#the track list is fucking stacked

[impossibleprincess35]

They don't make movie soundtracks like this anymore.

[broke-on-books]

I think the universe just hates me personally (can't find my scooby doo comics)

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ You Get Me So High… ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Michizō Tachihara

a/n: story would not exist without THIS idea from @mrsnakaj1ma, thank you sm Jessi for giving me permission to write it out ♡

genre: nasty cuz i’m a slut for tachihara

content: f!reader. MDNI! drug (marijuana) usage. dry humping + he cums in his pants.

summary: you and your best friend, tachihara, share a joint and discover you’re attracted to each other… really attracted to each other

(literal fuck around and find out moment)

"C'mon, he's not worth it. He's not – and stop checking your fuckin' phone already." Your best friend, Tachihara, mutters as he keys into your apartment, tossing his bag on the floor.

It's now been exactly one week. One whole fucking week since the guy you matched with online last texted you back. What was wrong with you? Why didn't he like you anymore?

Your thoughts are about to spiral downward but Tachihara interrupts them, suddenly interjecting, "Damn, you let guys in here with your apartment looking like this?" as he points out the stack of dirty dishes in your kitchen sink that you've yet to wash and the mud track on the wooden floor by the pile of shoes.

"Yeah, as if your place is any better." You roll your eyes, hanging your jacket up in the closet by the door. "Those are your dishes, by the way. Your mess. So get to cleaning. And pick up your damn bag."

He scoffs. Then, with a disgruntled sigh, "Yes, ma'am," He sets his bag politely next to the sofa and starts cleaning, just like you asked. You grin at him smugly, making him side-eye you as you dry the dishes beside him. "What?" he snaps, irritated.

"Wow, look at you, following orders. This what they make you do in the Black Lizard?" You tease, making him roll his eyes in annoyance as you push him to the side with your shoulder playfully. "Here, let me take care of the rest of them."

Situating himself on the sofa, you hear the TV turn on in the background, then watch as Tachihara shuffles through his bag for a grinder. Reaching into his pocket, he out a small ziploc bag with buds, then glances up at you with a grin on his face. "You wanna smoke?"

"Of course," you respond with a smirk, shaking off the water from your hands as you make yourself comfortable beside him. "When have I ever said no to weed?"

As he rolls you a joint, you fumble through his bag for his lighter. "Here," he says, passing it to you and leaning in close to light it as you bring it to your lips. You sigh and take a long drag, then sink into the sofa before passing the joint back to him.

"Ugh, look." You point to your phone, groaning. "Still no text."

Taking a hit of his own, he snatches the TV remote. "God, just shut up and watch a movie with me. Stop thinking about that prick." Scrolling through the selections mindlessly, he picks the first thing on your recommended list.

"Listen–" you start, but he cuts you off, rolling his eyes again.

"Look. You're funny. You're nice. You're fun to be around. And you're hot, too. Okay? Now, pay attention to me and watch the movie. Jesus."

You shut up immediately, thrown off guard by what he said and the casual way he said it, and flustered by his words – but Tachihara pays you no mind, taking another hit and passing the joint back to you. You relax, figuring it must have been some friendly compliment, then grin to yourself as an idea comes to mind. "Close the windows. Let's hotbox this place."

It's not long until your apartment is filled with smoke, and you're giggling way too much at a joke that wasn't even that funny, your head resting on Tachihara's shoulder as he puffs out another cloud of smoke. "God, he wasn't even that cute," you laugh, burying your nose in Tachihara's neck. "He wasn't even cute!" He passes the joint to you, and you gladly take another dizzying hit, one that makes you cough out loud.

He chuckles softly at your realization, rubbing your back as you cough. "I told you, you have terrible taste in men."

"Oh yeah?" you tease, blowing a steady stream of smoke in his face. "You must be pretty terrible, then."

He smirks at your remark, feeling cocky now that you've both admitted you're attracted to each other. "Yeah, you think I'm cute, then?" he asks, taking another hit and bringing his face close – close enough to exchange smoke past your parted lips. Close enough to kiss you, even.

"Yeah," you murmur, then suddenly, he's pulling you into his lap and you're straddling him, and his lips are on yours. Soft, sweet lips. He kisses you so well, you wonder who the hell Tachihara could possibly be kissing when you're always on his ass about how he never gets girls. You grip him by his t-shirt and pull him closer, then you feel his hands travel down and squeeze your ass.

– Holy fuck. You definitely didn't think you'd be doing this with your best friend, but it feels too good to stop.

Your kisses grow hungrier. You feel his fingers grasp the side of your neck, hear his raspy breath in your ear. His lips are on your neck, then his teeth are skimming your skin, and you can feel his tongue teasing you before he's sucking splotches of red on your most sensitive spots. "God, Michi – fuck," you moan, tugging onto his hair and exchanging places with him.

He gasps when he feels your mouth on his own neck. You feel his body tense up underneath you, his fingertips digging into your thighs as you kiss him. He's making these soft moans, sounds you've never heard from him and never thought you'd ever hear from him, and all you can think about is how you wanna make him make more of them. "Hah, fuck," you hear him pant as he throws his head back, his hands intertwining in your hair. He rolls your hips against his, and you feel his dick pressing firmly against you through his sweats. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You can't help but wonder what his dick looks like, if he’s big. He definitely feels big… He feels… good. So good, the blunt head thrusting at you desperately as you grind against him, his name spilling out your lips while you’re clinging to him.

And his name sounds so natural coming from you. Unbelievably natural. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Now that you’re moaning out for him, just for him, the wet spot in his boxers is spreading. He’s warm all over as you reach for him. As you grope him through his sweats. As you kiss him, kiss him in all the right places that have him groaning into your ear –

The movie is background noise now, a quiet buzz that’s drowned out by the sound of his ragged breath. You’re both so high and horny for each other. You’re rutting against him like you’re in heat, and he’s thrusting up at you through his clothes, grabbing your ass roughly while the TV flickers to that empty grey screen. “Are you still watching?” it asks. Of course the fuck not. You stopped watching the minute Tachihara’s lips were on yours.

Then, you feel him twitch under you, hips convulsing, and his eyes go wide as he realizes what’s happening. “Wait – oh, shit… I’m…”

He sits up suddenly, then pushes you off his lap quickly. Then, he looks down where his sweats are now soaked through in cum.

“Ah, fuck –!”

© BSDAWGZ 2024. Do not steal or repost ANY of my works! That’s plagiarism, and it’s mean. :(( Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

[lalacliffthorne]

🕯midnights pt. II🕯

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: azriel might be too much of a distraction after all

notes: the people have spoken, we got a part II. seriously though: it's honestly and completely blowing my mind how many people read my first posts here and liked them. like - truly; it's nuts, I really can't even wrap my head around it. it's always been hard for me to find the kind of people who would read what I'm cooking up, and I'm sure that any writer would agree that, while writing is the thing that keeps us alive, we fucking thrive off interactions and being able to talk about our babies and all their little details. and this is giving me that, and I'm so fucking thankful for that, so please; never ever be shy and just write to me, talk to me, it melts my little heart to hear from you and makes me just really fucking happy.

anyways, sorry for the rambling, here's part II of midnights, it's pure fluff and I'm not even sorry

______________________________________________________________

I couldn't handle the distraction.

Not. In. The. Slightest.

I inwardly kicked myself as Azriel gently pushed me into the guest room and slipped his hand off my lips to close the door. The lock clicked softly, and my heart jumped into my throat.

This was a really bad idea.

At least Cassian's snoring was gone.

Azriel's bare chest brushed against my shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his gaze was slowly tracking over the little bits of evidence of me. The rumpled sheets on the obscenely huge bed, the jewellery strewn over the wooden dresser and the shoes kicked off next to the door. There was a clothing rack Mor had lent me next to the window leading out to the street that was stuffed with the clothes I had saved from the water damage in the bedroom, and my books. Dozens and dozens of books stacked next to the empty fireplace.

The shadowsinger threw me a look, and I smiled sheepishly. “They would've gotten wet.”

Azriel's lips twitched, and something hot washed over me as his dark eyes tracked over my face.

This was going to be a long night.

~

I wasn't sure what exactly it was that I had expected. Maybe that my heart wouldn't be able to stop skipping, that just Azriel's presence would be enough to make focusing on anything but him absolutely impossible, and that I would spend the rest of the night tense and regretting several life choices.

My legs growing tired had not been on the list.

Shifting lightly and leaning my knees to the side, I tried to focus on the book propped against my thighs.

I had curled up on one end of the small couch at the back window, a soft blanket draped over my bare legs and a pillow stuffed into my back. Azriel was sitting on the other end, his wings relaxed and folded comfortably, body leaned lazily into the cushions, his skin shimmering in the soft, warm light. His eyes moved slowly over the pages of the book propped against his knee, his brows smoothed over and one strand of his hair falling into his forehead.

For some reason, his presence wasn't throwing me off nearly as much as I had thought it would. His steady, even breaths weren't distracting but calming, his body only a few feet away radiating warmth and grounding steadiness.

Sure, my heart still went haywire whenever I looked at him for too long, some strange feeling surging in my chest. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was giddy, and comforting, and it made something bubble warmly in my chest, my breath hitching once in a while.

If only it wasn't for the fact that even with my legs pulled up towards my chest, my toes almost touched his thigh.

This couch wasn't meant for two people.

Would I stretch out my legs like they begged me to do, they would be draped over Azriel's lap, definitely invading what I considered personal space. It was the only reason I had not changed my position about half an hour ago, when my legs had slowly started to tingle uncomfortably, and had instead stayed frozen in my position.

Even though Azriel had not seemed to mind being close to me earlier, I didn't want to push it.

Ever since meeting him, I knew that for him, physical contact was - complicated. I had seen plenty of times when he had flinched away from it, mostly from strangers, as well meaning as they had been. He didn't seem to mind as much when it came from his friends, his family. In fact, I was pretty sure I had seen him lean into the way Rhys patted his shoulders or how the way he rolled his eyes when Cassian squeezed the living daylight out of him in a hug always looked half-hearted, his lips curving just barely in amusement, or how he let Mor mess with his hair and give him cheek kisses even though he glared at her.

I wasn't sure if he needed to trust a person to be able to accept physical contact or if it was something else entirely, but I didn't want to overstep. He looked so relaxed, calm, almost unguarded, it made something flicker in my chest.

I didn't give care if my legs turned numb if it meant he could stay like that for a little longer.

Shifting again, I barely suppressed the urge to grimace when there was a light sting in my thigh, my muscles aching.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's eyes flicker up from his book and towards me and tried to keep my breathing even, gaze moving over the words on the page before me without quite catching their meaning.

The Spymaster returned his gaze back towards his book, and I slowly let myself relax, inwardly making a face when I shifted in my seat, trying to find another position that didn't make my legs feel quite so mangled.

Big, calloused hands closed around my ankles, and my heart jumped into my throat when they pulled on my legs, dragging me down over the cushions in one swift move and causing a soft squeak to leave me when my head hit the armrest.

My breath stumbled, my eyes darted up, widening slightly, and Azriel draped my legs over his lap, my calves pressing against his thighs when he tugged the blanket around my legs and threw me a look.

“You've been squirming for half an hour.” He mumbled the words like they were an explanation, only after a few seconds adding in a grumble: “It's driving me nuts.”

My breath hitched, stilling as I stared at him as he shifted a little in his seat, sinking back until he was reclined comfortably again, draping his forearms over my shins and turning his attention back towards his book. The blanket had ridden up, and his right arm was pressing against my bare leg, but Azriel didn't seem to give a shit about personal space or physical contact as he pulled my legs closer, his right hand slipping under the blanket to gently close around my calf and hold it in place.

One corner of Azriel's lips tipped upwards a little, and without looking away from the pages, he mumbled, amusement lacing his deep, low voice: “You're staring.”

I blinked, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat as something fluttered in my chest, high and wild, and Azriel threw me a look, a twinkle in his amber eyes that was full of dark mischief when he raised an eyebrow lightly.

“Too much distraction?”

My lips parted in disbelief, and Azriel's lips curved like he was holding back a smirk. Then he turned his attention back towards his book.

I stared at him, gaping lightly as my heart skipped high and a ridiculously wide smile slowly stretched over my face.

You're on.

Slumping back into the cushions, I picked up my book that had fallen into my lap when Azriel had dragged me towards him, flicking back to the page I had left it. Snuggling into the cushion, my eyes moved over the page, not processing a word as my mind started working. Staring. Distraction.

Well, I could just –

Shifting, I started to tug the blanket off my legs, keeping my eyes on the pages of my book as my brows furrowed lightly in focus. Leaning up a little to pull the blanket off my feet, I dropped it onto the ground, stretching my bare legs before settling back into the cushions.

It was a long shot, but –

Azriel threw me a look, and I caught the second he blinked, his grip around my calf changing. His eyes, looking like molten gold in the warm light, moved over my legs, my shirt pushed up from him dragging me down over the cushions, now barely reaching the top of my thighs. A muscle in his jaw shifted sharply, his piercing gaze tracking up my shins, over the small scar on my knee where I had fallen as a child, up my thighs –

"Too much distraction?”

Azriel's gaze snapped up, and I lost the fight against my twitching lips when it met mine, a wide cheeky smile slowly spreading over my face, bright and mischievous, and Azriel stared at me, stared as a twinkle spread through his eyes, growing and growing just like the crease digging into his cheek.

Giggling softly under my breath, I turned my eyes back onto my book, focusing back on the pages as my heart skipped against my ribs.

Or, I tried to focus. But Azriel's hand had slipped up my leg, now resting on my shin, his scarred skin rough and warm on mine as his thumb started to slowly brush over my skin. And suddenly, nothing about him was calming anymore.

Trying to keep my breathing even, I barely suppressed the urge to swallow as I stared at the pages of my book.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the shadowsinger's lips quirk upwards.

Damn it.

Breathing out soundlessly, I tried to focus back on my book. Azriel´s thumb was slowly swiping over my skin, almost absentmindedly. It made my throat close up as something skipped against my ribs, and I shifted without even realizing.

Azriel's grip around my leg tightened, and he mumbled: “Stop that.”

“Why; am I distracting again?” I felt my lips curve as I huffed, and Az looked like he had to bite back a smile, raising a brow at me.

“Are you done squirming?”

I breathed out before closing my book with a snap, holding it up and raising a brow at him. “This is boring.”

“That's because you're still only in the beginning.” The golden flecks in Azriel's eyes twinkled. “It picks up later.”

Grumbling, I let the book slip to the ground, dropping my head back against the armrest.

Blinking at the ceiling, I listened as my heart thrummed steadily against my ribs, something warm bubbling gently in my chest, giddy and warm and comfortable.

My eyes were just closing a little when suddenly, a thought struck me that made my heart miss a beat and jump into my throat as I widened my eyes.

“Shit.”

Azriel's eyes darted up when I scrambled to get to my feet, a crease forming between his brows as he watched me, his wings flaring slightly as tension rippled through his body.

“What?”

I turned to blink at him, his shoulders suddenly rigid and body straightening, like he was ready to jump into action.

“I just remembered I ate the last of Mor's cookies.”

Azriel stared at me. Then he huffed. His shoulders dropped, and he sank back into his seat and glared at me.

“I thought -” He broke off, breathing out as he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, but his lips twitched like he suddenly had to hold back a laugh. Shaking his head, he looked back up at me, and my breath hitched when I saw the way his eyes began to twinkle.

“What?” I felt my brows furrow, and Azriel slowly started to smirk, creases forming in his cheeks and causing something to surge high in my chest.

“Nice knowing you.”

I deadpanned, and the shadowsinger chuckled, the deep sound almost making me sway on the spot as his eyes crinkled.

“Hey, at least I planned on making a new batch.” I glared at him, but it probably looked more than a pout, judging from the way Azriel's lips curved when he pushed himself to his feet.

“Alright, come on.” His eyes were bright with amusement when he fixed his pyjama pants that had slipped dangerously low on his hips, stepping towards me and placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch sent a jolt through my body, the weight of his palms gentle when he turned me around, mumbling: “Can't have Mor killing you over a jar of cookies.”

I tried to keep myself from swallowing when his breath fanned over the top of my head, his chest bumping into my back as he started to push me towards the door, and my heart skipped a little.

Frowning lightly, I slowed my steps and looked up at him over my shoulder.

“What are you -” My eyes flickered over his face, and I blinked before breathing out and smiling, crooked and a bit cheeky as I raised my brows at him. “You can stay up here and read, you know.”

“And miss you trying to navigate our kitchen?” Azriel's brows furrowed as he opened the door, but his lips curved when he threw me a look. “No book is that entertaining.”

I tried to elbow him into the ribs, but Azriel dodged the jab, smirking in a way that got my heart stuck in my throat.

Breathing out softly and soundlessly, I allowed him to gently nudge me onto the stairs leading down into the house.

At least I could put some reasonable distance between us in the kitchen.

