#and sometimes things would just... disappear? and i couldn't undo to get them back?

[robo-dino-puppy]

i Attempted Something to go with some out-of-bounds video i collected

(does it look any good? similar enough vibe to horizon’s intro?)

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 2) | Michael x Reader

so when i was writing this, my editor Insisted i use a grilled cheese gif for this chapter. you'll see why... i hope you enjoy though LMAO

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago."

WARNING: graphic depiction of deaths, animal violence

PREV || NEXT

"Has anyone ever shown you kindness?" Your voice had Michael opening his eyes, blinking as he looked up at you slowly, your hands tangled in his wet, sudsy hair. He was sprawled out on the porcelain bathtub while you washed his hair, the room dim and sleepy and smelling of lavender soap. He had no qualms letting his legs and arms rest upon the rim to have extra room. You’d since become accustomed to him, no longer flushing at his nakedness, so washing the blood off his skin didn’t bother you.

You’d since bought black washcloths and a black towel for Michael so your father wouldn’t get suspicious about any bloodstains. Lounge clothes - some sweatpants and a t-shirt finally in his actual size - sat folded on the counter beside the sink, his navy blue jumpsuit in a pile on the cool, linoleum floor.

For the past few weeks, you two established a routine of sorts. Michael would get hurt or hungry and come visit you. Sometimes he'd watch you sleep but he'd usually be gone by morning. With your dad's presence in the house very touch and go, it was hard for Michael to stay for any extended period of time. Sometimes he watched you from a distance whenever you'd go in the garden but that was the extent of it.

You knew it wasn't normal for him to care about another person so you did your best to make it easy for him. No more lunging at armed police officers for you, you'd lamented to him in a joking manner. You hadn't been able to see his face but you got the impression he'd glared at you.

You'd also taken to touching him more, getting him to reassociate touch with compassion. It wasn't easy to undo years of trauma but you did little things here and there. Brushing his hands with your own, touching his arm when you wanted attention, small things. He was building a tolerance to it, you could tell. Washing his hair now was the most you'd touched him beyond patching him up after run-ins with the police.

But progress was progress.

Today, he hadn't come home bloody but he had come to you for something. He'd shown up at the backdoor, made a beeline for the bathroom, and you'd gotten the message. Bathing him had also become pretty regular, though you still recalled the first few times where it'd ended with him shaking from how overwhelmed he was by your touch.

Now, though, his gaze bore into you, staring up at you like a big lazy cat. Like a lion too content to strike. Your hands had stilled, still poised to scrub at his scalp. He needed a haircut, you noted to yourself.

"Besides me," you clarified as you resumed scrubbing in slow circles. "You don't… You're-" You huffed, trying to find the words. "I feel like people didn't care for you like you needed them to. If that makes sense." 

Were you anyone else, you don't doubt he'd kill you for saying that. Instead, he just glared at you, pretty hazel eyes narrowed to slits. In anger or confusion, you couldn't tell.

That was yet another development. He'd been taking his mask off of his own accord now, even when he didn't have a reason to. The first time he'd done it had been because his hair was too long and sat uncomfortable in the mask, tickling against his ears and neck. You offered to cut it and, while it took some reassurance and thought on his part, you'd come home one day to him sitting on your bed. Scissors in one hand and mask in the other, clutching it like a child would to a security blanket. He hadn't been shaking or looking up at you with fearful eyes but his jaw had been clenched hard as he white knuckled the accursed mask. A wordless question you'd answered with nimble fingers and gentle tugging on his curls.

Having something so sharp close to his vulnerable neck hadn't been his idea of a good time regardless if it was his idea or not. He'd gotten up half a dozen times during the haircut to stand in the corner to come down from what was probably overstimulation. You were patient with him though.

You'd gotten better at reading him. He'd gotten better at leaving you clues.

In the present, he sat up and slid his legs back into the water. Wet hair slipped from between your fingers as he turned to properly stare at you. Michael was interesting to you still. You could tell he was curious about you too. He stared at you often, like when you watered your plants, washed his clothes, or made food in the kitchen. You felt his eyes on you constantly no matter what.

"What?" You asked with a small sigh, staring back at him with the same intensity.

Michael gave you a slow blink, similar to the ones Mayhem gave you as a show of trust. "Don't gimme that," you teased, smirking at him and motioning for him to sit back down. "I just- I always feel bad thinking about it, in retrospect. I mean, you grew up in an asylum alone. Didn't it-"

He interrupted you by sliding a wet hand around your throat, holding you still as though to physically stop your ramblings. Not squeezing, just holding. You got the message there: let it go. He lay back down and you resumed washing his hair, unbothered by that exchange.

Things like that were normal with him. It had freaked you out at first when he'd wrapped his hand harshly around your throat and pinned you in a doorway. But you'd slowly begun to understand him. He didn't have a way to communicate that wasn't through violence or knives.

Or hospital rooms under scrutiny, you reminded yourself with a grimace. You masked it behind a soft tune you hummed, resuming washing his hair.

Once he was cleaned and dressed, jumpsuit in the wash, you ventured back downstairs to make dinner and feed Mayhem. Michael trailed after you, hair dripping dark spots along his shoulders where it was still damp. He didn't like the hair dryer very much and only tolerated you using it to get his hair comfortably damp. No more.

“You’re probably due for another haircut by the way,” you said as you opened the fridge. Mayhem was immediately rubbing up on Michael’s leg, meowing insistently.

He looked down at her, standing comfortably in the doorway to the kitchen. You glanced over your shoulder to look at him and felt struck with the knowledge that, if it weren't for his injured eye breaking the illusion, it almost felt like you just had a boyfriend over. Your face warmed up at the thought and you snapped your head back around to stare into the white, chilled expanse of the fridge. "Umm… anything specific you want tonight?"

When you looked back over at him, you jumped in surprise when he was barely a few inches from you. Jesus, you thought to yourself. You didn't think you'd ever get used to how quiet he moved sometimes.

Michael tilted his head as he stared at the fridge with you. "I need to go shopping soon, huh?"

He didn't say anything but you could almost hear his nod.

You liked how expressive he'd gotten as the two of you began to trust each other. Little things like that made the whole thing feel domestic somehow. 

"Well, hope you like grilled cheese." You snagged the almost-empty package of sliced cheese and dangled it tantalizingly. "I'll go shopping tomorrow, promise. If you want anything in particular, let me know." You said as you grabbed the bread from the cabinet. Before he could say - or, technically, not say - you spun on your heel. "Besides pumpkin pie."

He nodded once and you smirked.

Domestic, your brain said again in an almost mocking tone. You swallowed and tried to focus on the sandwiches and not the way Michael stared at you. You began buttering the bread as the pan warmed up and tried to not envision life being like this forever: painfully domestic and sweet with Haddonfield's best known serial killer in soft lounge clothes you'd bought him, curled up on the couch eating an early lunch together after you'd washed his hair.

The sound of the front door rattling open was out of place and terrifying. Never in your life had you felt as though the ground would swallow you as your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. You spun to face Michael and quickly assessed your options.

There were two doorways that led out of the kitchen - one that faced the living room and another that led into the hallway to the stairs. There was a dividing wall between the two doorways. Meaning if you could get Michael into the hallway, he'd be out of sight for at least the briefest few seconds it took your dad to walk towards you.

"Upstairs, now!" You whisper-yelled, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him towards the hallway. "Stay quiet, he'll go away soon."

Hopefully, you thought to yourself. Hopefully he will.

"You're home early." You called to him as you took your spot at the stove again, spreading butter on bread and placing them in the pan.

Your dad sounded exhausted, shrugging off his outer coat and tossing it atop the back of the couch before slumping in his chair. "I decided to come home early. It's been an exhausting week. But Myers seems to be taking a break from killing these past few days."

You couldn't help but frown. Not killing? Sure you'd noticed less blood on his clothes but surely he'd stopped altogether. So close to Halloween too…

"Cool, I was, uh, making lunch." You called out over the pan sizzling. "You want some?"

The telltale creaks of the wooden floor had your hair standing up on end. It wasn't like normal sneaking around when you had a boyfriend, this was Michael Myers you were hiding. Right under his nose. Even if your dad didn't immediately go for his gun when he saw him, you were still a liar. And an accomplice to his crimes.

"Grilled cheese, huh?" He smiled for the first time since he'd taken on the case. "Want some help? I can-" The sound of his phone ringing cut him off, making him grimace. "I'll take this outside," he sighed as he went back out the door. You sighed with relief and looked towards the doorway to the stairs.

Michael stood there, mask on, gripping a knife tight in his hand. You had no idea where he'd gotten it, since your knives were accounted for.

You tried to seem reassuring. "He's probably going to get called back into work, it's okay." Even though you'd gotten used to it, you still swallowed when you saw the glint of the knife in the dim lighting of the doorway. "He, um, he said you haven't been killing lately?" 

Michael was eerily still. Just staring at you.

"Is everything…okay?" It felt a bit weird asking when he was going to kill someone again. Like it was just a casual hobby of his. "Just let me know, alright?"

He just stared at you. His walls were back up, you could tell, so you tried to not take it personally.

When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago." His gun was out, alarming you. "Have you… have you seen anything?"

"No." You swallowed around your lie, quickly turning the stove off, lunch forgotten. "No, it's been quiet. I was out in my garden, mostly."

He didn't seem convinced though. "She said he was circling around the house before coming inside."

At that, he froze. He held a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. You wanted to roll your eyes at how comical this was but you also couldn't afford to break character. Scared young child of the police detective, home alone with a killer in this house. 

"Where's your cat?" He whispered, glancing up at the ceiling as though expecting to hear footsteps.

Glancing around, you tried to play up your alarm. "I don't know!" You whisper-yelled. "Do you think he's-?"

"Dead, then." Your dad's bluntness made you flinch. "Myers usually kills the pets first. Keeps 'em from sounding an alarm." He didn't even try to look sympathetic as he crept towards the stairs. You followed after him as he crept silently from room to room, pushing the door open slightly before scanning the room with his gun out. It made you anxious and you kept periodically glancing towards your bedroom, dreading the impending inspection. First the hall closet, then his bedroom, then the bathrooms, and finally: your bedroom.

You felt sweat drip down your temple as he pushed open the door. Everything felt tense, suffocating you as you chewed anxiously on the nail of your thumb.

He swung open the closet door and fired at the first sign of movement.

Mayhem yowled, a sharp, piercing sound, then darted past your legs as he took off down the hall. "MAYHEM!" You shrieked in horror, watching blood trail behind him faster than you could catch him. You ignored your dad's stammered apologies and took off after your cat.

The blood trail went down the stairs and out through the back door, which had been left cracked open to let Mayhem come and go as he pleased. Now he was gone. Your heart sank as you ran outside, crying for Mayhem to come back. In the tall, mud-riddled forest it was hard to see any kind of blood trail or spot your all black cat. Minutes ticked by with no response and you fell to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself as you bawled.

He was your little kitty. And now he was gone.

"Sweetheart, I- I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was there." Your dad tried to explain as he watched you from the doorway. "It- It'll come back, I'm sure."

"You SHOT him!" You rounded on him almost instantly, storming up to meet him and relishing in the way he backed up in fear of your anger. "You SHOT him and now he might DIE out there!" While you didn't consider yourself an angry nor violent person, it felt vindicating to shove him and watch him stumble back. "You don't even CARE!"

"No, I don't!" He shouted, trying to scare you back. "It's just a cat! What if Myers had been there, huh?"

You felt hysteric. "I don't care about that! Fuck, dad, I care about my CAT!"

Suddenly, he'd grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you into the nearby wall, his voice hissing like a viper when he spoke. "I don't give a shit about your fucking cat. I am stressed enough as it is and I am focused on finding Michael fucking Myers, not your shitty little cat. Let. It. Go."

The sign of movement in the shadows behind him made you smile.

Michael grabbed your dad by the back of his shirt and yanked him back harshly, letting him fall to the kitchen floor. He stood there, knife tight in his fist as he stood over the whimpering man who scrambled for his gun. 

You watched with an empty expression as Michael kicked the gun aside, skittering on the tiled floor and out of reach. "Grab it!" He hissed at you. Michael tilted his head down at him but he tried to not be intimidated. "Grab my gun, just-"

Reality began to settle in as shock wore off. Your ears were still ringing from the gunshots and you could smell the charred butter coming off the stove. "Michael." Your mouth moved but you didn't feel like your words were yours. "I'm okay."

A heavy boot thudded against your dad's chest and you watched him scramble to try and understand. The dark pits of the mask's eye holes bore into you, almost searching for permission.

"You've been hiding him." Your dad gasped in horror. "You've been hiding the man I've been hunting. Right. Under. My fucking nose!" He roared, struggling to get out from under Michael, only ending up grabbed like a scruffed kitten in his attempts to lunge at you. "How long!? How long has he been hiding here?!"

You didn't feel like answering. So you didn't.

He didn't like that though. "What have you two been doing? What, do you nurse him back to health under my fucking roof every night? Is that why you've been buying first aid shit?"

None of this felt real to you in any substantial way. It felt like a movie almost, a sick indie film about a serial killer you'd grown attached to finally snapping and slaughtering your family because you'd finally given him the chance to get close. You watched Michael press the tip of his knife to your dad's sternum and could almost see the anger and hatred rolling off the masked man in waves.

After all, you'd given him a hard line of not hurting Mayhem. And your dad just broke that rule.

You backed up against the fridge and slid to the floor, watching with a distant expression as Michael wrestled the man to the floor. "Yeah." You said quietly, more to yourself than to him. "I clean him. Bandage him. He protects me." A wet laugh left your throat at the absurdity of it all. "We're partners."

