splayed-out in his boxer briefs, and hoping to finally rid him of the black tank top that clung to his body and face. How anyone could breathe with a wet piece of cloth over their nose and mouth was beyond her.

Hooking her fingertips beneath the taught fabric at his waist, she stilled, feeling a rush of guilt. She didn't feel right about this, but she didn't feel wrong about it either. It was a heady mixture of guilt and pleasure. He was quite the sight, but she knew her goal was to get him dried off so he could rest comfortably.

“Alright, Kakashi. I promise I won't look, but this has to go as well.”

He whined slightly, shutting his eyes in disappointment. He hated that she was right. It's not that he was opposed to Sakura seeing his face, he just wasn't thrilled about how it had to happen. Seems he would have to think of something, and fast.

He watched on as she pushed the material up his chest, exposing his toned torso. His heart rate increasing ever so slightly as he followed her gaze, loving that it lingered on him so outright.

“I thought you said you weren't gonna look?”

“I-I'm not,” she lied, quickly averting her eyes as she felt him raise his arms.

She was seconds away from removing that damned mask of his, and she would be lying if she said part of her wasn't excited as hell. Eyes still closed, she could only feel the ripple of his shoulder muscles beneath her hands as the garment was lifted over his head. Once she felt his head clear the confines of the attached mask, she was left holding the limp article in her hands.

It was off.

Success!

Holding her eyes shut, she was now too afraid to look. She said she wouldn't, and so he had let her remove the offending material. Sakura couldn't betray his trust now. Besides, if she did open her eyes, she wasn't sure she could take the shock of seeing this man in just his underwear. That tight, black underwear that clung dangerously low on his hips. She could feel herself salivating just thinking about it. But she needed to stay focused and sharp.

He's just another patient.

Or at least that's what she kept telling herself as she sat there, awkwardly still holding onto the item of clothing. Clearing her throat, she inhaled a calming breath, tossing the item over her shoulder to join the growing pile on the floor.

“Sakura-chan,” Kakashi beckoned, daring her to take a peak.

When she refused to open her eyes, choosing to turn her head away from him instead, Kakashi made his move. Grabbing her at the elbow, he pulled her forward so she was on top of him. They were nose to nose, her legs straddling his thigh, and yet she still kept her eyes shut. He wondered how long her resolve would last. Surely, the little cherry blossom was still curious.

“How's the fever now?” he questioned, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I-It's... hot...” she muttered breathlessly.

She was all too aware of how close their bodies were now. She tried to focus on anything other than their newfound proximity to one another, but she found herself focusing on his breathing. His unencumbered breath was fanning out across her face, the rise and fall of his chest was pushing up against hers. She could definitely feel the fever everywhere as she lie atop his entire body.

“Are you going to make me feel better now?” Kakashi whispered, his lips barely grazing hers as he spoke.

Her pulse was drumming, her stomach was aflutter, and her mind was racing at the simplest of touches. Lips, bare lips, had just skimmed her own. Sakura didn't know how to respond... she was speechless.

What the hell is going on?

Testing the waters once again, he let his bottom lip tap against hers, in search of any opposition. When he was met with no resistance, Kakashi tilted his chin and closed the minuscule gap between their mouths, kissing her gently. She had yet to open her eyes, but this was a surefire way to distract her from seeing anything below the bridge of his nose.

It was a questionable tactic, but one he was rather enjoying as he planted another soft kiss. Her supple lips were very receptive, and he was pleasantly surprised when he felt her return each one. It was tentative, but tender nonetheless.

When he felt her hand come up to cup his jaw, a thumb smoothing softly over the slight stubble on his cheek, he knew she wanted this just as much as he did. Reassured by her actions that it was safe to proceed, he let his tongue slick over her bottom lip, choosing to deepen the kiss by hoping to gain entry.

Once she parted her delicate lips, his searching tongue began to rub and knead against her own, massaging it delicately. His hands, itching to caress her skin, began to roam her body as they continued their passionate kiss. One hand crept up to the base of her neck, cradling her head, and the other smoothed down her side to the small of her back, holding her more firmly against him.

With the late afternoon sun well on the other side of her building now, her loft was slowly being enveloped in the shadows as they, too, were consumed by the growing dark of the space around them. Throwing caution to the wind, they both allowed their needy mouths to continue their onslaught. Between the panting of their desperate breaths, their bodies began to move on their own accord, neither of them giving much thought to it.

With a rock of her hips, Sakura felt Kakashi buck up against her in return. At feeling the prodding proof of his arousal against her hip, Sakura let out a gasp. Eyes shooting wide open, she froze, unable to move as she stared directly into the needy half-lidded eyes beneath her.

Nearly jumping off the bed and to her feet, Sakura quickly turned away, slightly embarrassed by her momentary loss of control. Adjusting her dress and running a hand through her hair, she attempted to pull herself out of the fog she was trapped in moments prior, fearing only a cold shower would help her now.

“Your... um... soup is getting cold,” she offered, pointing to the bowl on her nightstand.

“Ah...” Kakashi remarked impassively, missing the heat of her body.

Propping himself  up against the headboard of the bed, he quickly covered the obvious bulge between his legs with the blanket. Reaching for the bowl of soup she had prepared, he inspected it closely with his spoon, unsure of what he was looking at.

“What kind of hodgepodge soup is this, anyway?”

“It's loaded with everything you need to feel better.”

“Seriously?”

“It tastes better than it looks, Kakashi.”

“I hope so. I've never had gray soup before.”

“That's just from the black rock mushrooms.”

“The what now?”

“They're a special kind of mushroom that grow on the neighboring island. They are packed full of bioactive compounds that have antioxidant, antibacterial, antiviral, and anti-inflammatory properties.”

“And what is all this... other stuff?”

“Well, the base is my own blend of vegetable stock, and contains a little bit of ginger for nausea, stewed leafy greens for iron, dried ginseng for an immune boost, and a few boiled eggs for protein and strength. Now eat.”

“Thank you,” he voiced softly, staring at her now in a silent plea for her to look back at him.

Nodding at his thanks, Sakura abruptly headed for the bathroom on the opposite side of the room, leaving Kakashi to eat in peace. After what just occurred between them, she decided to retreat, her body was still tingling with desire and she wasn't sure if she could take another second of it. A cold shower was calling her name.

Shutting the door behind her, Sakura let out a sigh of relief, the palpable discomfort somewhat dispelled by the barrier.

What the hell was that?!

Licking her lips, she could still taste the remains of their heated kiss. It was all too much to process. Seeing that man for the first time in ten years had sent her through an emotional roller coaster.

At first she was terrified at being found, then she was angry he would take everything she'd built away from her, then she was worried about his health. In the process of making sure he'd feel better, she began to feel something akin to compassion. With a few kind words and a simple gesture, her defenses crumbled.

She had cried her eyes out, all because of a simple hug.

But when the fever came back, all reason went out the window. She felt like he was being particularly difficult, but seeing him so exposed and vulnerable made her feel conflicted. And after their most recent encounter, she felt...

Alive.

Desired.

On fire.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Sakura realized her cheeks were flushed. Her reddened lips and disheveled hair making it harder to forget about the exchange that just took place. Running the sink, she decided to splash some cold water on her face in an attempt to compose herself. She needed to get a grip before her own imagination carried her away.

Why must I overthink things?

Turning on the shower, she deliberated the frigid water that awaited her, eventually choosing the hot steam over the shivering cold. This way, she could at least melt away any uncertainty she might have. Perhaps Kakashi's fever was affecting him more than he let on. For all she knew, it could have just been an elaborate ruse to keep her from seeing his face.

Ruse or not, she had still felt it. All of it. She remembered the warmth of his forehead, his strong jaw, the slight prickle from his five o'clock shadow, his soft lips, his tongue, his erection...

Shaking away any further thought, Sakura quickly undressed, and stepped through the curtain and into the hot spray of the shower. Thoughts quickly evaporating as the scalding cascade rendered her utterly relaxed.

As she felt her body relax under the steaming fall of water, Sakura tilted her head back, allowing the water to stream down her face as she smoothed her hands over her rose colored locks. She definitely needed a thorough cleanse before finishing her work for the day, or what was left of it. She still had to finish the medicated balm she was working on for... Shima.

Shit.

With the reminder of her friend's expected visit, Sakura abruptly seized her fingers assault on her scalp mid-rinse, frozen in realization.

It was true that her whole day had been sidetracked by Kakashi's unexpected arrival, so much so, that she had completely abandoned her agenda for the day. Instantly grumbling at her own bubble-headed behavior since that floppy mop of silver walked through the door, Sakura quickly finished rinsing her hair, harshly ringing out the long ends through her fists as she thought.

She was nervous to have the two meet for some reason, fearing her two worlds colliding. To avoid any tension, she would have to keep Kakashi in her room while she entertained Shima downstairs. He was only swinging by to pick up his ointment, right? Surely he wasn’t anticipating on sticking around for too long. She’d just have to keep him out of sight and none the wiser, explaining Kakashi’s presence wasn’t something she could do so easily. Hopefully Kakashi would be asleep, and Shima would be quick.

Just thinking of the nearly nude copy nin asleep in her bed made her stomach tingle. His name, alone, was enough to cause her body to react. A new, and very peculiar side effect to the reappearance of someone whom she thought history had swallowed up long ago.

Only, it wasn’t the sound of his voice or the sight of his familiar eye crinkle that made her nauseous with nostalgia… it was his smell.

His earthy fragrance made her smile. When he had held her earlier, his shirt was salty with sweat and sea, reminding her of their missions to the Land of Water. The warmth of his skin reminded her of those lazy afternoons they spent in silence, enjoying the rays of sunlight that washed over them on the practice fields after training. And his hair… it still smelled exactly the same. The same pine scent that reminded her of a forest thicket at dawn.

Sakura had first noticed her ex-sensei’s scent the time she had head-butted him to break a stand still as their kunai were locked against each other during a sparring session. After sending him backwards, she barely had time to appreciate the subtle aromatics of his shampoo before he retaliated. It was something she thought she'd never forget.

But over the years, her senses had failed her. It had been too long since she had caught wind of his scent, and these days she struggled to recreate it. With that hug jarring her memory, she had realized just how far off she had been. Nothing could beat the real deal, after all.

It was him and his smell that reminded her of the life she had left behind. Sakura had been removed all these years, come to know and love another place she now called home. And with the brief reminder of what real home really smelled like, she fell apart. The hands that held her were hands from a different time… a different life. It seemed like an alternate dimension to her now.

But while she was busy reminiscing about the past, Sakura missed the shadow creeping up on her from behind the shower curtain, yelping as a hand quickly covered her mouth.

"Shh! It’s just me. There is someone who let themselves in, he’s coming up the stairs. Now scoot."

"Wha-? What the hell, Kakashi?! Are you out of your mind?"

"Shh! It's not my fault you didn't lock the door," he hissed as he climbed his tired body behind the curtain with her, underwear and all, hiding himself from the quickly approaching intruder.

Shit, he's right. Why didn't I lock the damn door?!

Sakura didn’t have time to object to Kakashi’s intrusive actions before she heard a knock at the bathroom door, followed by a familiar voice. Peeping her head out from behind the ivy shower curtain, Sakura nervously smiled as Shima’s eyes met her own.

"Oh, there you are Aya-chan. How very odd of you to be showering during the middle of the day. Need any company?" the dusty haired man offered mockingly, only half serious as he barely made out the impression of a pert nipple through the thin curtain clinging to the front of her body.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Shima. Maybe some other time. If you give me a minute I’ll be down to finish up that… th-that… stuff you said you needed. O-Okay?"

"Alrighty…" Shima remarked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing as he felt rushed out of the room, hurried on his way as if he was interrupting something. The spreading blush on Aya’s face was enough to send the man’s imagination into over drive as he apologized and shut the door behind him.

But the warmth that caused her face to glow vermilion was not from the hot steam or Shima's sudden appearance. It was from a certain pair of eyes she felt burning into her skin, assessing her every detail as she caught his descending gaze out of her periphery.

[stevebillyrecs]

Summer of ‘85 Fic Recs

If you live in the northern hemisphere and are anything like me, you’re starting to really miss summer right about now! Or maybe you hate the heat, and want to experience it only from a distance by reading about it in your safe, cool living room. Or hey, maybe you’re only in it for the lifeguard crop tops, sailor shorts, and ice cream licking, that’s valid, too. In any case, I’m here to interrupt the Halloween mood with some sweet, sticky summer fun (or summer angst, or summer smut)!

Included: fics featuring Scoops, Starcourt Mall, Hawkins Community Pool, the Fourth of July, and other summer shenanigans. Not included: fics dealing with all the other stuff that happened in S3, recovery fics, fics set after the epilogue or outside of Hawkins.

35 fics under the cut – happy reading!