~

The moon was shining through the windows as we made our way down the stairs, stars and galaxies twinkling on the dark sky. When we passed Cassian's floor and a particularly loud snore echoed from his room, I had to muffle my giggle with the back of my hand, Azriel's chest vibrating in my back like he was laughing silently.

The living room was dipped in half-light as we made our way over to the door leading to the kitchen. I pushed it open, shivering happily at the warmth washing over me, mixed with the sweet smell of the flowers sitting on the big table over at the window. The fae lights flickered to life, flooding the room with warm, golden light when Azriel closed the door behind him, and I slipped past the oven, stretching to open the two high cupboards that functioned as a pantry before pulling myself onto the counter. The marble was cold against my knees when I straightened up and stretched to get to the container of flour on the top shelf.

Squinting in concentration, I jumped lightly when Azriel sucked in a sharp breath.

“What the –“, he interrupted himself, and I could feel the air shift behind me like his shadows had brought him there, then a hand settled on my back, warm and steady as it pressed firmly, and my fingers almost slipped on the cabinet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Azriel sounded torn between amusement and irritation, and I grumbled: “Getting the flour. This place is built for fucking giants.”

Stretching a bit more, I could feel him shift closer, his hand pressing harder against my lower back, and my breath hitched.

Making a happy sound when my fingers closed around the big glass jar, I pulled it off the shelf. But I hadn't expected it to be quite so full and so heavy, and so I squealed softly when it dipped back, the lid sliding off, and I ducked my head when I could feel a rain of flour douse past me.

Quickly pushing the glass up and catching it with my free hand, I carefully slid it onto the counter before throwing a quick look over my shoulder – and feeling my eyes widen as my heart skipped once before stilling.

The flour had missed me, only dusting my dark shirt with a thin layer.

Azriel had not been as lucky.

The shadowsinger blinked. His lashes, usually long and dark, were now stark white, just like his hair and his face and the top of his shoulders and wings, all coated in a thick layer of powdery flour.

A soft snort left me. Then something began to bubble in my chest until I couldn't contain it anymore, and a laugh broke free, quickly turning into wild and unrestrained giggles.

A rumble grew in Azriel's chest as he started to scowl, taking a step back before shaking himself like a dog, sending flour everywhere in big white clouds. I coughed through my laughter, quickly holding onto the cabinets as my shoulders shook and I fought for air, my eyes becoming teary.

“I'm so sorry.” Laughing, I leaned my forehead against the shelves, my ribs beginning to ache as I tried to catch my breath, the image of the mighty shadowsinger, darkness personified, covered in white flour flashing before my eyes and making me break out into a new fit of giggles.

“I'm sorry, I'm –“ Breathing in deeply, I wiped over my cheeks, my belly aching as I looked over my shoulder, and Azriel blinked and turned his eyes away from my face. Scowling lightly, he raised a hand to run it over his shoulder, a thin white film of flour still dusting his tanned skin.

“Come here.” Snickering softly, I reached out a hand, and Azriel glared, but there was something in his eyes, bright and gleaming, as he slowly stepped forward until his side brushed against my ankle.

I motioned for him to drop his head, and something skipped high in my chest when Azriel's gaze dragged over my face for a second. Then he complied, and still giggling softly under my breath, I ran my hand over his shoulder, brushing off the visible remainders of flour before softly raking my fingers through his hair, shaking out the white dust.

Azriel's shoulders grew rigid. His wings rustled before shuddering, and I quickly pulled my hand away, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Sorry,”, I mumbled, smiling softly and sheepishly, and my heart missed a step when I saw the muscles in Azriel's back shift.

The shadowsinger breathed out, his shoulders sinking back as he raised his head, and the soft twinkle in his eyes made me exhale soundlessly.

“Are you done up there or do I need to seek shelter?”

I snorted, turning back around with a wide grin. “Shut up.”

I could feel the coolness of shadows brush my feet, and when I threw a quick look over my shoulder, pools of darkness cleaned up the white dust on the floor. Azriel was still hovering behind me, shadows brushing over his wings to clean off the white residue before whispering and grazing down his back.

Pulling the sugar and the chocolate chips from the cupboard, I set them down next to the flour, then I pressed my hands onto the counter and slid off the surface. My bare feet hit the floor, and my heart missed a beat when my back hit Azriel's chest.

Quickly taking a step forward, I looked over my shoulder to sent him a sheepish smile, but something got lodged into my throat when my eyes met Azriel's, trained onto my face, dark and deep in the light.

“Are you going to climb onto anything else or am I spared from more heart attacks?” His mumbled words were like a gentle shiver down my spine, his head dropped a little to look down on me as his eyes tracked over my face, something in them I couldn't quite decipher. There was still a smudge of flour on his cheek, and my fingers itched to brush it away.

My heart skipped softly, and I felt my lips curve until I was smiling, wide and a bit cheeky. “No, I think you're good.”

Azriel stared at me, hair tousled and shoulder muscles shifting, and I had to tear my eyes away because suddenly, my chest felt like it was about to burst.

“Alright, uhm,”, I scratched my forehead and tried to remember why I was standing in the kitchen, “I – need butter and eggs.” Turning around, I pulled both from next to the box with bread.

Azriel retreated as I started measuring the ingredients, pouring water into the kettle before placing it on the stove. I had just mixed together the eggs and the soft butter when his chest brushed against my shoulder and he placed a mug in front of me, steaming softly and spreading the smell of sweet berries.

Silence settled over the kitchen, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like it had earlier, up in the guest room. I could feel Azriel, feel his eyes on me, but it only made something flutter softly against my ribs, giddy and warm. The fae lights plunged the kitchen in a warm, cozy light while outside, the night sky glittered with stars and the oven hummed.

By the time I had rolled the dough into little balls and put the first tray into the oven, my braid had become loose. Pulling off the ribbon tying it off, I unravelled it, turning around as I brushed some strands behind my ear, and my eyes met Azriel's.

My breath hitched.

“What?”

The shadowsinger stared at me, and slowly, one corner of the his lips tipped up just barely. But there was something in his eyes when he pushed off the island, slowly stepping closer. It almost looked like he was battling something in his mind as his gaze flickered over my face. Then he blinked and stretched out a hand, mumbling: “You've got a little –“

His thumb brushed over my cheek, gently rubbing over a spot next to the corner of my lips.

Suddenly, breathing felt difficult, something skipping so high in my chest, it reached my throat.

Swallowing harshly, I watched with my heart pounding against my ribs as Azriel took a step closer until his chest gently bumped into mine. His hand rested against my jaw, palm warm and rough against my skin that had started tingling under his touch, something changing between hot and cold running up and down my spine, my body freezing up when the shadowsinger's piercing eyes darted over my face. He blinked, then he dropped his head lightly.

When his nose brushed against mine, my breath faltered and my whole body went completely still. The only thing I could feel was my heart, pounding flatly and shakingly as Azriel's scent drowned me and his warm breath hit my lips.

Azriel carefully nudged his nose against mine, halting. I could feel the way his breath trembled slightly, his throat working like he tried to hold back the urge to swallow.

It felt like he was waiting. Expecting me to pull back.

But I just fought the tighteness in my throat and hesitantly raised my chin.

When my lips brushed over Azriel's, a shudder went through his body. His hand slipped over my jaw to the back of my neck, and he broke the last bit of distance, pulling me forward to crash his lips onto mine.

Something surged in my chest, growing warmer and bigger with every second, fluttering madly.

A whimper built at the back of my throat, and I reached out to grip Azriel's sides the same moment his free hand rose to cup the side of my neck.

He was kissing me like I was air and he was drowning, deep, hard and desperate, his tongue dragging over mine, fingers winding through my hair as he took a step forward. His chest pressed firmly into mine, his brows drawn together and breath harsh against my skin, and my heart skipped so high, it got stuck in my throat.

When Azriel pulled back to suck in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing over my skin as he pressed his forehead against mine, breathing heavily, my heart was pounding and I wasn't quite sure where up was and where down. My nose brushed against Azriel's, and I swore I could feel his breath stumble.

Swallowing, I eased my grip on his sides, my voice a bit hoarse when I mumbled: “Gone?”

Azriel breathed a huff, and my heart skipped when I opened my eyes to see a smirk slowly spreading over his face, causing his eyes to crinkle and a crease digging into his cheek, his iris twinkling so brightly my breath hitched. Then he dipped his head, and my heart tumbled when his lips pressed against the spot on my cheek, tongue darting out and swiping over my skin.

When he pulled back, his iris was twinkling and my breath flat. There was something there in his iris, something that matched the strange surging feeling in my chest and that made my body feel light like air as his eyes flickered over my face.

“You're staring,”, he mumbled, the harsh rasp in his deep voice betraying him, and I felt my lips curve slowly into a wide, beaming smile.

“Want me to stop?"

Azriel stared at me, and his eyes became even brighter as his deep voice rumbled through me.

"Never."

[morganbritton132]

You said that you did not have tiktok, so you have likely not seen it but there is this series called roll for sandwich in which this guy makes a list if ingredients (like a list of types of bread that he has, vegetables, roughage, sauces, wild magic, etc) and each option has a number, so he rolls DnD dies and randomly makes sandwiches and rates them

Very popular, it has inspired a lot of spin-offs, people love it. He always starts with “Hello DnD tiktok and beyond, welcome to roll for sandwich a series were we let fate decide our lunch” it’s great.

My point is, Eddie would definitely do something like that but with one of his many hobbies and post it on TT.

I have not seen this, but I do love the concept. I do think I might’ve seen a spin-off though because my sister sent me a video of a girl using a d20 to decide which chore she was going to do next, and I can definitely see that one being used in the Harrington/Munson household.

Every summer begins with a deep clean.

Steve shampoos all the carpet. He pressure-washes their driveway. He declutters the entire top floors of their house. Eddie, if he is a smart man, cleans his studio.

Eddie is not always a smart man.

He gets distracted, or bored, or he just doesn’t want to do it, but this year, he’s determined. He makes a list of everything he needs to do and everything that he wants to do, and then he numbers it. He even starts a live-stream to give him more incentive to stay on task, and it works for a while.

He rolls the dice and gets a 4. He changes the burnt out lightbulb in the overhead light.

He rolls the dice and gets a 17. He dusts and reorganizes their record collection.

He rolls the dice, gets a 11. He paints the sword on his latest miniature.

He rolls the dice, gets a 9. He moves the couch to get the guitar picks that have fallen under it.

He rolls a 15, takes a break, gets distracted by a box of old tour memorabilia.

The chat is not helpful with getting him back on track because they are more interested in the stack of postcards that Eddie pulled out of the box. They need more than Eddie saying that Steve kept every postcard he sent him, especially when he looked at one of them and said, “Ha! In this one, I asked him to send me some dirty pictures. If I remember correctly, he did.”

An hour later, Eddie’s like, “Maybe I should get back to cleaning.”

He rolls again, scores a 20. Eddie looks at his list and reads, “Do something you want to do.”

He thinks about it for a second and then reaches under the couch and pulls out some ancient looking walkie-talkie, “Eddie to Stevie, do you copy?”

Eddie releases the button, waits a second, and then repeats himself. He does this a few times before he gets back, “What do you want, Eddie?”

“Wanna fuck?” Eddie asks. “Over.”

There’s a long pause and then Steve says over the line, “Did you vacuum?”

Eddie, who did not do that, says, “Yep.”

“Okay,” Steve says eventually. “Come up here.”

Eddie smiles brightly and tosses the walkie back down on the couch, before taking the stairs two at a time. The room descends in silence and then you hear static from the walkie followed by Dustin’s voice saying, “If you’re going to make a booty call, use your own frequency. Over.”

[bonesxbows]

Ring of Fire (Cooper Howard x Reader)

Masterlist

You and Cooper are heading to collect a bounty, but it's a lot farther away than you anticipated. He's used to the sun but your pristine and non-irriated skin isn't. Heat stroke is imminent and could end up killing you if Cooper doesn't intervene.

(WARNINGS) - descriptions of heat stroke - descriptions of severe sunburns - descriptions of dehydration

The show reignited my fallout obsession but Cooper's character is so goddamn hard to write in a sorta romantic way since we mostly see him being an ass to everyone after the bombs. I still tried my best so hopefully it comes across okay. I think I also got the hang of his accent the more I wrote for this too

Anyway, I wrote this during a heat wave when I was miserable and needed some comfort lol so if you're reading this I hope it can bring you a little bit of comfort too. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

-

Whoever said California was a pleasant heat sure as hell hadn’t walked through the desert after a nuclear fallout. Everything burned; the sand, the sun, the air, your legs, your nose. It was unbearable and if it hadn’t been over the promise of a large stack of caps at the end of the road you would have given up a long time ago. 

“If I see one more dried-up lakebed I’m gonna fucking lose it.” You mumbled, rubbing the sand from your eyes again. 

“Quit your complainin’, we’re almost there. An’ I told ya to stop doin’ that.” Cooper swatted at your arms, making you put them back down at your sides again. You scoffed but obeyed his directions. 

“I’m never gonna make it there if I can’t see where the fuck I’m going.” 

“Maybe, but you sure as shit ain’t gonna see nothin’ never again if your eye gets infected. Your body don’ have enough moisture to keep your eyes slick with the way you keep yappin’ your mouth off and wastin’ it.” He retorted back, his face snarled up into his usual scowl. You didn't say anything more for a good long while, not because of his fancy way of telling you to shut up but because talking was starting to become more and more physically taxing on you the farther along you went. There was nothing but more sand, more heat, and more nothingness for as far as you could see across the horizon. Every step added another weight to your head, making it feel like it was stopped up with cotton that weighed a million pounds and banged against the inside of your skull like a war drum. Your body felt like mush and your clothes felt twice as heavy. But you kept going, trudging behind your cowboy, using him as a guide through the pain. 

That is until you started to see three of him. And what was that whinnying sound you kept hearing coming from? Plus you swore there was a herd of something chasing the two of you what with all the stomping hooves you were hearing too, but every time you turned around there was nothing but sand dunes and the outline of destroyed L.A. on the horizon. 

“Wait. I…I think I need to take a break. In the shade preferably.” you stopped and told him after gunfire was added to the list of sounds you were hearing in the distance. One more step and you were sure you were going to end up with a mouth full of sand. 

“We don’ got time for pit stops sweetheart, keep movin’,” he replied back, still keeping his pace forward, not realizing you had stopped completely. Or just not caring. He wouldn’t leave you behind, not for long at least, but he still wasn’t listening. 

“Cooper fucking listen to me this time,” you shouted, hoping to catch his attention. You succeeded, as soon as his real name fell from your lips he made a dead stop in his tracks. “Please,” you added in a softer voice. You hadn’t meant to shout at him but your body was so overwhelmed and you were tired of being ignored. He tilted his face towards the sky and let out the most audible annoyed sigh you had ever heard from him before finally turning around to face you. 

“Alright, I’m sorry for pushin’ ya, just not so loud next time ‘kay? I don’ need the whole goddamn wasteland knowin’ my name.” he said as he walked back towards you. “Well, you’re still standin’ so that’s a good sign. What’s the matter?” you were used to his gruff exterior by now but you were just grateful he was finally taking you seriously. 

“I…I’m not sure? My head hurts so fucking much and I keep hearing things…I think. My skin feels like it's on fire and I-”

“Heat stroke. Goddamnit.” He cut you off, not even listening for you to list any more symptoms out loud. He sounded pissed, but you had learned by now that his angry voice and his overprotective voice were kinda one and the same. 

“...Heat what now?” you asked, but he never quelled your confusion. Instead he focused on scanning your surroundings. There wasn't much, there usually never was anyway, but he must've found something in the distance that would work for what he had planned. 

“Hm, that’ll do,” he said, more so to himself than to you. You weren’t really listening anyway, that whinnying sound was back and it was taking every ounce of energy you had left just to stay standing upright. He turned back to you and said…something, but you couldn't make out any of it. His lips were moving, sure, but all you could hear was muffled static as if you were underwater. Your face must have had a look of confusion plastered on it because it didn’t take long for him to figure out you were unresponsive, the way you just stared at him and blinked also didn’t help. 

He approached you and started to pull the sleeves of your jacket off, peeling the leather from your sticky sweaty skin off entirely. You stood there and let him, you may have been hearing things and had all the energy of a newborn sloth, but you could still recognize Cooper, and you trusted him more than anyone else. If he thought your jacket needed to come off then you trusted he had a good reason for doing so, even if the wind was starting to feel extremely cold on your exposed moist skin. 

He tried to talk to you again but you just continued to stare at him, watching his mouth move but none of the words making it to your ears. He shook his head and threw your jacket over his shoulder, grabbing one of your wrists and looping it over his back as he grabbed you under your arms and started to half drag you forward towards whatever makeshift shelter he had found. You tried to help, tried to get your legs to move with his, but it felt impossible. At some point, your head began to droop and your temple bashed into his shoulder, making you cry out in pain. He stopped to assess the damage, no doubt cursing you for being so clumsy even though you still couldn't hear him. He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead where it had made impact with him before placing his hat on top of your head and continuing onward. The new barrier between the unforgiving sun and your dried-up eyes was a small relief to your unbearable discomfort, one you cherished every second of before your vision went dark for good this time. 