No point in hiding it anymore.

"M-maybe I should call Loomis, s-see if I can get you two joint rooms in the fucking asylum-!" The man below Michael yelled out, his words muffling as Michael jabbed the knife into him. Wet squelching sounds that became almost monotonous as hot red sprays erupted from the holes in his neck. Puddles of red seeped beneath the man's body and Michael seemed to relish in the thrill.

"You killed my cat," you mumbled bitterly to the corpse of the man you once called dad.

And you watched as the body ran cold with Michael's anger. He stood up, towering over you as he tracked bloody footprints as he approached you. "Hi." You said absently, giving him a small smile. "You'll have to kill our neighbor. No witnesses."

He tilted his head curiously and you just let your head fall between your knees. You didn't want to talk about this anymore than you had to. "Just- Just get rid of the body, okay? I'll clean up."

Had you looked up, you would have seen his nod.

The stench of bleach burned your nose and made your eyes water as you scrubbed at the now blood-free kitchen floor. You'd opened the windows to air out the smell but it still felt like it was suffocating. But there was no evidence anymore, thank god.

You didn't ask Michael what he'd done with the bodies. You'd kept your head down when he'd lifted it up and carried it with him out the back door and you were content not knowing. It would only serve to upset you.

Clutching the rim of the sink, you let out a long, pained sigh. Things were going to change now. Your father and Mayhem's blood was all gone, the knives would be disinfected, and Michael's jumpsuit would go through the wash again. No evidence any of this had even happened.

Logically, you knew this should upset you. It did, only in the sense that the wet plunging sounds of the knife echoed in your mind. But you couldn't feel anything beyond anger that he'd shot Mayhem. That he didn't care about you, only his work. It infuriated you to think about how little your life would change with him gone. The house was bought and paid for, you knew everything he owned would be left to you, and life would continue on.

He didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things. You repeated this mantra over and over to yourself as you heard the back door open.

Michael stood there, his hands and suit stained with blood. Flecks of dark red stained the white mask in harsh streaks that made you want to hurl. "How, um, how did it go?" You tried giving him a smile but fell short. He approached you and you did your best to hide your flinch when he took your wrist. Red stained your skin and you heard the sickening stabbing again. "Sorry," you mumbled, "I should have done something to- to try to make him leave, or-"

Michael cut you off with a harsh tug on your arm. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes behind the mask, your own wide in confusion. He just stared you down, only gripping you tighter when you tried to pull away.

His silent question felt loud in the little kitchen, even if he said nothing. "I'm… I'll be okay." But you weren't sure if you were telling that to him or yourself. "It was inevitable. I- I just didn't think it would be so soon. But, um, I knew I was… I knew I was going to be sticking with you. Partners, right?"

You didn't wait for any type of response, gesturing to his jumpsuit. "Lets, um, get you into clean clothes, yeah?"

Michael didn't budge.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he lifted his hand towards your face, dragging a bloody finger down your cheek and marveled at the way it stained your skin. A red to match his own,

And as quickly as he came, he left. His footfalls were heavy as he went up to the bathroom and left you floundering in the kitchen. You broke from your trance only when you heard the shower running. Swallowing, you followed his trail upstairs to collect his bloody clothes. You could only hope the blood was fresh enough to come out easy.

When you passed by Mayhem's food dish, you winced at the memory of your cat's blood streaked across the house. You filled his bowls and set them outside, hoping the prospect of dinner would entice him home. 

It was the best you could do, really…

The cops came two days later. When no one on the force had seen or heard from him in a few days, they'd come by to check. It wasn't hard to play up your distress. The five stages of grief had hit you harder than expected. On the first day, you'd just yelled at Michael, slamming your fists into his chest as he watched you curiously. You'd wondered to yourself after sobbing over breakfast how he'd felt after his sister died. You'd only ever heard stories but you wanted to ask him.

"We found him off a backroad down the way with an older woman in the car," the officer interviewing you asked. "Do you have any idea what that was about?"

You swallowed and shook your head. "He, um, he mentioned he got a call from Gladys. That, uh, Myers was outside her house so- so he told me he was going to take her to a hotel and then go back to work." Your voice trembled as you spoke. "H-he'd been working so much, I-" 

The officer gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry, kid." 

Michael was easily named the killer so you weren't even considered a suspect. What they didn't know was that he was taking this opportunity while the police were busy to kill again, letting out his frustrations that had been building up. 

He hadn't left you alone since your dad had died. Always hovering in doorways or your wrist if you were close enough. You knew Michael well enough at this point to know he didn't necessarily feel bad for what he did. But he was certainly capable of fearing your reaction. You could easily turn him in now, all wound up emotions like a ticking time bomb.

But you didn't. You were partners. A pact now sealed in your father's blood

Once the police left, you wanted to get out of the house. It all felt too suffocating. You just needed a moment without Michael's eyes on you, if such a thing existed. So you'd gotten dressed into proper clothes and went into town. You knew the whole town would be looking at you so you tried to keep yourself presentable while still looking a wreck.

Which wasn't hard, after everything that happened.

News reports of your dad's false crime scene would be all over the news in a day. All over the televisions, newspapers, and your dad's police buddies would be sharing stories in bars over drinks. You felt sick at the knowledge that he'd had a life outside you and your little bubble of fake domesticity with a serial killer.

It all felt like a huge reality check that left you stumbling like a drunk on the curbside.

You snapped back to your body as you stared emptily at some crummy greeting cards in the little general store. You'd been walking the aisles with no clear goal in mind and many of the other patrons simply let you pass with pitiful smiles that made your skin crawl. "I should've looked at the fridge…" You mumbled to no one.

"Hey." A soft voice interrupted your train of thought and you gave a glance over your shoulder. Laurie Strode, dressed in all black like she was attending a funeral. Maybe she was - a funeral for the town. You knew the paranoia of Michael stalking her never really went away and you felt a little bad for her. A part of you wished you could reassure her.

“Oh, um, hi.” You stuttered inelegantly. “What- um-“

“I’m sorry,” she gave you a sorrowful look. You were getting pretty sick of those. “I heard about your dad… Michael is ruthless.”

You swallowed around a lump building in your throat. “Y-yeah. I hope, um, you’re doing okay too.” You tried to give her a reassuring smile but you weren’t sure if it came out like a grimace.

Laurie just laughed, no joy behind her tight smile. “I’ll survive. Always do.”

You said your polite goodbyes and you left her, now even more uneasy. It was jarring to be reminded that life existed outside your little house in the forest, that Michael's actions had consequences that spread far beyond just you.

It made you wonder if Michael’s intentions were what you thought they were. He’d never leave Haddonfield. Not willingly. He’d continue killing with or without you in his life.

And that knowledge made you feel sick.

Your dad's funeral was mostly uneventful. A few of his work friends came to console you but you denied their company when you went to the cemetery. Your dad had told you many times when you were young that, when he died, he wanted to be poured into water used to help grow flowers on your late mothers grave. It had struck you as odd then but now you understood.

Guilt still ate at you. He'd probably haunt you if he didn't get to be reunited with your mom in some way, so you'd bought some daisies - her favorite, according to him - and brought them with his ashes and a bottle of water. Haddonfield's graveyard was nothing spectacular, just rows and rows of headstones. Some newer with fresh flowers and photos, some older and covered in moss and dirt. The forgotten ones always made your heart clench.

You pointedly kept your head down when you passed Judith Myers' grave. Her parents had a joint headstone beside her, a spot they'd reserved for themselves a year after she'd died. According to stories, they'd believed Michael deserved nothing but cremation. No tombstone, no funeral, just death in silence.

The fate of the Myers family had been a horrible story. Even after their son was shipped off to Smith's Grove, the family still received harsh criticisms for what they'd done. While Michael's actions were certainly the focus, some people still believed the parents had some sway in it or had influenced his behavior. He'd only been a little boy, after all. A possibly mentally ill, neglected child whose parents had, allegedly, favored Judith to the point Michael acted out.

A car crash killed them, according to the news. You weren't sure. The timings had been too close and their funerals had been closed caskets. But you'd been too young to really care about that sort of thing. Now, though, you were curious. It felt like you'd get answers somehow if you knew. Regardless, Michael was left without guardianship and became a ward of the state, locked away in a hospital for fifteen years. At first, the town didn't know what to think of him. The poor, unstable boy who now had no one waiting for him if he ever got out. Many villainized him, of course, but some wanted to see him make a full recovery. They saw a traumatized child who needed help.

It was only after Michael broke out of Smith’s Grove and killed again that public opinion on him changed.

You pushed those thoughts away and focused on kneeling before your mothers grave. Your fingers were still damp from the wet earth you'd pulled out as you'd dug a little hole for the flowers all on autopilot. The little flowers looked nice, spots of white and yellow against mucky browns and greens. This wasn't that different from gardening, you thought to yourself as you added the water into the jar of your father's ashes. Not that different at all.

It felt a bit weird. But it was his wish. After everything you'd done, the least you could do was honor that. Besides, you didn’t really think you could cope with having the jar of his ashes in the house you’d let him die in. So you poured the water over the flowers, dirt under your nails as you showered them graciously.

You'd never made a habit of talking to your mom's grave. Your dad did it a few times and you'd seen people doing it before but there was just no appeal to you. Talking to air felt weird and you weren't exactly going to start now. You'd never known your mom, she didn't need to hear your stories.

She’d died when you were young so it wasn't like you knew her. The concept of a mother meant more to you than who she specifically did. When you were growing up, sometimes you'd feel a longing absence that she wasn't there but the woman buried beneath your feet still meant nothing to you. A stranger whose photos lined the walls of your dad's bedroom - photos you would probably store in the attic. Like you'd never really known them. A part of your dad died with your mom anyways so the symbolism felt right.

He’d always go on and on about how much you looked like her, how similar you two were, that sort of crap. Now, staring at her headstone, you wondered what she’d think of you.

The feeling of eyes on you has become commonplace for you now. An is-ness rather than a concern. So you didn't even bother lifting your head. Just slumped forward, cross-legged, and picking at the dirt under your nails, flicking it at the daisies. "Do you ever miss them?" You asked aloud. You knew Michael was close enough to hear, especially since you were alone. "Your parents, I mean. I doubt you miss your sister too much. I mean, I heard what you did with her headstone when you killed those high schoolers." The bitterness in your tone was not missed but it didn't feel right to put words in his mouth.

"I'm still trying to decide how I feel." You sighed, poking at soft petals. "I never knew my mother so I can't miss her. She wasn't part of my life, only her ghost was. But I don't know how I feel about my dad dying. It always felt like I was competing with her for his affection. He loved her so much and could barely spare me a passing glance…" You swallowed and your throat clicked. "Sometimes I wonder if he'd have been happier if I had died and she'd lived.

If Michael Myers had to be the one to hear your confessions, at least you knew he wouldn't tell anyone.

You wiped your eyes and sniffled. "It's weird. I haven't decided if I hate him for that yet. If I hate him at all, even." When you looked up, Michael was staring down at you, face hidden behind the mask. You almost envied his ability to simply hide his feelings away. You'd never been able to avoid wearing your heart on your sleeve. "Do you ever think about if your parents wished it had been you instead of Judith?"

The silence felt suffocating and you broke into a helpless sob. The kind of crying that you did when no one was around and it felt like nothing was ever going to be okay again. Michael sat down beside you in the dirt, silent companionship through your tears.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't have to.

[meritatem]

Once upon a time, Damian had an unfortunate encounter with Dubbilex while helping Supergirl. Despite his training, he was still behind his father when it came to resist mental manipulation and so, in order to break him, Dubbilex showed him where his worst fears laid: family and allies fallen under his feet, with his mother at his side, proud of him. It should've been a valuable lesson about himself, something enlightening that should've helped him to gain a better understanding of what he wanted from life, a starting line. Instead, he ignored it.

He couldn't keep ignoring it when he landed on the future and that scenario wasn't just a vision, but the brutal reality. Everybody was gone, his mother included. Ra's was the only one left and by the time Damian figured out how to get back, even his grandfather had beginning to beg for death.

While he worked to undo his mistake, he started, at some point, to conjure in his imagination versions of the long departed; he did it in an attempt to not lost his mind, even if, as time went on, it began to feel like the complete opposite. Pathetic lost robin, sometimes his own voice would said over the others, talking to make-believe ghosts.

It had been so ironic then, how much Damian talked to the Brown living in his mind, when the real one barely had any success in her efforts to make him open up. His biggest realization about Stephanie was recognizing how alike they had been at the time. Both of them were carrying heavy legacies on their shoulders, while failing to be what was expected of the identities they took: a chaotic Batgirl and a joyless Robin... but even then, Barbara and Dick had enough faith to pass on their names.  

Despite the fact that Damian will always think that being Robin was the best thing he had ever done, the truth was that he never believed he deserved it nor that he was adequate for it. And on occasion, when he talked to that imaginary Brown that sometimes presented in front of him wearing her Batgirl suit, he asked if she felt like that too.

Damian couldn't do anything about his regrets regarding Robin anymore, but he could do something for Stephanie.

That's why he originally planned to approach Gordon to offer his help in training Brown. Of course he was envisioning nothing but rejection at first, but Damian had no problems with being relentless and using any method at his disposition to make Barbara agree with him. Being presented with the possibility of jumping the cue in front of Gordon was too good to let it pass, because convincing Brown seemed like an easier task than persuading the first Batgirl.