Salted Caramel (And Other Flavors) by kate_button / @un-buttoned (3k, E)

Billy’s all tan and smug and shitty and Steve has. Feelings about it. He’s not too happy about it - Billy’s kind of a dick. And Steve can’t stop thinking about the way he smells. It’s a Problem.

there’s something about a sailor by gothyringwald / @gothyringwald​ (1k, E)

Billy gets Steve to leave the sailor hat on.

bloom by crappyfriday / @softloucre (20k, NR)

In a small town in Indiana, two boys spend the summer listening to music, eating summer fruits, smoking weed, and falling in love with each other. Vignettes throughout the summer of ‘85.

so many ways to talk about longing by lymricks / @lymricks (3k, M)

Steve wakes up–in a pool lounger–to Billy Hargrove looming over him. Billy pushes his sunglasses down and Steve thinks sleepily that it must be so that Steve gets the full impact of Billy’s narrow-eyed glare. “Harrington,” Billy says. “We’re fucking closed.” (or, three times Billy doesn’t let Steve touch the radio and one time he kind of does).

Bright by Kerasines / @kerasines (10k, E)

Steve’s face looks golden in the light of the setting sun, and when he drops his eyes from where he was holding Billy’s gaze, his eyelashes paint shadows on the light flush of red in his cheeks. He looks so fucking pretty that Billy’s breathless with it. Doesn’t know what to do, just holds still and can’t tear his eyes from his face as Steve leans in close, too close, to put lotion onto the front of his shoulders, rubbing it in carefully, so carefully, as if he’s trying not to hurt Billy. Touching Billy’s chest, staring at it where it rises with every shallow breath under Steve’s hands. Then he looks up, straight into Billy’s eyes, and Billy’s sure his brain stops working for a second.

Cherry by LazyBaker / @granpappy-winchester (WIP, 33k, E)

They’ve got ten minutes before Steve’s break is up and he has to go back to wishing for death with a smile.

I Like The Way You Look At Me by XxmerthurcatxX / @callmelilyshameless (800, T)

Steve stares a lot. Billy doesn’t mind.

No Running At The Pool! by Thei / @ihni (2k, NR)

“So”, she said, faux-casually, and thus sending a chill down everyone’s spines, “what you’re saying is that you care about us?” “No���, he said gruffly. “I said that you’re not drowning on my watch. I’m a lifeguard. It’s my job. If you’re gonna drown, do it in your own time.” Another smile, sweet like poisoned honey. “But this is our own time. And you’re off duty.”

Those American Thighs by Veeebles (2k, E)

He smokes the rest of Steve’s cigarette, tosses the butt away into the trees and lounges down beside him. Steve is still just sitting there, staring at how Billy stretches his body out, arms behind his head as he bathes in the sun. Those swim shorts should be illegal. They pull tight over his skin, leave absolutely nothing to the imagination where his dick is concerned, and barely reach past his mid-thigh.

something good right now by Highsmith / @rhubarbdreams (1k, M)

When Billy’s skin is almost feverishly hot from the sun, Steve’s fingertips touch his freckles like they’d touch the inside of him, carefully and longingly.

The Drowning of Will Byers by hoppnhorn / @hoppnhorn (2k, M)

Billy never imagined working as a lifeguard would mean actually saving a life.

spark to a flame by gothyringwald / @gothyringwald (1k, T)

Billy’s stomach swoops. He can’t believe he’s holding hands with Steve Harrington, watching fireworks over the quarry. It’s so stupid and girly and…and…fucking romantic.

Buckle (When You Think of Me) by trashcangimmick / @trashcangimmick (4k, E)

Billy doesn’t really ask. He just kind of does stuff. Steve is apparently filthy enough to be cool with it.

cherry pie by brawlite / @brawlite & ToAStranger / @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (133k, E)

Billy Hargrove lives for summer. Endless sunshine, heavily chlorinated pools, roaming ice cream trucks, and unencumbered freedom? There’s nothing better. Even being stuck in Hawkins can’t ruin the summer for him. He eats it up, devouring every day whole.

A Day at the Fair by LazyBaker / @granpappy-winchester (500, G)

It’s pink. It’s a flamingo.

You Got That Hair Slicked Back (and Those Wayfarers On) by moonflowers / @eatingmoonflowers (4k, M)

Five times Billy knows Steve is hiding something, and one time he finds out what it is.

you (FINALLY) rule by brutesa / @brutesa (3k, G)

“Ahoy, ladies!” Steve calls out when a group of girls enter the shop. Behind him, Robin rolls her eyes, picking up the whiteboard marker.

and you’re trying not to tell him by lymricks / @lymricks (3k, M)

Whatever. They don’t talk, is the point, and Billy doesn’t need to finish all these big, deep, tragic sentences in his head. He needs to know if Harrington can’t swim. For lifeguard reasons. It’s his job, all right?

I’m so bad, best that you’ve had by kate_button / @un-buttoned (4k, E)

Steve doesn’t like mustaches. Billy grows one because he’s Like That. Steve bitches about it. A lot. Until he doesn’t.

Turned Bitch by LazyBaker / @granpappy-winchester (2k, E)

Steve’s rock bottom has a name—Billy Hargrove.

ice ice baby by hoppnhorn / @hoppnhorn (1k, E)

“It’s just so hot out here.” And then the fucker takes the ice cube, rolls it down his chin, along his neck, and down to his collarbone. “I need something to cool off.” Steve usually would suggest using the pool sitting less than a few feet away. But he’s not that incredibly thick. He knows a game when he sees one, and he’s not about to give Billy any reason to stop putting that ice cube where Steve wants his tongue to go.

something happens and i’m by brawlite / @brawlite (10k, E)

Billy loves his job as at the Hawkins Community Pool. It’s even better now that Steve Harrington’s a lifeguard, too.

Scoops by itscrybabyharrington / @itscrybabyharrington (1k, E)

Steve presses his face against the cool lid of the ice cream freezer, watching the metal fog up with each gasp that slips from his mouth. It feels good against his overheated skin, a contrast to the solid wall of heat that is Billy pressed up behind him, fucking into him with enough force Steve finds himself lifting up on his tippy toes trying to squirm away. Or, Billy fucks Steve with an ice cream scoop.

I Couldn’t Help It, It Had To Be You by moonflowers / @eatingmoonflowers (4k, T)

Determined to overcome a summer of boredom and too much ice cream, Steve joins the Hawkins running group. Unfortunately, it turns out the secondary purpose of said group is for the ladies of Hawkins to gush about the effect Billy Hargrove is having on their rosebushes. But maybe if Steve wasn’t so busy being offended by Hargrove’s mere existence, he’d realise he’s completely missing the point.

Holy Shit! by harleygirl2648 / @somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds (2k, T)

There’s no swearing on duty, even if those are the only words that apply to a sudden realization that is going to ruin/better your entire summer.

Back Atcha, Pretty Boy by XxmerthurcatxX / @callmelilyshameless (2k, E)

Steve goes to the pool to pick up the kids still in his Scoops Ahoy uniform and is less than thrilled to find out that Billy is the new Hawkins Pool lifeguard. Honestly, who thought putting Billy in those tiny ass swim trunks was a good idea? It was doing things to Steve’s brain that he’d rather not think too hard about. But he doesn’t have to worry since it seems like Billy is pretty taken with Steve’s sailor uniform…

Hopeless by LazyBaker / @granpappy-winchester (400, G)

Steve Harrington has chest hair.

wicked little town by gothyringwald / @gothyringwald (20k, E)

The summer after graduation stretches before Steve, seemingly endless and utterly empty. He can’t remember ever being this bored in his life. But when he runs into Billy one night, after hearing a rumour about him at a party, it feels like summer might not be so boring after all.

Tacky Tattoos and Red Trunks by mAadMax / @c0bblenygma (2k, E)

Steve keeps hearing about Billy’s new tattoo and can’t help but being curious about it.

Billy, Steve, Robin and the Not-Obsession by williamastankova / @samaraclegane (3k, G)

In a nutshell, Billy is convinced Steve and Robin are secretly dating (even though they’re really, really not) and it starts to get on their nerves - especially Steve’s.

A Simple Plan by flippyspoon / @flippyspoon​ (5k, T)

Billy has a plan. Steve hanging out at the pool is definitely not a part of it.

Lets hear it for the boy! by nipsu / @nipsus (1k, T)

It’s raining and without thinking Billy gives Steve a ride home. Steve’s shirt is see through and Billy drools like a baby.

You Are What You Eat by XxmerthurcatxX / @callmelilyshameless (800, T)

Steve eats a banana. Billy likes it. A lot.

Won’t You Lay Me Down in Tall Grass (and Let Me Do My Stuff) by moonflowers / @eatingmoonflowers (6k, T)

Fourth of July BBQ at the Byers’. Billy takes out a demodog with a lawn chair while wearing red speedos and smoking a cigarette. Other things happen too, but that’s a highlight.

Ocean of Flavor by itscrybabyharrington / @itscrybabyharrington (700, G)

Billy shouldn’t even be back here, if they get caught it would only add on to the multitude of reasons Steve should rightfully be fired.

[aboldclaim]

For your three sentence fic meme: David/Patrick + “hug”

“The crab cakes were lovely.”

She’s always been a terrible liar. Her husband isn’t much better, has never been able to manage a poker face Patrick couldn’t call his bluff on, always too eager to be earnest, more than ready to be nice. It’s a marriage of sincerity, his parents. 

It’s a double act of bad acting, and Patrick likes that he can still read them, even after all this time, even tonight - when everything feels like a revelation, when every sentence sounds invented on the spot. Even the cafe feels new, the room strung together with paper lanterns and swimming in champagne, his father’s low, long laughter crashing against dissembled jazz like waves on a rock. Friends waft in and out of conversations, and around platters, and through wine, as the night wears on, and Patrick floats - buoyed by his own unbearable happiness, steadied by David’s hand, warm and solid at the small of his back.

“The crab cakes were lovely,” his mum says, as they say goodnight, the time crawling toward midnight and the party crawling towards the door. She hides her kind lie behind a kinder smile, and Patrick wants to laugh, wants to tease her, wants to tell her everything. He wants to show her the store, show her his place, show her the rings. 

He wants to know when she knew, about David, because he knows that she knew, because she can’t tell a lie, wobbling over cold crab cakes as his dad finds her coat.

David doesn’t notice, though. David, who has been eyeing passing hors d’ouevres in the hands of passersby like an endless parade of deep-fried betrayal, couldn’t be more thrilled.

‘They were?’ he asks, with a level of eagerness, that far surpasses his earlier confidence, and when she nods, it prompts a sort of forward motion from David, like he’s overwhelmed, like he might hug her. 

Patrick can read David like a book, too, he thinks - watching his mind catch up with his body, as he propels forward, then stumbles back, his arms out and then clasped together. He attempts a smile, instead, twisting the ring on his index finger, like it’s too soon for hugging, like maybe he shouldn’t push it, like maybe she doesn’t like him, much, yet, and he wants her to like him. 

She does.

***

Patrick twists the thin band of gold on his finger clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, a newfound habit for newly acquired jewelry, as he peers across the room. 

The floor is packed, full to the brim with the town, with his family, who are full to brim with good cake and good booze and good food and good spirits and good music, and he can’t find a David amongst them. 

“Shouldn’t you be a little happier?” Stevie appears beside him, waving vaguely towards the frown settled on his face with the hand unencumbered by white wine.

“I am,” he says, because he is. He’s so happy. He’s so happy he feels sad about it, so happy he feels drunk, so happy he can’t feel all of it at once, “I’ve just misplaced a husband.”

He lets the word fill up his mouth, fill up his chest, lets himself bounce across the consonants, as Stevie cranes her neck, searches for dark, tall hair.

He sees his mum first, when Stevie points through a gap in the crowd, in the outfit she bought for the day, with her hand on David’s arm. 

The song is ending, and he’s leaning down meet her height, telling her something that makes her laugh. He wishes he could hear them, wishes he could have seen them dance, wishes he could fold this night into his suit pocket to pull out later and admire, but he watches, instead, as his mum wraps her arms around David’s shoulders. 

He watches as David freezes, for a moment, arms flailing by his sides before he recovers, finds his way into the hug, letting his head fall onto her shoulder, letting a smile blossom against the seam of his mum’s new silk blazer. 

[elareine]

clock ticking (sudden silence)

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Age Difference, Identity Reveal Summary: For twenty years, Dick Grayson has waited for his timer to begin ticking. When it finally does, there are only two issues: Jason is thirteen. And the timer only reads eighteen months.

Read here on ao3

The thing about the timer was: It didn’t tell you anything about your soulmate, only how long you would have together.

Dick had heard people talking about how they ‘sensed’ who it was before they ever met the person, how they just knew their soulmate(s) would be sweet and gentle and fiery and perfect. Some even said it came to them in dreams, the vague shape of a face they loved more than anyone else.

Privately, Dick thought that was bullshit. It was a timer, nothing more. They all had the same lettering, the same number system, everything. There was no way of knowing what the other person would be like.

When he had been a child, he’d thought he would meet his soulmate in the circus for sure. He couldn’t imagine anything different. Perhaps it would be an audience member, coming up to meet him after the performance. Maybe one of the countless children that tried to sneak in to watch, one of the ones that looked so poor, the circus owners decided to turn a blind eye and allow them some joy, therefore helping Dick meet the love of his life.