---

When you opened your eyes again you were thankfully in the shade this time, your skin still felt like it was on fire but at least the sun wasn't continuously beating on it now. You were sitting on the ground propped up against the side of a half-destroyed barn and you dug your fingertips into the sand, grasping for the cooler sand that usually lay a layer deeper than the surface, an old trick Cooper had taught you. 

The memory of that lesson in your mind had you spring up, frantically trying to find your cowboy again. Your jacket was still missing, and his hat was still on your head, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. You wanted to get up, you even tried to, but your limbs felt like jello and you discovered your toes and fingertips were numb. You tried again anyway, kicking at the sand with your feet to find purchase and clawing at the rotting barn boards to pry yourself upwards. 

“Hey, now it took a lotta effort to get you here, don’ tell me you wanna leave already.” You heard his voice and stopped, watching him as he came through one of the broken doorways into the barn, his spurs clicking behind him with every step. 

You blinked, making sure it was really him this time and not something else you were imagining again. But there he was; scorpion belt buckle, cowboy boots, saddle bags and all. He dropped what he was carrying next to the doorway, where you saw your jacket lying on the ground, and then came to sit in front of you, grunting as he knelt down and made himself comfortable. 

“Feelin' better?” he asked. You went to answer but then immediately felt just how dry your throat was. You coughed and tried to lick your lips, but your tongue felt like sandpaper against the already rough skin. You had never experienced a dried-up tongue before and you never wanted to again, it felt like a worm had crawled into your mouth and nested behind your teeth. Cooper was already prepared through and placed a can of water into your hands, already punctured with his knife. 

“Here. Small sips though, ‘kay?” he told you. You nodded, disappointingly understanding him even though you wanted to guzzle the whole can down right then and there. But you did as he told you, taking a slow and small sip, relishing the feeling of the liquid making its way down your throat and easing the pain a little. You tried to lick your lips again, this time succeeding in wetting the crusted-up skin. 

“How bad is it?” you croaked out, vaguely remembering what he had said earlier. Heat stroke, whatever that was, felt like one of the worst things to ever happen to you.

“Well, you’re still alive, despite losin’ consciousness and being fried up like an iguana on a stick from that there sun. I don’ think I’ve ever seen you with such a tan.” he smirked, poking fun at the lack of time you spent outside before meeting him. It wasn’t your fault life was safer inside a city and behind four walls of a shack, but still, it amused him to remind you of your sheltered past every chance he got. You rolled your eyes, grateful that you were at least still alive. 

“Will it scar? Or peel off like your skin did?” you asked, not sure which possibility you hated most. 

“Whaddaya mean?” he tilted his head at your question, confused. 

“You know, the burns.” you showed him your bright red and blistered forearms as emphasis to what you were talking about. You could only assume your face looked just as bad. He couldn’t help but laugh a little at your question, which only agitated you. “I’m being serious here!” you barked. You creased your brow, which you realized immediately was a huge mistake as the tension on the freshly raw skin caused fireworks to explode in your head and flames to shoot across your skin. You winced from the pain and that got him to stop chuckling. 

“Sorry sweetheart, no, neither is gonna happen. You might lose some skin, but not in the way you're thinkin’. It’s just a sunburn, not like you got attacked with a flamethrower. You’ll be fine.” he explained finally. You couldn’t help but sigh in relief, although you still weren’t sure what this so-called “sunburn” was and how it was different from a regular burn. But you knew he wouldn’t lie to you, so you believed him. 

“So what now? We still got at least a day’s walk to town.” with your emergent questions out of the way your mind turned right back to business. Caps were on the line and you were itching to claim them, despite the discomfort traveling imposed on you in your current state. He liked that about you, your desire for caps and the willingness to chase after them with him, though he would rather bite a radroach raw than tell you that to your face. 

“Now? Now we stay put for a while, at least til those burns heal up some. Ain’t no bit of leather and an ol’ beat-up hat gonna protect you enough from the sun if we try to continue on. Right now the only thing I need you to worry ‘bout is finishin’ that water that’s still in your hands.” he leaned back against the opposite wall from you, kicking his legs out and propping his head up with his hands. 

“But-” you tried to rebuttal his decision but he cut you off again before you could. 

“Nah uh, don’ even think about arguin’ here. We even try walkin’ and you’ll collapse again ‘fore we even make it a mile. Best to just stay here and try again once you’re not so dehydrated and redder than a tomato. Few days rest won’t hurt nothin’.” 

“Yeah maybe except our profits,” you told him, quicker this time so he couldn’t interrupt you again. 

“I ain’t riskin’ you over a pile of caps. We’ll make due either way,” he said before closing his eyes, marking the conversation officially over by him. You didn't have a reply anyway, it was rare for him to mention how he felt about you aloud, and each time he did you were left speechless. You stared down at the water can in your hands, tracing your finger gently over the raw edges of steel where his knife had cut through it for you. The metal had been bent back inside the can a little, almost as if someone had shoved a finger through the hole and pushed it back, smoothing out the outer edges where your lips had touched the can. Something in you had a suspicion that if you checked Cooper’s glove you would find scratch marks that would match the size of the hole perfectly. 

Your eyes flicked to him. You weren't sure if he was legitimately asleep or not, but his eyes were still closed and he hadn’t moved an inch. He always talked to you more like an old friend rather than a lover, yet you were pretty sure you were the only person he showed any amount of kindness to. Suddenly his hat felt a little heavier on top of your head as you sat there and pondered where your relationship with him stood. 

[kinokoshoujoart]

is it really toxic yuri if she doesn’t demand you cut off your fingers for her happiness???

”You have given me gifts over 10,000 times. Congratulations!” haha happy wife happy life…. (my fingers are stumps)

as some of you may or may not have realized i am powerless to the siren call of the ultimate devilish blond Harvest Moon Scum Man, and given that the Japanese version of DS Cute gives you TWO saveslots and TWO hands and the ability to to be in a literal toxic lesbian best friendrriage with ultimate devilish mischievous blonde Harvest Moon Scum Woman i have no choice but to meet all of the Witch Princess’s super reasonable honey do list!!

so one of those fun little non negotiable requests from majo-sama is that you need to give her presents 10,000 times before she’ll even consider marrying you, even if you meet all the marriage requirements!

i don’t mean 10,000 items total— even if you give her a stack of 99 items, it only counts as +1 towards the “items given to witch” counter. you have to give her 10,000 items individually…

in normal gameplay (giving her 1 gift a day, accounting for the holidays when her house is closed) you’ll eventually reach 10,000 gifts!…in your 95th year!

you COULD give her 100 gifts a day every day and knock it out in less than a year, and this was my strategy at first! i quickly realized adding another tedious daily chore to a pile of tedious daily chores slowed the game loop to a crawl and splitting items out was really fucking annoying actually

on the other hand, in 5 IRL hours, you can just get it all done in one visit to her house and never worry about it ever again.

“wow, that sounds like a really great use of my limited time on god’s green earth! how can i too win my future wife’s heart through button mashing my fingers into a pulp?” you ask?

˚✧₊⁎optimized pro gamer technique for breaking your fingers yuri style!!٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶⁎⁺˳✧༚

you will need

dog (each time you show your pet, this adds +1 to the gift counter the same way a gift would)

the bottom screen should be the map screen (reduces loading time between conversations compared to having your rucksack open)

cast endurance on fingers (wait this is redundant, you saw yuri in the title…)

ideal but not required

sometimes when you enter her house, she’s facing the side and her walk cycle never starts. it’s great if you get this glitch because then you can just stand in place for the entire duration without having to look at the screen, and even like watch a movie or whatever while you do all this, instead of accidentally dropping your dog every time she walks to the other bookshelf

if you’re wondering “wait, doesn’t Witch Princess hate dogs and love cats? why are you showing her your dog?” you are absolutely correct! she yells at you to get that stupid beast away from her every time you show your dog to her! her FP goes down by 3 each time! however, since her response to the dog is shorter than her response to the cat, you end up saving like .6 seconds per conversation, saving over 1.5 hours total, so the dog is what she gets

anyway, in true Karen HM64 tradition, after being repeatedly harassed by having a dog she isn’t fond of shoved in her face ten thousand times in a row for like five hours straight, naturally this makes her want to marry you! who said good old fashioned courtly love is dead?!

* as a small note, if you care enough to keep track and give her an actual gift at the 10th, 100th, 1000th, and 10000th mark, you’ll get 4 of the limited Witch Photos early on, which each give you +1 sweet sweet farm degree points every day… honestly that’s not much, but the pain of being told “your hands are full soooo no reward for you lmaoooo sucks to be you” was too much to bear, so i kept track and used a normal present for the 10th, 100th, 1000th, and 10000th…

[s-4pphics]

i NEED to see a street racer ellie x grid girl reader fic IM ON MY KNEES FOR THIS🙏🏾🙏🏾

OHHHHHHHHHHH WEVE DONE IT AGAIN IMPULSIVE HCS

wc;cw: 800 or sum, streetracer!ellie, gridgirl!oc, ellie being a car nerd and hot, mentions of sex MDNI, mentions of ciggies and illegal shit

streetracer!ellie…… passes out 

she always loved cars :3 her dad owned a mechanic shop and used to watch him repair all the damaged cars that showed up

when she was thirteen he finally let her help him replace the tires 

and then change the oil

and then fix the ignition 

eventually taught her how to drive stick😝😝

and 2 years later she knew the anatomy of vehicles like the back of her hand 

she was on her dads payroll 💯💯 shout out to mechanic!ellie😞

when she found out ab street racing she got obsessed with it. 2 fast 2 furious is her favorite movie of all time

her youtube history was wild😞😞 30 hours of devon aoki edits saved 

so when she got invited to a race by one of her friends when she was a junior for her birthday she almost passed out 

the screech of the tires on the pavement and smell of gas gave her heart eyes

she swore she was going to participate in a race after they both left that night

SIKE she thought everyone laughed at her when she showed up the next day in her dads beaten up family van LMFAO 

the bullying was devious fr😞 she cried a little when she got home

but ofc her friend helped her ass out and high jacked his brothers old nissan

the overseers allowed her to participate but nobody bet on her except her 2 friends. that $20 pitch didn’t help her confidence much but she loved them😞

she was nervous and filled with adrenaline and tried so hard not to gawk at the hot girls that waved their grids around 

when they waved their flags and signaled for the racers to go….

ellie was out that bitch fr😞😞 SKKRTED ON THEY ASS BIG PURRR

VVRRRROOOOOOOM LIKE BFRRR

she hit every sharp turn every curve every bump like it wasn’t shit 

she made everybody eat they words that night. HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEENIE😝😝

some overseers gave her $300 outta pocket that night and she wasn’t even on the list to race 

her and her friends went every weekend. would leave campus and go straight to the tracks fr

she started getting a little fan base after a month of racing😞😞 girlies from school would come just to see her 

but she didn’t pay them any mind💯💯 she payed them a little mind 

n 5 years later…. most betted on racer in the city YUHHHH 

she makes racks every weekend… and she brings it all home to her dad so she can take care of him 🥺🥺

he doesn’t question where she gets the cash from but he always feels nervous when she leaves the house🥺🥺 poor old man he just wants his baby to go to college

she owns one mclaren senna but never takes it anywhere😞😞 it just sits in her garage lol she paid for that shit in cash tho big bags big stacks

drives a fucked up supra when she races😂😂 she tries to cover up the scratches and large dents with cute little spray paint jobs of fire and sparkles and shit😂😂

she named it renee and slaps the trunk like she slaps ass every time she gets behind the wheel :3 thinks it’s good luck

smokes cigarettes mmmm fuuuck

such an aggressive racer like omgg she gets so competitive and pissed she's so hot

tatted to hell. full sleeve

TERRIBLE RECORD!!!!! arrested twice and was on parole :/

but at least all the grid girls got a little crush on her 😳😳 titties out ass out bc they want her attention 

all the male racers hate her bc of it… she don’t care tho suck her dick💯💯

she’ll never say it but…

she definitely stares too long at one grid girl whenever she shows up in her little croppies and booty shorts😞 she’s fine as hell ITS NOT HER FAULT💯💯

too bad gridgirl!oc doesn’t pay ellie any mind anymore :((she had the prettiest smile and such good pussy 

that ooey-gooey. that sloppy. THE WORLD'S BEST CREAMER💯

did i mention they're ex's? YEAAAH CLOCK THAT TEA

every time ellie fills up her tank she can’t stop thinking about the time she bent her ex over the trunk and railed her from the back 

she may never feel that pussy again 😞😞 it makes her wanna cry 

when she met gridgirl!oc for the first time two years ago her world changed for the better

her zits disappeared, her hair got softer, her crops were watered

they fell in love immediately…. like instantly 

they were inseparable. up each other's ass. in each other's cars. in each other's guts. so so happy 

until they weren’t 

their breakup was soooo fucking messy. 

cheating accusations. screaming contests. EVEN A PREGNANCY SCARE???😳😳😳

a hot mess. and their relationship ended in flames :(

but that doesn’t mean ellie can’t peep every once in a while😛😛 that ass is still fat as fuck regardless of the beef >:)

[echojulietfoxtrot]

I'm only going to be ranting about Deadloch for one more week - sorry and bear with me - but holy shit how smart this show is. I felt so pleased with myself for thinking I'd seen a big twist coming, and all along it was double bluffing me like a sucker, letting me think I was so damn clever while it ran rings round me.

Even cooler is how gradually it's led me from the kooky crackpot smalltown whodunnit I signed up for, with just a dash of gallows humor, to the stark, angry story of the many faces and tendrils of misogyny it was all along.

Don't get me wrong, there's still plenty of humor and fun to stop it slipping into indigestible grimdark, but stuff like the interrogation scenes this week were not remotely fucking around, and all the moving parts that started finally fitting together and closing in around Dulcie & co felt like watching a huge, dangerous Rube Goldberg machine made of sexism start moving slowly and surely down the final track towards a bunch of neatly stacked dynamite.

And maybe I'm naïve, too, but I'm just the right level of thrilled about all the tension and drama, without really being worried the conclusion is going to leave me feeling shitty or cheated or purely bummed out, because it's so smartly dodged or subverted so many pitfalls to get here already.

All this from the writers of a 15 minute Youtube comedy cooking spoof???

I mean don't get me wrong, I loved it - Katering Show is fantastic - but this is an absolutely insane glow up, on par with Charlie Brooker moving from mean little spoof tv guide listings to San Junipero.

For God's sake, do not sleep on this show, and if you can catch up the 7 eps in time to speculate on the finale, even better.

[castrian-amore]

Bitter, had the Heart

Dead Tired (Tim Drake x Danny Fenton), Tim Drake-centric, unfinished, the author is plotting, temporary death, please check out ao3 for full tags list.

4/46 Chapters | Word Count: 5751

Chapter 4: You Stole my Fuckin' fruit snacks

Tim and Dick snuck into the warehouse through the upper floor window. The one they normally entered though. Jason was cleaning his nails with one of his knives waiting in the warehouse which had a few small collections of boxes stacked around the area. The lights flickered above making the scene eerie. The walls were creaking in the autumn Gotham wind. 

This entire thing had been last minute, but it had been 

Decided over a silent breakfast and staring at Dick. They had to go and meet this mysterious vigilante who had stayed so far from them for so long. It was better they do it now than let B be the one to meet. Both rescheduling their plans for the evening. 

“Heyo Little wing!” Dick greeted a smile plastered across his face as Jason glanced off. His helmet set off to the side just wearing the red mask over his eyes for the moment. 

“Hey,” Jason greeted back giving them a nod as he gave a spin to his knife before sheathing it. 

“Where is Mr. Distortion?”Dick asked with a smirk crossing his arms as Jason shrugged. 

“Fuck if I know, he comes and goes as he pleases. I’m not the boss of him.” Though Tim wouldn’t pick up on what Dick did. He could only read so much into a person. Dick was really good at it. While Tim could tell if people are lying Dick could tell you what about and could direct the conversation where he wanted it a lot easier than Tim could. 

“So what made him change his mind? Getting caught in action by us?”Tim raised an eyebrow at Jason. 

“You two are really just working on the same case but trying to tackle it from different sides. He has valuable information and wants this case closed as much as you do.” 

“And how long has he been working on this case?” Tim was pressing.

“3 years.” 

“The murders didn’t start until 6 months ago.” 

“That’s what you think Replacement. It’s his case I’ve just been making sure he doesn’t get himself killed by my men,” a nonchalant shrug came from Jason’s shoulders. The tenseness in them though told him something else was going on. “Don’t know why he’s fucking late though.” 

“Guess he got held up,”Dick chuckled until an empty cardboard box hit Jason in the head and bounced off towards the bats.