With that idea in mind, he promised to keep quiet about Stephanie if she agreed to meet him the next day just to talk. Part of him was expecting for her to not show up, even when Stephanie seemed more willing after he told her that Pennyworth was going to be present, but luckily - because it meant he wasn't going to have to track Brown at her school again -, she was exactly in the spot where he told her to be, in the corner of an ordinary street, in the middle of the day.

The car Pennyworth was driving was pretty unremarkable, just one of the many in the lineup they had to move around the city without problems, so it was understandable for Stephanie to be confused when it stopped in front of her. The confusion disappeared as soon as Alfred lowered the tinted window, enough for her to get a good look at him.

“Good afternoon, Miss Stephanie.” He said, polite as ever.

“It is you!” She exclaimed, putting her right hand in the middle of her chest. “Thank god,” and she let out a deep breath. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

“Rest assured, the feeling is entirely mutual, miss, I only wish this meeting was under different circumstances.”

“Yeah, no kidding, I really wasn't—oh!” She interrupted herself from what she was saying when the rear door abruptly opened, making her move to avoid getting hit.

“Enough chitchatting, get inside.”

Damian retreated to the right side, making space for Stephanie, who approached tentatively, placing a hand on the door's window and crouching low enough to peek inside, where Damian simply gave her an unenthusiastic look and after a few seconds of hesitation, she finally got in, closing the door behind her.

“Brown.” He greeted, with a small nod.

“Yes, hello, uhm,” she went silent for a second, looking briefly unsure. “Okay, I know Tim told me your name but I forgot. To be honest I was paying more attention to the part where you tried to kill him.”

Ah, classic Drake, always singing Damian's praises.

He made himself more comfortable, crossing his arms while Alfred started the car again. “It was a misunderstanding,” Damian said mechanically. “I grew up somewhere with well-defined rules and a rigid hierarchy system. While living there, I was expected to prove myself by removing anyone in a position I wished to occupy. I understand now that the outside world doesn't work like that, so worry not, I won't make the same mistake again, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Those were a lot of words just now.”

“I consider myself a wordsmith, you'll get used to it.” Damian's arms were crossed, but after some contemplative seconds, he decided to uncross them to offer his hand in greeting. “I'm Damian.”

Brown eyed his hand like she was trying to find a hidden weapon, but ultimately she took it, giving it a firm shake despite everything. “Nice to meet you, again? You can call me Stephanie.” Damian just crossed his arms again, not adding anything else. “Okay, so, you didn't tell Barbara or Tim, right?”

“I didn't.”

“That's great!” But her expression didn't match her forced enthusiasm. “But why do you wanted to talk to me? Don't get me wrong, I love meeting new people but usually there's less blackmail involved.”

“I want to clarify some things, for a start. Where did you get the suit?”

“I didn't steal it if that's what you're implying,” and she was the one crossing her arms now, defensive. “Cass just... left it behind. She said she was fighting for Bruce but, you know, he's not here anymore so the fight is mine now, I guess.”

Damian kept silent, pondering this new information but deciding to left it for later. He took a deep breath, briefly thinking he'll have to get rid of that habit sooner or later and spoke as apathetic as he could. “You are undisciplined, unprepared and unimpressive.”

“Hey!” Was the instant complain.

“I understand Batgirl works as a separate entity from Batman, but it would be negligent of me to let you go into this battle of his as you are now.”

“What's that even supposed to mean?”

Alfred chose that moment to clear his throat before joining the conversation. “Master Damian believes in preserving his father's legacy. He also believes that said legacy doesn't live in aliases and masks, but people.”

“Tt!” He expressed with displeasure. “What Pennyworth is trying to say with unnecessary sentimentalisms, is that my father dragged people he shouldn't have into his war and it falls on me to take responsibility.” He made sure to look Stephanie directly in the eyes, trying to convey the importance of his next words. “You need direction, support and proper training. All of those I can provide.”

Stephanie frowned, looking stunned. She opened her mouth with a breath as to say something but closed it almost instantly, stopping herself.

At the sudden silence, Pennyworth interceded again. “Don't be fooled, Miss Stephanie, despite his age, Master Damian is a very skillful young man of keen intellect. I wholly and solely believe there's benefit to be gain, should you accept his proposal.”

Brown, properly dumbfounded, turned her head trying to catch Alfred's eyes in the rear-view mirror, but he was focused on the road; not knowing what else to do, she directed her gaze back to Damian, who only raised an eyebrow, nonchalant.

“Thank you for the offer but no thanks?” She finally uttered, at a loss. “No offense, I just don't see how that could it work, besides I really don't want Tim to know about this, I promised him I was going to stop with the vigilante stuff.”

“You seem to be under the wrong impression that I answer to Drake or Grayson. This is a private matter, Pennyworth will keep silent about it and so will I.”

Stephanie turned again to the front, vaguely gesturing towards Damian with her right hand with incredulity. “Alfred, are you reeally okay with that?”

Alfred took some seconds before answering, steady and composed. “Dick and Tim—“ he started with unusual informality. “Are in a very demanding position right now. No amount of years protecting this city would've prepared them for this ordeal, and the only thing we can do is to ease their hardships in any way we are able.” Alfred's voice stayed calm, conversational, like he was just making small talk instead and not about the difficulties they were facing. “I know by experience that we cannot stop you if your mind is truly set on this. Let us help instead.”

Damian hoped that Pennyworth's succinct words were more convincing than his, but it was hard to tell giving the fact that Brown still looked like a confused forest animal in the middle of the highway. In a way, it was entertaining seeing Brown like this, when he was used to her acting with more bravado, but he supposed she hasn't found her footing yet.

“How long has it been since Cain gave you the suit?”

Stephanie looked away, purposely avoiding Damian's eyes, which tell him everything he needed to know. “Like a... two weeks, technically.”

That explained why Brown seemed to be fumbling with her new role much more than he remembered. On the other hand, he had to commend Cain for remaining undetected, because just as he had been in the lookout for Todd, he searched for Cassandra too, coming to the conclusion that she must've left the city long before they moved to the penthouse. Knowing she had been there as recently as a week ago - more or less -, made him a bit unsatisfied with himself, because if he had known she was in the city, he would've redoubled his attempts to find her. Despite the missed chance, Damian knew he'd see her again and luckily for him, from all of his father's hellions, she was the only one he didn't need to worry about.

“Take your time and think about my offer,” he said almost as a dismissal, suddenly becoming more interested with looking at the window. “I don't require an answer today, but I do expect one eventually.” Almost coinciding with the finality of his words, the car gently stopped. “We're here.”

Promptly alert, Stephanie straightened in her seat, turning from side to side trying to recognize where they were. “Here where?”

“Antonella's Ice Cream Parlor.” Without waiting for an answer, Damian opened the door next to him. “Hurry up and get out, Pennyworth needs to park the car before joining us.”

“Ahm,” as it seemed to be her demeanor for this day, Brown hesitated for an instant before speaking. “At the ice cream place?”

“Of course.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing.

“Are we actually going in there? Like, to get ice cream?”

“I know my father attempted to train you,” he said, expression bored. “Don't make him the disservice of asking these kind of questions.”

“You could've just said yes,” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “And why are we getting ice cream? Are you doing field work right now?”

“No. We just had an uneasy talk for you, something to lift your spirits is due.”

For the second time Stephanie tried to say something while stopping before even uttering the first word, however her stupefaction was short-lived, because with jolt she started dragging herself towards Damian, who stepped aside to get out of her way.

“You know what? Fuck it! Let's get ice cream.”

“Miss Stephanie,” Alfred chastised swiftly. “Language, please.”  

“I know, sorry, sorry,” she said with a more lively tone than the one she had been using until that point. “Hope you know you're totally paying.” She announced to Damian as soon as she put the first foot outside.

“Obviously.”

“And I'm ordering the most expensive thing they have. Twice.”

“Naturally.”

When Brown finally stood next to Damian, she crossed her arms and watched in silence while the car drove away. “This is not how I was expecting this meeting to go.”

“The world is full of wonder.”

Damian's flat delivery made Stephanie's lips tremble slightly before succumbing to a smile given the ridiculous of her situation. “You're a strange little man.”

Unlike other times when Damian was called little, he decided not to take offense just this once, because at least Brown didn't call him a kid for a change.

The dreadful waiting for the opening of exhibition came to an end on a sunny Thursday.

Damian had not been stressing over this casual outing, that would be immature from his part... he was simply preoccupied with all the possibilities that could unfold during their time in the museum. He kept that to himself, choosing not to bother Pennyworth with it, given the fact that the man was already busy helping him with more important tasks, so whatever Damian's feelings were about this, they were at the most, frivolous.

Still, while he was getting ready, he wished he could tell Colin more about the not so heroic parts of his life. He wasn't in need of guidance, but he wanted to complain about the things he had to tolerate thanks to the fools his father welcomed in his folly; Jon had been so good at that, just hearing his grievances, even if most of the time he wasn't on his side of the argument. It was humorous, in a very mirthless way, how Damian spent all his life acting like he was above needing a friend to share his thoughts with and now here he was, longing for something so insignificant like having someone to tell that Grayson was an oaf. The irony of his circumstances, as always, didn't escape him. Fae contracts and Faustian deals.

He finished getting ready early than he intended, since he was eager to be done with this nonsense as soon as possible. Sadly, he was the only one in an imaginary hurry, so after sending Grayson a message stating he'll wait for him in the living room, once he was there, he went directly to the one armchair that was nearest to the window, deciding this was a good opportunity as any to take a dive into Todd's reading recommendation, choosing to start with Flower Fables. He was halfway the third tale, when he heard the murmur of voices he recognized as those of Alfred and Dick, becoming more clearer as they approached where he was.

Damian had been holding a bookmark between his left index and middle fingers, finally placing it on the page where he stopped reading, before closing the book and getting up, taking a few steps to leave it on the center table, crossing his arms behind his back almost at the same time Grayson and Pennyworth entered his field of vision.  

He gave Dick a once-over, arching his brows with something akin to disapproval. “You look like a Philosophy student. Disgraceful.”

All in all, Grayson's attire was acceptable, just casual clothing, with the only remarkable things being the fact that he was using a blond wig - with matching eyebrows -, under a beanie hat and glasses with a wide frame. It wasn't the worst attempt at a disguise he had seen from him, but it wasn't impressive either.

“I'll pretend I don't know you, so please stay six feet away from me.”

Inevitably, Dick cracked a smile at this. “You get meaner each day. And here I was about to compliment your outfit,” he turned to his side, looking at Alfred with amusement. “How much did you have to bribe him to put him on that?”

Alfred arched a single brow, his expression remaining neutral. “Master Damian dresses himself, I'd be concerned if he didn't at his age.”

“Uh,” for a moment he seemed surprised, but soon enough he was smiling again. “I should've seen this one coming. You finally got your wish, eh?”

“Good things come to those who wait, sir.”

Damian frowned, caving in and looking down to make sure the clothes he was wearing didn't magically change- stranger things have happened, after all -, but no, the black dress shoes, slacks and tie were still the same, just like the dark green V-neck sweater and the light grey button-up shirt underneath it.

“What's so noteworthy about my attire?” He asked, not knowing if he should feel affronted.

Most of his life, when it came to clothes, Damian had been more worried about their usefulness and practicality than anything else. In the past, Pennyworth used to be the one in charge of buying his clothes, leaving Damian with the choice to wear whatever he wanted, with the rare exceptions when some social gathering required a specific dress code.

Damian's interest in his own wardrobe changed after spending years being chained to a Batman suit, with some days feeling like the bat symbol was burning his chest through the layers of armor. Now that he was better established, just like he started to occupied himself with cooking and books, he decided to spare some of that effort for the contents of his closet. Nevertheless, he didn't feel that Pennyworth's initial selection varied drastically from the clothes he end up choosing for himself; he thought long about the kind of garments he had been more comfortable with, in his early years on Gotham and from there, he just picked things that he liked in those styles. Overall, just frivolous stuff that he only was paying attention to now, because he was committed to find out the mundane things he overlooked in his past life, if one could call it that. That's why he didn't understand the sudden fuss about some clothes he personally bought.

“Nothing,” was the annoying answer that Grayson merrily gave. “It's just an inside joke.”

Just like he had been done more and more, Dick extended a hand to ruffle Damian's hair, who didn't react, which was something he was proud of to achieve so quickly, because the first time it took him months to be able to relax around Grayson. “I dislike those.”

“I can give you all the context you need on the way.”

Damian wrinkled his nose before starting to walk. “I didn't say I want to understand.”

As he passed them, Dick turned again to Alfred, giving him a look that was a mix of amused exasperation. “Looks like we're off. Do you need anything? We can get it for you once we're done with the exhibition.”  

“Nothing at the moment, thank you. Please take care and remember that I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure Damian is not going to cause any problems.”

“I was talking to you, Master Richard.”

Fortunately for Damian - because he had a reputation to uphold -, Alfred and Dick were behind him, so they couldn't see the smile, almost childlike, he couldn't suppress at hearing Alfred's dry words.

The journey to the museum wasn't that terrible... because Damian carefully planned his words, strategizing his conversation topics like he was in the middle of an intelligence gathering operation. Since the moment he accepted to accompany Grayson, he spent the next days mentally preparing for this, trying to do as much control damage as possible in advance, because he knew that this little innocent daytrip was going to do unspeakable damage to his emotional state, how could it not? When spending time with Grayson felt like both, a punishment and a reward.

Regardless of his initial success, he had to admit that his interactions with Grayson were harder to navigate when they weren't fighting crime or conversing about their night lifestyle. Damian was avoiding talking about anything that could be considered “work” related, because he wanted Dick to have a respite from the heavy shadow of the bat that loomed over him, but it didn't mean he was having an easy time forcing himself to be as socially acceptable as possible. That's why he welcomed the sight of the museum when they reached their destination, eager to use it as buffer between him and Grayson.