But deep down, he’d always thought it would be another acrobat. Someone joining the circus. Someone who knew the sheer joy of flying, the thrill of danger and an audience. Someone to become part of his family.

That dream crashed spectacularly, of course. Try as he might, Dick never found quite another dream to replace that one. Would they be handsome or beautiful? If they were his soulmate, he would think so for sure, and that was all that mattered. Would they be kind? Supportive? A rock to lean on?

He’d told himself that it wouldn’t matter until his timer started, and maybe not even then.

Bruce’s timer, for example, was ticking. Dick had spotted it for the first time months into their partnership. He’d been confused, had asked if he had met Bruce’s soulmate—where were they?

In those days, Bruce had still been willing to answer Dick’s questions. He said: Sometimes, even soulmate relationships didn’t work out. It was a chance, a hint, nothing more. With him being a vigilante, the choice to be together wasn’t as easy as kids’ movies made it out to be.

(He had never actually mentioned the name of his soulmate. Back then, Dick had thought he knew anyway. Now, he wasn’t so sure.)

(He also thought Bruce had been full of shit that day.)

His teenage years were pretty good, romantically speaking. Sexually, too. Some lovely puppy love, a bit of experimentation, the conclusion that yep, he was going to continue using the gender-neutral ‘they’ for his future soulmate, but probably not in the plural sense.

Still, he kept waiting for his timer to start ticking.

He heard about the new kid before he ever met him. He and Batman weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time, but. Rumors spread, and soon, so did videos of the kid in the Robin mantle. Seeing how Dick was now twenty and very much not built like that anymore, the conclusion that he had been replaced was pretty much inevitable.

It would be accurate to say Dick didn’t react well to the news. Bruce had every right to take in another child, but how dare he call him Robin? Nevermind that Dick himself had moved on from that title. It wasn’t Bruce’s to give.

So his first time meeting the kid was already tense as hell. The fact that his timer started ticking the exact moment he laid eyes on Jason didn’t help.

Dick was panicking.

Jason was thirteen.

He was tiny.

Okay, he wasn’t, he was pretty average for his age, he went up to Dick’s chest, even, but the keywords here were ‘for his age’ because Jason was thirteen.

Dick wasn’t a pervert, okay. There was nothing sexy about a teenager that had just hit puberty to him. His replacement, nonetheless. His brother.

But maybe all of that would’ve been fine. They could’ve become friends or made sure to meet up later in life when the age difference wouldn’t seem so monumental. Seven years wasn’t so much once both of you were out of puberty. Dick could’ve morphed from a big brother figure to something closer over time. He’d have enjoyed that, probably.

But none of that would happen because the timer only had 18 months left from the day it began.

Dick didn’t say anything to Jason. When the younger sought him out, he kept their interactions short. His ongoing problems with Bruce were a good enough reason to stay away from the manor, from Gotham, and to never talk about this. Either he would die far away from the kid, never to be mourned, or Jason himself would die, having lived unencumbered by soulmate that was way too old for him. It was better that way.

His friends found out in one of the worst ways possible: by accident, two days before the timer was due to stop.

Jason had disappeared over a week ago. Dick had tried to warn Bruce, had fully intended to at least be in Gotham and try to stop it from happening because although these things were rarely wrong, he knew he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for not trying—but Jason had disappeared so much earlier than he’d thought.

In a way, that made it worse. If Jason had indeed been kidnapped (and according to Bruce, signs were that he’d left on his own, but you never knew what the incentive for that might’ve been), then Dick didn’t want to imagine the torture Jason would have to suffer in the week before he died.

He still did, of course. That was why Kori and Wally had caught him staring at the ticking time bomb on his wrist.

There was no need to explain, no way to hide what was happening. Kori sighed, “Oh, Dick,” and Wally was wrapped around him in a hug faster than Dick could tell that he was fine.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Dick looked into Kori’s beautiful green eyes and seriously considered the question. A speedster, an alien, a man trained by the world’s greatest detective. Together, they had saved the city—heck, the world—from certain disaster more than once.

But they couldn’t fight against fate. Dick shook his head.

Eventually, they made to leave, and truthfully, Dick was glad. He didn’t know how to talk about this. How to tell them that no, he had no idea where his soulmate was because he had rejected him, hadn’t even kept a close watch.

But Kori turned around.

“Just,” she closed her eyes, “is it one of us?”

Understanding her fear all too well, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “No.”

At least there was that. No one here would miss Jason.

Bruce didn’t tell him when he found a lead, he just went. Dick wasn’t even mad about that. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Bruce, either.

Besides, when he got the alert that the Batplane had taken off and saw his timer tick down its last hours, he already knew that Bruce would be too late.

00:02.

Dick watched the last hours tick down on his timer. Now that it was happening, he would give anything to be in Ethiopia. He barely knew the boy—nothing beyond his history and that he was Dick’s soulmate; that he was Robin—but he knew that Jason didn’t deserve to die alone.

Bruce hadn’t reached out to him at all. Neither had Alfred.

00:01.

It was agonizing.

00:00.

Jason’s last hour had begun. Dick set the stopwatch on his phone for sixty minutes. The timer didn’t go into so many details. He’d tried to find out just how accurate it was; the results had been dispiriting. Jason could, as of now, be dead. Or he could live and breathe and hope for another 59 minutes.

The whole time, he prayed for his display to change. That Bruce would do the impossible once more, defeat fate, and buy Jason more time. Buy themmore time, now that Dick suddenly and painfully realized that he wanted there to be a them so badly, in any way he could get.

His stopwatch beeped. It was over. Dick hadn’t felt a thing, couldn’t have told you when his soulmate died, but it was over.

When he heard about what actually happened, it was worse.

Here’s a secret Dick never told anyone: He still wished Bruce had not even tried to revive the Joker. The old bastard had died that day like he deserved—unmourned.

Once Dick went through Jason’s things.

Bruce wasn’t home—gone on one of these trips he took these days, the ones filled with revenge and darkness in a way they hadn’t been before. If Alfred knew what Dick was doing, he didn’t comment. And after all, Dick thought mutinously, why shouldn’t he be here? This had been his room, once upon a time. He had a right to see what happened to it.

There were books there now. So many books. Jason hadn’t been choosy; classic French literature was crammed in next to space operas and cowboy romance. When Dick idly pulled one out, he could see scrawled comments in the margins. Apparently, Jason had considered “The Great Gatsby” to ‘suck ass.’

The room itself was much more orderly than when Dick had been responsible for tidying it. No way to tell if that was because Jason was a neat-freak or because Alfred had cleaned it out since his death, though.

It took Dick a second to realize what was missing. There was only one photograph, Batman and Robin heading into the night. Where were the family pictures? Dick remembered his own collection: his parents, the circus folk, his friends, Bruce and Alfred and Babs and Clark…

Maybe Jason had taken them with him when he left.

Still Dick’s eyes searched the room, hungry for something more personal than books and tidy clothes on a hanger. Finally, he saw it: a simple brown teddy bear, almost hidden by the curtains.

“Hey, little buddy,” he murmured, crouching down. “What’re you doing in the corner like that?”

In his mind’s eye, Dick could see Jason arguing with Bruce—or maybe just quietly seething in anger—, finally throwing the bear into the corner, his decision made.

Dick hesitated, but—he couldn’t leave the bear. It shouldn’t lie here, abandoned in a mausoleum. It went home with him that night, and to every home since.

It was such a fucking cliché, but after that, life went on.

Dick could see the empty space Jason left behind in Bruce’s life, in Alfred’s, hell, even in Tim’s, in Gotham itself—but the only thing for him that had changed was the nature of his guilt.

Eventually, he started dating again, unwilling to be chained to the ghost of a what-if. It was okay. People had relationships after their soulmates died. Sure, there were forums full of people complaining that nothing compared to dating The One. Wasn’t like Dick had anything to compare it to, though, so he was in the clear.

He and Babs really gave it a try. There was no universe in which Dick wasn’t glad that they did. She would always be one of the most important people in his life.

After they split up, the responsibilities keep piling onto him. Being a full-time vigilante with duties to more than city, to more than one team, heck, even to an international spy agency—it kept him busy. Distracted. Until fate found him again.

Dick’s timer was ticking again, only this time, he genuinely had no idea who had set it off. Maybe he’d been too busy, too numb to notice during patrol. It wasn’t unheard, people gaining a second chance at a soulmate. Dick just hadn’t exactly considered the possibility for himself, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

It read two years.

Dick wanted to throw something against the wall. Why? Why would he only be granted so little time? How much of it had he already wasted because he hadn’t noticed when it started ticking?

How many chances would he be granted, just for his love to leave him? Was this to be his doom?

You sound like Batman.

Dick stopped and pulled himself up. The last time this had happened, he’d been twenty, unsure of his place in the family and the world, ill-equipped to handle an already devastating situation.

That wasn’t him anymore.

This time, he would take whatever time they had. And when it ended, he’d be grateful for it, and keep living his life.

He just had to find them first.

There was a new vigilante in town. For months, he was but a rumor of a red helmet and dead bodies left in his wake—until he made his big move.

The takeover of the Penguin lounge had been well-planned and viciously executed, and there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do about it, not when all the Red Hood’s minions were loyal to him and his precautions excellent. He stayed far away from Batman and Robin; he seemed to have an understanding with Catwoman; his policy seemed to be to protect the street workers.

Somehow, he’d moved himself to the bottom of Batman’s list. Still, Dick knew he made Bruce uneasy. All their attempts to find out more about the man failed. Even when Tim managed to listen in on the club’s communications for almost a whole day, all they got was a name: Red Hood.

He was a rumor, until the day he sought out Dick on the rooftops.

“Red Hood.”

“Nightwing.” The other man’s voice was metallic, a voice modulator giving nothing away about its original timbre. “What brings you to Gotham?”

“Helping out on a case.” Nightwing’s connection to Batman wasn’t a secret. Dick would be astonished if there was still a citizen left that didn’t know Nightwing and Robin I were the same person. “What brings you to this roof?”

“You’re going after Sionis.”

“Yes.” Or at least, he was now.

“He hurt one of my own. He’s mine now. Stay away.”

Dick did his best not to snort. That was bullshit. His own interest in the Sionis case had been cursory at best. If Red Hood had just waited three days to eliminate him, Dick never would’ve noticed.

“What about him is so interesting that it warrants you coming out of hiding?”

The helmet tilted to the side. Dick would be damned if he could tell you why he found the movement so provoking, but he did. “Who says it’s Sionis I’m interested in?”

“Uh.” Dick was sure his eyes were wide behind the domino. Was Red Hood… hitting on him?

“Tell Batman to stay out of my business.”

With that, the other man shot a grapple and vanished. Dick made no move to follow him.

Dick expected that to be it. He returned to Blüdhaven, leaving Gotham and its secrets for Bruce to deal with. Except that particular secret seemed to have singled him out.

The first time he saw Red Hood in a fight in his city, he did nothing, merely observing the other’s fighting skills critically. Not bad. He had clearly been trained in a variety of fighting styles and was quicker than you’d expect for a man of his size. His left hook was good enough to rival Bruce’s.

Dick was still pretty sure he could take him in a fight.

“Are you just going to watch?” Red Hood called out, gripping one of his attackers by the throat and dangling him into the air.

“I dunno, you seem to have it pretty well in hand,” Dick sniggered.

“Never mind.” Red Hood dropped the now-unconscious man, turning to disable the next one with a well-placed nerve strike. Dick noted that unlike some of the scenes he’d seen in Gotham, Red Hood seemed to have no interest in killing these men. That implied he had some sort of value system. Interesting. “Please leave. That was terrible.”

Dick eyes the entrance of the alley. A group of armed thugs was gathering, clearly ready to strike. Decision made, he jumped from the roof, landing right beside Red Hood. “Sorry, but I can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You come into my city and then complain when I help you?”

“Oh, is that what you call this? ‘Cause all I can see is you standing around and jibbering.”

Dick thought the criminals he was currently sending a few thousand volts through might beg to differ. Between the two of them, they had the entire gang out in less than ten minutes.

It was, Dick reluctantly conceded, fun.

It became something of a regular occurrence after that. Nightwing would drop by Red Hood’s territory whenever he was in Gotham, and Red Hood would return the favor with regular visits to Blüdhaven. They’d banter, punch out some criminals, collect whatever they had come for, and go their separate ways. Not exactly a friendship, but something easy. Comfortable.

Until the night they busted a heroin ring in an abandoned warehouse and found some kids hiding three rooms down.

Dick saw the boy first. He couldn’t be more than twelve. His body was skinny, and not in the way teens sometimes got after a growth spurt.

Not knowing what else to do, Dick gave a wave. “Hi. I’m Nightwing. What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you.” As soon as he uttered the words, the boy tensed, visibly expecting punishment.

Dick smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll tell you a secret—Nightwing’s not my real name, either.”

“Well, duh.” The teen scowled, but he did look less afraid. Then he looked over Dick’s shoulder and asked: “Who is that with my sister?”

Dick turned around to see Red Hood kneeling and… wearing a blonde wig? He blinked.

The little girl in front of him hiccuped, still crying but visible distracted by the big shiny helmet. Wearing a wig. Where had Hood even found that?