“YOU TRAITOROUS BITCH.” 

They looked towards the voice and dropping from a small spot in the roof was the masked figure they’d seen running from the crime scene 5 days ago.

He wore no respirator this time but his goggles remained on. He was angry, that was for sure. He landed with a roll unsheathing a fucking batarang?!?! Oh yeah wait. That tracked. He had thrown one at the guy.  Hit him actually. 

Jason merely smirked as if this kind of response had been expected. Dick moving to pick up the cardboard box. Tim watched as the kid(?). He was short, okay?

The man with black hair whom they could Assume was distortion began his onslaught onto Jason. A swipe to the man’s arms as Jason blocked and moved to punch the kid who ducked underneath slipping between his legs and nailing a kick to the back of Jason’s knee dropping him down a bit as he used Jason’s shoulders as a vantage point flipping the man who was easily close to a foot taller than him. Jason hit the ground, hard. That didn’t unmotivate him though. 

“Feisty tonight Dis.” 

“Fuck you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Jason feigned innocence as he kicked Distortion off of him sending the man reeling. Dick and Tim watching the man correct his position mid air to land sliding backwards hand on the ground knife behind him. 

“Yes you fucking Did!”He hissed out as he charged again blade against blade before Jason managed to knock the batarang towards Red Robin and Nightwing. Tim picking up his batarang. 

“Hey, Red I think that’s yours anyways right?”

“Yeah it is. So wait, what did you do?” 

“One second.” Jason groaned out as Distortion wasn’t letting up and got a solid kick to his chest knocking the wind out of him. Tim thought he might have even heard a clean snap at some point as Jason landed a hook onto distortion blood beginning to trickle from his nose. Ignoring it though he pressed on. 

“You went to my safe house,”Distortion began as he skillfully knocked Jason’s blade away and threw a kick at him. The leg going just above Jason’s head. “And stole my SHIT.”

“I left a sticky note! Also,”Jason caught Dis’s leg before flipping him this time arm against his throat. “Are you not taking it easy?” 

Dis landed a hit on Jason’s nose sitting up coughing a tad. “WITH NO APOLOGY.” 

Dick tapped Tim’s shoulder to show him the box in question. It was an empty box of fruit gummies. A sticky note haphazardly put on it saying ‘took your last pack’. 

“I’d fight him too,”Tim nodded. “Especially if he did that to me.” Tim had a small laugh and couldn’t help but look at the silliness of the situation. Though it became clear Dis was lagging. 

The fight finished not even 30 seconds later as Jason slammed his hand into Distortion’s leg and the man crumpled holding it. 

He began cursing in… was that fucking Esperanto? Kid still landed a small kick on Jason’s ankle which had him cursing. 

“You owe me so many fucking gummies you Dick head.” 

“Yeah yeah whatever.” Jason offered a hand down to Dis who stood up moving to sit on a box as Jason went to go grab his first aid kit. 

“So You’re distortion.” 

“One and only.” 

“Reminds me of Robin with less murderous tendencies,”Tim looked over at Dick. 

“I have to agree,”Dick chuckled, pulling over boxes so they could sit. “So, are you finally okay with meeting two of the bats?” 

“You’re stuck, I’m stuck. Guess it’s finally time to get my head out of my ass and ask for help.” 

Jason came back with a kit the two bickering as Jason moved to cut away his loose fitting pants revealing the neatly wrapped wound soaked now in fresh blood. Tim could pick up that the man hadn’t really wanted to ask for help. He obviously was hesitant, untrusting. It seemed his walls were so far up, that it was a miracle Jason was close to him at all. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you though I wish we could say we’ve heard of you.” 

“I would be concerned if you had heard of me.” Distortion clarified flinching away from the other as he cut away the bandages handing him a tissue for his bleeding nose. “After all there is the whole ‘Batman doesn’t like Metas rule’.” 

“You’re a meta?” Dick asked, leaning forward on his knees a bit. Dis nodded and held his hand up letting his hand fade from view. Right as he did it though he gave a sharp gasp of pain. 

“Fucking hell,”he hissed out through gritted teeth. 

“My hand slipped.” 

Jason’s hands didn’t slip. He knew his elder brother far too well. He was hiding something. Dis wasn’t supposed to have outed himself. The cry of pain was the only explanation. The two of them seemingly having a quiet conversation to himself and Tom gently poked his brother’s side to see if he noticed it too and he did give a small nod in response. 

“You’re the one who ripped their stitches,”Jason chided as he continued to work otherwise carefully. 

Dis mouthed the words mocking him only eliciting another harsh pull from Jason. 

“The case?”Dick redirected them back on task. 

“Yeah, sorry. The case has been going on for 3 years. It’s the entire reason I ended up Gotham.” 

“You’ve been here for 3 years? For a case?” Tim couldn’t hide his surprise at that. You didn’t just come to Gotham for a mere case. 

“Not for this case but it did kinda fall into my lap yeah.” That made more sense, but still raised his questions for just how long this kid had been working under their radar. Not just how long, what was he capable of?  

“So what do you know?” 

“Hood wanna be a doll and grab my file since I’m currently injured,”The kid had a flair for the dramatic as he feigned a hand to his forehead leaning backwards on the crate looking absolutely “injured”. 

“Fucking spoiled prick.” 

“SAYs YOU!” 

“YEAH SAYS I DIS! I’m the one who has to deal with your fucking bullshit all the time!” 

All Tim could currently think about was how Jason had claimed he had not much to do with Distortion but from what he could see the two were remarkably close. Tim wouldn’t understand but he was admittedly jealous. He wished he could have had a better relationship with Jason from the beginning. 

One that hadn’t ended in him being called Jason’s replacement. Tim wanted the Robin spot, honestly. He had taken it when Batman needed him most and needed back up and all he had gotten was shit for it. Maybe he had still been salty about that. The Robin who was the smartest but at what cost? He was the longest reigning Robin before Damian came along and forced Tim to change his name and realign himself. 

When Tim had rebranded as Red Robin he had sort of gone on a quiet rampage. His morals thrown out of the loop in anger and he made some not so great decisions. Jason had found him then beating the shit out of a drug runner who had murdered an innocent little girl. It had been Jason who pulled Tim off the man in his late teens. 

Jason who apologized to Tim for how he treated him, and that he was really trying to work on his anger and had confided in Tim about how badly his anger issues affected him to that day. He had called it Pit Rage. An ever consuming anger he couldn’t get rid of. Jason just seemed more relaxed than he had, ever. Maybe this person was doing some good for him. 

Jason came back over handing Dis the manilla folders with neat labels and tabs. 

“Year one we have out first 2 victims.” He pulls out photos. “Small but noticeable markings. Missing heart. Missing kidney. Blood everywhere, but it was almost more surgical?” He hands over the photos. “Then we have year 2. 5 in total. Same thing as the first two. Missing heart. Missing Kidney. Same symbols but we watch the motives slowly get more and more deteriorated. The kills start to get messy.” 

Tim and Dick flipped through the photos noticing the same thing. “Like the person who did it in the first place was loosing the reason that they started doing it in the first place.” 

“Yeah.. that’s what I was thinking,”Dis admits. “You’ve seen the most disturbing ones from this year, so I won’t go into detail about that. Here’s what you need to know that I know. I’m meta, and one of those abilities allows me to see things and understand things not known to the human eye, specifically on the field of the supernatural. Thing that one chick who I keep seeing posters of, uhhhh Hood help me out?” 

“Zatanna.” Jason was mildly amused at him not knowing who she was. 

“Yeah her. She’s dripping with magic, I kinda have access to see it, not access it but it’s an entire thing. Not important. What is important is how those abilities relate to this case.” 

“Okay..”Tim nods taking in the information at hand. He was useful. 

“Those markings are a language. Nothing that still breaths should be able to read it but those who have sold their soul, or been touched by Death themself can read it. Don’t ask Hood he can’t read it.  I kind of can? Think like I understand it but it’s borderline untranslatable.” 

“So our culprit either soul their soul or was touched by death and survived?” Dick clarified looking over to Tim who was thinking the same thing. Ra’s and John Constantine might prove useful to this case. 

“Exactly. Ghost Speech can’t easily be translated, but I did manage to do it after going through like 5 languages until  I could get it into English. Belong, to live, to die, again, trust not the living, friend.” Dis set the folder down. “I’ve been staring at those words for 3 years and I got nothing.”

“Belong, to live, to die ,again, trust not the living, friend. That sounds like a warning?” 

“For who? Us? The serial killer is the one who’s torturing and murdering people!”Dis exclaimed. “Look, Red, Nightwing. I get it. You probably don’t want me involved but I am useful. You need me on this case!”

“Look, we’re not going to turn you away or down. This is more information than we’ve been able to get in the entirety of the case.”Dick began slowly. “But Hood mentioned you were weary of Batman. Red and I can respect that but if we officially bring you into this case you know he will get involved. He already is in terms of this case.” 

“Bring me in.” 

Tim and Dick shared a moment of surprise between each other. Jason would do that? For Dis? 

“I’ll act as messenger when needed. It’s only a matter of time before the next body is dumped in my alleyways right? You let the kid help and report information to me and I’ll act as messenger.” 

“You know this will mean you’ll have to be at the BatCave more, right?” 

“Trust me, I’m painfully aware.” 

“I have a question though,”Tim spoke up. “You removed a viscous green substance from the bodies. What was that? It  was glowing.” 

“Ectoplasm.” 

“Pit water, but more pure,”Jason translated as he finished sewing up Dis’ leg.

“I still don’t know what that means,”Distortion whispers under his breath as Jason ignores him. 

“So definitely something supernatural related,”Dick merely took it as a clarification.  

“Exactly.” 

“So our murderer is what, undead?” Tim rubbed his forehead a little in frustration. 

“Probably.” Dis moved to examine the wrapping on his leg a moment before looking at the group as a whole. A small quirk to his lips as if he wanted to say something else but held back. “I’m not completely against working with Batman, but it’s just--” 

“Just?”Dick pressed gently. “We won’t tell, you know. I hope Hood has spoken that much of us.” 

“Yes, I know you two won’t tell. That is why it’s you two here. Closest people to the case right? I’ll help from the sidelines. Give you my information. Share, what I can but what I need is if you discover a body let me see it before you do anything.” 

“What do you mean?” Tim crossed his arms a little, in a more relaxed way than before. 

“I’m going to be honest, I think we’re up against a ghost. Which means a whole lot of issues for more than just you and I. If I can get my hands on the ectoplasm left on the scene I can start working on tracking him.”

“You mentioned Zatanna earlier. Do you think bringing in people who know that sort of magic will be any help?” Dick asks genuinely. 

“No. No. No Magic users.” Distortion’s words were quick. Dick and Tim shared a look recognizing the panic in his voice. Jason said nothing off to the side either. The words hard to understand and distorted in their own right. Was that how he got his name? Jason walked over and rested a hand to his shoulder, the young man taking a deep breath, or really, several. The room dropping a few degrees.

How powerful of a meta was he? Tim noticed Jason’s hand grabbing the youngers wrist face dropped in serious thought as he counted heartbeats. Distortion pulled his arm away from him. 

“I’m fine Hood,”he hissed out before looking back in the direction of the two. “No. Can you imagine how widespread the chaos would be if any of the mainstream powerful magicians found out about a Ghost being strong enough to commit murder? It would turn Gotham into even more of a bloodbath.  They exist but they’re not supposed to be powerful enough to be so--so.” 

“Consistent?” Jason offered before stealing Distortion’s arm again to check his pulse. 

“Hood.” Another threatening glare between the two of them. Silent, but a conversation nonetheless. One Distortion obviously lost. “But yes. Consistent. There’s a reason Ghost’s aren’t commonplace here.” 

“Wait, here,”Dick frowned this time. The two would be having serious conversations about not only Jason but his apparent ward. 

A deep breath from Distortion. “Whoops, yeah, I’ve said far too much.” 

“If you’re from the future, we've dealt with that kind of stuff before,”Tim offers an olive branch to the man. A hesitance in doing so. 

“As long as you understand one thing, I don’t care how you identify me,”he chuckles standing up as Hood frowned and released his hand. He moved and made his way witha limp to the front of the warehouse. 

“Dis!”Jason called out after him. “We need to ask about you--”

“Shut it Hood!” A frustrated groan and hands running down the side of his face. “Just know that I don’t exist. You never saw me. You don’t know who I am. It’s safer for everyone that way.” 

And though, they saw him leave it was like he was gone and never was there in the first place. A cold chill coming in through the now open door and causing Jason sigh sitting down where he was. 

“He’s a character,”Dick started. “His mood dropped there at the end.” 

“Yeah.. he mentioned Justice League Dark to me once in passing too. I think he has beef with them. “ 

“It would explain why he’s so testy about magic users, especially if he can see the things they can too, without a spell.” Tim spoke up rummaging through the file some more looking over the hand scrawled tedious notes. Even the original workings through several translations with picture through history of Ghost speech written on the walls. It was more than Tim had ever thought he would have on the guy. 

Dammit. Tim hadn’t gotten the chance to apologize to him. Fuck. Maybe he could chase him? He couldn’t be super fast with that injury,  but then again he did have that whole weird disappearing act up his sleeve. 

Tim was missing something. They both were missing something and it seemed very important they figure it out to unlock this case. He wished the man had the clean photos of the writing but it seemed he had similar bad luck with them. There were photos but they sure were blurry as fuck. 

“Red.” 

“Huh?” He looked up between the two to see which one called him. It was Dick. 

“Any other questions to Hood? We gotta go finish our patrols before B starts asking questions.” 

“Fuck, yeah. I have questions, too many, though. Distortion was honest all the way through. He hesitated on saying he was a meta though, and the fact he doesn’t want people to think he exist is concerning.” 

“He lets me know he exists.” Hood snorts motioning to the discarded box of gummies from earlie. 

“He trusts you, that much is obvious,”Dick gave a small chuckle. “Guy has more walls up than the fucking pentagon, but at least we could hack past those.” 

“He wears his heart on his sleeve honestly,”Hood pulled off his helmet to reveal the domino mask underneath. “Trust me. He’s guarded about his past. About what and who he is but his real personality shines through a lot. I take him to the soup kitchen for me and he watches me back during particularly rough land grabs from other mob bosses.” 

“He knows about the pit, which is more than any other civilian has ever found out,”Dick pointed out. 

“You could say that again, this answered a lot if he’s right but fuck. It also gave us a lot more fucking questions.” Normally Dick would be on his ass all day for that swear jar money, it seemed he had decided not today. 

“Let me be clear. What he said is right. He’s a fuckin’ ghost for all things considered. He knows far too much shit to be just a civilian. Trained too much to be a civilian. If he doesn’t have training he has experience. His knowledge of things far beyond our reach, our control? It’s uncanny.” Hood motioned for the file back and Tim gave a whine. 

“Calm down Babybird I’m just gunna go make you a copy really quick of what’s in here,”there was an obvious eye roll to his voice that caused Dick to snort. 

“Leave him along Little wing,”Dick teased lightly. “The mans was distracted on a date Wednesday and he’s been out of it ever since.” 

“NIGHTWING, once again NOT a date!” Tim insisted looking at his traitorous brother. 

“Uh huh, tell that to your little black haired friend who was laughing at practically everything you said.” A smirk as Dick playfully leaned on his knees. 

“You are not doing this to me right now, I swear to god.”

“A date?”Jason’s turn to smirk leading the duo into his office. Medical supplies sitting on his desk as he moved to the copier.

“We can’t leave without that file,” Dick began moving to flop onto Jason’s couch. “So I’m going to temporarily enjoy this~”

“It wasn’t a date,”Tim insisted. “We literally just fucking met!” 

“So you took him to a coffee shop and paid for his food and drink?” Dick offered.

“He’s my partner for the semester for my 101 Linguistics class!! We have a lot in common!” 

“Dateeee~~~”

“No.” 

“I don’t know Babybird, that does sound like a date.” 

“You two are fucking impossible oh my god. He’s smart and speaks a million and a half languages guys! We started talking about those. He knows fucking Tagalog!” 

“Oooo the baby bird got himself another genius to fool around with,”Dick wiggled his eye brows. 

“Are those copies printed yet?”

“Almost,”Jason smirked. 

“I might as well just finish this shift alone tonight. Face the wrath of B of doing it by myself than deal with you two.” Tim goes for the door.

“Okay okay,”Dick lightened up. “We’re glad you finally found a friend, not a date, a friend.” Jason and him shared a look which caused Jason to snort. Motherfuckers.

“I have friends!” 

“A non-superhero friend,”Jason emphasized as he began gathering papers and clipping them together. “You‘ve needed one of those. One you’re not constantly worried about on the field. Or even better, one who won’t die as easily.” 

“Hey!” 

“He’s right though RR,”Dick spoke back up this time. “Proud of you. We do have to go so we’re gunna take those files and scedaddle. Anything else we need to talk about?” 