Once they were inside, Damian examined the architecture now that he could see it in the daylight and whole, because the future hadn't been kind to locations like these one. Initially, when he came to Gotham, he didn't think much of its mixed architecture: the obnoxious art deco interlaced with soft art nouveau, drowning in a sea of gothic style edifications. It made for a somber city, which suited his father well.

Damian's fondness for Gotham's architecture was initially born out of necessity. Upon arriving in the wrong time, the only thing he had left of the life he knew were the foundations of the city. The more information he tried to absorb about, well, everything, made it clear that this enigmatical future version of him was, as Drake once said about him: “very overkill”, at least one had to be to go as far as to booby-trap every single prominent building in Gotham. In attempting to keep his mind from going astray, Damian not only talked to the dead, but he tried some other things, ordinary and desperate, like reading books from the remains of the library and actually checking out for them, hunting down the surviving bottles of what it became his preferred iced tea and sitting in dilapidated gargoyles, sketchbook in hands, looking at the crumbled city and restoring it to its former glory from memory in between the blank pages.

It was comforting in a way, looking now at the interior of the museum and seeing it so pristine if solemn in its design, because the last time Damian had been there in the day, they were only ruins left.

And as expected of an inauguration, the museum was full of people interested in the new display; usually Damian hated crowded places, but in this case, they provided convenient distraction, that's why he also didn't protest much to the guided tour Grayson got them into. In a way, he appreciated that Dick was willing to suffer this activity for him - as misguided as his attempts at bonding were -, so he did his best to pretend he wasn't bored while following the guide, mentally drowning her words while he was more focused on the Egyptian objects scattered on the wing.

There was everything one could expect to see in an exposition of such nature: colorful sarcophagus, statues of all kind of sizes, funerary masks, Canopic jars, weaponry, tablets, clothing, jewelry and everyday items. All of these things he was very well familiar with, given the kind of artefacts his grandfather collected through the centuries, even gifting him a set of khopesh that once belonged to some pharaoh Damian never bothered to remember his name.

By the time the tour was coming to an end, Damian's thoughts were far away, lost in the past that never was and the future that will never be, but then again, it wasn't unusual, because that's how he spend most of his waking moments, being his own Pythia, prophesizing tragedies and thinking of ways to prevent them. Just like his father. And it was that thought that made him finally snap from his musings, because from all the omens he was carrying with him, that was one he wanted to avoid most. Should his father be in his place at this precise moment, he would waste the entire visit daydreaming about his Batman's pursuits, instead of trying to enjoy the company; Grayson was sacrificing his free time for Damian, doing something he thought Damian would appreciate, so the least he could do was to at least be present, truly present, and not roaming in the corridors of his mind.

With this new purpose, Damian waited until their guide concluded the tour and as soon as they were dismissed, he turned to Grayson with the intention of asking him to take some photographs, since the man actually brought a camera with him, however, he was too slow, because one of the women from their group beat him to it. If he had to guess, she was around Grayson's age and clearly interested in him, something Damian noticed early on when he was assessing every person in the group, which was understandable, because Dick's poor attempt at disguise didn't do much to conceal his attractiveness.

Damian rolled his eyes, exasperated. If he didn't want this to end like a typical Wayne party with Grayson entertaining strange women, he was going to have to intervene, but a simple question from her made him stop before he could do anything.

“That's great!” She answered to what Dick said with a flirtatious smile. “And are you here alone?”

“Oh, no, I'm—” to any person that didn't know him, the minuscule pause that Grayson took before his next words could pass unnoticed, just him inhaling so he could keep talking. “With my brother, he likes this stuff, at least I hope he does.”

As always, Grayson was all charm with an easygoing disposition, but the way he doubted for a split-second before declaring Damian his brother, was something that took Damian's breath and made him tense up, feeling more than ever the need to say something as crass as he hadn't done in years, just like all those times he interrupted Grayson's conversations in Damian's days as his Robin, uncouth and angry. Instead he turned around and walked away, trying to call as little attention to him as possible, getting out of sight, shielded by the visitors.

He passed many objects being displayed, looking but not looking, willing himself not to fixate in any thought, because if he did, he felt like he would crumble like that Gotham he left in the future.

In his aimless steps, from the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of an statue of Anubis and that made him retrace his way. They were several people surrounding the crystal showcase that contained the statue, but Damian had no problem moving in between them until he was at the front, something that hardly bothered anyone, given his size. Damian looked at the basalt statue representing Anubis and he let himself think about his grandfather, just like that night weeks ago, because that felt like a much safer line of thought at that moment. Looking at the head of the statue, Damian questioned, not for the first time, what made his grandfather take it as an inspiration to symbolize his position as leader of the League. Anubis didn't exactly fit in the “demon's head” aesthetics - if such thing existed - and going by his grandfather's antics, it would've made more sense to choose any figure that opposed death, not oversight it. But maybe it was precisely that, after all, his grandfather fancied himself as a judge for humanity and their evils.

He could've stayed there for the rest of the day, thinking about his grandfather's motivations, be they about fashion or morality, but hearing Grayson call his name dragged him out of the little safe space he made for his thoughts. He didn't turn but he knew the precise moment Grayson came to stand next to him.  

“This place is huge,” Dick said after contemplating the statue a little, like he was trying to see what Damian was seeing in it. “You could get lost.”

“I know where every door in the building is,” he answered, stoic and unmoving, still looking at Anubis and the secrets it didn't hold. “Getting lost isn't an option.” Grayson chuckled and Damian clenched his teeth at the sound, instantly infuriated at himself.

“The point of coming here was to relax, not to give you homework.” He waited for a response but at Damian's prolonged silence he tried again. “Are you a fan?”

“Of what?”

“Anubis?” He put his hands in the pockets of his pants, too casually to be an spontaneous gesture. “Personally I think Ra is my favorite, you know, classics.”

For a moment, Damian visualized Todd there, asking Grayson what the fuck he was talking about, because Damian was trying to be as decorous as possible, so he couldn't inquire that way. “I like dogs.” Was what he chose to say instead.

Clearly the answer wasn't enough for Dick to work something out, because after another moment he tried again, more clearly this time. “So, what do you think? Are you having fun?”

“It's been educational.”

“Aw shucks, I missed the mark with this, eh?”

“No!” He said immediately, surprising himself. “No, you didn't.” He added, more measured.

Damian gave the statue one last look and proceeded to move, making a vague gesture at Dick to follow him, which he did. Damian used those few seconds while they walked away from the people that were still admiring the statue, to reorganize his thoughts, because whatever he was feeling, it was irrelevant, asinine, worthless. He wasn't going to fail Grayson and ruin all the effort he put on this, Damian was better than that and if he wasn't, he will make himself be, right away.

“You must understand, I've been in Egypt before and some things here aren't new for me.” Telling truths was such a convenient tool, because he didn't even have to lie, just let people form their own ideas about his words, based in the context they thought they had. “But I appreciate seeing them again, it's been an introspective experience.”

“I'm going to assume that's a good thing,” just as Damian wanted. “But now I have a lot of questions, you weren't there raiding tombs, were you?” He asked playfully.

“I know you're trying to be funny but I can't answer that in public.”

Dick looked at him like Damian was jesting, shaking his head with something like looked suspiciously like fondness, it made Damian want to stop and kick him right there. “Okay, let me ask something that won't get you in trouble. Tell me about Egypt, how was it?”

He frowned slightly, considering the question. “Beautiful. Merciless.” He said ultimately, frowning again, at himself this time, because he could do better, Grayson deserved better. “I spent most of my time in the dessert, days are unpleasant there and the nights are harsh, but if you have a fire and you're not suffering from hunger and thirst, it's magnificent,” the fingers of his right hand twitched almost imperceptibly, with the desire to hold a pencil. “The sky is so clear it feels like you drowned beneath the stars. It's easy to be at peace there when it's only you in an ocean of sand... I'm not sure if I can say it was a humbling experience, it feels so long ago in my memories and I'm know I wasn't having spiritual revelations in the middle of the dessert, I was most probably irritated and tired but even then, every time I looked at the sky at night, I understood why my mother and my grandfather love this world so much.”

And just like that, Damian felt suddenly very self-conscious and muscle memory made him try to reach for a hood that wasn't there, which in turn made him feel even more of an idiot. Curse Grayson and his ill-advised efforts to establish a connection with him. And curse Damian too! For caring so much it felt like he was suffocating with every breath he took. Things like this were precisely what he was trying to avoid from the start. Damage control his foot!

He ventured a glance at Grayson and when he looked like he was about to say something, Damian decided on a whim that the only viable option now was to act like the kid he certainly wasn't. “No,” he declared, pointing at Grayson with his right index. “I don't need your feedback and right now I want to... decipher that papyrus over there,” and he vaguely gestured to someplace behind Dick. “So please keep quiet while I work.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Damian rushed to the wall where various papyri were spread behind a crystal barrier. Oh, if his mother could see him right now, she would be positively aghast at his behavior. For his part, Grayson was too gracious, pretending Damian wasn't making a complete fool of himself, waiting patiently at this side with hands behind his back, his expression composed, not betraying anything. And he waited longer than Damian expected him to before finally talking again.

“Did you find something interesting?” He asked, humor tinting his voice despite his serious expression.

“Just boring praises to Osiris.” He answered trying not to sound as mortified as he felt.

“Really?”

“Yes, there.” He pointed to the second papyrus that was in the bottom row and closer to him.

“Are you sure you deciphered it,” and his façade started to crack. “Or the explanation at the side told you?” He finalized, poorly concealing a smile.

“Who do you take me for?” He uttered, affronted. “Of course I did.”

At this, Dick finally dropped the act. “Wait, do you really can read that?”

“My mother instructed me to learn a dead language as a pastime. It seemed like an easy option at the time.”

“Only you would say something like that,” he said, incredulous. “Or your dad, which yeah, actually makes sense I guess,” and he crossed his arms, looking at Damian in a way he hadn't done in ages: like he was measuring him. “Can you tell me what it says?”

“It depends, do you want an exact translation or I'm allowed to take liberties? I can understand the general intention just fine but I don't think I can translate word for word.”

“Sure, put it on layman's terms for me.”

If Damian was being honest, he was more than happy to fulfill Grayson's request, because translating hieroglyphics was infinitely more easier than trying to navigate conversations when his emotions were working against him. 

He supported his right elbow over his left palm, holding his chin with the other hand and stood straight as possible, his eyes examining the symbols in the papyrus while he mentally constructed an appropriate way to convey what was placed there. When he felt satisfied with what he had, he crossed his arms and taking a quick look around, he judged that he was at an acceptable distance from the other visitors.  

“In broad terms is something like this,” he started, adopting the same tone he used to do when he was reporting to his mother. “Hail Lord of Time, Heir of Geb, hail Lord of Life, bearer of the Atef-Crown, hail Lord of Fear, son of Nut. Hail to you, Osiris, Lord of the Two Horns, Ruler of the Hidden Place, Chief of the Westerners, worshiped by followers of Re and Atum, reverenced by Shu and Tefnut, adored by the Two Lands. We humbly fall before you, Creator of Gods, judge of dead and living, grant us a place amid your followers.” He wasn't exactly glowing with pride, but he was satisfied enough after acting like such a simpleton before.

Whatever reaction Damian expected from Dick, it definitely wasn't for Grayson to start rummaging through his jacket. “That was amazing, Damian,” he said almost at the same time he took out his phone, tapping in the screen before he placed it horizontally, pointing it towards Damian. “Say it again!”

“Are you recording?” He asked like he was disgusted after hearing something unsavory.

“Alfie wanted photos of you,” he at least had the decency to explain. “But this is so much better! He's going to love it,” but then he lowered the phone a little, looking dissatisfied. “But if you repeat it it's not going to be as genuine,” he mused for a moment before cheering up again. “Oh, I know, the first tablet the guide showed us, the big one with colors? That is perfect.”

Damian didn't need to be familiar with how Grayson's reasoning worked to understand what he was saying. “It's also very crowded and has a literal translation next to it.”

“Good thing you're not saying it word for word.”

He was going to protest, of course he was, but Grayson in his sudden joyful madness, took Damian's right hand with his left and started walking, making Damian follow his lead while he happily chatted about Alfred's family albums, giving the context he didn't asked for.

It wasn't like Grayson's hold was inescapable, it wasn't a strong grip, just enough force to keep one's hand closed. Damian tried to think if Grayson ever did this outside of necessity, like a move in the middle of a fight or catching him in midair; it was such a pointless thing, always has been, because Damian was never a child that needed to be secured in public spaces. Still, it wasn't bad, it didn't feel patronizing or asserting, so Damian didn't object, not that it was surprising, considering that he would follow Dick Grayson anywhere, even to the very doors of Hell. So he went.

He wondered if Grayson knew this is what he apparently needed. If that changed something, if it was even intentional. Whichever the case, after this, Damian fared better the rest of the visit, satisfying Grayson's silly requests to translate every time he pointed at something, letting him take photographs and even taking some himself for his art studies, telling him more about his stay in Egypt, but being careful to only talk about inconsequential things like animals or food. By the end, he even accepted Dick's suggestion to visit the gift shop before they left. Initially he had no interest in buying anything, he was just wandering while waiting for Grayson but when his eyes fell on an Egyptian themed hourglass, it was like a call. The same reason he picked an abandoned clock factory for his hideout, was the reason he decided to make such a frivolous purchase; in another life, his father would've been proud to see Damian taking after him.