“That’s Red Hood,” Dick told him, trying to sound as if all of this was perfectly normal. God, he hoped the kids hadn’t heard the fighting. What a terrible time to pick this warehouse.

“What’re vigilantes doing here? Is something happening? Were there guns?”

“Sort of. I’m afraid this place isn’t safe, but we can bring you somewhere else for the night,” Dick said.

Red Hood looked up and suggested: “The sisters on St John Street. They’re good people.”

“No one will separate you,” Dick added. “Just help. Get you some food, somewhere to sleep safely.”

The boy looked at them. “We’re not going back to—to—”

“You won’t have to,” Red Hood promised, and Dick nodded. Not if he had anything to say about it—and once he would investigate whoever it was that they were running from, he would have.

“How about we accompany you?” Dick suggested.

The boy looked hesitant, but the girl suddenly gave a giggle. “You can’t walk like that,” she told Red Hood.

“Why not?”

“You look silly, dummy!”

“Well, that’s very rude of you to say.” And just like that, the wig still perched on the helmet, Red Hood stepped out onto the street. He was walking rather uncannily like a model, Dick noted with some amusement.

The girl followed him, still laughing and pulling her brother along. “No! Take it off!”

“But I feel so pretty!”

The distraction worked, and the walk to the center for vulnerable children passed quickly. Only there did Red Hood take off the wig, making a big show of stuffing into his belt to hide his ‘shame.’ “Your wish is my command,

The girl’s priorities seemed to have changed, though. “C’mon,” told her brother, “they said there’s food in there.”

But the teenager hesitated, looking at Dick. “Are you sure they’re okay?”

Dick was about to reassure them again, heartbroken by the hesitant hope in their eyes, when Red Hood said: “Yeah. I stayed with them a few times when I was your age. They get it.”

He didn’t mean the boy’s age, Dick realized. Jesus.

“Okay.”

Dick let them head in alone. They needed to see that they would welcome on their own, vigilante accompanying them or not. He would talk to the workers in a minute or two.

Red Hood’s metallic voice broke the silence. “So, I’m assuming you’re going to look into whoever did this to them.”

“You bet. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. You better be quick.”

Dick had already planned on that, but: “Why?”

“I do not like child abusers, and I clean up after myself.” With that statement, Red Hood gave a little wave. The casual movement was belied by the suppressed rage that suddenly seemed to pour out of his every pore. “See you.”

Dick stared after him, undecided.

He had allowed himself to be judge, jury, and executioner once, and never regretted it. Not once had he since felt the desire or need to be in that position again.

Didn’t mean he didn’t get it.

In the end, he decided to head inside. The kids needed him, and they were what was important here.

Still. Life had just become a lot more complicated.

“We should eat.”

“Sure. Let’s have a picnic. Just you, me, the stars, and the person we’re staking out. How romantic.”

“Shut up.” Red Hood casually dropped a lunchbox next to where Dick was sitting. “You haven’t eaten in all day.”

“I’m not in danger of fainting, you know.” Still, Dick couldn’t help but open the box. “Pasta salad?”

Red Hood shrugged. “Carbs.”

It honestly smelled terrific. Red Hood had even brought a fork. Dick was ready to dig in when he realized something.

Red Hood was still wearing his helmet.

“So… you’re just going to sit there and watch me eat?”

Red Hood crossed his arms. “Well, if you say it like that, it just sounds creepy.”

“Yeah, exactly. You don’t want any food?”

“I’ll eat later.”

Dick considered him. “I bet you I could get that off you in less than two minutes.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to.”

For the first time, the other vigilante turned his back to Dick. There was what Dick recognized to be a trigger device at the back of his helmet. Dick shuddered. Red Hood would rather have his head explode than someone see his face without his consent.

“Okay, don’t take it off then. That looks like it would spoil the meal.”

“My point exactly. Do you always talk so much when there’s food on the table?”

Dick grumbled, but he did start eating after that. Damn. That pasta was goood.

Three days later, Red Hood shot a man that was about to decapitate Dick with an ax. He even left the criminal alive. Dick tried not to be charmed.

“Well, fuck.” Red Hood stared at the little dot on Dick’s display in dismay. “Guess it’s back to Blüdhaven for us.”

“Looks like it.” Dick sighed. Just what he’d needed. His ride was back in Blüdhaven since he’d taken a detour through space on his way here. Looked like he’d need to borrow one from Bruce. It was that or public transport.

As if he’d read his thoughts, Red Hood asked: “Want a ride?”

“You got a car?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, but no.” Hood fiddled with something on his belt. For a minute, nothing happened. Then Dick heard the noise of a smooth motor approaching. Red Hood made a ‘ta-da’ motion with his hand as a red and silver machine turned the corner. “I got a bike.”

Dick whistled. “Wow, my little brother would love that.”

“He got one of his own?”

“Nah, he’s thirteen, just a kid.” That may be slightly too much information to give out, but Dick had honestly stopped caring at some point. “It’s all about skateboards for now.”

“Is he turning his sick tricks in the local park or on the rooftops?”

“You could always just meet him.”

Red Hood snorted. “I have no desire to meet any more bats or birds.”

“And yet you keep hanging out with me.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “Dunno why I keep doing this to myself.”

Suddenly feeling defensive, Dick crossed his arms. “Hey, we’re not that bad.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You haven’t even met them.” Or Bruce wouldn’t be trying to milk Dick for information about their meetings.

“Oh yes I have.”

Red Hood froze. Dick pounced. “When?”

But it was no use. “Look. I’ll make you a deal. We don’t talk about Batman anymore tonight, and you get to drive.”

Dick considered that. “If I say no, are you just going to leave?”

“Yupp.”

“Fine.”

Ten minutes later, with Red Hood’s arms wound tightly around his middle, the bike humming between his legs, Dick couldn’t even be mad.

Sometimes, Dick worried. Red Hood was too casual about his own life. Even as he made friends—not just Dick, but Roy and Kori and Artemis and, somehow, a Superman clone—he threw himself into the kind of situations that made even Dick take a step back and evaluate.

He was too reckless. It was as if his life didn’t matter. If Hood went on like this, he’d be dead within a year or two—Dick froze.

Could… could Red Hood be his soulmate?

His timer had begun ticking again before he met the other vigilante on that rooftop. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have passed him on the street one day before that, though. Or rather, one night: It must’ve been in his Nightwing garb. If Red Hood knew, or suspected, that would explain why he sought Nightwing out.

Granted, the odds were slim. But it was possible.

Funnily enough, Dick never once asked himself whether he wanted Hood to be his soulmates. Why wouldn’t he? Underneath that anger, he suspected Red Hood to be one of the kindest men he’d ever met, and he’d been nothing but supportive to Dick.

Still. He had to treat this with caution.

Look. Dick knew he should be with his friends and/or family, celebrating his birthday, not out here, jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Blüdhaven. It just felt… right, this year. Days like these, Dick couldn’t bear looking at what was left of his friends. All he would do was count the empty spaces. Patrol was safer, somehow.

Of course, the one time he was looking for a distraction on his birthday, he didn’t find any. Blüdhaven was weirdly quiet. It took Dick two hours to figure out why.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, bemused.

Red Hood, visibly startled, turned around—then swore when the two-bit criminal he’d been cornering took the chance to sprint off into the sunset. “Dammit, was that necessary?”

“Eh, you’ll catch him. So?”

“I was in the area, and I didn’t expect you to—never mind. What are you working on?”

Dick shrugged as casually as possible. “Nothing in particular. Just patrol, business as usual, you know. How about you?”

“I was following a lead, but it just fled for the hills.” Red Hood sighed, always a funny sound through the helmet.

“Ooops,” Dick said, not apologetic at all. “How about that. Whatever are you going to do with your evening.”

He’d meant it as a joke—there was always more crime to hunt down—but the other man paused. “Actually. There’s something I wanted to show you.”

‘Something’ turned out to be yet another rooftop perch, this time in one of the poorer districts. Dick didn’t get what was so special about this until the first family left their house. Another followed, and another, until there were about thirty people gathered, nearly half of them children.

“Watch,” Red Hood murmured.

One man put down a large bag and took out an object. For one terrible second, Dick thought it was a missile—but no. A rocket, but one of the harmless variety.

The kids cheered as several of the adults prepared the fireworks. The first rocket went up, bathing the street in the light of its beautiful golden rain. It was quickly followed by a serious of smaller, purple blasts, underlined by a wheel of blue lights.

“They do this once a month,” Red Hood told him. “To bring some light to the city.”

Dick pressed his shoulder companionably into the other man’s. “This is neat. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Ah, there was the embarrassed grumbling again. Dick had learned to tell. “Shut up already and watch, you’re louder than the fireworks.”

He didn’t move away, though. Dick counted it as a win.

“It was supposed to be me,” the woman whispered, over and over again.

Dick kept his grip on her shoulder tight to keep her from running to into the fire and to her soulmate. He’d seen the body. There was nothing they could do. “I’m sorry, but—”

“You don’t understand!” she yelled, suddenly furious. “That’s my wife! My soulmate!”

He wanted to tell her: “I do understand.” However, did he really? Jason had been more of a concept than a real person.

(Red Hood, however little information Dick had about him, was very, definitely real. Dick tried not to imagine the kind of hole someone like that would leave in his life.)

Instead, he said: “She wouldn’t want you to follow her.”

With one last anguished cry, the woman collapsed against his chest.

As he watched the police car drive off, Dick considered going home. As far as he was concerned, this night could go fuck itself. But… he didn’t want to be alone.

“Can’t be easy, something like that.”

Relief flooded Dick at the metallic voice even before he turned around to greet the other vigilante. With Red Hood, he wouldn’t have to be alone. He knew that deep in his bones.

“No,” he replied belatedly. “No, it can’t be. Isn’t.”

“Are you alright?”

Dick frowned. “Yes? This hasn’t been a great night so far, but patrol is nearly over, so—”

“You’re bloody.”

“Oh.” Dick lifted his hands and studied the scratches that now marked him. “It’s fine.”

Red Hood, though, took one of Dick’s hands in his and studied it as if to inspect the wounds. “Those are gouges.”

“She was desperate.”

“Understandable.” Red Hood dropped Dick’s hand. It felt cold. “I think if I lost my soulmate, I would go searching for them in any way I could. Try to save them, somehow.”

There was something pointed about these words. Dick couldn’t quite grasp it. “Destiny doesn’t negotiate.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Brought me here, didn’t it?”

And that was—

Dick closed his eyes, just to think for a moment. The way the other man was behaving, there was good reason to think he might suspect himself to be Dick’s soulmate. All Dick would have to do was ask, and maybe, just maybe, something he’d wanted for a very long time would be within his grasp.

But Jason’s shadow still loomed over him. He couldn’t forget that boy. He mustn’t. It was the least of what he owed him.

“I had a soulmate before,” Dick told him.

Red Hood cocked his head to the side. “Had?”

Somehow, his tone was more surprised than emphatic. That didn’t exactly fill Dick with confidence, but he continued: “He died. My timer was set for only eighteen months. He was—he was just a boy, really.”

Suddenly he realized he was crying. It was the first time he’d let his guard down, really down, about this, and something about Red Hood made it impossible for him to pull it back up.

Embarrassed, he covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Gloved hands settled on his shoulders. “Hey, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“

“I fucked it up, Hood. Left him alone. It was selfish and stupid and I—I can’t—” Dick stopped talking. It wouldn’t come out without sobs, anyway.

Red Hood’s hands stayed on him during the minutes he cried silently, pressing down hard enough to hurt Dick, to anchor him; but he didn’t say anything. He just waited, and when Dick was coherent again, he asked: “What happened?”

“He died,” Dick said simply. “I murdered his killer, but that does not bring him back.”

There was a long silence. It should’ve been tense, nervous, now that even the last of Dick’s secrets had been exposed. Instead Dick felt resigned. Either this would be too much, even for the Red Hood, or not.

This was who he was. There was no changing that, no matter how hard he’d tried.

“Well, fuck, now I’m not even slightly angry with you anymore, what the fuck.”

Dick frowned. That… wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“You know I fully intended on some kind of revenge plot here? I thought maybe a dramatic reveal in front of all of the bats, you know, or at least something accompanied by a lot of yelling and triumph, not to mention bloodshed,” the Red Hood told him almost conversationally as he stood back and began fiddling with the mechanism at the back of his helmet. “But no, you have to go and be a much better man than I thought, Dickie. Of fucking course.”

All the alarm bells began to ring in Dick’s head. “What did you just call me?”

The helmet came off.

“…Jason?”

They were so different. Hood was taller than Jason; a man instead of a boy. His hair was dark, yes, but there was white streak running through it. His jaw had filled out, his bearing straightened, his eyes turned slightly greener.

And yet.

Dick knew.

“Yeah. Uh. Surprise. Guess you didn’t know? I wasn’t completely sure before today.”

Dick filed the notion that Jason thought him (or the rest of the family, for that matter) capable of just quietly ignoring his resurrection away for some other day. Right now, he was too busy trying to breathe.

“Dick?” There was concern in that voice now. “Are you okay?”