“One more thing about Dis… he’s a good kid. I promise, but he can be brutal and obsessive at times. If you see shit involving him going down I need you all to promise to not intervene unless his life is in danger. He can handle himself but he is also,”Jason contemplated his words there for a moment. “He’s got the skills down and the experience under his belt but he has plenty other things going on that can leave him vulnerable during battle. There’s a fine line between him fucking with people and him struggling. If he uses his meta powers, join in because he’s doing to fucking drop afterwards.” 

“Drop?”Dick sounded concerned and they both shared worried glances. “Is that why you were checking his pulse earlier?” 

“… yeah.” 

“Can we ask what specifically you were looking for?”

“I promised i wouldn’t rat him out. I am not going to break his trust like that.” 

“Fair,”Tim took the paper’s from Jason’s hand folding them neatly and shoving them into his belt. “Ready to go Big Bird?” 

“You bet. Catch you on the flip side Hood.” 

“You too Nightwing. RR, get some fucking sleep please. I will call Kon.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Tim would have made eye contact if it weren’t for the masks. “I slept a day or two ago!” 

“A day or two ago,”Dick mimics. “Yeah exactly the problem, now come on Red.” Dick almost dragged him away before Tim could respond to Jason’s threats any further. 

“THIS IS NOT DONE HOOD.” 

“YES IT IS RED.” 

“FUCK YOU.” Cue Tim flipping off the Red Hood as they left. The quiet sounds of grappling hooks going off and then silence settling over the warehouse and Tim left with far too many questions and concerns. What kind of Meta can’t handle using his own abilities? He thought that wasn’t how that worked. 

At least Tim had gotten something out of tonight. He had liked Dis. The man was a firecracker and funny when he wasn’t being serious. A bigger Damian if you would, but at least Hood had a better control over this one. At least he trusted this one not to outright stab him. Ha, Big Damian. Their little brother would definitely clash with Dis if/when they met. Tim was almost excited to see it happen. 

“So what are we telling B again?” Tim voiced silently as they were a few houses down. 

“We found a lead but had to turn off coms so we couldn’t be found. The lead wanted total security.” Dick replied with ease. “Hey Oracle.” 

“Nightwing—“Tim didn’t get to finish his statement before Oracle’s voice came online. 

“Ready? I’ve been spewing lies for hours now Nightwing. You owe me.” 

“Yeah yeah. I know. I’ll come by and make dinner one night, we can watch a movie.” 

“Movie night?”Tim asked.”Can I join?” 

“Yes you can Red, thank you for asking.” 

“We should stop the small talk before B spasses.” 

“Probably. Reconnecting.” 

B’s voice was immediate. “Nightwing, Red Robin, report. Why were your coms offline?” 

Tim was letting Dick trip over himself with this one quite enjoying the show.

————————

Damian Wayne liked to think, no he knew himself to be the best of the children when it came to several things. Grades(mostly only being topped by Drake), Fighting, and most importantly Stealth. The only other one coming close to him being Greyson with his light feet and acrobatic training. 

So when his father had come to him telling him tonight he would be checking up on Hood instead of their normal routines, honestly, Damian had been excited. Excited at the prospect of a fight. Excited at the idea of proving himself worthy to his father. 

What he had been told and what he knew though were two different questions. 

He knew Red Robin and Nightwing were supposed to be patrolling the docks. 

He knew Jason Todd Aka Red Hood was acting quiet and suspicious and had been for months. 

He knew that Father would be annoyed that the trio of them were meeting. 

What he had been told though was another thing.

He’d been told to keep his head down. 

He’d been told that Red Hood was violent, Damian had already thought otherwise in the guy who made him vegan cookies and sneakily brought them to the manor and set them on Damian’s bed every time. He got along with Todd even if it was in their silent sparing sessions during his rare visits. 

He was totally not jealous to see the very obvious affection he was showing for somebody— some nobody. His father had asked him to watch Jason and then leave and report back, that was all. He was to not engage and while originally the plan had in fact been to just hang out with Jason for the night, things had obviously changed. 

Something felt off about the stranger clad in black. Whispers through the air like a mistake. Something was wrong with that guy, and not just in the fact that he was obviously injured. Something was just off. That also meant he didn’t trust that man around Todd. 

He moved closer keeping an eye on what was going on the slow curling and whisp of ideas floating inside of him. 

The pit calls

It whispered. A familiar feeling when Todd was near, yes. A longing feeling drawing him closer to the man with Lazarus water running through his veins, but it had never called this loud before. He hadn’t even told the others he could tell when he was near the pits of Gotham. The festering bubbling green waters. 

When the stranger left, his feeling of the pit began to die down to the quiet hum of the familiarity of Jason. 

And then it was behind him. 

“You did a pretty good job hiding you know.” 

How was he able to see him… Damian looked back unsheathing his katana pointing it at the stranger who was leaning against the door to the building bright green goggles glowing with that unearthly Lazarus green. 

The man put his hands up stepping out of the shadows. Gently moving to push the katana out of the way as he began to circle Damian, and for the first time in his life. 

Damian felt like prey. 

Like the predator before was watching with a smirk. He gave a gentle smile but Damian noticed the sharp fangs protruding from his mouth as he gave a sinister smile. 

“If you weren’t radiating ectoplasm I wouldn’t have been able to detect you,”he gave a low chuckle that reverberated through Damian’s veins. 

“Who are you?” Katana remaining up as they seemed to circle each other. Damian in a defensive position. 

“Come on, I think the question you’re more curious about is what I am.” 

“Then answer whatever question you wish.” 

“So cold for the young Robin. Red and Nightwing have so much more spunk than you.” 

“I can show you spunk.” He bolted forward at the man who dodged hands behind his back. Dangr. Danger. Danger. It filled his senses no, it consumed them. What the fuck was he. His Lazarus sense was on fire. Blinding. Nauseating.

So when he felt the stranger pulse with the energy of the pits calling upon it from just somewhere he felt overwhelmed dropping to the ground unable to stop himself from puking. He expected the figure to attack him. Kill him in his moment of weakness. 

But no. 

Instead he felt a gentle gloved hand rubbing his back and the figure was crouched next to him rubbing small circles. 

“Shit, sorry kid. I just wanted to fuck with ya’ didn’t think you were that sensitive to me,”he apologized with genuine concern in his voice. “Fuck.” 

He smacked his hand away wiping his mouth breathing heavily. The figure stepping away getting the cue.

“Leave Gotham… you thing.” 

“Thing? Now that’s hurtful.” The man chuckled. “Look. I am sorry for what it means from a stranger. I got to go and I’m sure you do too. I don’t think you want your fellow birdies to find out you were here right?” 

“I don’t follow directions from monsters.” 

“I’m not a monster.” 

“You radiate danger. It’s in your entire being.” 

“I didn’t realize I still radiated that. I didn’t even know those infected could still pick up on me, different breed and all.” 

“Different breed?.” 

A small gentle smile. “Different breed of those infected with that you guys call the pits. I’ll keep away now that I know though, but if I have to fight near you kid. You’ll have to get that sense of yours under control.” 

“I can’t control it.” 

“Yes you can.” 

The man handed him his katana back before backing up again. 

“I’ll stay right here,”The man gave a smile moving to sit down himself. “Close your eyes. Feel where all the energy is.” 

Damian hesitated. Would this be weakness? Was he the enemy? He slowly adjusted to sit like him closing his eyes focusing on the feeling. 

“Imagine it as a bubble. A giant bubble as far as your reach will lead you.” Damian could feel the waters through the man and feel Jason and his movements next door. 

A slow growing toxic green bubble seeming to encompass all he could sense. 

“Good. Now take a deep breath and deep in your chest pull that bubble in with every breath. Slowly. It’ll overwhelm you if you try to reign it in al at once.” 

Damian obliged, what the fuck was he doing. “No. It’s not working you are lying to me.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

“I am not going to listen to someone maddened by the pits far more than Hood.” The man put his hands up again. 

“Then be my guest to faint next time I do more than flare my abilities.” 

“Who are you…” 

“A friendly,mostly.  if you need some help, though Feel free to ask Hood all about who I am.” 

And with a blink of an eye he was gone, and Damian knew he was right. He had to fucking move. He rose with shaky knees. 

His father did not need to know about the powerful entity able to bring him to his knees. Maybe he did? Would the being be able to bring him to his knees too?

No. He would not his weakness. He would not let anyone know what a walking pit of toxic waste that person was. Not until he could determine what exactly could bring him down. For now, all his Father would know was that Jason was going over some of his own investigations details. That is all. He moved positions to readjust himself to look into one of the windows. Only leaving when the sun began to peak over the horizon. 

He was surprised his body handled making it back at all. Ignoring the brief look of concern and comment from Alfred about how pale he looked as the child changed and headed to bed for the few hours of sleep he would obtain. 

He wasn’t going to tell anyone about that. 

Previous Chapter | Next chapter

[sideroachblog]

Kinktober Day 11: Aphrodisiacs! I'm a little behind 😅

Thank you @nonsenseafterdark for the prompt list!

Trans!Roach/König

Words: 961

NSFW under the cut. No TWs.