On the way home, Damian felt like he could finally loosen up and have a brief moment of tranquility, like when he just successfully finished one of his mother's tasks, the kind he would prefer not to do again. Grayson, however, seemed to enjoy wrecking Damian's solace, because while waiting for the green light in a particularly long stop, he unfastened his seat belt to be able to delve in the back seat.

“Now that we are far away and you can't ask for a refund,” he said before sitting properly again, this time with one of their paper shopping bags from the museum in hands. “I bought you something.”

Damian scowled, clicking his tongue but accepting the bag nonetheless. “That was unnecessary... but I'm thankful for the gesture.” He added after a thought.

The gift in question was a plush toy of Anubis. A very caricaturesque one, clearly designed to look appealing to children with its big head, small body and oval cutesy eyes.

“There was one of Seth too,” Dick said after fastening the seat belt again. “But I think this one looks more like a dog. If you don't like it please don't throw it in the trash.”

“I'm not that thoughtless, the design it's ludicrous but I can see the intent.”

Damian couldn't understand why Grayson seemed to find his words comical every so often, but Dick smiled like he just told a joke and ruffled his hair for the second time that day.

The Anubis plush ended up placed over Damian's nightstand, becoming his new companion in his silent sorrow.  

Although Pennyworth was more permissive than the first time around and let Damian get away with a lot of things, a patrolling schedule with breaks every third day was non-negotiable. Usually Damian found that to be an annoyance in the same category that homework was in, but for once he was looking for a good night of rest after day he had. That, of course, was an unsuccessful plan. He did his best to fall asleep but instead, his treacherous body decided that his time was best spend crying.

He had done so well over the course of the day, withstanding everything and not breaking even once, even if he faltered at times, but as soon as he was in the privacy of his room, lying on his bed and sheltered by the darkness of the night, he couldn't help but openly mourn for what he had lost like he rarely allowed himself to do. He was glad, oh so glad, exultant even, to have Alfred back, safe and sound, but the price was so excruciating.

Damian took a deep breath and moved his right arm that until now had been covering his eyes, he opened them and the darkness welcomed him. He couldn't know how much time passed while he laid there, looking at the ceiling, incapable of distinguish anything, but at some point the grief gave way to something close to wrath. He furiously wiped his tears with both hands, sitting up abruptly while still looking upwards.

The price was agonizing and he would pay it a thousand times! Crushed, brokenhearted, bested, tormented, none of that mattered! Damian was a king, a general and his own entire army, he didn't chose this outcome while trying to rectify his worst sin, but he was going to make the Fates fall at his feet all the same.

And if he has to spend sleepless nights looking at the ceiling, he might as well do something about that too.

⪻Chapter 16

Chapter 18⪼

PS. Damian's translation is a patchwork from Margaret Murray's translations published in Ancient Egyptian Religious Poetry.

Reference for the plushie:

[tvrres]

Okay, I had one for Angel, maybe an angel x fem!reader where the reader is almost sucked up into the ufo and our poor bby is worried? Just some fluff and stuff <3

and please don’t feel the need to rush take your time! Love ya 💕

— BAD MIRACLE

✦ pairing: angel torres x fem!reader

✦ summary: it's dumb luck you ended up at the haywood's ranch. it's even dumber luck that you didn't die there.

✦ note: yeah i listened to jennifer saunders' cover of holding out for a hero while writing this and yeah i made it deeper than it needed to be. it's a little sad i'm ngl

You weren't even supposed to be here.

This was all because of your stupid phone charger. If it hadn't disappeared from plain sight, your phone wouldn't have died before your alarm went off the next morning. You would have been to work on time and your boss wouldn't have let you go. Running into Angel, an old friend from high school, would have ended with plans for a coffee date that would never come. Instead you asked him if he knew any places hiring.

At first, you were glad things ended the way they did. You liked working with Angel. He had gotten taller since graduation and built some muscle that suited him well, but inside?

Inside, he never changed.

He would often visit the furniture department of Fry's to ask if you needed help, even though he was far from well versed when it came to Tempur-Pedic beds. You would laugh and tell him you were fine, to get back to electronics before he got in trouble again. So what if you guys were friendly? So what if maybe it was a little more than that?

After a two months of this, he invited you over to his apartment to watch some psychological thriller on Amazon Prime of all things. It was a fine movie, but you were too busy thinking about how your knees were touching. Neither of you moved them. When the end credits rolled and your can of Sprite was empty, Angel slid his hand into yours.

"I promise next time I'll take you on a real date," He muttered. You felt a smile creep onto your face before nodding. "But I think you're really great, (y/n). I want to spend more time with you if that's cool."

"That's cool." He looked relieved when you said this even though you couldn't imagine saying anything else. Afterwards, you guys talked and you're pretty sure he convinced you that ghosts were real that night. He seemed pretty certain there was one in the laundry room downstairs. Then he walked you to your car and hugged you goodbye.

There was a tension as you pulled away and you thought maybe he might kiss you. But he didn't, and that was okay. You guys had plenty of time.

It was only a few days after this that the Haywoods entered your store. Angel texted you, saying he was heading out to do an install and that he'd be back later. You sent him a thumbs up emoji before returning to work. Later finally came and Angel strolled up to where you stood by the display couches.

"How was the install?" You asked in a cheery tone, mostly just happy to see him. He looked around, pretending to be casual.

"Fuckin' weird," You furrowed your brows.

"Weird how?"

"Like extraterrestrial weird."

You let out a small laugh. Angel wasn't exactly a conspiracy nut, but he did let himself get lost in the idea of it sometimes. "What are you-"

"Look, just meet me at electronics after you clock out," He whispered as if someone was listening. "It could be nothing, but it could not be nothing." You gave him a suspicious look.

It was most certainly not nothing.

The unmoving cloud was enough to convince you, but nothing struck pure fear into your heart quite like feeling Angel's van stall on your way off the Haywoods' property. "Shit." Was all he'd said.

"Shit?" You looked at him frantically. "Shit, what do you mean shit?" Angel didn't answer you, instead quickly undoing both of your seatbelts. Your heart sank at this as you realized what his plan was. "I am not going out there and neither are you!"

"(Y/n), these are fucking aliens and they will crack this fucking van open like a goddamn piñata if they want to!" He grabbed your hand roughly and looked into your eyes, causing a sudden calm to wash over you. "Just don't let go of me and we're gonna be fine." You barely had time to process his order before he threw open the driver's side door and pulled you out behind him.

You narrowly escaped death once, which was more than enough for the both of you. OJ Haywood was not satisfied with this, however.

So now here you were, reloading film into a bulky camera being operated by some gruff and acclaimed filmmaker you had never even heard of. You sat nervously behind Angel the rest of the time, running your thumb over the label on your walkie that read BATTLESHIP. Despite everything you'd been through, everything you'd seen, the cloud, the power, that. . . thing (Jean Jacket as the Haywoods called it,) none of it felt real.

The only thing keeping you grounded was the constant string of voices coming through your walkie. It was truly a sight, watching OJ on his horse trying to win an impossible race. Jean Jacket loomed over him and you wondered how something so large could seem so weightless.

As the man released a colorful parachute at the last second, the entity turned on a dime to avoid it, giving Holst and his camera a perfect shot of it. It quickly retreated high into the sky, making you breath a sigh of relief as Angel cheered. A weight lifted off your shoulders, seemingly drifting away just as Jean Jacket had.

"It's over!" Emerald's voice crackled through your walkie. "We got it, y'all! The feed started going in and out when, when that guy got got, but we should be covered with the film camera. Right, Holst?"

The man was silent. You took this as his being in awe, disbelief at what he had just captured. His walkie beeped before he spoke into it. "The light," He gazed at the sun that hung low in the sky. "The light, it's, gonna be magic soon." You didn't know what he could have meant by that, but there was sudden foreboding energy in the air.

OJ felt it too, asking over the walkie what he meant. The man didn't answer, having already grabbed his other camera and standing from where he was. You tapped Angel, who was still staring in the direction Jean Jacket had disappeared. He turned to see Holst leaving the safety of the tent.

"Wha- no, no, where're you going?" His voice was frantic. The man turned back to the both of you.

"Angel, (y/n)," he said somberly. "It's gonna be alright. We don't deserve the impossible." Your blood went cold as he stepped fully out into the open.

"Hey guys?" Angel spoke into the walkie. "Holst just said some creepy, cryptic shit, took his camera, and he's heading up the mountain. Over."

You cupped your hands around your mouth and hollered at the older man. "Dude, what the hell?!" The same pit of fear from before welled up in your stomach. "Holst, come back!" Behind you, Angel got up from his seat and moved to where Holst had been before.

"Fuck it." He muttered, looking through the viewfinder of the camera. "He's crazy, right?" You searched for Jean Jacket in the sky frantically, still yelling for Holst. The being seemed to notice him quickly, flying down from the clouds at an incredible speed. It came close to the tent, causing you to quickly pull Angel down onto the ground with you. You both watched helplessly as it descended upon Holst and pulled him up into the air in a cloud of dust.

Then, just like that, he was gone. Your eyes were wide as saucers as you stared at where he had been, fighting every instinct you had to look up. You began to search for your walkie on the ground in a panic, knowing OJ and Emerald had seen it, hoping they knew what to do next.

In your distressed state, you didn't notice Angel stand and walk towards the edge of the tent. Once you did, a scream caught in your throat. He backed up, staring at Jean Jacket in disbelief. It slowly started closing in on him.

"Angel!" You cried out, getting ready to run out to him. Before you could, the tarp that covered you flew and wrapped around Angel and sent him rolling down the mountain into a barbed wire fence. You were about to slide down after him, until you heard Holst's screams echoing right above you.

It was nearly on top of you, so close the metallic scent of blood filled your nose. So you crouched back down and stared at the dirt shifting in the wind, hand over your mouth as you whimpered in fear, not daring to breath. That stupid fucking charger.

You were sure the only thing that saved you was Jean Jacket noticing Emerald by the stables. The wind of it rushing towards her knocked you over, your hair whipping wildly in the air. Once it was gone, you quickly made your way to Angel.

He was tangled up in the barbed wire and tarp, cuts from it littered his skin. "Angel!" You turned him over and tried to feel for the end of the wire. Your fingers bled, but you ignored it the best you could. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you scared the fuck out of me, oh my-"

"(Y/n), get to the house," He was breathing hard and trying to push your hands away from him. "You can make it, go!"

"No!" Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you fought against him. "No, I'm not gonna leave you here! We have to stay together and we'll be fine, that's what you told me!" The sound of Jean Jacket destroying the stables and Emerald's screams only made you panic more.

"Now I'm telling you to go!" He turned to where the animal clicked loudly. "Go! Before it comes back!" You looked over your shoulder at the house before turning back to Angel.

"You better not fucking die!" Was all you said before turning to sprint towards shelter. You nearly tripped more times than you could count. In your peripheral vision, you could see Jean Jacket move behind the mountains behind you before losing sight of it. You prayed to whatever higher power could hear you that Angel would be okay. That they all would.

"HURRY (Y/N)!" Angel called from behind you. "IT'S COMING!" Your stomach sank as he shouted and you tried to move faster, but the house was still out of reach. Suddenly, you felt as if gravity was no longer working and the dust around you swirled.

Angel watched with horror filled eyes as you were lifted off the ground, felt his heart pound in his ears when he heard your screams. He tried to free himself quickly, knowing there was nothing he could do for you, but refusing to accept that.

You reached for anything you could and by some kind of divine intervention, your sweater sleeve became tangled in the branches of a nearby tree. Jean Jacket still pulled on you with an unbearable force, the wind roared around you so hard you thought you'd go deaf. You fought against the pressure as best you could, forcing your other arm down to grab the tree branch. Clenching both fists around it, you hung in midair. The branch threatened to slip out of your hands and you could feel blood being drawn by its rough surface.

Then, just as quickly as it disappeared, your weight returned to you and you hit the ground with a thud. Not before falling through the branches of the tree, cutting your skin and clothes on the way down. You kept your eyes down for what felt like eternity. The air was silent aside from the steady breeze that had been there before, but you didn't trust it.

Angel stared at your limp body from afar, assuming the worst. He could feel a lump forming in the back of his throat, not even noticing the figure Jean Jacket had started to transform into. He watched as Emerald marched towards where OJ was hiding out and waited until Jean Jacket was distracted with her. Once it was, he finished untangling himself and ran to you. The wind burned his eyes and he wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears that streamed down his face.

Your breathing was still frantic as you looked in the direction of the arena, where Jean Jacket was unfurling itself into some cosmic horror more terrifying than before. You didn't have the energy to be afraid, however. Right as you were going to lay your head on the dirt once more, you heard footsteps rushing towards you. With a cough, you tried to support yourself on weak arms to see where they were coming from.

Angel fell to the ground next to you and pulled you into a suffocating embrace. "I fucking thought you were dead, (y/n)!" You don't remember when you started crying, but at some point you were shedding silent tears into his shoulder while you felt his shaky breath on yours. "I thought you were dead!" You let out a through a sob. You were bleeding all over each other and the only thing you wanted was to be right back on that sofa in his stupid apartment. Before you knew any of this existed.

You both pulled away from each other to examine your injuries. He looked over the bleeding cuts on your palms and you looked over the ones on his arms. You were in the middle of scanning over his dust covered face when he pulled you into him again, this time planting his lips on yours feverishly.

It was a desperate kiss, one he was afraid wouldn't last. You kissed him back just as wildly, trying not to let him know you were crying again in fear he would stop. Finally you pulled away, face shining with tears. The sun had started to sink in the sky.