“Am I—” Breathing. “How?”

“Maybe you should sit down?” Jason looked like he expected Dick to faint any minute now. Dick admitted that might not be too far from the truth ‘cause what the fuck, but it didn’t matter right now, because: “You died.”

“Yes.” Jason ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Don’t ask me how or I got out of that grave, I don’t either.”

Dick didn’t know what to say to that.

“Talia al Ghul rescued me,” Jason continued, talking more quickly as if wanting to get it over with. “I wasn’t whole, so… Lazarus Pit. And then she trained me and told me a whole bunch of stuff, some of which turned out to be true, some of which didn’t. And now I’m here.”

“But—” he whispered. This was dialogue straight out of a terrible Hallmark movie, but he needed to know. “My timer—”

“Dick,” Jason looked at him with a steady gaze, “my timer has read the same time ever since I met you.” He lifted his wrist and pulled off the leather glove.

46:04.

Dick stared at it helplessly. That was the kind of number he’d only ever dreamed of. And it was supposed to be his and Jason’s?

His and Jason’s. Because Jason was his soulmate, returned to him from the dead without Dick’s knowledge or help. That, finally, what was got through the shock, rattling Dick back into reality.

Dick looked him into the eyes—and God, those eyes; if there hadn’t been that helmet, that modulator, Jason would’ve had no way of hiding himself—and said something he’d wanted to say for seven years: “I’m sorry.”

“I told you I’m not angry anymore.”

“I should’ve been there for you,” Dick insisted.

For the first time, Jason looked away. “In a way, you were.”

“I was what?”

“There with me. I can’t speak for what was happening when I was dead—don’t remember, mostly glad about that—but when I clawed my way out of that grave, I had no idea who you were. I had no idea who I was, really. But I saw that timer and knew that someone, somewhere, was waiting for me.”

Dick couldn’t help himself, reaching out with trembling hands to finally, finally pull Jason close. Burying his head in the other man’s shoulder, he whispered tremulously: “I was, Jason. I didn’t even know it, but I was.”

Strong arms wrap around him to hold on just as tightly. For the first time in years, Dick felt his head quieten.

Still he had to ask: “How can you forgive me?”

“Okay, one? As an adult myself now, I completely understand why you freaked out. Teenagers are babies. A+ not taking advantage of me.”

Dick chuckled wetly.

“Two… I’ve seen you open your heart again. Tim, he’s actually your brother. Your friends.” Jason was talking into his hair ear now. Maybe it was easier that way. “You keep doing that, Dick, just opening up and taking people in and being vulnerable, and I don’t know how you do that, really, it’s kinda worrying, but—I cannot blame you for being tired just one time of losing people.”

“You should,” Dick told him, “I do.”

“Yeah, well, no-one said you were smart.”

That got a laugh out of Dick. He let it shake through him, then asked: “Why did you hide when you came back?”

“I didn’t want to see Bruce. Still don’t.” Jason’s voice was matter of fact.

Dick knew they would have to talk about that. Not now. “Why come back at all, then?”

“It’s my home. Also, I didn’t want to just give up on you, you know?”

The side of Jason’s neck was naked and vulnerable without the helmet. Dick pressed a kiss there in gratitude.

“When I didn’t know if you figured out my identity or not, I wanted to see what happened,” Jason continued. “I figured, this situation is fucked up and all, but it’s also a chance.”

“A chance?”

“My last turn as a vigilante in Gotham was kinda a shitshow. So I thought I’d just prove that—that I could be what you want. That I could do better. I don’t know if I can ever be good, not the way you and Batman want me to be—”

“Jason,” Dick interrupted him, pulling back to look at Jason; his voice fierce with the obviousness of what he had to say, “you are exactly what I want. If I had ever taken any time to know you before, I’d have known that, and I wanted you since I got to know you as the Red Hood. If you think there is any way I am letting you go again—“

Now they were talking in circles. Jason seemed to notice that, too, for he cupped Dick’s jaw mid-sentence and kissed him.

It was a hesitant kiss, slightly at odds with the confident way Jason acted otherwise; Dick realized with a pang that, of course, his teenage years hadn’t lent themselves to the same experimentation that Dick’s had. Still, he was so gentle, not letting go of Dick even as his hand trembled on his face, and the soft sigh he let out when Dick cupped his nape was nothing short of sweet.

There was a softness in this that warmed Dick from the inside out.

When they pulled apart, Dick had to giggle. This night had been an emotional rollercoaster; he felt air-headed and silly with it. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

“Not good for the reputation,” Jason agreed, his voice low. Dick liked it.

“Come home with me?”

“Sure.”

When Dick looked surprised at Jason’s easy acceptance, Jason shrugged. “I’ve been dying to take that mask off of you. Knowing you, it’s glued on with a special mixture only you got the remover for, though.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Oh,” Dick said, remembering something. “Actually, I got someone at home who would love to see you.”

“Don’t tell me you got a kid that I somehow missed.”

“Nah. Better.” Dick smiled. “A bear.”

The next morning, after he woke up in Jason’s arms; after they showered separately and ate breakfast together and just tried to parse out what this meant for the rest of their lives—that morning, Dick looked at his timer and saw that it now read 07:22.

Jason seemed fascinated by the change. “I think I read a study about mismatched timers before. There’s a theory that they reflect our choices really more than our fate, and are meant to influence our actions—maybe I should look it up…”

“I think,” Dick said firmly, “that we should cover the damn things up and never look at them again.”

Jason considered that. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”

[din0pants-blog]

Guess ill be the first! Is it possible to get some nsfw headcanons and a scenario of their first time?

Firstly, I’d like to apologize for taking so obscenely long toget to this! That said, I was originally going to do both headcanonsand the scenario, but in the interest of getting this posted ASAP, Ionly did the scenario for now (don't worry though, I didn't rush it).However, if you still want the NS*FW headcanons, Anon, please feelfree to send another request asking for them and I will gladly get to them whenever I can!!!

Little bonus fact about this piece: I was originally planning onincluding Diego making a metaphor comparing his... naughty time withHot Pants to the Devil tempting her into a fall from Grace, but Icouldn't quite figure out how to make it fit, given the direction Itook this piece in, so ultimately, I dropped the idea. It'sadmittedly an interesting idea on paper, but I feel like Hot Pantswouldn't have taken too kindly to it anyway (especially in context),so it's just as well that I decided against the metaphor's inclusion.

Requested content is under the cut! 18+ readers only, please:

Many people have an idea of how they imagine their first time willbe, whether in general or with a specific person–an ideal scenario.Predictably, some end up setting their expectations quite high, butvery rarely are those ideals realized. However, even when someone'sfirst time having sex doesn't go according to plan, though some aredisappointed, others are very pleasantly surprised by the unexpectedturn the situation had taken.

However, neither Diego nor Hot Pantscould have been said to have any sort of ideal planned out for theirfirst time. The former had never thought of sex as something that wasworth idealizing, while the latter actively attempted to banish allsuch desires from her very being whenever they popped up and sorarely allowed herself to entertain thoughts about sex at all. Assuch, it makes the situation they currently find themselves in allthe more surprising, Hot Pants straddling Diego's lap, rolling herhips firmly against the slowly but surely growing erection beneathher. Her breaths come in short, quiet, and frustrated bursts, hereyes screwed shut as she focuses on getting Diego ready, but mainlyon her own pleasure.

“Are you having a hard time?”he asks.

“Hush.”

“You're getting nowhere fast.”

“Because you keepbreaking my focus.”

“You've never done this before,have you? Let me hel-”

“Shut up, Diego!”

He narrows his eyes and snorts in abestial sort of way. “If you want to be stubborn and strugglemeaninglessly, be my guest. But if you must insist on it, then I, onthe other hand, will be going to sleep. Who knows? You might manageto give me a nice wet dream,” he taunts.

Hot Pants' motions suddenly come to agrinding halt and she narrows her eyes at him in response. “... Youwouldn't.”

He shrugs nonchalantly as he getshimself comfortable, making sure his companion still has unencumberedaccess to his frontside. “Try me,” he says to her, shutting hiseyes in a casual display of defiance, truly prepared to make good onhis word. “I offered to help and you so carelessly refused myoffer. That's not myproblem.”

Clutching at the turtleneckcollar of his sweater, Hot Pants pulls herself closer, her face up inDiego's own, the tip of her nose pressing uncomfortably against his.“Listen, Brando,” she hisses. “It isyour problem. You startedthis. You deliberately riled me up and now you're telling me thatyou're going to sleep instead??? What do you want,dammit?! For the love of all that is holy, be straightforward withme!”

“What a ridiculous question,”Diego chides. “Isn't it obvious?”

“What did I just finish sayi-!!!”

His lips are on hers before she canfinish. It's not a particularly chaste kiss, but it's notparticularly passionate either. And then it's over. Hot Pants isdazed while Diego looks at her with the titillated gaze of an ancientpredator. “I wanted to rile you up, of course,” he tells her,finally answering her question properly. “Can't you feel it? Theracing of your heart? The flush of your skin? The roar of your blood?… The wetness between your legs?” Hot Pants blinks, but realizesthat he's right.

“It's thrilling, isn't it...?”he says quietly, grinning unnaturally wide, the points of sharp teethpeeking from past his lips and his split cheeks, though his featuresrevert to something recognizably and unalarmingly human withinseconds.

“... I'm not answering that.”

“Mm? Which question in specific?”

“All of them. I'm not answering anyof those questions.”

Reaching down to her clothed groin, herubs at her. Hot Pants quietly gasps out a, “Yes...”whimpering at Diego's tender touch. “A pity you won't tell meyourself. But your body betrays you, Hot Pants. It speaks the wordsyou refuse to say with your voice. I can feel it; you're hot andslick. I can smell it; it's earthy and sweet. I can see it. Oh, butyou're not even aware, are you? I've been keeping my hand perfectlystill. Mostly,” he tells her and she suddenly becomes all too awareof her hips rolling against the pads of the man's inviting fingers.She jerks to a halt, becoming self-conscious and he removes hisfingers from their spot, purposely running them against her sensitiveclit before resting both that hand—covered in her delectablescent—and the other on her hips. In her sudden stillness, her sexcradling Diego's own again, she takes notice of the fact that he'sfully erect now, his firm shaft undeniably pressing and throbbingexcitedly against her.

“Let me help you,” Diego repeats,staring her in the eyes, his voice low.

Hot Pants is silent now,but—reciprocating his stare—instead of speaking, she tugs atDiego's sweater, managing to remove it from his body with hisassistance. Working at her own clothing momentarily, just long enoughto expose her chest and torso to him, she works on unfastening thebelt securing his jodhpurs. She should feel indecent, she should feellike the filthy sinner she knows herself to be. But then... why doesher soul feel unaffected by the stain that plagues it? It's stillthere--this, she knows—but for the first time since her childhood,she feels untouchable, like the sin and the guilt can't haunther.

Sheseeks more of Diego's body, briefly runs her hands upon the strong,muscular planes. Her breathing comes and goes heavily. She's high onthis drug, on the peace and the lackadaisy she feels towards thatmistake, the iniquitythat has tormented her very being since the very moment it had beencommitted.

'More... I need...'

“Diego,I need more. Touch me...” she finally murmurs, pulling Diego'slower garments down as much as she can, exposing his cock—drippingfrom the tip with pre-ejaculate —to the chilly Autumn air. Diego'spupils narrow into slits again, Hot Pants' plea sending fire throughhis veins, making it all the more difficult for him to reject thecall of the wild that echoes within his skull. Tearing apart thecrotch of her leggings like thin paper, before she can gripe aboutit, he's lifting her by her hips and seating her on his lap, hislength penetrating her wholly and suddenly. Hot Pants immediatelytightens around him, letting out a startled cry, eyes wide, breathstaccato as she desperately plants her hands against his chest in aneffort to keep herself grounded in the midst of the shock of intenselightning pleasure that has struck her entire body and surges to herhead and through her limbs, causing her digits against his chest andin the dry, gritty soil to curl and her head to be filled with athick, Nirvanic fog.

Havingbarely given her time to adjust, Diego bucks into her from below. Hischeeks have split open again, a scaly patch forming beneath his lefteye. With clawed, blue-tinted saurian hands, he firmly grips herrear—the points of his ivory claws pricking dangerously into themeaty flesh—and guides her motions. She quickly comes to understandwhat he's asking of her and rolls her hips as he thrusts into herfrom below; her compliance earns her the reward of happy chitteringfrom Diego's throat.

He'slarge, easily filling her and stretching her. The heat of his bodyinside of her is enough to draw moans, sweet like honey, forth fromher lips. Every thrust up into her slick warmth resounds with a wet,carnal slap,slap,slap thatintermingles with her moans and sighs, with her trembling calls ofDiego's name.