Anatomy Words Used: Pussy, Clit, T-dick, Hole, Entrance, Lips

~~~

Roach ducked as the hulking enemy in front of him threw a punch. Motherfucker was nearing seven feet tall and wide to match, wearing some creepy t-shirt over his head with eye holes cut out. With nearly a foot height difference Roach had to kite the man’s attacks perfectly or get grabbed and thrown to the ground. He strafed right as the guy tried to tackle him, then to the left to avoid his follow-up attempt and create some space between them in the tight warehouse.

Unfortunately, the enemy grabbed Roach’s wrist and yanked him back. Being so much stronger he whipped Roach around into a stack of crates as if the Sergeant weigh nothing. There was a crack! as wood splintered around Roach as he stumbled right through them onto the floor. The contents vaporized in a fine pink powder.

Roach recollected his bearings. Remembering where he was, he braced for impact—one that never came.

His assailant sneezed.

The Sergeant reached for his holstered gun before realizing the powder had a funny smell that tickled his nose and spread warmth across his cheeks. Considering his luck it was probably Agent Orange: The Squeakuel.

Something felt odd. Distracting. The other man must’ve felt it too, since the violence stopped dead in its tracks. That warmth filled his lungs, made his heart skip a beat and accelerate, parted his lips with a needy sigh. But what did he need?

His hands began to shake. A shiver ran down his spine. The feeling of clothes on his skin was suddenly too much; fabric dragging over sensitive flesh drew a moan from his throat. He pressed his legs together only to feel wetness squish between his thighs.

What the fuck?

He looked up at the enemy towering over him like a draft horse and couldn’t help but wonder if he had a cock to match. It seems the feeling was mutual, as the man fell to his knees and crawled on top of him. Suddenly his mouth was stuffed with a stranger’s tongue, a gloved hand at his throat pinning him in place.

“Jesus Christ,” Roach whispered. Fingers slipped under the chain to his ID discs, ripping them off before he could stop it. “Hey!”

“Sergeant Sanderson, huh?” The man asked with some unplaceable accent.

Roach yelped in surprise as a knee rammed between his legs, expecting a penis based on its angle of approach. Finding different machinery, the man pulled back, narrowed his eyes in what might’ve been a devilish smile under his mask, then ducked down to rip off Roach’s fatigues.

He groaned at the sight of Roach’s boxers, only the slightest bulge created by his mound, growling, “I don’t know what the hell is going on but I’m glad you have a cunt.”

It was an Austrian accent.

Roach gasped. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Why the fuck aren’t you stopping me?” He rubbed Roach’s slit through soaked boxers. “Why are you so wet, Gary?”

All Roach could manage was to whimper and tense his thighs, although he couldn’t bring himself to shove his enemy off or even close his legs.

“Mhm. Figures. My call sign is König, if you need something to scream. Or Colonel," he said, promptly burying his face in Roach's pussy.

Apparently, König was a freak. He inhaled deeply through his mouth and nose, one hand pinning Roach’s hip while the other lifted his homemade mask. As he licked, his nose rubbed Roach’s sensitive t-dick, wide tongue pressing against Roach’s hole.

Roach grabbed the back of his helmet and humped up into the sensation. Lifting his ass gave König the opportunity to pull his boxers down.

“Scheiße, look at that! Your clit’s huge,” he marveled, then wrapped his lips around it.

Roach yelled, earning a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t believe König was large enough to reach. Next thing he knew, two huge fingers pressed against his entrance. Under any other circumstances he’d beg the man to wait, to start with one, but he was too horny. He pushed back and they slid inside.

He cried, “Fuck, you’re stretching me out.”

“You can take it, slut,” König said, finding his G-spot and earning more delicious sounds. “Yeah, moan for me.”

When König’s fingers curled and his pace increased, Roach suddenly reached a shuddering orgasm and squirted up his wrist. The hand retreated, a fly unzipped, and König lined the tip of his dick up with Roach’s hole.

The sheer size of it made Roach’s eyes widen. “It’s like a fucking water bottle,” he sobbed.

“You can take it.”

His cheeks burned hot while König held his legs together in the air. It spread his pussy lips, stretching his hole as he gripped König’s arms. A rubber band tightened in his abdomen as the cock entered, impossibly deep until the man’s body pressed into his t-dick, who moaned at the feeling of Roach’s insides.

Roach’s eyes rolled back. He rolled his hips so it rubbed his G-spot.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

König groaned and pulled out before slamming himself back inside, dick long enough to just barely kiss Roach’s cervix. Roach gasped—König gave one more exploratory thrust before jackhammering down inside. Using him like a fleshlight. Completely uncaring about the obscenely sloppy sounds emanating from Roach’s mouth and hole.

Roach saw stars. He came again, bearing down on König's length, which began to throb as the man filled him with cum, spreading his legs to make out sloppily as their bodies rocked together.

Suddenly, Roach was empty. Cum poured from his pussy.

König stood on shaking legs and yanked him up. “Pull up your pants. You’ve got twenty seconds to run before I put a bullet in your head.”

[unkindhands]

The thing about Keicho is that I genuinely believe that his head is lodged so far up his own ass that he doesn't think about other people enough to hold grudges. Like 99% of the time he's either thinking about his dad, Okuyasu, or the current stand user candidate that he's stalking. There is almost zero spare bandwidth in his head available for other people. Josuke Higashikata is the single exception to that.

I've seen AU fic where Keicho has been some kind of traumatized after surviving Akira's attack, and to be fully honest I don't think he'd really be affected like that? The guy has a list of traumatic experiences the length of his arm already, and I think 'getting ambushed and losing a stand battle' is kind of mundane and not that remarkable by his standards. And similarly, I don't even think he'd really be that angry at Akira afterwards. Like, he knew a lot about Akira's stand and how it worked and the guy still managed to 1. track Keicho back to the house he was hiding in, 2. get the drop on him and 3. get a good hit in. If anything Keicho would be somewhat impressed at the moxie.

Meanwhile Josuke, even with every aspect of the fight stacked against him and in Keicho's favor, still managed to outsmart Bad Company and trick him into shooting himself in the face. Dunked on him on his own home turf.

And then became Okuyasu's best friend so he HAS to put up with him.

Yeah, Keicho fucking hates that guy

[starboybutler]

oliver quick headcanons because i have lost control of my life

he absolutely loves to read and can smash a 300+ page book in two days tops. that summer reading list was nothing to him

he writes poems and enjoys doing book reports and character analyses. this boy has tons upon tons of notebooks stacked up in his closet

likes to paint landscapes and buildings. he painted felix once, and he still has the painting under his bed

very picky about his food and tea. hates any really mushy/runny foods and likes his tea bitter. he also wants his tea boiling hot- he won't drink it if it's lukewarm

this boy is autistic and no one will tell me otherwise. he stims by touch a lot, and he also likes to bite (his nails, pens, other people)

likes fitness only because it helps him clear his mind. he's so ripped because he'll go on runs for hours, completely lost in his head, or he'll lift weights and lose track of time.

isn't a huge fan of music, only if he's with other people. he likes classical music and rock, but he will honestly listen to anything.

he forgets to eat and drink all the fucking time. at saltburn, he would complain that he was dizzy when he and felix were by the pool, and felix would ask if he ate anything, and he'd just go "ohhhhhh. no i haven't"

has a very particular self-care routine that he does at night, starting with brushing his teeth and ending with moisturizing his face.

used to have long hair-- cut it because people kept mistaking him for a girl.

he has a ton of morbid little interests he's never been open about, like taxidermy and collecting animal bones. had animal skulls on display in his dorm at oxford, but took them down after he met felix.

tried to go to therapy for his obsessive tendencies, but ended up being obsessed with his therapist

cracks his knuckles like. every five seconds. it pisses farleigh off a lot

wanted to be a surgeon and considered medical school, but eventually settled on a literature degree.

likes to cook, and is actually decent at it. autism be damned my boy can work a grill

stopped wearing his glasses while at saltburn because of elspeth, ran into tables and pillars everyday for a week before he invested in contacts

has a soft spot for really bad horror movies, especially parodies. his fave horror movie is friday the thirteenth

has a huuuuge sweet tooth and will blow his money on ice cream if he is allowed

really insecure about his smile, mainly his teeth, so he always consciously smiles with his lips together

didn't smoke weed before he met felix, but now they get stoned together every other day

he isn't scared of a lot, but he is scared of needles and spiders (and being abandoned)

chronic insomniac. he'll stay up until about 5am reading books or smoking cigarettes while staring out of his window

neat freak x100. hates filth and mess with a burning passion. washes his hands before and after eating, brushes his teeth after every meal, never leaves his clothes thrown about. ha absolutely hates felix's room but he knows better than to try and clean it up

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Two

Masterlist

AO3 link

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, mention of amputation

Word count: 2.1k

Aaron and I stayed in that shed for probably two hours. He told me about his S.O. Eric and how they got separated, how he hoped that Eric had made it back safely. He told me about some of the people in Alexandria, how this large group of ragtag misfits had come together to form one giant family. There was power and water and food and shelter.

Alexandria sounded like a dream.

At some point, he took a lengthy nap, which I used as time to write. During my residency and throughout this last year and a half, the only hobby I had & thing that managed to keep me semi-sane was writing. I came to love writing poetry in med school & had journals upon journals filled to the brim with my work stuffed into my bedroom closet on a small shelf. I wish I could have brought even a few of them with me.

After he woke up, I gave him some more of my water and a little bit of my food. He pulled at the corner of the silver bag, stopping to read the text on the front.

“Is this fucking freeze-dried ice cream?” Aaron asked, laughing as he tore the corner off the bag.

“My dad was an astronaut. You don’t wanna know how much of that shit was stacked in closets in his office. I took all that would fit into my backpack before I started making my way out here,” I responded. He pulled the small, hard Neapolitan brick out of the bag, taking a bite out of the corner.

“Can I be frank?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“This tastes like shit,” he chuckled. I laughed in response.

“It does, but it’s food. I’ve been living off of that for the last year and a half. And any random cans I’ve found along the way,” I said, “I haven’t kept track of time, but it feels like it’s been months since I had food that wasn’t freeze-dried.”

“Well, once we get back, we’ll get you taken care of,” he told me. I suppressed my squee of joy and instead let it spread across my face in a gigantic grin.

After a little more time talking, he seemed like he had gotten enough strength back to slowly head back to Alexandria. I grabbed my spear and put it under my arm, propping myself up onto my feet.

“Alright, we’re gonna get you on your…” I caught the word I was going to say in my mouth, “foot…and take as long as we need to get back. Is there any chance some people could be sent out looking for you?” I put my arm around him again, and he put his weight onto his foot to push himself into a standing position. He then distributed his weight between his foot and on me.

“I mean, there’s a chance, but only if Eric made it back and told them what happened,” he told me. I unsheathed my spear to use as a walking stick, the sharp end pointing to the sky. We hobbled slowly to the door, and I had him stop and rest on a table.

“Let me make sure it’s clear.” I swung the door open and walked the perimeter of the small shed, listening and making sure there weren’t any Walkers nearby. I found a large stick on the ground for Aaron to use, picking it up and bringing it back to him. “Here, use this.” He took it in his free hand and gave me a nod. I grabbed him again, and after slipping through the door, I let him lead the way to the road.

“So you’ve obviously got medical skills. What’s your combat experience like?”

We hobbled along the road, me telling him about my brothers and my family and how I’d been alone all this time. Never had a group. There was the occasional Walker, which I would take care of with my spear. It was a peaceful walk for the most part.

After a couple of hours, I could see a wall through the trees. Aaron’s face lit up, as did mine. The two people on either side of what I assumed was the front gate raised their guns in our direction, keeping them poised. After we were out of the trees, they dropped their weapons when they realized it was Aaron.

“He’s back!” one of them shouted. One of them signaled to someone I couldn’t see, and they started opening the gate. A blonde man slipped through the small gap in the gate like butter and began running over.

“Eric!” Aaron yelled, starting to pick up his pace a little. Eric ran over at mach speed, embracing Aaron in a vice grip the second they touched. I pushed forward on Aaron to keep both of them from falling over. One of the two started making their way towards us, the other walking off towards the side to the trees. I was so enamored by Eric and Aaron that I didn’t even see him coming up behind me.

“No, no she’s with me!” Aaron screamed behind him. Before I could fully process what was happening, the back of my head was struck, the pain vibrating across my face and down my neck. I could feel myself falling forward, and everything turned black before I hit the ground.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I slowly opened my eyes. Wherever I was was very bright, and the light was blinding. The back of my head was pulsating, each throb matching my heartbeat. I was sat upright, I could tell that much. After several rounds of blinking, I was able to open my eyes.

“She’s awake,” I heard a man’s voice say. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, but when they did, I realized I was in some kind of small cell. The first thing I noticed was a man sitting in front of me. He was leaned back in a chair, one leg propped up onto the other. He looked cool as a cucumber as he held his crossbow up, pointed right at me.

His voice was like gravel in my ears. And I liked it.

I practically fell over jumping up to my feet, putting my hands up at my sides. I backed up into the far corner. Looking around the room, I saw a few more people come in, each one taking a seat either in a chair or on a set of steps.

“Ya got other weapons on ya, sunshine?” the man with the crossbow asked me. I chuckled a little. I was wearing a black cropped tank and a skort where a portion of the front skirt part was missing. My clothes were small and fitted, so I don’t know where else they thought I could store a weapon.

“Look at me,” I said, shaking my hips a little and twirling in a circle, “where could I possibly store another weapon, up my p—“

The three women in the group giggled at my comment. “Shut up and sit down,” another man instructed. This one was wearing a cowboy hat and had a star-shaped badge pinned to his chest. The way this man spoke indicated that he was some sort of authority figure in this group.

“Could call it a pussy knife,” I said under my breath as I sat down on the small bench against the back wall of the cell.

“You’re gonna start with telling us who you are and what happened to Aaron,” he instructed. I leaned back and folded my arms across my chest, examining the group. There was the one with the crossbow, the sheriff with an attitude, a woman with grey hair, an Asian guy, another woman with short hair who looked around my age or a little older, and a Black woman with dreads, probably also not much older than me.

“What’s your name, cowboy?” I asked the sheriff, sass lacing my voice, “y’know, so I can address you properly.”

“Rick,” he told me, “Rick Grimes.”

“Well Rick, have you talked to Aaron yet?”

“You’ll give us your story first, then we’ll make sure it matches his.”

“Can I have my stuff back?”

“You might get it back, depending on whether or not I like your answer.” I met his gaze and sighed.

Fuck cops.

“I’m Vector, and I think I’m 32, depending on what month it is. I’m a trauma surgeon. Well, I had a month left of my residency when…all of this started. I was at Johns Hopkins for my residency and going home to see family for vacation. I had hardly left the hospital when people started evacuating. I decided to drive all the way back home where I found out that one of brothers had already lost his life. I, umm…”

I paused, trying to find my wording without letting my emotions get the best of me, “had to put him out of his misery. After some wandering, I found out about Alexandria, and…here I am. Got lucky enough to find Aaron. He got bit, by the way. I had just woken up and he was getting attacked nearby, which I saved him from. You’re welcome. I carry medical supplies on me, so I got him to safety, amputated his foot, patched him up, and here we are.”

“He said you gave him food and water?” Rick said. I rolled my eyes and huffed.

“So you have talked to him?” I scoffed, “and yes I did. I could’ve just killed him, or taken his stuff and ran, but I didn’t. Because I’m a doctor, and he needed help. That’s what I do.” There was a silence that hovered over us for what felt like ages. It felt like they were reading me, trying to gauge whether or not I was telling the truth. Meanwhile, the one with the crossbow hadn’t let up once.

“What kind of doctor did you say you were?” the woman with the grey hair asked.

“I’m a trauma surgeon. I was working in the ER before all this. I amputated limbs, put limbs back on, did organ transplants. I saw gunshot wounds, third-degree burns. You name it, I’ve probably done it,” I explained, “actually, my plan after completing my residency and getting a few years under my belt was to eventually join Doctors Without Borders, but now we’re here.”

“That’s uh…wow, that’s really commendable,” Rick stated, a small smile crossing his face. I nodded. “Do you have a group that would be looking for you?”

“No, I’ve never had a group. Just me, the pack on my back, and my own thoughts,” I explained, pointing to my head. The group looked surprised by what I said.

“You’ve survived by yourself this whole time?” he asked me, sounding surprised. I nodded.

“Never wanted to join anyone. I had my heart set on Alexandria from the moment I heard about it. Sometimes I would come across people, like I did Aaron, and I would offer my medical services and take off. Never really stuck around one place for too long.”

“Well that’s very trusting of you,” Rick commented, “how has that worked out?” I bit my lip to keep myself from wincing at the memories from that day.

“Well, for the most part,” I said. I rubbed at the rope scars on my wrists in a way that I hoped was discreet, “I mean, I’ve made it this long on my own, right?”

“What are your combat skills like?” he questioned. I had to suppress my laughter.

“I grew up with three older brothers…all Navy SEALs…they taught me everything they knew.” I leaned forward between the bars, locking eyes with Rick. “I’ll let you guess how my combat skills are.” The man with the crossbow made a face, though I couldn’t decipher what it meant. Rick seemed to take notice.

“Would you like her to demonstrate, Daryl?”

“Yeah, would you like me to demonstrate, Daryl?” I smirked, “I could kick you in the balls, bring you to your knees, and knee you in the face. Don’t need to be a Navy SEAL to know how to do that.”

“I like her,” the woman with the short hair said, laughing.

“Ya just tiny s’all,” Daryl commented. His Southern drawl and gravel-laced voice made me weak, though I didn’t let it show.

“I’m like 5’7”, I am not tiny,” I retorted, “and can you tell him to stop pointing that thing at me? I’m clearly not going to hurt anyone from in here.” Rick nodded to Daryl, who finally lowered his bow. “Thank you.” He then turned to the Asian man to his left, who got up and came over toward my cell, unlocking it and swinging the door open. I hesitated for a moment before stepping out, scanning my eyes across the group.

“Sooooo…does this mean I get to stay?” I asked, a small but enthusiastic smile crossing my face, “I promise I’ll be useful. Sassy, but useful.”

“Yes,” Rick said, “Welcome to Alexandria.”

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 4 - A Winchester Welcome

Y/N finds herself in a bunker with three unfamiliar men that are determined to help her. 

(1.9k)

I stir to the sound of unfamiliar voices, sounding muffled and far away. 

“You must know something, I mean, why would he just take some regular girl?” A man with a gruff voice says.

“I’ve heard nothing of it. She’s not on the list of prophets and she doesn’t seem to have any connections to Heaven or Hell,” another man replies, his voice low, gravelly, and unusually monotone. 

“So what? He just abducted her for fun?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” a third man pitched in, his voice slightly softer than the others.

My eyes flutter open, the light falling on my sensitive pupils. I quickly come to the realization that I am no longer in the house that Lucifer had dragged me to. I’m slumped over in a chair sat at a long wooden table in what looks to be some sort of underground shelter or bunker. 

The foundation is made of steel, layed with brick, and supported by concrete pillars. Hundreds of books and weird artifacts displayed on shelves line every wall, illuminated by the soft warm glow of overhead lights. 

I must consider my options quickly. Who knows how long it will take for the three men across the room to notice that I am no longer asleep. If I've learned anything recently, it's that the world is a lot more frightening than I've ever known before and nobody can be trusted. 

I have to find a way out and fast. Running clearly hasn’t worked out for me, so that only leaves me one option: I have to fight my way out of here. I scan the room around me looking for anything to defend myself with. My eyes land on a sharp letter opener laying on the table in front of me on a stack of scattered papers and books. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. I swipe it quickly and hold it at arm's length in front of me as I quietly rise from my seat. 