There was a muffled boom in the distance and you both turned to the direction it came from. A cloud of smoke floated in the air, what remained of Jean Jacket slowly emerging from it. Angel stood on weak knees and helped you up as you did the same.

The drive to his apartment was a quiet one, your hands were still shaking as you tried to unlock your car.

"You don't have to go home, (y/n)." Angel said from where he stood behind you. You smiled in spite of yourself.

"You've done enough for me these past few days," You turned to him with a sad smile. "You need to rest, it's okay."

He stared into your eyes with an empty gaze. It hurt to see him looking so hollow. "I don't," He cleared his throat. "I don't want you to go home." Silently, you pulled him into another hug. It mirrored the one he'd given you the very first time. "Okay," you said. "I just need to get a few things."

When you walked into your bedroom to retrieve some clothes, you saw your old phone charger. Right where you had left it.

Feel free to send in more requests y'all otherwise it's just going to be more of my self indulgent bs

Also, and this goes for any request, if you the sender are not satisfied with your written response, please reach out to me and I will redo it to your liking!

[thesevro]

wanna watch / gojo s. + nanami k.

𝖌𝖔𝖏𝖔 𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚 + 𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖎 𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2.3K words

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: where gojo and nanami decide to get greedy. together. 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: explicit smut, voyeurism, polygamy, one mention of bondage, cum play

HIS AND THE other man's legs cross at almost the same time. Both are trying their damnedest to hide the largest secrets they could ever keep.

Gojo watches you move about with probing eyes. Ignores the innocence of your routine, how you bustle innocuously about with a distracted frown on your face as you kindly prepare coffee and tea for them and yourself. The scent of ground beans fills the air with thick redolence but he can only imagine the smell of your hair as he pulls it back with his hands. This happens in one of his fantasies. In another, he has his face buried in your locks as he fucks you from behind.

I bet she would taste sweet. The thought is such a prominent fantasy that he almost sees you there on the counter, legs spread, clothes as much of a mess as he can make you. He imagines sticking his head between your legs. Listening to the melody of your name spilling from your mouth. He swallows, tries to calm his nerves. He's never been more grateful for the blindfold over his eyes.

Nanami's eyes, hidden from behind his goggles, conceal none of his other tells. He half-fools himself into believing no one can see how his head tilts downward ever so slightly to eye the swell of your ass as you bend over to fetch a bag of coffee grains from a low cupboard. How he lets his eyes greedily devour the sight of the skin on your stomach as you reach for a coffee mug on a shelf high above your head, shirt rising. His jaw tightens. He has too many tells.

Want to bend her over that counter and fill her up.

He wants to run his hands over your stomach. Hook your thighs around his head as he eats you out. Slap your ass until you beg for him to keep going because he knows he can just be that good.

Must she really maintain perpetual seduction? I would like to enjoy her here. School policies could go and suck my—

The two men have the same thing on their minds. The same hedonism. The same nasty thoughts of fucking you until you see stars and cry their names. Makes their brows furrow ever so slightly, their breaths stutter in their chests.

Natural seductress, the pair concludes at the same time.

And you are the first to break the immense focus that has narrowed their visions to mere thoughts of fucking you into oblivion.

"What are you two looking at? You've been staring at me like a bunch of hungry dogs since I came in." You pretend to wave them away, still grinding up coffee with one hand. Boiling tea whistles in another pot. "Shoo, shoo~~ I don't have any food on me."

"Bunny," Gojo starts, rising from his seat with a hand already at the hem of his uniform. Ready to pull it off. Nanami follows. "There's something much tastier right here in front of us."

"Yes." Nanami reaches you first. He will never admit it but he has not always been the best at repressing his need for you. "I must agree with Gojo, for once. You would taste so much better."

"Oh." You smirk. "So you were watching?"

Gojo pauses. Then he laughs. Realizes something.

"You put on such a show for us... on purpose?" Nanami asks this with his teeth nipping at your ear. Gojo lets the man enjoy himself. You two have always been able to show him the naughtiest shit. Sometimes he wonders if Nanami was a sex god in his past life. Occasionally... the blonde had been able to show him, his natural enemy, a very, very good time as well.

"Well. I don't see why I couldn't have done that." You chuckle softly in response to Nanami's query, reaching for Gojo. He kisses your hand. The inside of your wrist. Then he gently pushes Nanami to the side so he can raise you up on the counter.

Nanami cocks his head at Gojo as the other man pulls back to switch the boiling tea off. The blonde raises a question with his eyes as Gojo only crosses his arms and leans back into the counter.

"Only feel like watching today," Gojo says, shrugging.

"Aww," you whine, pouting at him from your place. "But I want you to join us! That was the whole point of my show. Won't be the same without you."

"Careful bunny," Gojo warns, wagging a finger. "We both know that Nanami gets jealous easily."

"...Uh, no, he doesn't." You and Nanami share a dubious glance with each other. "Well, Nanami and I both know you can be a very big dumbass sometimes. Always bouncing around with candy. Always copping a feel of my ass and Nanami's man tiddies whenever you get the chance—"

"Alright honey. That's enough." Nanami molds his mouth into yours. His hand clasps your hip. Another hand grasps the side of your neck in one large palm. You shiver at the hold he has on your neck. Spread your legs wider so he can stand between you.

Nanami slips a hand between your thighs. His fingers explore very familiar territory. He's touched you here many times before.

Your shoulders tense as he slides two fingers along your slit. You wind your fingers through the back of his hair. Let it be a small anchoring point for you as Nanami fucks you with his fingers.

"Nanami, fuck," you swear as he flicks your clit, and this makes Gojo and Nanami himself shift in place to adjust their pants. "Don't make me wait. Let's make this a good show for our audience."

You lace your fingers through his tie. Pull it off and toss it in Gojo's direction so that it lands to hang over his shoulder. Gojo cheers. You and Nanami kiss once more. His tongue warms yours in your mouth. You get the smallest openings to get a taste of his mouth.

He makes sure you keep your shirt on. If anyone were to walk in... well, Gojo wouldn't be fired on the spot, he was much too valuable. You would be allowed to remain with your position as the second strongest sorcerer, too. Him... well, maybe he could just become your concubine.

But he slips two of your buttons off. It shows enough skin for him to mark. He is careful not to leave any above your collarbone as he pulls away from your mouth to nibble and bite at the flesh bulging from your bra.

"Wish we could take it all off," Gojo murmurs as he watches Nanami ravage you. His pants have come undone. He holds his cock in one hand. Strokes it languidly as he listens keenly to your pants and Nanami's grunts. He loves the sounds you both make.

"Maybe putting your cock in my mouth would make things a little better for us," you suggest with a wavering smirk. It disappears completely as Nanami pulls your panties off. He throws it in Gojo's direction as well. Let it be another token of appreciation for their most loyal viewer.

Gojo shifts again as your pretty undergarments land right on his shoulder. He almost strides over to you and does exactly as you asked of him. But control has always been his one point of mastery, unlikely as it seems.

"Let's let you and Nanami enjoy this by yourselves, bunny."

Nanami fingers your slick folds with insidious circular motions. He doesn't stop these motions as he undoes his belt. You push both his hands away to undo it yourself, and to do it properly. It's always been satisfying to unbuckle the length of leather from around his hips. More so to let him wrap it around your wrists. But you have no time for that.

The tongue of the belt hangs just by his hips as you pull his boxers down. You conjure a condom from a pocket in your skirt, grinning slyly at Nanami as he stares down at you in bewilderment. You slide it over his cock. He tenses with the work of your skilled hands, stomach clenching. Absent lube, you briefly wet the rubber with spit to let Nanami's travel to your cunny be a smooth one.

Nanami cups your bottom with a hand. Half your ass hangs over the counter, just enough for the position to stay comfortable but far enough off the counter for him to lead his cock into your cunt. His eyes close as you grab his goggles between two fingers and pull it off his face. He presses his forehead to yours and gives you a chaste, simple kiss. You wrap your hands around his neck to kiss him with the same affection, smiling gently into the kiss. The moment between you is so intimate Gojo nearly feels guilty for bearing witness.

"Gonna get inside you, darling," Nanami murmurs, pulling away from the kiss. He buries his face into your neck with his first slide into you. His breaths come out in grunts. When you whisper his name with that wonderful breathy tone that comes from you every time he or Gojo fucks you, he almost moans.

Nanami possesses this sweet inclination towards fucking you nice and slow in the beginning of a round. But the threat of a peeping Tom (would likely be, unintentionally on the boy's part, Yuji) looms over your heads and frees him of his inhibitions. His first thrust is slow. Gentle, even. Then he pounds into you so hard your body reacts and twitches on its own.

"Fuck! Nanami!"

He does this. Again and again. Creates a rhythm violent enough to crack the counter as his knees meet it with each thrust. Even Gojo doesn't notice. Too much of his focus lies on enjoying such a glorious show.

The sounds of his cock fucking your pussy are downright filthy. Force Nanami to be forthright and he would accurately call them pornographic. Your moans are just as salacious, and the closeness of each sound of pleasure that escapes your lips makes him rut into you with harsher vigor. You bury your head into his shoulder. Cry out into his neck. He can feel the sounds on his skin.

The cold metal of his belt buckle cools the hot skin on one of your thighs. The roughness of that leather rubbing to a part of you so close to your cunt makes your pussy convulse. Nanami pants quietly at the overwhelming sensation of your hole squeezing him. He turns to Gojo with hooded eyes. They widen once the sight before him comes into focus.

"Darling," he grunts out into your neck. "Look at Gojo."

Gojo doesn't notice yours or Nanami's gazes. He ruts into his hand, pumping it over his cock in wild motions. He's thrown his head back in ecstasy, luxuriating in the memorized images of you drooling while Nanami fucks you and the face Nanami made only a minute ago as you clenched around him particularly tight. His throat bobs as he feels himself near his peak. He pants. Breaths the beat of a hummingbird's wings. The man looks absolutely ethereal fucking his own hand.

He notices how the sounds of your fucking have stopped. He pulls his head back forward, concerned but still dazed with lust. He blinks at you and Nanami. Eyes following movement as you hold a hand out to him once more.

"Join us, baby," you insist.

"You look needy," Nanami intones with a ghost of a laugh.

Still, Gojo hesitates.

"Gojo." The firmness in Nanami's voice makes him impossibly harder. He and the other man stare at each other with sin in the eyes. "Come." Nanami curls a finger, beckoning Gojo over. "Make her cum."

And this time he is not willing to protest.

Gojo saunters over to you. Presses a kiss to your bruised mouth and another to Nanami's. He strokes his cock while slipping a hand between the close proximity of yours and Nanami's hips. His fingers find your clit quickly.

You start another rhythm. A more desperate one. You hang just on the edge of your high. The muscles in Nanami's abdomen are tight. Gojo is just as close. Not so far behind. And when your hand slips downward to let him fuck your palm and fingers, he has to lean into your shoulder to keep himself from falling over.

You are the first to unwind. The two men look up to commit the sight of the peak of pleasure on your face to their memory. They savor your moans. Nanami fucks you a little harder. Groans as the hot fist of your pussy squeezes him, milks him. His balls tighten as he empties load into you.

Gojo leaves a mess on your hands as he cums. Sighs into your neck as his eyes roll back. His body shudders with Nanami's as he cums with the other man almost simultaneously.

It takes some time for your bodies to relax. It is dangerous to hang around here, with Gojo's cock in your hand and Nanami's length in your cunt. But this was a good show. One you put all efforts into perfecting.

Nanami kisses your neck tenderly before pulling his cock out of you. You shiver as it slides from your cunt. Nanami wipes at the wet slick between your thighs with a handkerchief while Gojo buttons your shirt up again. They baby you while their cocks hang out like monstrous masses. You almost laugh. It's vulgarly comedic.

Nanami smooths your hair and kisses you again, then steps back to fix his own clothes. Gojo sets your collar straight and smiles tiredly at you, then rests back next to you on the counter to pull his pants up. You raise a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning against Gojo in exhaustion.

Your eyes catch something, and before you can fix your hair you see the white streaking your hand. You blink dumbly at the mess on your palm. It's sticky between your fingers. When the idea comes to you, a feline-like sense of danger returns to your features.

"Gojo, Nanami," you call. Gojo looks to you with a smile that falls immediately as you perform what you know will not be the denouement of your show. Nanami observes your actions with a dipped head and a growl forming in his throat.

The two men are forced to undress once more as you lick at Gojo's cum with the indecency of a starved minx. Tongue between your fingers. Cum sliding down your throat as you lap it all up.

This time, you lock the door. A good idea on your part. Because the round lasts well into the afternoon. Many knocks sound on the door as you enjoy yourselves.

It is a delightful way to spend a day at work.

[sleepysnk]

i am in pain, that is all. listen to the song while reading.

Ghost of You

Pairings: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, alcohol usage

Here I am waking up

Still can't sleep on your side

Reiner's honey eyes opened, his head pounding as he was suffering another hangover. He wasn't even sure what time it was, it had to be past 10 A.M. he was certain of that. 

Sighing, he sat up feeling his head spin for a moment; his mouth felt dry and his head pounded from the splitting headache that pulsed around his skull. Reiner noticed the many beer cans that littered the ground, the stench of alcohol filling his nose making it scrunch.

He reached for his phone, the bright light making his skull ache even more than it did before. A few notifications from Bertholdt and Annie were visible on the screen, not like Reiner cared, he wanted a text from the person he missed most.

(Y/N).

There's your coffee cup

The lipstick stain fades with time

Reiner couldn't remember the last time she was in his apartment. It had to be weeks even months ago, the last time she was there was when they broke up. He had totally forgotten when from all of the alcohol he consumed. 