“Die-g-go...I-I think I'm... OhGod...” Hot Pantsfeels somethingwinding tighter in her lower belly, growing hotter, tensing,twisting.“More... Faster, harder, anything!Please!” Diego eagerly complies, pistoning into her in earnest now.“I didn't mean by thatmuch!!” sheexclaims, crying out in pleasure. And yet, quickly, those wordlesscries become a chant of Diego's name, each repetition coming outhigher and higher-pitched until finally, her back involuntarilyarches forward and her head falls back. All at once, she feels theintense heat that had been building up inside of her bursting intoevery part of her body, her lungs are burning for air, her cuntthrobs around Diego's length, and the heavenly haze in her headintensifies. Amidst the simultaneous sensations that assault herhypersensitive body, she's faintly aware of an additional liquid heatpouring into her.

Asthough instinctively, Diego holds her close. Despite the wonderfulfeelings echoing within her and the exhaustion that urges her eyesclosed, she can't help but think that Diego's probably not entirelyaware of the unusually affectionate action he's performing. Beforeshe allows herself rest, she's all too aware that this feeling offreedom she's experiencing is going to disappear soon enough.

'Though... Even if it'sforbidden, I want to feel this again.'

Openingher eyes once more, she looks up at the now-slumbering Diego's facefor a short bit before closing them once more and, exhaling throughher nose, she makes herself comfortable and before settling intosleep herself, she asks God to forgive her.

[calzona-all-ways]

The Bitter Hills

Submitted By: Anonymous

Usual warnings apply.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three Below

Arizona looked nervously around the main cabin where guests came to register and wondered how in the hell she had missed something so relevant. It must’ve been hidden in the fine print she concluded as her sight settled reluctantly on the curves of the attractive and unencumbered lodge employee, because who the heck in their right mind would actually come to a place like this. Not her, that’s for sure. Uh, well, not wittingly, anyway. She made a mental note to fully inspect the brochure wedged above the visor in her car while she contemplated her current options. She COULD simply leave, just turn tail and walk away without so much as a backwards glance, but that felt like a cowardly two steps back from where she was in her life now.

And truth be told, she was tired of being the so called private woman whom the uninformed mistook for unadventurous and uncommunicative. Hell, she had feelings and emotions and contrary to false perceptions, actually liked to talk about them. Needed to at times. Her gaze continued to peruse the buxom woman covertly as she turned, giving the fetal surgeon a view of her glorious profile while she alternated between tapping away at the tablet in her hand and shuffling papers, and Arizona’s eyes stayed stagnant as she fought an internal battle to rein in her surprise at learning establishments such as this really did exist. She had heard of them sure, but she’d always likened them to fantastical creations like little green men from outer space or Sasquatch and the Loch Ness monster, not actual places where people walked around their community wearing nothing but their birthday suits. And yet here she stood. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She was a strong, confident woman who was totally comfortable with her body and all it’s changes. Yes, she WOULD do this, she vowed to herself. She would stay here and enjoy her week of freedom and who knew, she might even let loose and sit by the pool. Maybe. Well, in her bikini at least.

She was trying her damnedest not to gawk at the female stranger while the doubts and insecurities waged war and were slain within, but the woman was attractively curvaceous and very naked and Arizona Robbins had nothing but admiration for the female form, especially when displayed in all its glory.

“O-kay, here you go,” blue eyes shot up guiltily as the desk clerk turned to fully face Arizona and hand her the necessary paperwork, including a map of the area and a list of activities the resort offered. The blonde tried to concentrate as the unclothed woman continued to speak. 

“Your cabin is off the back trail to the west, cabin number twelve. It’s pretty isolated from the rest of the camp, as per your request, but you WILL be getting a neighbor in the cabin just south of you sometime today. You don’t have to worry though, the cabins are spaced so that each occupant has all the necessary privacy.”

“Um, okay. Thanks. I just hope I’m not going to be disturbed-”

“You won’t be. That’s what this lodge is all about. Peace and quiet for healing after a difficult breakup-”

“I know, I did read the brochure,” Arizona smiled politely and attempted to keep her eyes from wandering any lower as she added in a mumbled, “most of it anyway.”

“Sorry. Sorry, of course you did.” The woman cleared her throat. “Okay, so um, dinner will be in the main building, which is the longer one on the east side of the compound,” she circled the structure on the map, “‪between six and eight pm‬. Breakfast and lunch times are listed as well.” She pointed to said times with the tip of her ball point before moving it down to draw attention as she spoke. “And although clothing is optional almost everywhere else on the compound, it is mandatory in the dining area, as per public health code regulations. ”

“Um, yeah, that’s not going to be a problem.”

“And we uh, we have plenty of activities listed, including a yoga class in the mornings. That also requires clothing.”

“Thank you, but I’m really not interested in group activities. I just came to enjoy mother nature. And maybe the pool.”

“Well, there’s also a nature walk that some people find relaxing-”

Arizona imagined exactly what kind of ‘nature’ the woman was talking about. “Nope, not for me.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind, all the events and their times are listed here.” She handed the paper to the blonde.

“Volleyball?” The woman gave one final attempt, pulling her lips tight in disappointment when blonde tresses simply swung side to side in response.

“Okay. Well, if there’s anything that you need, please don’t hesitate to call me here at the front desk. My name is Kim, and I’d be happy to help.”

“Okay, thank you, Kim.” Arizona gave another polite showing of teeth. The woman’s perkiness was making her uncomfortable as it only served to remind the blonde of her former self and the incredible zest for life she used to possess, back when the dreams she hadn’t been cognizant of desiring had come true and the love of her life stood proudly by her side. “I should be good though.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Okay, well I’m here every night ‘til nine-”

“Thanks,” Arizona called with a backwards wave as she pushed her way through the door and out into the warm air, eager to get back into her car for short trip to her home for the next seven days.

“Naked volleyball…” Arizona shivered exaggeratedly with the mental image of such an activity amongst mixed company. “Blech.”

Xxx

“She’s here, Doctor Robbins is here. Yes, I gave her cabin number twelve, just like you said to,” the clerk spoke into the receiver of the phone in her hand. “No, she hasn’t come yet… Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as she checks in. I know, cabin number thirteen, I got it,” the clerk nodded her head, and after a few more minutes of conversational instruction, hung up the phone, finishing just as the door creaked open once more and a statuesque brunette timidly approached the desk, her eyes skittering around as she took in the surrounding atmosphere then gaping to their fullest extent when she noticed the bare woman behind the counter.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Uh, um, hi? I uh, I’m not sure I’m at the right place.” In the few scant minutes she’d been on the vast property Callie had already seen sights that she could never un-see.

“Is this the uh, the Bitter Hills resort?” Perplexed brown eyes darted around so as not to land on the younger woman standing unabashedly in the nude.

“It is.” The woman smiled as she picked up a brochure and handed it to Callie, who took it reflexively. “Then I uh, I think I might have a reservation.” Barely ten minutes after Arizona, the ortho surgeon stood before the same perky desk clerk and fought a similar struggle, intrigued gaze extending great effort to remain firmly fixed on the face of the other woman as she conversed. “Callie Torres.”

“Oh. Oh!” The lodge employee startled. “Uh, welcome, Doctor Torres, how are you today?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Of course. Of course you have, that’s why you’re here.”

“Uh huh, yep. THAT’S why I’m here,” Callie agreed, already thinking of the many ways in which she would kill Meredith for this omission and hide her body.

“Sorry. Um, just let me pull you up on my computer and get your paperwork and I’ll be right with you.”

“You know what? I uh, I just remembered I have a very important phone call that I need to make.” She held up her phone and wiggled it. “So while you look for that paperwork I’m just going to step outside for a bit.”

She turned abruptly, and with a purposeful gait headed for escape, pushing her way back through the door she had just entered. Before she even hit the fresh air, her free hand was jammed into her pocket to pull out the folded up brochure she had absentmindedly brought with her. After smoothing it out she held it next to the one she had just taken from the lobby, her eyes quickly scanning the cover for the keywords that should’ve tipped her off. It wasn’t until her second scrutinization that she realized the bottom of the advertisement the general surgeon had given her had been shortened, sheared off in obvious subterfuge.

“Son of a…” Callie muttered as she read from the unedited advertisement in her hand.

'A place of Zen for those recovering from the drama and thrills of a difficult love-’

“Oh my God-”

'In a relaxing, clothing optional atmosphere.’

“I’ll kill you,” she said to no one in particular as the last of the printed words sank in. 'Shed your clothes AND your woes.’

How could she have been so blind? she wondered as she stared at the now noticeably edited brochure in her hand. She immediately dialed Meredith, her anxiety peaking by the time the mother of three finally answered the ringing phone.

“You sent me to a nudist colony?! ” she accused excitedly. “This place is a nudist colony!”

On the other side of the line, Meredith grinned. Though she played unaware, she had been expecting this call. “Callie?”

“Everyone here is naked, Mer! And do you know why everyone here is naked? Because you sent me to a nudist colony!”

“Okay, first of all it’s not a nudist colony, it’s a clothing optional retreat-”

“It'safrickin'nudistcamp!”

“And secondly, secondly, what’s the problem? You’re not exactly known for your inhibitions, you know. I mean you’re the girl who pees topless in front of strangers and drops her towel in a crowded hallway-” Meredith had envisioned this exchange and was prepared.

“Mer-”

“Who tells new colleagues about having a backup penis, or Bailey’s dad about how you’re dating women-”

“That was years ago!” The abrupt words rushed out in a lower register, Callie knowing exactly which situations her friend was referring to.

“So? You’re like a fine wine, you’ve only improved with age,” Meredith stated detectably gleeful, then continued her encouragement through the ortho surgeon’s scoff. “You can do this Callie. You’ve got this.”

“No! No! What I’ve got are stretch marks and the remnants of a cracked chest-”

“All of those lines across your-”

“If you sing to me now, I swear to frickin’ God I will climb right through this phone and wring your neck!” The hurriedly barked words made Meredith chuckle audibly.

“Mer-”

“You’re a fine wine Callie. You can do this.”

“I’m not-”

“Fine-”

“I can’t-”

“Wine. And you’ve got this. And if you don’t, if you’re too chicken to let yourself go, then you can just leave your clothes on. That IS what it means by optional after all.” She paused for a breath before teasing in a singsong voice. “Just because all of the other kids are naked doesn’t mean that you have to be too.”

“Ugh. What are we, in high school? You think if you call me chicken I’m gonna what? Take off my clothes just to prove you wrong? No. What I’m gonna do is hide your body where no one can find it-”

Meredith laughed once more. “So, did a lot of people in high school dare you to take your clothes off?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you love me. Now go. Get naked. Give in to peer pressure, Callie. Drop your knickers and live again!” Meredith snickered at her own comments.

“I swear I’m gonna-”

“Bye Callie-”

“And what do you know about fine wine anyway?! You only drink tequila!” Callie shouted around Meredith’s laughter as the general surgeon disconnected the call.

Callie groaned. “You are a DEAD man, Meredith Grey…” she mumbled as she slipped her phone back into her pocket and headed into the cabin again. “A frickin’ dead man.”

With a fortifying breath, Callie headed back to the desk once more, clearing her throat as she approached the long counter and the very naked woman trying her best to look busy behind it.

“Uh, sorry about that. Um, important business call…” she explained unconvincingly.

The woman smiled with amusement, she had easily heard the brunette’s side of the conversation through the screened windows and was intrigued. It always amazed her how the initially apprehensive guests of the lodge became its most fervent supporters for the freedom it afforded by the time their stay came to an end.

“No problem.”

Xxxx

'Shed your clothes AND your woes.“

Ten minutes later Callie found herself out in the fresh air grumbling the camp’s true tagline as she climbed back into her rented sports car and it’s engine roared to life. 'Shed your clothes AND your woes,’ she repeated mockingly as she unknowingly began a similar trek to the blonde former wife she longed for.

"More like, 'this really blows’, she added when she caught sight once more of the two men in the distance playing horseshoes au natural, that she had seen on the drive up. "Or better yet, ’'I’m gonna to punch Meredith in the nose’, she chuckled at the image, and her mind recalled the time she had gone all cage fighter on her now good friend in the locker room at Seattle Grace and she found herself thanking the Heavens that Izzie had been there at that time to prevent any real damage from taking place. As peeved as she was at the general surgeon in this moment, she had turned out to be a valued friend, and Callie would have hated to have lost that friendship before it had had a chance to develop. The appreciative feeling towards her golden haired former nemesis surprised her and she shook her head, accompanying it with an eye roll for good measure. She had never considered she could be grateful to Izzie Stevens for anything, but with the hindsight time afforded, Callie now knew that if it hadn’t been for the blonde traitor to her sex, the same one who had stood sentry over Meredith during that locker room confrontation, she would have wasted so much more of her life in a one sided marriage, bound to a partner whom she was confident had never truly loved her.

George O'Malley.

Callie hadn’t thought of him in years. With a sudden cringe, she remembered the time period when George had been her own suggested McDreamy, then laughed sardonically. "Ha. 'McDreamy’, my ass. You were more like 'McWeenie’, weren’t you O'Malley?” she accused with no ill will. “At least I always knew Arizona loved me, even through the mess we had become in the end.”