This catches their attention, stopping their conversation dead in its tracks. For a second there’s silence, it hangs uncomfortably in the air until the tallest man finally speaks up.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you,” he says in a gentle, soothing voice, that in any other circumstance would have put me at ease. 

He has long flowing locks of brown hair tucked behind his ears and a blue flannel that hugs his tall, muscular build. He’s well over six feet tall, not someone that I could easily take in a fight, he’d most likely snap me in half without breaking a sweat. But something about him is soft and caring. 

He takes a hesitant step towards me and raises his hands to show he means no harm.

“Stay away from me you demonic fucks!” I yell, swinging the letter opener and slowly backing away towards the open hallway behind me. Truthfully I have no clue what the layout of this building is. For all I know, this hall could lead me even deeper into this nightmare of a situation, but staying in this room trapped with three mysterious men is not an option.

“We’re not demons, we’re here to help you. I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean Winchester,” he gestures between him and the other man in flannel. 

Dean puts on a fake smile and gives a half hearted wave. 

My eyes shift to the man in a trenchcoat behind them, standing silently with an intense gaze.

Dean catches this and gives him a subtle nudge to the shoulder. 

The man looks confused and annoyed at first, then clears his throat. “I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord,” he states flatly.

“Yeah? Well I've had enough of you twisted angels for a lifetime. So, if you'll excuse me, I’ll be taking my leave!” My voice quivers, but my face stays strong and stoic. I take a step back towards the nearest hallway, readying myself to make an escape.

Sam seems to take pity on me, clearly seen in his big brown puppy dog eyes.

 Dean and Castiel on the other hand, look rather annoyed.

“You don't want to do that,” Dean warns.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” I huff, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Lucifer seems to have taken an interest in you and he will stop at nothing to find you. If there’s one thing I know about my brother, it’s that he’s stubbornly persistent,” the angel weighs in.

“We have this place sigilled to high Heaven. He won’t be able to get to you in here, but as soon as you leave those doors, we can’t protect you from him,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“Why would you want to help me?” 

“It’s what we do,” he replies with a smile.

“I promise you, you’re safe here. You just have to trust us,” Sam says, approaching me carefully like I'm some wounded animal. 

I give a quick nod and reluctantly lower the letter opener, deciding to let my guard down, seeing as I don’t have many other options at the moment. 

Sam takes the blade from my hand and flashes me a relieved smile, placing it on the worn wooden table. He pulls out two chairs, the scrape of wood echoing around the large room. He sits on the chair to the right and pats the other, urging me to sit next to him. 

With caution I slide into the chair, never taking my eyes off him in fear this all may be a trap.

“What’s your name?” He asks kindly, gently placing his hand on mine in an act of sincerity. 

I can’t help but remember the feeling of Lucifer's hand over mine, the buzz of electricity that quivered through us. I shake off the memory, refocusing my attention on Sam.

Dean and Castiel leave the room, having a hushed conversation between the two.

“Y/N.”

“That’s a lovely name.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of what to say. “How are you holding up? I’m sure this is a lot to take in at once.” He feathers his hands through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear.

“I’ve been better,” I reply bitterly.

He nods sympathetically. 

The room goes quiet as we both become lost in thought.

Dean returns holding three bottles of beer, Cas following not far behind. He places a bottle in front of me, popping off the cap with a pocket knife before taking his seat across the table.

 Cas looms awkwardly behind him, staring me down suspiciously, like a bomb that may go off at any moment.

Without a second thought, I grab the bottle, putting the cold glass rim up to my lips and chug. I close my eyes and feel the bubbly liquid flowing down my throat, leaving a warm sensation in its wake. I drink until the bottle’s completely empty, shaking it lightly to get every last drop. The alcohol eases my worries, reminding me of my days before the dreams started, before being kidnapped by the devil, before being injected by the mystery serum, before finding myself in a bunker with two men and their angel. The days, that in hindsight, I really took for granted. I open my eyes to see everyone staring at me intently. 

Sam looks surprised, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly ajar. 

Dean on the other hand smiles, clearly impressed. “So,” Dean says, trailing his eyes over my form. “Why is Lucifer so fixated on you?” He asks, kicking his feet up to rest on the table and taking a swig of his beer. 

Sam shoots him a disapproving look, but chooses not to say anything.

“I’m not sure actually.” I glance down at my hands, picking at the skin of my cuticles absentmindedly.

Sam silently hands me his beer.

 I nod appreciatively and take a sip, choosing to savor it this time. “I started having dreams of him about a month ago. Terrible, terrible dreams. Then he abducted me. I thought for sure he was going to kill me, but he seemed possessive and surprisingly affectionate towards me?” I say uncertain, not entirely sure if I believe the words coming out of my mouth.

The three men exchange glances between each other, somewhere between confusion and skepticism. 

“Affection?” Dean asks, raising his brow.

“Yeah, he kept calling me his beloved and assuring me everything was going to be okay,” I say the words like they’re sour in my mouth, leaving behind a bitter taste. 

Dean's face twists in disgust picturing it. “So that’s it? Did he do anything else?” Dean questions, his deep voice echoing off the walls.

“Yes,” I state in an angry tone. 

The boys lean in, waiting for me to say more, but I choose not to elaborate further. I’m not too keen on sharing the most traumatic event I've ever experienced with some strange men I just met.

“I’d like to go to my room, please.” I grab the bottle and take a long swig, tracing my eyes along the wall, purposefully looking anywhere besides them.

“Y/N,” Sam says in his soft voice, indirectly asking for more information.

“Please, Sam.” I give in, looking at his soft hazel eyes. 

He nods, then stands from the chair and escorts me to an empty bedroom down the hall. We walk in silence, only the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall. “Dean’s just one room over and my room is across the way.” He points to a room a few doors down across the hall. “We’ll be here if you need anything at all.” He places his large hand on my shoulder, giving a light, reassuring squeeze.

“Thanks.” I close the door behind me, letting out a long breath I didn’t even know I was holding in. Looking around, the room is neatly cleaned. Mostly barren besides a bed, a nightstand with a small lamp, and a leather trunk at the foot of the bed. Despite the place feeling void of human touch, I still feel more comfortable here than in Lucifer's abode.

 I enter the small connected bathroom and shrug off my dirty clothes, turning on the shower. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Despite the hours of sleep I've gotten recently without much say in the matter, my eyes have light purple bags under them like I've been awake for days. My hair’s a mess, strands going every which way and little knots forming at the ends. I run my fingers through, slowly working through the tangles until it looked somewhat presentable.

I step into the shower and the hot water feels incredible. It temporarily melts away the memories of the day, the tension easing out of my muscles. I lather my hair with the small bottle of lavender shampoo in the nook of the shower, and wash all the grime from my body with the tiny bar of soap. Getting clean has never felt so good in all my life.  I close my eyes and stand under the stream until the warm water runs cold, the drops feeling like little needles hitting my skin.

After drying off and brushing my teeth, I slip into bed, only dressed in my underwear, as I don’t have any clean clothes to change into. My body relaxes knowing that I’m safe from Lucifer in this bunker, at least for the time being, and that’s good enough for me. For a long while I sit awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind running so fast yet feeling so empty, but eventually exhaustion sets in and sleep claims me once more.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[drivinmeinsane]

»{ Holland March x Merman!Jackson Healy }« ※ { ao3 }

next chapter -»

※ Summary: Struggling, he can’t seem to reach the surface no matter how hard he paddles upwards. He’s going to die down here if he can’t cover any distance. He’d failed to take in any air when he went over on account of knocking himself senseless. Making a mistake, Holland looks down and sees the darting shadow of a pointed dorsal fin. Shark. There’s a fucking shark in the water with him. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Alternate Universe, Merman Jackson Healy, Canon-Typical Crack Taken Seriously, Frottage, Excessive Cum, Anal Sex, Cum Eating, Teratophilia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking ※ Word count: 6,739 ※ Status: Multi-chapter (1/2) :: Complete ※ Author's note: Happy Mermay! 🦈

“But mermaids aren’t real,” Holland protests with a wild gesture of his arms.

In all honesty, the private investigator wishes he were sitting down for this consultation. It’s turning out to be one hell of a doozy. Unfortunately for him, his prospective client hadn’t offered him a seat. Holland feels a prickle of resentment.

“Aye, but this one is. Got m’self a real fish man out in those waters and I aim to catch the bastard for what he did.”

When the call had come to the March residence, Holland hadn’t thought much of it. He doesn’t always get the most… reasonable individuals seeking his services. Still, after driving himself all the way to this man’s house after dropping Holly off at school this morning, he hadn’t expected to be asked to track down a myth.

It’s all complete bullshit in his opinion. This man—Sam… something—must be out of his mind. Holland, of course, is a professional and has taken on more asinine and pointless jobs than this. Money is money and it makes the world go ‘round. Or so they say. Anyway, he has a house to rebuild.

Humoring the older man, he says, “Tell me again what you’re wanting me to do about your mermaid. You’re the fisherman.”

“You want a drink?” Sam calls over his shoulder instead of answering him. Already, he’s going for a cloudy looking jug on a clearly handmade shelf alongside a stack of dented metal cups. “I distill it m’self.”

Never one to turn down alcohol, Holland doesn’t protest. “Why not, but about your mer—”

He’s cut off by the grizzled man shoving a full cup of liquid into his chest, forcing Holland to take it. He narrowly avoids dropping it when Sam takes his free hand in between his.

“Got the hands of a city boy,” he comments. He doesn’t sound put out by this, especially not with the way he rubs a calloused thumb over March’s smooth knuckles.

Feeling himself color with a flush, he takes a swig of the beverage he’s been given. It burns like fire going down. He should probably stay away from open flames after he finishes it. He’s liable to be a victim of spontaneous human combustion if he doesn’t. The alcohol itself tastes little better than he’d imagine nail varnish remover from the 50-Cent store does.

Sam gives his hand a tight enough squeeze that he has to suppress a yelp as his bones are pinched together. Thankfully, he’s released almost immediately. If Holland is a little honest with himself, which he is never is, he might be likely to admit that he finds the other man attractive in some kind of rugged, outdoorsy way. Who’d have thought he would like scruffy men who could snap him like a stick if pushed? He tacks that information onto the ever growing list of his failings.

“About the fish. I just want you to keep an eye out for him. See where he hangs out, yeah? You don’t have to do anything more than spotting him and letting me know where he is.”

“You said he tried to kill you,” Holland says, uncomfortably taking another drink and casting a critical eye at their surroundings.

The investigator has been in some strange homes over the years, but this one very well might be in the top three. While it’s clearly the abode of a bachelor, lifelong if Holland had to guess, there are some things that would give anyone pause. Sam has stacks of Campbell’s tomato soup towering on various shelves. That alone wouldn’t be too terribly strange if it weren’t for the shark mandibles hung up all round his home and the too many copies of Moby Dick stored away on a warped and leaning bookshelf. The cherry on top of the sundae is an oversized pot of water clearly filled with more shark jaws that is boiling merrily away on the stove. Sam’s home must smell like fish and Holland has never been so grateful that his sense of smell got knocked right out of his head along with any additional cognitive abilities that would have benefited him.

“I said he stole m’net and pulled me off the boat then tried to drown me. He’s a big ol’ fucker but if you aren’t fishin’, I don’t think he’ll mess with you none,” the fisherman explains patiently. He’s grinning.

Holland thinks on his words in addition to what he’d been told earlier. Three hundred dollars and all he does is have to dick around on the boardwalks up and down a very small bit of the coast. Maybe he’ll have to take off his loafers and put his toes in the sand. All that for up to a week if he doesn't find Sam’s fish man before than. It’s not a bad job, not at all. At the very least, it offers him the privacy to drink without Holly’s knowledge.

He can’t stand to be home right now. Even though it’s a different house—just a rental and meant to be a temporary thing—part of him still expects to go around the corner and see his wife. Holland knows he’s being selfish by planning working with the anniversary of her death tomorrow, but he needs tonight to grieve and then he can scrape together the fragments of himself to be a… well, not a good dad, but maybe not a complete fuck-up of one tomorrow for his daughter.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he agrees.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Before Holland heads out to drag himself up and down the beach, he makes the drive back to the rental. Sam had advised him that the mermaid they’re seeking won’t be out until after the sun sets. Something about being shy, or having the behavior patterns of a shark. March doesn’t care. He’s just relieved he won’t have to slather himself in sunscreen and rub elbows with tourists under the sizzling rays of the sun. It’s not summer, the days are too short for that, but it’s never truly cold in California.

With Holly being away at school, it’s lonely at the rental. Holland drifts through the rooms like he’s a ghost himself, putting together what he needs for tonight. His supplies consists of a wrinkled map, a refilled flask, a pack of cigarettes, and his lighter. All the items get left on the coffee table next to his keys to shove into his pockets when he goes to leave for the majority of the night.

Holland makes the effort to be a responsible father, or his version of one anyway, by writing a note for his daughter to find when she gets home. It reads: Working case tonight. Won’t be home until late. Pizza money under the lamp. OK for Jessica to visit. Love you Kiddo.

He tapes it to her door at her eye level. She won’t be able to miss it.

Laying down on the couch, he tries to get comfortable enough to get a few hours of sleep. He turns on the TV to feel less lonely. It’s going to be a long night and this way, he is spared the restless stretch of time spent in bed wishing there was another body tucked underneath the covers beside his own.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Darkness begins to swallow the world with the setting of the sun. Visibility becomes murkier as the lights of the city fade away the further he gets from the heart of it. At least the moon looks like a sizable one tonight. He won’t be going into the dark totally blind even if he did forget to grab a flashlight. Holland isn’t even entirely sure the March family owns one these days.

He pulls off of the street and into a deserted parking lot. The Benz coasts to a stop, tires crunching over sand as it does. March puts the vehicle into park and makes sure to crank the parking break before removing the key from the ignition. One of the last things he needs is for the car to somehow roll down the embankment in front of it and get stuck nose-down in the beach’s sand. He doesn’t bother to close the top as he gets out and heads towards a flight of stairs leading down to the boardwalk that perches on the shore like some Lovecraftian monster.

While he’s descending the stairs, the PI tucks a cigarette between his lips and lights it. The rush of nicotine into his lungs is a familiar comfort. It makes the journey downward feel shorter.

This part of the coast is devoid of after-hour entertainment. There is no Ferris wheel, no stands selling popcorn and cotton candy. No pier-side carnival with young hopefuls or drugged out daredevils. It’s peaceful, almost too much so. If he’s frank, Holland thinks it’s creepy as all hell. Anyone could be lurking out here in the sands. Their footsteps on the wood boards would be covered up the steady roar of the waves. His skin crawls and he fights down a reflexive shriek at the thought of an imaginary boogeyman.

Overcome, he whips around to survey his surroundings with the desperation of the pursued. There’s nothing out here that he can see. Water laps against the pier supports. His panicked breathing finally slows. The cigarette he’s smoking burns down right to the filter as he looks out over the waves for any sign of a shark or a fish man. He plucks the spent stick from his mouth and grinds it between his fingers before flicking it out into unknowable depths.

He pulls his flask from his shirt pocket and takes a swig before tucking it away and continuing on. The investigator’s shoes are squelching over the sodden wood. He tries to keep the money he’s been offered in mind as he thinks about the damage the salt water might be doing to the leather.

Between the lulls in between waves, March hears a knocking sound. There’s a pier jutting off the boardwalk. Curiosity leads him into diverting his path. There’s a small boat tied to one of the mooring points. As he gets closer, his suspicion that it’s only the boat knocking against one of the wooden supports grows. Holland chalks himself up to just being jumpy from being out here alone with ideas of aquatic monsters swimming around in his head.

It’s not nothing. He looks down in the dark water and the rising moon illuminates a dead body knocking against the side of the boat. Holland screams and goes failing backwards, arms pinwheeling at his sides. He slips and hits the boards hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He whines getting to his feet only to slip again and hit his head on one of the mooring posts.

He renders himself unconscious and rolls into the ocean. The shock of the water makes him come to and he opens his eyes underneath the water. The salt stings his throat more than Sam’s shitty homemade alcohol had.

Struggling, he can’t seem to reach the surface no matter how hard he paddles upwards. He’s going to die down here if he can’t cover any distance. He’d failed to take in any air when he went over on account of knocking himself senseless. Making a mistake, Holland looks down and sees the darting shadow of a pointed dorsal fin. Shark. There’s a fucking shark in the water with him.

March redoubles his efforts but it’s useless. He’s not going to make it. Even under normal circumstances, he barely is able to swim.

Oh Jesus, he thinks, Who’s going to take care of Holly? Widow Wanda on the corner is going to have to look after her and her house always smells like cat piss. I’m such a terrible father.

In a rasp of skin gliding across cloth, the shark brushes against him. Holland forgets himself and screams. Water rushes into his lungs and he faints. His last conscious awareness is of human hands grabbing him around the waist and the sensation of behind towed through the ocean by a large animal in the way an orca might drag a seal.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Holland’s world explodes in stars. Pain shoots across his face in the wake of the slap he’s dealt. It’s a hell of a way to be brought back to the world of the living. His head is pounding an a way that provides a rhythm for the way his teeth feel like they’re doing the tango in his mouth. What the hell had happened to him?

Another slap goads him into putting his arms up defensively. “I’m awake! Jesus!”

Opening his eyes, he only sees darkness at first. Then his vision clears and he can make out the shape of a large, scruffy man looming over him. Unable to help himself, Holland screams. The shrill noise bounces off the surrounding rocks.

“Shut up,” the stranger tells him, not unkindly.

There’s no way to easily escape. He has been propped up against a boulder and his way is blocked by the man. He squints, looking closer at him. For a moment, he’s shocked into stunned silence at what he’s looking at. Holland tries to be logical. He is going to be normal and reasonable about this because he is a professional. March will not be the certified freak of the beach tonight.

“Nice costume,” he says, aiming for chipper.

“It’s not.”

“Not what?” Holland asks, feeling slightly strained.

“A costume.”

Silence falls between them while he tries to process that. Okay then, his savior really is off his rocker.

The private investigator chooses to act like he’d been told a joke and he laughs. “Don’t fuck with me, man. I’ve had a bad night. There’s a dead body in the water and you’re out here getting off on seeing Jaws too many fucking times. Well, listen here. I’m pissed at being the victim of your little shark prank and you need to cut that shit out.”

As fast as he can manage, he lunges towards the mystery man and tries to pull his costume tail off. It’s disturbingly realistic—smooth one in one direction and rough like sandpaper in the other. He gets a solid punch to the face for his efforts. It’s like being hit with a whole fucking ham on Black Friday. Holland goes reeling back against the boulder from the pain throbbing over his cheekbone.

“So... you’re a real mermaid then,” he says like it’s no big deal. It’s alright, he just hit his head too hard and tried to pull his presumed rescuer’s leg off. He’s imagining things.

It’s nothing a drink won’t fix, March decides. He fumbles for his flask and finds it still tucked into his shirt pocket. Somehow it hadn’t fallen during his dip in the water.