What hurt the most was that Reiner still had some of her things, including her clothes, a few pairs of underwear, makeup, hell, even some personal items. All those things reminded him of her, but even then, he couldn't get the energy to throw them away.

If I can dream long enough 

You'd tell me I'd be just fine

I'll be just fine

(Y/N) and Reiner had broken up one month ago. Their relationship had unfortunately turned sour, the two argued so many times that even she couldn't count how often it happened throughout the day. It was unfortunate seeing what happened, Reiner didn't think she'd end it, but she did. 

She packed up her things and told him it was over after arguing during the night. 

Reiner was angry at the time, but after a while he realized what he had done. He broke the person he loved the most, pushed her to her limit, and caused her to walk out of his life. Forever.

Reiner really wished he could say he was fine, he lied to his friends that he was.. but inside he wasn't. He knew he wasn't okay, but admitting it to others was something he didn't want to do.

So I drown it out like I always do

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

Even then, Reiner can still replay memories of him and (Y/N) dancing in their apartment together at odd hours of the night. The memory always brought a smile to his face, she was so clumsy when they first tried, but Reiner helped her learn. 

Reiner would put on random songs and twirl her around the living room when the moon would shine during the night. She was so beautiful then, Reiner was certain she was his soulmate. 

He always recalled the way he would feel during those moments, the way his heart would swell whenever she smiled or giggled at the way he would dance; or the way his fingers would slightly tickle her waist whenever he would dance with her. Reiner would do anything to relive all of it.

And I chase it down

With a shot of truth

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

After the breakup, Reiner turned to unhealthy ways of coping. 

He turned to alcohol, sometimes he'd pass out at the bar and Bertholdt would have to come and take him home. Other times he would get so drunk he could barely stand, all of it was to forget everything. Even if it didn't last very long. 

He still loved (Y/N) and he hates that he could never change what happened. Reiner knew deep down that the truth was he would never be able to undo what happened, she would never love him again. That's what made him drink even more, he wanted to forget the truth.

Cleaning up today

Found that old Zepplin shirt

You wore when you ran away

And no one could feel your hurt

Her old shirt was still on the floor where she left it before she left him. 

He could recall so many memories within her clothes, whether it be a skirt she wore to a date, or a shirt she wore and he ended up taking off; all of it brought back memories for the blonde. 

Reiner was the only one who understood (Y/N), she was the only one who understood him. 

It was almost like they were destined to meet each other, that's what Reiner would say anyway. He believed that he finally had his soulmate, but why was she taken away from him? Why?

We're too young, too dumb

To know things like love

But I know better now

He remembers when they first met.

Reiner met her when he was a senior in high school, she was a new student and he ended up bumping into her on the first day. Ever since that day, he was there to show her around and he made her feel like someone; like she wasn't just a student, but a person who belonged. 

They were so young then, many people found it hard to believe that they were high school sweethearts. 

They were together for three years.

Reiner always asked the question, maybe things went bad because they were so young? They were just 17 when they got together, teens, kids, they weren't mature or old enough; they were just teens in love. 

Maybe Reiner was too dumb to think that his relationship with (Y/N) would last, maybe there were signs at the beginning that he just couldn't see. 

He was just a teenager then.. who was he to know this would all happen?

So I drown it out like I always do

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

Reiner still sees her when he's drunk or hungover, he sees her walking into the room they once shared with breakfast in her hands, ready to give him a good morning kiss. 

At night he sees her wearing that pretty sundress, the one she always wore whenever she wanted to dance with him. He still remembers the patterns on it and the way the dress would show the skin of her thighs whenever he twirled her. 

He always had a smile on his face whenever he'd see her. His heart would swell the way it did before.

Then once he blinked.. she would disappear.

Reiner would break down after that, he would sit on the couch for hours with tears going down his cheeks. Whispering small apologies, and feeling his chest tightening whenever he remembered all the horrible things that had happened. 

He just wanted to reach out and hold her again, he yearned to feel her skin against his one more time; to tell her that he loves her still and he'd do anything to have her be his again. 

"I'm so sorry (Y/N).."

Those words would constantly be repeated until Reiner would pass out on the couch or in his bed. 

And I chase it down

With a shot of truth

That my feet don't dance

Like they did with you

Reiner stood up, his mind cloudy and his body aching for more sleep. He headed over to the medicine cabinet and popped a few painkillers. 

He wiped a few tears that escaped down his cheeks, his chest tightening again.

"Please.. come back to me (Y/N).." he sobbed.

[lovelivingmydreams]

The worst possible thing.

*stares at this long and hard.* Fine!

@kingcreativityau you know who is responsible for what comes next.

Yes @hunter-with-a-tardis I'm looking at you

Janus was pacing the floor. He didn't like this one bit.

“What's taking him so long?” he wondered aloud.

It was a rhetorical question and the sides who were sitting here waiting couldn’t answer him even if it wasn't. No one liked this plan. It hadn't even been a plan. It was half an idea Logan and Janus would have dismissed at once if Virgil hadn’t been in the room  and overheard Janus mumble about it. Harnessing Virgil’s given powers and undo what king had done.

It was too risky to even consider. Janus didn’t need Virgil to point out all  the ways it could go very wrong. To everyone’s shock Virgil came with a solution though. He'd take king up on his offer and finish the gallery, ask him to teach him to get control over the shadows. If king took a liking to teaching, which Virgil thought he might, he'd keep doing it and eventually Virgil could lift the curses and they all could get back to helping Thomas.

Janus had wanted to argue. Sure king enjoyed instructing others in skills he felt more proficient at. He recalled King teaching him to duel not too long ago. He also remembered what happened after the student caught up though. King storming away and then, after he'd managed to get out of king's obstacle… how he'd been cornered, the panic the punishment for daring to upset the king in any way. No this was their mess. Virgil was not yet on king's bad side. That was a card they couldn't waste on something that risky.

But Logan had been writing and Janus was convinced he'd say something similar. And Virgil was more likely to listen to Logan so he'd waited.

He should have known Logan would never just dismiss any idea out of hand.

Somehow they'd all agreed to see if Virgil could get a first lesson. And soon Virgil left them to practice with the king every day. Which should be a comfort right? King clearly enjoyed the activity and he was not suspicious of anything. That was exactly what had Janus worried now.

Because king wasn't the only one enjoying the lessons. Sure Virgil still seemed terrified of the man, but whenever he returned he was deep in thought, sometimes with a small smile on his face. The one that said: I just did something right.

He'd been looking at them oddly too, like he was figuring out a complicated puzzle.

Something was off but Virgil refused to talk about it. Something about a promise he made.

A click of a pen echoed through the mostly empty space and Janus' head snapped up.

Logan needed his attention.

He was scribbling down something as fast as he could and handed it over. Janus read it over. It was a long ramble, but it came down to one thing.

“I do have faith in Virgil. It's king I’m worried about. One perceived slight and…”

Janus touched the mark on his face. The memory of it's creation very vivid in his mind.

“Aw, you do care,” Virgil's voice came from behind him. Janus whirled around.

Something about what he saw took him back, to a time when he had two misfit friends who didn't hate him. Before the fight.

Maybe if was that mischievous smirk or the way he carried himself as if he couldn't care less what other people thought. Except now he really seemed to mean it.

His clothes weren’t back to normal by any means. They were upgraded though. From a dark version of Roman's original outfit to one reflecting the fitting in upgrade. Except Virgil wore a few medals pinned on his vest. As well as applying Virgil's black and purple with white detailing color scheme.

He also wore a dark purple hooded cape instead of a sash.

Most startling of all, he looked genuinely comfortable with it all.

“Virgil? Is that you?” Janus asked.

Virgil nodded, still smirking. “Indeed it is,” the deep terrifying voice of the King boomed and suddenly he stood behind him hands delicately resting on the youngest side’s shoulders.

But Virgil didn’t even flinch.

“Dear Anxiety made so much progress, I felt he deserved a promotion. I offered him the title of Prince,” king summoned a dark crown in his hand only to immediately clench his fist and make the image disappear. “but he is so loyal to those he considers friends he wouldn't even consider to take my light half’s title,” King praised fondly. He stroked Virgil's hair for a moment. “So he is my head counselor now on top of creative minister. And you should all be happy to know, he made a plea on your behalf.” King waved his hand and suddenly Patton was six years old.

“Wha… I can talk?” Logan gasped astonished.

“You explain the conditions to them. I have to get back to work.” And just like that, King was gone.

“You did it?” Janus asked perplexed this was too good to be true.

“King did. Don't take his generosity for granted,” Virgil warned sternly.

“Virgil, kiddo…”

“You shall not address me like that!” Virgil hissed, his voice booming, twisted and sinister, a dark aura flaring up, making them all step backwards in shock.

Virgil took a deep breath. “Names are for friends and allies. After what I heard… you’ll have to earn my trust back,” he explained a little calmer. They all froze in horror. King told him… of course he did. He'd have to be a fool not to.

“These gifts have conditions attached. Morality you can get back to your own age with good behavior, the reverse is true as well though. Logic your voice can not speak ill of the king and what you do say about him will find it’s way to us.

Any and all communication to the king must go through me. You remember my shadow?” the creature in question appeared next to Virgil.

“He'll… assist you when I am with the king. Ask him if you need to ask me or king something. Oh and fair warning….” Suddenly they all fell to the ground. Crushed by guilt and fear and desperation.

“I’ll do anything to protect Thomas from having to live without us ever again. I won‘t permit you to anger the king. Understood?”

They all nodded as they whipped at their tears.

“Good. Dismissed.” When they looked up Virgil was gone. Only his shadow remained. The creature stared back at them looking heartbroken. “I’m sorry,” it whispered.

“This… might be the worst possible thing,” Logan muttered as he helped Patton up. While the two oldest sides discussed their situation Janus stared in horror at the tragic looking shadow.

How could he have let this happen?

 Janus opened his eyes. He was sweating, his heart was racing. What was real, what was a dream? He looked around. He was in his room. He got up to his knees and tapped a rhythm neither he or his neighbor had heard in years. Virgil used to wake up from nightmares like this. Not sure about reality and scared to leave his room. So they came up with a system. Notes weren't an option when you didn't want to turn on the light and alert Remus someone was awake to play with him. So they made up their version of Morse code.

‘What is going on' was always the start of such a conversation. It was just a long series of rapid light knocks. The first reaction, ‘I hear you' was a flat palm against the door. Then you wait for the other to respond. Virgil's response was quicker than he expected.

‘Patton. Small. Logan. Silent. Twins. One.’

Janus nodded. He hadn't dared to hope that all of it was a dream.

‘you?’ he asked. Though he doubted if Virgil could know what to tell him to assure him he wasn't currently being tutored by king. ‘Scared. Confused. Angry. Sad.’

Janus bit his lip. Virgil didn't use the code for pupil. If there was any real plan like in his nightmare Virgil would mention it. He’d been on the other side of these conversations often enough. Yes, everything was… well not fine but not as horrible as he'd feared. All he had to do to keep his dream from happening was not leave Virgil alone with the king. And… maybe figure out how to tell Virgil what had happened all these years ago.

Janus got ready to knock. There was a knock that meant to convey empathy. To be a comforting reminder that Virgil was not alone. But halfway through he remembered another pattern. One Virgil would always close the conversation with. It was almost an alternative for goodnight in these conversations. But it meant ‘Sorry’. Janus' scales stung with the thought of that word. But if he knocked the pattern… it wasn't the same right?

He took a deep breath and started out with: ‘Thanks.’ He readied his hand it was just three knocks long… But the very thought was agony

‘Welcome. Good night.’

Janus sighed as he heard the reply. Perhaps another time.

‘Good night.’

@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @antiredhuman

[babygirlkiki1016]

Masterlist

Chapter 9: Love Vs Rage

Chapter 10: A lovely Bond

My hand clasped over my mouth at the words I had spoken, I didn't mean for it to come out. It was as if on instinct, but Thorin didn't seem to mind, he didn't take his eyes off me. And for the first time since the beginning of this trip, I saw love and adoration in those ocean blue orbs. His cheeks turned light pink at my comment, slowly he stood his chest almost against mine.

"You love me?" He muttered, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "How can you love me amralime?" It was him, the same rough voice from earlier, he is the one who called me that.

"I don't know, but when I'm around you, your who my heart belongs to. It's why I left because I thought my feelings were getting in the way. I thought love was getting in the way but it was rage, I can't blame you no matter how much I want to. And I admire your bravery and courage, but throughout this quest, each piece of my heart had attached itself to you. Maybe it was your leadership or your kind words, or maybe it was something entirely different but I'm positive about one thing Myis Ravos (My raven), I love you. And...I forgive you." Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held in a sob the best he could but failed. His strong arms wrapped around me and he nuzzled his face into my neck.

"I love you too...Promise you won't leave again, promise me that we'll stay together no matter how hard this journey gets. Cause losing you just for a few hours broke me, I didn't want to move. I didn't want to do anything without you by my side." My hands slid up his back, but before I could enjoy the warm hug from him I felt his wound.

"I will if you promise to let me treat your injuries." He chucked but groaned as it hurt his chest, I helped him sit back down. The rag in my hand ran over his skin again, wiping away the blood and dirt from the surface. "Promise me you won't be so reckless, I don't know what I would do if I lost you." He grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles lightly.

"Same goes for you." I couldn't help but smile, I didn't feel angry anymore. I felt loved and happy, I haven't felt like this in a long time. I kept cleaning the blood off, and when I was finished I took a step back to see if I missed anything.