The thoughts of the young resident with the misidentified moniker led to images of other 'Mc’ people she had lost in her life, or more specifically, the neuro surgeon who had been the reason for her last excursion into the woods many years ago and the manwhore best friend she had loved enough to share a child with. She snorted, remembering the time she’d drawn a diagram that had ended up creatively depicting Derek as an ass for laying sole claim to the sensors they had spent an enormous amount of hours creating and fine tuning together, and she was thankful that they had managed to make amends and put the whole mess behind them long before he died. She had loved Derek as a friend, but oh man, had she so thoroughly enjoyed wiping the arrogance from his handsome face by using her own research to make those very sensors obsolete. “No hard feelings McDreamy. You really were a good guy.”

Finally pulling up to cabin number thirteen, Callie cut the engine but did not get out as she continued her reflections, the thought of beloved friends and good guys segueing her to Mark, her trusty stalwart who had stood fast at her side through both good times and bad. Callie was sure he’d be firmly situated beside her now as well, supporting her and even conspiring in the formulation of a plan to win back the love she had so foolishly forsaken.

“God, do I miss you, Mark.”

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back on the headrest and smiled wistfully, directing her mind to the time back before her relocation to The Big Apple, when her visits to his final resting place were a frequent occurrence. She thought of the many, many 'Grave Conversations’ that took place after his life had ended and her own fell apart, discussions that at times turned heads of other visitors for their volatile, one sided nature when Callie felt imaginarily berated by the plastic surgeon for her dismissal of her marriage to the woman she had loved so completely.

“McDreamy and McSteamy… ” She swiped an errant tear away. “McSteamy annnnd McDreamy.”

An inner peace came over her and a small smile appeared when a mental picture of Arizona unexpectedly popped into her head.

“Hmm. Not for nothing guys, I mean you were both hot and all but Arizona… Now SHE is McDreamy AND McSteamy,” Callie’s smile grew as she confessed to the empty car. “She’s both of you COMBINED. My own personal 'McDreamy’ AND 'McSteamy’ all rolled up into one endlessly amazing package. Not even you or Derek could pull THAT one off, Mark,” she declared before quickly chastising herself for thinking comparatively of her dead friends. She sighed deeply. God, all the pain and the hurts seemed like a lifetime ago and Callie was beyond ready to move past it all. To lay it all to rest, to truly forgive and forget in relation to her former wife, and to ask for forgiveness in return and finally, hopefully, start anew. A sudden excitement careened through the brunette as that thought settled within. She really was ready to try again, to walk tall and wade through the mire of a relationship with the only person she had ever truly loved. She contemplated simply turning her car around and heading back to the city to improvise her chances with said ex-wife or maybe employing Amelia as her 'Wingman’, after all she’d heard of the women’s friendship back when they were colleagues at the same hospital in Maryland, but her downward glance caught sight of the brochure on the soft leather seat beside her and Callie resigned instead to take this weeklong opportunity of uninterrupted time to come up with a well designed game plan to sweep Arizona off her feet and win back her love.

Picking up the glossy advertisement that announced the lodge and it’s rhyming catch phrase, Callie grinned in sudden anticipation. “Shed her clothes AND her woes…” she altered. “Hmm, thanks Bitter Hills. Thanks to you, my idea not only has a name but a directive as well,” she proclaimed, reaching for the door handle.

End ch 3

[maizehartwig]

My Ex Came Back After 7 Months Marvelous Tricks

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How To Make A Ex Want You Back

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How To Get My Ex Back Fast Secret Method

[mangokiwitropicalswirl]

Paging Dr. Scully, chp 3

Paging Dr. Scully, chp 1: Squeeze 

Paging Dr Scully, chp 2: Jersey Devil

Paging Dr. Scully, chp 3: Shadows

Why had she let Gina convince her to wear the lace bodysuit?

“I look like a preteen in a Love’s Baby Soft ad,” she mutters to herself in the bathroom mirror at the restaurant as she touches up her lipstick and pushes carefully-curled tendrils behind her ear.

Normally, she’d have called up Melissa to come help her get ready. Melissa keeps up with fashion trends – she wears chokers and Doc Martens with bohemian dresses, not a predictable rotation of petite-sized scrubs underneath bleachy-white doctor coats. Scully rarely has a reason to put on anything other than jeans and a sweatshirt in the all-too-short hours between shifts.

But Melissa is away “on walkabout,” as she had put it. Scully had teased her repeatedly for calling an aimless American road trip by the Australian term for an adolescent spiritual rite of passage. “But it IS meaningful, Dana,” Melissa had insisted, her voice deep with conviction. “I want to see what the world holds for me, to open myself up to possibilities.”

Scully had nodded, only the slightest raise of her eyebrow betraying her scepticism that the trip is anything other than an excuse to hook up with random strangers and experiment with mind altering substances of one kind or another. She could have been jealous of Melissa’s unencumbered ways, but that had never been what she wanted from life.

She had thrived on the challenges of school and the thrill of the ER’s energy. She likes knowing she has control, giving commands to nurses and technicians, swooping in to bring order out of the chaos. That’s what she does. And it’s what she wants – to make sense of things, to categorize and pin things down. Life should be conquerable, ordered, stable. She needs a partner who wants the same things, right?

Which is why she finds herself sitting across from Rob, the tax accountant, easily eight or ten years her senior. A divorcee. Talking about taking kids to the park, or the museum, or is it the circus? Her mind is wandering.

He is nice enough, pleasant, average-looking, but clean. Uncomplicated. The first date she’s had in far too long. Unless you counted that hospital-basement coffee that the cute FBI agent bought her the night before.

Fox. Why is she thinking about Fox right now? Rob is explaining some intricate new estate tax law that Congress is considering, which will wreck havoc on his clients’ attempts to exploit the gift tax loophole.

She keeps the polite smile plastered on her face, ignoring the back part of her brain that begins comparing this conversation to the bizarre repartee she’d had with Mulder – she remembers he had said to call him Mulder – his skulking around the morgue, the story about Jersey Devils. She wonders if he’d called up Dr. Diamond, and if he had, what they’d found out.

Rob is still rambling and she hopes her face isn’t betraying anything but eager, engaged first-date interest.

Would he call her? She’d basically asked him to. She never does that. Why had she done that?

“Dana,” Rob says her name suddenly. “Do you need to get that?”

“Hmm?” She gives her head a startled shake. “What?”

“Your pager went off, do you need to call in?” Rob looks dutiful and concerned.

“Oh, sorry!” She looks sheepishly down at her pager. It’s the hospital. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Walking toward the restaurant desk phone, she can’t put her finger on why she feels disappointed. It’s not like she’d given Mulder her pager number. And for goodness sake, she’s on a date with another guy! Get it together, Dana. Her internal monologue is confusing but mercifully cut short when the call in to the hospital switchboard jolts her back into a role she’s more comfortable with.

“Multiple victims from a ten car pile-up headed in, we need you here tonight, Dr. Scully.”

“I’m on my way.” She doesn’t pause to measure the sense of relief that floods her, which is not a typical reaction to news of a long night of triage and trauma. She’ll make her apologies to Rob, but she won’t say anything about rainchecks or next times.

She dodges Rob’s phone calls for the next week, although work is genuinely busy enough that she doesn’t have to actually lie about why she’s not calling him back. Her mom is not so easily dissuaded. Maggie can’t seem to understand why her highly eligible daughter has made it to the ripe old age of 29 without at least a steady boyfriend.

“We just didn’t click, Mom,” she explains as Maggie questions why she’s not going out with Rob again.

“Well honey, sometimes you have to give a guy a second chance to make an impression,” Maggie sighs.

Scully sighs as well. Sometimes she placates her with promises to be more open, but other times, the best approach is to deflect attention to Melissa, who is several years older and also equally unattached.

“Mom, how’s Melissa? Have you heard from her?”

Maggie knows this is a diversionary tactic, but lets her off the hook anyway. Their conversation wanders away from the topic of Dana’s love life and onto speculations about Melissa’s.

It’s not until a week later Scully remembers that Mulder neglected to call her. And then it’s a quiet Friday another week after that when her phone rings.

“I don’t suppose you’re in Philadelphia right now?” He doesn’t even bother with hello, so it takes her a minute to place the confident, teasing voice on the other end of the line.

“Alas, no,” she smiles, settling down into the soft corner of her couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “Why? Should I be?”

“It’s just that I have the strangest hankering to go and see the Liberty Bell. I’ve been here a hundred times and I’ve never seen it.”

“You’re not missing much. It’s a big bell with a big crack, and you have to wait in a long line.”

“Still,” Mulder pauses, “I’d really like to go. You want to come meet me?”

“At the Liberty Bell?” She incredulous, sitting forward on her elbows now.

“Yeah, it’s only, what, three hours drive?”

“Three hours and a dozen tolls,” she laughs. “Plus, I think they’d be closed by the time I get there.”

“Hmmm,” he hums looking at his watch, “true. They probably close after 11.”

“So you’re assuming I’m just going to hop in my car at 8 p.m on a Friday night and meet you in a city three hours away?” Scully is almost impressed by his audacity. “If I remember correctly, we’ve only met twice, and the second time you never called me back.”

“I’m calling you now, aren’t I?” She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay, fine. Let’s imagine I hop in my car and meet you in Philadephia. What are you doing up there anyway?”

“On a case. I think I’ve got real proof of psychokinetic activity this time.” He’s breathless, eager.

“Psychokinesis?” Scully laughs. This is an entirely different galaxy – nay, universe – from conversations about tax accounting. “You mean how Carrie got even at the prom?”

“Basically, yes.” He laughs too, and then there’s an awkward pause between them, a low hum over the telephone line that’s neither physical nor entirely imagined.

Scully takes a deep breath before she can change her mind.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, let’s go to the Liberty Bell.”

“Really?” His voice raises half an octave.

“Don’t make me second-guess myself, G-man,” she retorts, getting up from the couch and hurrying to change into something resembling an outfit. “And you better be buying the cheesesteaks because a girl gets hungry after a long drive.”

“You got it, doc.”

Three hours is a lot of time to second guess oneself, so she finds herself pushing the speed limit more than her usual nine-and-a-half miles over. If she drives faster, she won’t have a chance to analyze the logic of driving three hours to meet a man she’s only met twice – both times in a hospital, and both times he has talked about monsters. Well, monsters or aliens.

What the heck is she doing? She doesn’t know, but she can’t suppress the giggle that bubbles in her belly when she imagines his face when she told him she’d come. Somehow she can picture his wide-eyed surprise, and the way his lower lip must have turned up in a smile.

Why is she thinking about his lip? She barely knows him. Shut up brain. She drives faster.

To his credit, Mulder is waiting at the entrance to the deserted Liberty Bell pavilion parking lot with two oblong foil-wrapped cheesesteaks.

“I had to guess how you’d like yours.” He raises hers up in the air as a greeting as she steps out of the car. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure you did fine,” she smiles, reaching for the sandwich. Now it’s awkward. Should she hug him? Give him a kiss on the cheek? Shake hands?

He’s not helping, staring at her with a quizzical look, his eyes darting between the sandwich in his hands and still-lit pavilion behind her. Scully raises her eyebrows in a question, and shrugs.

“Well?” She says.

“C’mon,” he gestures with his head toward the lighted building. “I bribed the guards to keep it open.”

“You bribed the guards?”

“Bribed, threatened, cajoled, whatever.” He smiles. “The badge comes in handy sometimes.”

“So you’re saying you misused your credentials to convince some poor, beleaguered Liberty Bell attendants to stay open three hours past closing just so we can see this big cracked hunk of tin?” Her words are sarcastic, but her tone rings with delight.

“You make it sound so nefarious,” he says innocently. “Like I said, I just wanted to see it this time.”

“What about the sandwiches?”

“We can eat them inside.”

Scully shakes her head, smiling. This is, hands down, the strangest date she has ever been a part of. And now she’s not even sure it’s a date. He hasn’t attempted to touch her. Not a hug, not a hand on her shoulder. She’s suddenly worried she has misread this entirely, that this is just some strange overture of nerdy friendship. An uncomfortable sinking feeling lodges in her stomach as she searches for a way to ward off her embarrassment if it turns out she made too many assumptions.

But as they walk up to the building, he reaches ahead of her and opens the door, making an arch with his arm for her to walk under. She looks up at him with a smirk as he follows behind her, his hand pressing the lightest touch in the hollow curve of her back.

[drewkatchen]

The Castro District | Summer 1998 | Taken on a random 35mm camera that someone from my job gave me, not sure what happened to it.

“Every boy or girl must make a break and leave home sooner or later, and if he or she is gay, it’s probably sooner and a bit further.” -- Kevin Bently “Wild Animals I Have Known”

Saturday night in the Castro. 

Dan and I wedged ourselves into the chaos somewhere between the corner gas station and the millions of washboard abs slicked with sweat. We carved a sliver of space barely big enough for one, a tiny dot on a massive swaying canvas. Bodies in motion on all sides pressed against us, and Dan looked at me in a way he hadn’t before. He was up to something. The San Francisco air, cool and damp and curious in all the ways you’ve either heard about or experienced first-hand, felt full of life and cracking with possibility for every misfit that had left behind their small towns to be here, to come into the warm epicenter. I had goosebumps; air didn’t feel that way back home, and I felt the energy in my gut. Saturday was the night before the parade; closeted Jersey bankers and kids from Cleveland melted into the city’s welcoming soup for just a minute, life’s limitations left for Monday, not now. Across the street, two women, naked aside from sneakers and their full heads of hair, were locked in lust dining on each other atop a MUNI bus station, the very definition of gay liberation, of absolutely not giving a shit. 