“Merman. Do I look like a maid?” The stranger sounds decidedly unamused.

“Suppose not.” he agrees. He unscrews the lid of his flask with a flourish.

Holland’s flask is dented and split right open. The only liquid left in it is an unholy bacterial mix of saltwater and liquor. It’s just his luck. Not realizing this, he takes a swig. He ends up coughing and choking. The fish man gives him an unimpressed look.

Eyes steaming, he finally stops coughing. The flask is a bust. He motions to throw it away, somewhere out into the ocean. It’s nature’s trashcan, isn’t it? The United States is dumping barrels of chemical waste out there. One little piece of metal won’t make any difference.

With the speed of a striking snake, the fish guy’s arm shoots out and pins March’s hand to the sand by his wrist. The flask is still clutched in his grasp. A yelp escapes Holland as he feels the bones in his forearm creak warningly. Any more pressure and his arm will snap.

“You won’t litter. What if I came into your home and threw trash into it?”

“How would you get to my house? You don’t have legs,” Holland spouts nervously. “Would you just crawl there? Maybe get a skateboard and—”

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” he says, agreeably, but continues, “So, about the—”

“What did I just say? I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re not going to flap your lips about it. Got it?”

Holland nods and mimes zipping his mouth shut with his free hand. The fish man gives him a skeptical look but eases up on his hand and leans back. Meekly, he tucks the broken flask back into its usual pocket.

“Why are you out here? You don’t look like a jumper or one of those night swimmers.”

“I’m a PI and I have a case, thank you very much.”

Seemingly confused, the mermaid—merman—squints down at him. His eyes are flooded with a solid color. It looks black in the dim light, makes him look like an alien. His hair drips in curls over his forehead. Holland notes that the facial hair has been trimmed. He wonders how. It’s hard to imagine they have shaving razors down in Atlantis.

“What’s a PI?” he asks.

“It stands for private investigator.”

With each breath, the merman’s gills flutter on either side of his neck. The only response Holland gets is a blank look in those inky eyes.

“You know… a detective? A private detective? Private eye?”

There is not so much as a spark of recognition on the merman’s face. March is completely baffled.

“A cop? I’m like one of those but I solve mysteries for people?” he tries.

“You don’t look like one. A cop.”

“Because I’m a PI. I investigate mysteries. Like Scooby-Doo?” he offers, thinking about the masks being pulled off in the cartoon that Holly has been watching on Saturdays to agitate her hungover father off the couch. Well, he’s only hungover for as long as it takes for him to get another drink down his throat. That’s the thing. If you’re always drunk, you feel the aftereffects less. It’s March’s favorite trick.

“The dog?” the merman’s voice rasps. Holland can almost feel the vibrations from the fish man’s chest in his own. He’s still that close, nearly between Holland’s legs. He’s warm and Holland is shivering. He finds himself spreading his legs wider and shifting closer. Shamefully, the PI has to make an effort to stop from plastering himself against the stranger.

He blinks. His voice rises as he asks, “How the fuck do you know what Scooby-Doo is but not what a detective is?”

This night has been overly surreal. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Maybe his brain is having the final functions of a dying man while floating next to the dead body that had sent him into ocean in the first place. Maybe he’s being eaten by the shark right now and is too far gone to realize and his mind is trying to make sense of it by conjuring the animal up as this handsome fish man. Maybe he shouldn’t have rented Splash from the video store the other night. It crossed some wires.

Dismissively, the merman waves a webbed hand. “Right. Who are you?”

“Holland March. I’m a priv—”

That same hand gets shoved into his face, cutting him off. “Jackson Healy.”

Why did his dying subconscious have to make up someone so goddamn rude? Holland shakes it warily. His eyes are still stinging from the saltwater.

“I expected a fish name. Something like Swimathy or James Pond or… Gillbert. I don’t know.”

“Swimathy?” Jackson mutters, disgusted.

Holland makes an offended noise. Hey, at least he’d been trying.

“Why are you out here, March?” he asks.

As Holland thinks about the question, he realizes he hates how the edges of his thoughts are too sharp. The investigator wishes he had alcohol to smooth out his mind until it washed away the discomfort.

“I have a case. Some guy wants me to track down a mythological fish man that tried to drown him the other day. Which I don’t think is even possible because fish men don’t...” he trails off, blinks, his brain kicks into gear. “Jesus! You’re the fish man.”

Healy looks at him, contemplative. The lack of visible pupils makes it more intense than it would be from a human. He squirms under that stare.

“He was hunting and he shouldn’t have been. Not here.”

That’s all but a direct confession. Holland shakily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his sodden pack of cigarettes. He puts the wet filter between his lips. A bit of saltwater spurts out with the pressure, coating his tongue in brine. He plucks it out of his mouth, spits, puts it back in place and flicks on his lighter. The cigarette doesn’t catch. Of course not.

Not wanting to be reprimanded for littering again, March shoves the cigarette back in the pack. It explodes tobacco all over his fingers that he has to wipe on his pants before returning the whole situation, pack and lighter, into his pocket.

“I don’t see how that’s my problem. Look, he paid me. A job is a job, alright? You dragged him out of his boat and he wants to know where you are so he can talk it through.”

“Talk it through by sticking me, maybe,” Healy says, bitter tone to his voice, His hand goes to a scar bisecting his upper arm. It flashes silver in the moonlight. Holland had assumed it was a natural marking to go with the other lines and speckles adorning the merman’s skin.

“I don’t ask questions, I just accept payment. It’s a job.” He’s all too aware of how defensive he sound.

Besides, he reasons, this guy… fish… merman is big. Jackson can hold his own, surely. Holland wouldn’t tussle with him, not after feeling some of the strength residing in that thick body of his. He’s built like an old-fashioned bruiser. March can easily picture a pair of brass knuckles on those webbed fingers. All at once, he realizes that Healy’s teeth are sharp and it fully dawns on him that he’s looking at an actual predator, a shark with human intelligence.

Jesus, Holland thinks with dawning horror, what kind of damage could he do if he tried?

“What if I pay you?”

“What? What do you mean pay me? Pay me for what? I don’t solve fish crimes. You lose Bruce out there and need to find him? Do you not have fish detec—”

“March.”

Holland shuts his mouth.

“If I pay you, will you do a job for me as well? You can tell your man where I am, collect on that money and get payment from me after you do my job.”

“What—I don’t accept seashells or whatever fish currency,” he protests, desperately confused.

“You accept paper money? Coins? Jewelry?”

Holland pats himself down in vain. He’s automatically reaching for the crutch of a cigarette before he remembers. Put out, he asks, “How much are we talking?”

“Enough.”

“How do you know what’s enough? How do you even have the means to pay me?” He’s half expecting the fish man to give him a soggy five dollar bill.

Healy moves his wide shoulders up in a shrug as he says, “Your kind leaves shit behind all the time. It all ends up in the water. Finders keepers.”

“But…” he trails off, inarticulate.

“Name a price.”

“I don’t know what the job even is.”

“There’s an organization that deals with illegal hunting—”

“Fishing.” Holland interrupts. In the back of his mind he’s having to come to terms with the idea of fish law and fish court. How else would Jackson know about legalities?

Healy directs a frown at him. “I need you to stick around and tell somebody when he’s out on the water with a net and harpoon doing it. He needs to get caught.“

“Not all fishing is illegal.”

“Yes, I know that,” Jackson says with almost condescending patience, “but what he’s doing is. Some other human got in trouble for doing the same thing. The human has been a real pain in my back, March. I don’t appreciate my life bring thrown around. I’m not going to be his trophy catch.”

“Five hundred. Cash. Paper money. Half up front, other half on delivery,” Holland bursts out, not truly expecting the fish man to agree.

“Done. Meet me where you fell,” he says.

Mouth hanging open, the private investigator watches as the merman pushes out into the water and slips underneath the surface. He’s left behind to get to his feet and traverse through the sand in what he hopes is the right direction of the boardwalk. The beach does its best to steal his shoes.

“Would have been nice if Flipper could have taken me back,” he grumbles.

It’s a relief when he finally climbs the stairs leading up onto the elevated path. Less of a relief is the presence of the body. The dead man is still bobbing unpleasantly by the small boat. A dingy? A rowboat? He’s not sure what to call it. Holland has never been a seaman. He’s not about to start now.

Exhausted, he sits down, letting his legs dangle over the side. It’s been a night. The cold breeze coming off the ocean’s surface makes him shiver. He’s itching for a smoke or a drink. Something. He can’t have shit can he?

March is not sure how long he sits there, soaked and uncomfortably shifting from the chafing of the sand that’s worked its way into places it should never be. He finally gives in and lays down. The back of his head hits the wood with a thunk that makes him wince. After a while, his eyes drift shut and he dozes off.

Something slaps him on the cheek, startling him awake. In a repetition of just a while ago, Holland opens his eyes to see a large figure hovering over him and he stifles a scream.

“How the hell did you get up here?” he gasps. He’s clutching at his heart.

“Jumped. Here. Your money.” Jackson answers, tossing a wet bundle of bills onto his stomach.

Suddenly in much better spirits, Holland sits up and combs through the money with an eager thumb. Two hundred and fifty dollars exactly. The fish man hadn’t been yanking his leg when he said he could pay.

“Meet me tomorrow night at the spot where I dragged you out of the water. Tell your client I’ve been around the pier.”

Before he can respond, Healy turns and launches himself off the wood. He slips into the water with more elegance than the investigator would have expected from something the merman’s size.

“What about the body?” he mutters to no one. The fish man hadn’t explained that at all. Jesus, he hopes that Jackson hadn’t killed him. He shoves the wad of bills into his pocket after standing up.

It’s a long climb up the stairs. He might as well be trying to scale the Great Wall of China. By the time he reaches the top, he’s wheezing and desperately wants to collapse on the ground. Rather making for his car, he digs a fistful of change out of his pocket and goes to the payphone at the edge of the parking lot. He slips some coins, ten cents worth, into the slot before pocketing the rest.

Holland presses the 0 button and waits, debating on just pulling his shoes of. The sand really is aggravating. Only the thought of rubbing his bare toes all over the pedals of his car stops him.

“Hi, operator, can you connect me to the police?”

He listens for the confirmation and waits some more for the connection.

“Los Angeles Police Department.”

“I need to report a dead body. It’s down at the dock from the parking lot at the uhhh…” Holland thinks for a moment,” just off Via Riviera and Paseo.”

“Sir, what—”

“Anyway, super dead. Very much in the water. Don’t know what happened. Goodnight,” and he hangs up.

Not wanting to deal with the arrival of the police to be asked questions he doesn’t know the answers to, he wastes no time launching himself behind the wheel of his Benz and getting out of the lot. He’s going to straight home and rinse off in the shower before collapsing into bed. When he wakes up in the morning, things will be normal and fish free. He’ll laugh all of this off as a hallucination.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Light burrowing through the gaps of the blinds and through the curtains is what drags Holland from his slumber. He lays on his side for a moment, taking stock of how sore his body feels. Straining, he makes out the numbers displayed on his bedside block. It’s already well past noon. There’s only a few more hours of daylight left.

With a sigh, he sits up and drags himself out of bed only to immediately trip over the discarded pile of clothing on his floor. It’s wet.

“What…?”

Last night comes rushing at him and Holland snatches up the bundle of cloth. He starts tearing through his pockets looking for evidence that it hadn’t been some kind of alcohol induced dream. He finds the cracked flask and the still damp wad of cash.

March stumbles back, still holding onto the stiffening pants and sits on the edge of his bed. It had been real. That means… Jackson Healy the merman had been real too. Fish people aren’t just myths. The pants slip out of his slackened grasp and fall back onto the floor to join the rest of clothing he’d worn last night.

Feeling dazed, he goes to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother to get dressed in anything more than the boxers and undershirt he’d put on after rinsing himself free of saltwater last night.

He aims for some normalcy, as much as he gets given his choice of employment, and starts the coffeepot. He sets a mug out on the counter. Deciding he’s going to need a bit of a kick while he thinks about the events of the past twenty-four hours, he drags over a bottle of bourbon.

“Dad?” comes Holly’s voice. He’s surprised for a moment then he realizes that it’s a Saturday, no school. Holland is on top of things enough to know that.

The private investigator knows that he’s lucky to have such a good kid. In his more sober moments, he loathes having been the cause of her needing to be so independent at a young age. Holland March is a fuck-up and everyone knows it. He wishes he were a better man, one that wasn’t making his daughter pay the price for his shortcomings and self-inflicted issues. One of these days, he’s going to kick the drinking habit and do right by her, but… today is not going to be that day.

“Hi, honey,” he says, fetching a second mug from the cupboard without her needing to ask. Should a thirteen year old be drinking coffee? Probably not, but March isn’t going to stop her.

Once the coffee finishes dripping into the glass carafe, he fills both mugs two-thirds of the way in order to leave room for any additives. He pushes Holly’s at her along with the sugar jar. He fills his own the rest of the way up with bourbon while she fetches creamer from the fridge.

“What did you do last night? There’s sand and stuff all over the place.”

“I... uh... I had a case last night. I need to check in on the client today and meet with Jackson tonight. Also don’t say—”

` “Were you just drinking again?” she asks before he can finish his word policing. Holly is skeptical, too jaded to hope. She knows him too well to expect real progress from him. It would sting if it weren’t so accurate.

“No! No, my flask actually broke. I didn’t have a drop, promise.” He neglects to mention he had already drank about half of it and had whatever backwater distillery project Sam had handed him prior to Holland doing a nosedive off the pier.

“Dad.”

“Remember that case I mentioned? The mermaid guy? Well, I found his fish man and he wasn’t bullshitting. There’s an actual mermaid, well he said he wasn’t a maid. I thought he was a shark at first, but he saved me and—”

“Dad.”

“Yes?” Everyone seems determined to interrupt him when he’s speaking. He takes a drink from his mug.

“I’m going with you today.” she says, holding up a hand to stop him from saying anything further.

“Okay.” He gives in, doesn’t protest a bit. Holland doesn't want to leave her alone, not today.

Holly looks surprised at the lack of protest. She’d clearly had expected a fight about it.

“I’ll get dressed. Meet you by the car in fifteen?”

Holly flashes him a thumbs up and shoots off down the hall to her bedroom like the Roadrunner off LoonyTunes. He’d been just as high energy back when he was a kid. Holland’s own parents could barely get him to sit still enough to eat dinner most nights.

Burning his mouth a little, he downs the rest of his coffee in two swallows. He goes to his own room at a slightly more sedate pace to find a set of fresh clothes. He’s already mourning the future spent without a functioning flask. He’s going to have to rely on cigarettes alone until he can pick one up on Monday when his daughter is at school. He doesn’t want to have to face the disappointment in her eyes if he purchases one while they’re together. Upsetting her this afternoon is not an option, not with it being the anniversary of her mom’s death.

In preparation for everything tonight might entail, Holland gets dressed in clothing he’s less attached to. If he’s running the risk of sand and finding himself in the ocean again, he’s not styling himself up to the nines. Khaki pants and a short sleeve button-up on top of his underthings are as fancy as he’s getting. Grimacing, he puts on the same pair of loafers he’d worn last night. The traces of sand still lingering in the corners try to breach the barrier of his socks.

When Holland leaves the room, he finds Holly’s bedroom door open without her in sight. He scrapes his keys out of the bowl. He also makes sure to write a fresh copy of Sam’s address on the underside of his forearm, right below his watchband, before he steps outside. He doesn’t feel like trying to remember the house number and street.

As expected, his daughter is waiting for him by the Benz.

“You ready, kiddo?” he asks.

Holly nods, only to look surprised when he loops around to the driver’s side and takes a seat behind the wheel. He’s so disgustingly sober he feels capable of driving with his daughter as a passenger.

“Where are we going?”

“To visit the client. I need to tell him what I found.”

“Oh right… your mermaid,” Holly says doubtfully.

Unbothered by her disbelief, March cranks up the radio, and they’re soon flying down the streets of LA. He slaps the outside of the car door in time with the beat. Holly can be a skeptic all she likes, but she’s going to be surprised when she sees her old man isn’t lying after he takes her with him on his house call to see the merman himself.

In no time at all, he pulls to a stop alongside the curb in front of the same ramshackle house he’d been in just the afternoon before. Holland probably should have called ahead, but it’s too late for that now. He hops out of the vehicle and makes his way up the sidewalk to the front door with his daughter trailing behind him. The private investigator taps his knuckles against the peeling door. It’s promptly answered by the same man as yesterday who peers at him suspiciously from around the door before flinging it open wide.

Sam adjusts his hat and looks approvingly at Holland from below hooded eyes. “Surprised to see ya back so soon, city boy.” He looks at where Holly is standing beside her father with her arms crossed. “And who’s this little lady?”

“My daughter. Holly.”

“Nice to meet ya. I’m Sam. Your dad’s doing me a real big favor,” he says, before turning to Holland with a grin, “Come on in and tell me what you found, yeah?”

Without hesitating, the father and daughter follow Sam inside. Holland doesn’t miss the way Holly has to suppress a gag at the smell the boiled shark cartilage must be putting off. He wonders if the fisherman still has a sense of smell and has just grown immune to it, or if he is like Holland and simply can’t smell.

“I found your fish man,” he blurts out, wanting to get this over with.

Sam’s eyes light up with uncontained glee. “Yeah, where did you find the slippery bastard?”

“By the pier. The one attached to the boardwalk by Via Riviera and Paseo.”

“Ah, he’s moved further north than when he pulled me out of my boat. What time did you see him?”

“Not long after dusk. You were right about his… patterns being like a shark.”

The rugged man claps him on the shoulder. Holland’s knees nearly buckle with the impact. Sam praises, “Good work, we’ll get him yet.”

Failing to successfully wave of offers of tomato soup from the many cans, Holland finds himself seated on a threadbare couch next to his daughter while their host regales them with old seafaring tales from his time on commercial fishing boats. All three of them have chipped bowls of soup in their hands. No spoons. The thick liquid had been heated on the stove next to the ever boiling pot of shark parts. He’s sure it has to affect the taste given the despairing glances Holly keeps sending his way when Sam isn’t looking.

Trying to not bounce his leg impatiently while the other man talks, Holland gulps down his soup. His mind keeps going to the fish man that will be waiting for them soon. It’s going to be a significant drive to the ocean followed by a too-long walk along the shore to reach the spot where Jackson had pulled him to dry ground.

After a while, he simply cannot take any more and manages to speak during a lull in the fisherman’s bottomless, one-sided storytelling. “Sorry, Sam. We’re going to have to head out. Holly’s got homework. You know how it is. Thank you. Bye.”

Sam’s own goodbyes and reassurances that he’ll let Holland know when he “catches that big brute” follow them out of the door while they make their escape to the relative safety of the vehicle. Holly sags back into the seat while he starts the Benz and begins the drive. The sun is already beginning to set. Nervously, he drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

The lot is empty again just as it had been the evening before. Police tape marks off the stairs, though there are no officers milling about. He probably should have checked the news, but regardless, he pulls into the same spot he’d been parked in.

Having learned enough from last time, he strips off his shoes and socks and gestures for Holly to do the same. They toss it all onto the back floorboard to retrieve later. Pleasantly, the parking lot is still warm under their feet as they make their way to the stairs. March holds the tape up for his daughter to step below before ducking under himself. As she passes him, he notices that she’s carrying two Yoo-hoos. The investigator doesn’t say anything. Maybe she is planning on being thirsty after their walk.

Holland digs a cigarette out of the pack and lights it once it’s between his lips. It dangles there while they amble downwards and finally make it onto the level surface over a dozen feet below the parking lot level.

“Dad… Are you sure you weren’t just imagining things?” Holly asks when he leads them off the boardwalk to the beach. Sand threatens to engulf them up to the ankles.

“You’ll see,” he promises.

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