I hadn’t talked to my folks in over a month, but in the fog of furry torsos and unencumbered breasts I could picture them three-thousand miles away at home watching television before bed, my stepdad snoring next to the dogs. Did they think of me at all in this time off? What did they feel? In a few months, I would crawl back across the country and return to my apartment and for my senior year of school. Maybe I would see them again?

From a booth I really couldn’t locate, the DJ sent rhythms and affirmations out into the night air, encouraging his audience to find love or sex or lock into the groove while rolling. “I dream about us together again/What I want us together again, baby/I know that we’ll be together again.”

Others were on the ground in different stages of embrace and undress, swigging drinks or sniffing things. Dan and I had been swaying to the music with thousands of others, but now his curving body slowed to a halt and straightened up. 

He had something to say.

“Can I live in the moment right now? Is that ok?”

No one had ever asked me anything like that.

“Sure, man. What is it?”

I still didn’t know what he was proposing.

A wry smile moved across his face, and his eyes closed. Baseball cap turned backwards, Dan took the lean in slow and dramatic, the cameras in his mind rolling, closing the negligible space between us, making it non-existent, taking his moment, offering himself in a new way. Not unwelcome but also not welcome, his kiss, kind and caring and soft, had the odd effect of drawing me more into myself, of retreat. Whatever free and wild is, the Castro that night was about a million hedonistic miles past that, but I found myself unable to dissolve into the broth, to fully let go of those limitations left for Monday and live in that same moment. That was just me. We were in the epicenter, but somehow I wasn’t there. That summer, I met too many creeps who were more keen on conquests than actually getting to know me, but Dan wasn’t one of them. He was a good guy, and he wanted to kiss me.

That night after the kiss and after just feeling strange about it, I wondered if mom was in the back yard watering her plants or talking on her cordless phone. Could she hear herself think over the thrumming cicadas and the dogs barking? Did she wish she could speak to me?

Dan and I kept dancing, the kiss neatly forgotten. Dan was someone I’d met that summer when I left home in a panic and came out West. We kept in touch a bit when I returned back to school, but I have since lost touch with him.

---

“I need to see if Terrence is there. Come with me?”

She was our age, couldn’t have been more than twenty. Unwashed blond hair falling over her faded Army jacket and denim backpack, trying to catch up with her as she sprinted down 17th Street in a fury, chasing something I couldn’t see. Who and why? She held an unlit cigarette; the soda in her Coke bottle sloshed and fizzed at her side. Her big blue eyes saying “Trust me, this’ll be fun”. Isn’t this why we were here, to see a little magic, to catch a contact buzz? I didn’t hear her name because I was taking in the sight and smell bonanza -- shops, stores, guys -- but I think Tommy did. We tailed behind, unsure of where we were heading, only that it felt interesting and non-lethal (potentially) and that it was time away from the van. Painted Victorians and the rainbow flags hanging from businesses and the provocative covers of men’s magazines in shop windows, a thrilling kaleidoscope to my eyes. Guys hung around in the bars we passed, but we kept walking. Was that man holding hands with another guy on the street and not being harassed? My god, FINALLY!!! It was as I imagined but better because it was real and in front of me.

The summer of 1997, what a strange time to be a young gay guy. Legal rights were few and tech had yet to revolutionize the dating world and everything else. Twenty years after Harvey Milk. More than a decade before Grindr. Nearly twenty years before marriage and a whole year before Will & Grace, but who knew? Three years after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and a whole mess of teen years growing up in the South, being terrified by safe-sex literature in nightclubs and magazines, abstinence-only education at my Catholic high school and just positively burying the sexual side of my being. Sex frightened me, probably because it’s the one thing I wanted most, and reading Altman articles in the Times did nothing to help that fear. 

I needed a kiss.

On the train up from the Embarcadero, it dawned on me where we were headed, and it dawned on me that this was the whole point of this trip for me. The rest of our crew, all straight, didn’t see the fuss and went skateboarding instead. My gut rumbled. I had four hours to take it in and maybe location scout for a future life after school. This wasn’t my first time in a big city, but it was my first time checking out a neighborhood built by and maintained by my tribe. Overlooking the practical matters of affordability or even the notion of gentrification (a concept I was probably unfamiliar with at the time) and displacement, the Castro felt like home in a way that home didn’t or so I’d convinced myself. I think I had $20 in my wallet and maybe $300 in an account. It didn’t matter that back home I still was only three-quarters out; the band was all the way across the country, and there was no one to fear out in the cool San Francisco evening. Up and into the station, the heat and bitter scent of machine oil and burnt brakes clung to the shirt I’d been wearing now for days. Tour life is hell on laundry. Would this someday be my home?

Out on the street, we met her almost immediately after chatting up strangers on where we should go or what we should see. Being kids from the sticks upped our charm with the big city folk or so we thought. Just a couple of kids from Carolina. She, our demimonde guide, our Queen of California, maybe got here herself not long ago perhaps by boxcar, by thumb or in some other curious way, but had clearly stuck around the neighborhood for reasons that in hindsight probably weren’t great.

We went along for the ride a few blocks, which ended fast when she started climbing an apartment stoop and rang the buzzer. But where were we and why? 

“This is a sex club that my friend helped open. I need to see if he’s here.”

I think she needed money?

Ten minutes into the neighborhood and this is where we landed. I was single, but no, no thank you. If a peck on the lips petrified me then this whole thing was doom in a hand basket. And that was the brutal thing of being out then, at least to me. The nineties were clearly a more accepting decade than the one before and there was more representation from TV to magazines, but the reality of sex still carried so much weight and still inspired fear in me. In front of the club, a puzzled man in glasses stared at these gawky dorks in front of him and then shooed us away. No surprise, there was no Terrence. She looked lost.

“I’ll catch you guys in a bit. I’m going to walk around and check things out before we head back to the van.”

I bought a coffee from the Starbucks near the corner of 18th Street and a slice from Marcello’s, and it all tasted like freedom. Walking by A Different Light, I saw a Thom Gunn collection in the window, a thick tome I contemplated buying until I realized how lean my budget was for the remainder of the tour.

Little did I know while eating my Hot Cookie (my last food purchase that day in the Castro) and looking at the lobby of the theatre of what was to come next summer: After coming out to my folks and after their uncharitable reaction, I would be staying on the couch of some kindly strangers in a neighborhood not far from where I was then standing.

That night, we loaded back up in the van at the Embarcadero and headed north into the forest, but my mind was on that seemingly magical place I had just been and how to get myself back there in the future.

---

I keep this picture, the one from above, stored in a cheap frame on the nightstand next to my bed. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure why. Its luster has held up over the years. It’s just an average picture, taken up the hill on Castro Street. I think it’s just a matter of there were some pictures in frames that I found in storage and that was one that made the trip back home with me. But there has to be more to it.

For me now, the Castro as a place, as a potential destination holds little magic. It’s not a place I visit with any great frequency, nor did it ever become a true home for me aside from that summer between my junior and senior year of college. But it’s still a place and a time I turn over in my mind constantly. That was a really fragile moment in my life, one where I really could have broken apart from the weight of what I was carrying, one where I needed family and couldn’t really access it. I feel lucky that I never fell in with any sketchy characters that really tried to take advantage of me, but given the headspace I was in at the time, it wouldn’t have surprised me if that did happen. It’s no small feat that I didn’t actually crumble from everything. 

The stress also seemed to manifest itself in a strange tick that I never had prior and one I somehow managed to break over time: I continuously and compulsively touched the skin on my cheeks and around my nose, and the oils from my hand caused deep acne issues for a time. I never had skin issues and don’t now, but somehow the anxiety and the compounding stress of leaving home caused a real problem that no amount of Clearisil or Retin A could clear up. Of course, it was a matter of just not touching my face, but I couldn’t stop myself. I lived in front of a mirror, but not because I liked what I saw. It was the one time in my life where I was caught in a cycle of self-harm but didn’t seem to realize it.

Honestly, I think I keep the picture of the Castro next to my bed as a reminder of how much in the past I struggled through different phases of my life and how generally speaking I’ve been able to rebound and continue on with my life. Sure there were great moments that summer. Many of them. I ate a ton of burritos at Taqueria Cancun. I lived on the couch in a great neighborhood and had access to a beautiful back yard. I went for hikes in Point Reyes (where I managed to get poison ivy), and I saw the Locust and Tristeza play a show in Berkeley. I went to Esta Noche (RIP) and saw Joan of Arc at Bottom of the Hill. I saw Thom Gunn do a reading in the SOMA district while wearing leather chaps. That summer is also when I discovered Mark Eitzel’s classic (classic to me anyway) record 60 Watt Silver Lining, a haunted and haunting record that spoke to me so directly. There was a lot of beauty in that painful chapter.

But time can only be so great when you still have demons at home to conquer, and that I did. The picture of the Castro, an image of a brilliant sunny afternoon, reminds me that some part of my life has always been a struggle and that my family is complex and complicated and loving in their own unique and sometimes puzzling way. Sometimes looking at a picture makes me uneasy, as it does in this case, and I have to accept that is part of what I’ve been given.

But perhaps I should move the picture off my nightstand.

[fic-dreamin]

3.0 out of 5 stars It was thrilling but left too many questions unanswered

3.0 out of 5 stars DUST - long journey to a proper ending (no spoilers here) WOOL, the first book in the SILO trilogy was great! From cover to cover it was the kind of Sci-Fi that I love, which included a ruined world, people struggling to survive, discovering the past and moving toward an uncertain future. The well-written novel inspired purchase of the SHIFT and DUST e-books. My reviews on both WOOL and SHIFT are on this site. Tonight DUST is done.In this last novel Hugh Howey does not regain the literary stride that carried the reader along in WOOL. SHIFT was a long and excruciating read, containing three novels, all overblown with unneeded character and plot development. DUST is mostly the same. The last chapter is partially redeeming to the extent that most of the three star rating is for that chapter alone. What happens next in this saga needs to be written. It is my hope that as Hugh Howey takes time off while circumnavigating the globe that some time is dedicated to refining his craft, and learning to remove the fluff. Go to Amazon

3.0 out of 5 stars DUST has a myopia about the nuts and bolts that obscures the narrative Dust is the final installment in Hugh Howey’s Silo Saga. In Dust the plot threads introduced in the Wool books and the backstory exposited in the Shift books come to their inevitable head.I enjoyed Dust—I enjoyed it more than the Shift books but not as much as the Wool books. But after Donald’s three shifts, I was ready to return to where Wool 5 left off: Juliette, the renegade cleaner, has returned to her silo determined to break the truth about her world to her friends and neighbors. Juliette, probably the most intricately drawn character in the the Silo Saga, stays true to form. As a reader, I trusted her to explore, to push boundaries, and to eventually lead her people out of her silo, and she fulfills that promise. Howey, characteristically, makes it a Pyrrhic victory once again.Dust ties together Juliette’s plotline and Donald’s plotline, which was prefectly fine but not all that interesting to me. The banality of knowing where the silos come from has consistently failed to generate my interest when compared to the cloistered, claustrophobic lives of the other silos’ inhabitants. The books work best for me when we see the ways in which an entire life in a silo shapes people’s minds: the way the scope of the world narrows and how shocking and incomprehensible it is to Juliette and others when they realize there is so much more world than they ever thought possible. Donald and the others in Silo 1 feel patronizing and unnecessary. Donald’s storyline is there mostly to push exposition along and to ratchet up the stakes, but honestly I think that the stakes would have felt higher if he had stayed a disembodied voice on the illicit radio.The exposition he delivers never quite pays off.Read more › Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars Fresh Take on Good Old-Fashioned Sci-Fi The final book in the Silo trilogy brings the characters from WOOL back, incorporates the action and backstory from SHIFT, and ties it all up with a fine ending.Start with WOOL. It introduces the concept of a subterranean culture with rigid expectations and harsh punishments. The characters Howey introduces are authentic to their situation, and the reader becomes invested in their desire to know truth, fight corruption and coercion, and ultimate survival. The suspense, world-building, quick pace, and relatable characters make for a satisfying read. I wouldn't be surprised if WOOL became a science-fiction classic, as another reviewer stated.SHIFT shifted gears and slowed things down with necessary background information. We are introduced with the designers, builders, and executioners of WOOL's world, which are, unsurprisingly, not very likable people. It's a prequel of sorts that needs to be read after WOOL to maintain its suspense and impact. SHIFT catches up to WOOL by the end of the book and reunites the reader with beloved characters from the first book.DUST begins where SHIFT left off and continues our characters' search for truth, absolution, freedom, and, ultimately, survival. WOOL is a solid five stars, SHIFT rates three, and DUST is a four-star read. Overall, the entire story rates a five for a riveting story in a unique dystopian setting.SHIFT answers many of the questions that WOOL ignored in order to come out of the gate fast and unencumbered. Go to Amazon