"Alright, get into the bath I'll bring some lathers." As he begins to undress I rummaged through the basket of pink and purple bars, none was a manly type of smell but I highly doubt he would mind. "I have lavender, and cherry but beware both will make you smell like a woman." He laughed and turned around in the pool, the ends of his hair were now wet. I had this weird feeling to get in there with him, my legs rubbed together in excitement. Quickly I dismissed the thought and handed him the soaps but before I turned away he clutched my arm.

"Join me, for I am not able to flex my body like I'm used to. I believe I acquire assistance, I might just miss a spot." His fingers reach to the hem of my shirt, slowly undoing the ribbon tying it together.

"You've been bathing yourself for many years Thorin, I think you can handle this on your own." I didn't stop him from sliding my shirt down my shoulders, nor when he started to undo my bindings.

"I won't look if that's what you worried about, I trust my men but they sometimes can't help but let their eyes wander. I don't want them to see you bare." His touch leaves me, and he looks away so I'd be more open to the idea of joining him. He did have a point, I care for these dwarves but sometimes urges can take over. I shed the rest of my clothes, letting them join his that remained on the stone. He tensed up for a second as he felt the water move, he knew I was in now. "Lavender?" He held out the bar of soap, which I gladly took from him. His breathing became more rapid, he was nervous for I was too close.

"Nervous my king?" I said sarcastically as I ran the soap over his back, he leaned into my touch like it was heavenly.

"A little, I've never been in the presence of such a beautiful woman." He glanced back at me for a moment before turning forward again, he really wanted to look. "The things I said before, I didn't mean them, I meant something entirely different. At first, I was just being rude, but over time I fell for you. When I called you weak and a burden, I wanted you to go home for I do not wish to see you hurt. And when I called you a whore, it was because I was jealous of the stares the rest were giving you." Elrond was right, this entire time he loved me, but what about what he said at the bridge? Is this all just a plan to make me help him?

"And what about the bridge, when you were talking to Dwalin?"

"I knew you heard, at the moment I was trying to push you away. I too was afraid of what my feelings would bring, but when I noticed the rest started to be protective of you I realized they had accepted you as one of their own. I truly do love you, Uslukhuê kurdu, (Dragon of my heart). And I do not wish to push away my feelings any longer. If I may ask, will you let me court you?" I smiled at his offer, now that I think about it he was the one who courted me. The one who gave me more food in my bowl than the others.

"I believe you've already had, but I accept your offer Thorin." He sighed in relief, but something else remained on his mind.

"May I turn around? There is something I wish to do." I hummed in response and slowly he faced me, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips which I returned. "You are mine amralime, and no one can take you from me."

~♪♠♪~

After we cleaned up, I made sure that Thorin had a new pair of clothes that was stowed away in one of the chests after I bandaged his torso. The rest took their pick of the pile, and what surprised me was that they enjoyed the design upon the cloth.

"Y/n," Thorin called with a brush and a small silver bead in hand. He sat down next to me on a stool with his legs spread apart. Without another word, I sat between them, and he began to brush my hair softly. "This is the reason we dwarves keep our hair long, so our lover can braid it. It's a symbol showing that we're taken, and I'm glad I get to share it with you. What about you? What are your counting rituals?"

"We don't have much, it's normal human ways of courting. Gifting each other with flowers and chocolates, the only different thing is the wedding. When two of my kin want to marry, they need to get permission from either the King or Queen. We may have a huge kingdom but we treat it like a small town. If they receive permission then a wedding is planned, the entire kingdom will be there to see it. You'll have your party where you mingle with guests before you do the private ceremony of the night." He brushed my hair back towards him while running his fingers through it, I leaned back slightly enjoying the sensation.

"What is the private ceremony?"

"The private ceremony seems like nonsense, but it's very important. If the two wish to go through with it, they will have a bowl of paint infused with the blood of a royal. You need the blood of a royal to make it work, but each one will paint its markings on the other. It's a private ceremony because both of the two are going to be bare when this happens, after the painting is in place they will make a promise and the paint is now infused with their skin." Setting down the brush he grabbed a lock of my hair and started to braid it, he seemed focused like it was a masterpiece.

"What happens if they break that promise?"

"It depends on the situation, if one chooses to break their promise on purpose, the one who broke the promise is not allowed to marry again. For the marking burns into their skin, that way each digonisk knows that they are not to be intimate with anyone ever again. The other who remained faithful are allowed to remarry, for the symbols will disappear. However if one breaks it by accident, say a life or death situation and it is proven to be true there is a spell that the royal can cast to remove them." I looked up at him for a second, a smirk on my face as he looks down at me in slight horror.

"Still wish for me to be yours?" That look of fear was wiped off instantly, he kissed my forehead and tilted my head back up so he could finish his braid.

"That is one way to keep someone loyal, maybe my kin should have something like that. Although yes, I wish to still be with you, until death does us part." He holds out the braid he finished. "Hold it for me." I carefully grabbed the end with my fingers as he goes to braid another lock on the other side.

"What kind of braid is this?"

"Well you have to defeat Smaug, so this braid will help you keep your hair out of your face."

"Is it true that once your hair is braided you can never take it out again?"

"Only your other can take it out and fix it, if you do it yourself it shows you do not care about the courtship. Which once I'm done, you will braid my hair as the process states."

"And I can braid it in any way I want?" A mischievous smile came across my features, which he chuckled for he knew what I was doing.

"Anyway, you want." He grabs the braid that rested between my fingers and intertwined the two together.

"Interesting, perhaps I'll braid it in front of your face to give you a longer beard."

"If I die because of my inability to see I blame you." He clipped my hair with the bead and kissed my temple while wrapping his arms around me. "Who knew you were such a prankster, I think my nephews are a bad influence for you."

"Oh please you haven't seen anything yet, back in the kingdom of Larthas I was constantly scolded by my parents for always leaving presents for the maids. One time, I put a bucket of mud on the top of her door, and let's just say she wasn't happy. It took her hours to get the mud out of her hair." He laughed as we switched places, his hand stroked my leg gently. I summoned an ethereal bead making it into a solid object, on it there lied a dragon symbol.

"So what braid are you thinking of?" I wanted it to be special, something that showed it could only be made by me.

"Choose a color."

"Red (Or whatever color you prefer)." I conjured a red ribbon and began to braid his hair. (I'll leave that up to you guys, but I would do something like this.)

Everyone's jaws dropped at my handiwork, especially Thorin, the moment he got up and looked in the mirror his heart stopped.

"How on earth did you manage to do that?" His eyes lit up with excitement but I could feel the jealousy radiating off of him. He traced the design, he almost couldn't stop staring at it. "Never mind that, come back over here I'll show what I can really do with that h/c hair of yours."

@fili-is-my-lover @kirenia15 @lunariasilver @depressedchilipepper @tschrist1 @ayamenimthiriel

[caydesgirl-uldrensprincess]

Her || Crow x OC (Smut)

Fandom: Destiny 2

Pairing: Crow/Oc

Warnings: Sexual content, M/F sex, romance, some fluff, but mostly sex

Summary: Crow and Isabelle are in the mood and can't help but give in, save for the interruption from young Lukas.

A/N: I never write this sorts of stuff cause I'm terrible at it, but I thought I'd give it a go 😅

-------------------------------------------------------

Crow looked at Isabelle as she laughed at something he had said. Her laugh was beautiful. He loved the way her sapphire eyes closed and crinkled, how her nose scrunched up, and how the smile spread across her face.

His heart skipped a beat. He could hear her laugh forever.

They were sitting on the couch in the living room of their shared apartment. They were just talking and drinking red wine while a random movie on Disney+ played on the TV above the electric fireplace. From the sound of it, it could've been Robin Hood. Crow wasn't really interested, he was interested in the Awoken woman in next him.

Isabelle stopped laughing with a heavy breath. She still smiled and looked at Crow. One of her legs were tossed carelessly over Crow's lap, whole the other was tucked underneath her.

"Damn, I can't believe Spider didn't bloody kill you pulling that stunt," She said, taking a sip of her wine before setting it on the coffee table.

"What can I say, it was the most effective way to get rid of the Hive," Crow replied, his hand resting on the leg Isabelle tossed over his lap.

"Maybe you should show me sometime," Isabelle suggested, leaning closer.

"You're starting to sound like a hunter," Crow's voice grew husky, "I like that."

"Only for research purposes."

Crow leaned in until their faces were pretty much touch. Isabelle was the one who closed the gap, kissing Crow slowly, but passionately.

He pulled Isabelle onto his lap as they started to make out on the couch. He dug his fingers into Isabelle's hips, bringing her in closer. She moaned aginst his lips.

Since coming to the tower, Crow and Isabelle had a lot more alone time to each other. Most of that alone time was spent tangled up in the sheets, but Crow did relearned a lot of things about his wife. Like how she likes her tea or how much of a clean freak she is. Crow also learned that he was the father a young six and a half year old, who goes by the name Lukas Aiden Sov.

Isabelle pulled away and started to trail kisses along his jawline. She nibbled Crow's earlobe gently, earning a groan of pleasure from him. Crow bit his bottom lip as his wife started to roll her hips against his already growing erection. It was like waves of pure ecstacy hitting him head on.

"The things you do to me, Hummingbird," Crow said.

"Oh, Crow, you do much worse to me just by looking in my general direction," Isabelle chuckled, unbottoning the Hunter's shirt and and sliding it off his shoulders, throwing the garment across the living room.

She trailed her hands down Crow's pecs and stomach, stopping at the waistband of the slacks he wore.

"A bit eager?" Crow chuckled, pressing a kiss just under Isabelle's ear.

"Shut up," the warlock purred, pressing another kiss to Crow's lips.

The hunter removed Isabelle's purple blouse by unbottoning it and sliding it off her shoulds. Crow pressed gentle kisses to the rise of Isabelle's breasts and the valley between them.

"Mummy, Daddy?" Came Lukas's voice from behind them.

Crow pulled his lips away from Isabelle's chest, pulling her tightly against his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, Luke?" He asked.

"I had a bad dream," The boy said.

"Okay, go back to your room and I'll be there in a second," Crow replied.

The sound of small footsteps climbing up the staircase was heard. Isabelle chuckled, pressing a small kiss to the Hunter's cheek.

"Look at you taking the initiative to help Lukas get to sleep," She said getting up and picking her's and Crow's shirts off the ground.

"I'm is father aren't I?" Crow stated, slipping the white button up on then adjusting the erection in his pants.

"That you are, my dear husband," Isabelle smiled, "I'll be in our bedroom."

Crow followed Isabelle up the floating staircase. He watched as she went to the room on the far side of the hallway and disappeared. The hunter chuckled before entering his son's room.

Lukas was sitting in bed, clutching an Eliskni plush (who he named McStuffy). Crow sat on the edge of his bed and took the boy into his arms.

"So, you had a bad dream?" He asked

Lukas buried his head in his father's chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was really scary," The awoken boy said, "You and Mummy died, forever, and left me alone."

"Oh, Lukas," Crow held him close, running a soothing hand over Lukas's back, "Your mother and I will always be here, you don't have to worry."

Crow pointed to Lukas's chest, indicating his heart.

The young boy nodded, "Promise?"

The hunter smiled sadly, "That's something I can't promise, but I can promise that you will have us for a long as possible."

The awoken boy nodded again, snuggling into his father's chest once more.

Crow started to rock him back and softly sing a lullaby to him. It was from a Disney movie Lukas was watching earlier that evening before going to bed. The boy started snoring softly in Crow's arm. The hunter smiled and laid him down and tucked him in.

"Sweet dreams, little one," He said, placing a kiss on the sleeping boy's forehead.

Crow left Lukas's bedroom and went to the room he shared with Isabelle. He opened the door and went in, closing it behind him.

"Lukas is out like a li-" Crow frozen in the middle of his sentence as he found Isabelle laying seductively on the bed, wearing nothing but a lacy pink bra and matching panties

"Let's finish what we started, huh?" Isabelle asked, her sapphire eyes swimming with lust.

"I fucking love you," Crow smiled, taking his shirt off again and strutting over to his wife.

He crawled on top of her and pressed his lips to hers.  Isabelle hummed and returned the kiss, running her fingers through Crow's raven locks. 

"Still hard," She said, bucking her hips against Crow's erection.

"It's a miracle Lukas didn't ask any questions," He replied, trailing kisses down Isabelle's neck and chest.

Crow reached behind her and unclasped Isabelle's bra. He pulled the garment off and threw it behind him. Crow pressed his tongue to Isabelle's right breast and swirled his around the nub, hardening it to a point. The warlock moaned breathlessly, tugging Crow's hair.

He swapped breasts and did the same thing. Crow started grind his hip into Isabelle's clothed core.

"Crow, stop bloody teasing!" Isabelle exclaimed, her English accent coming out slightly pitched.

Crow moaned, "Be patient, my beloved wife."

Isabelle pulled him back up to her lips, slipping her tongue inside Crow's mouth. Her hands trailed down to his belt, unbuckling it and undoing his slacks. He got the message and pulled away from the kiss long enough to take the slacks off. Isabelle pulled Crow back to her, making sure he was on the bottom.

"Isabelle," He said, admiring her body from the new angle, "you look absolutely breathtaking."

The Warlock smiled before she leaned down and started to trail kisses along his jawline again then down to his navel. Crow watched as a mischievous look flashed in Isabelle's eyes. Before he knew it, his wife hooked her fingers under the hem if his boxers and pulled them down. His hard erection spang free, pre-cum leaking from the tip.

A purplish blush dusted Crow's cheeks as Isabelle pressed a kiss to his cock. A moan left his mouth as her thumb swiped the head. Her tongue found its way to the base of his shaft and licked a line up to the tip. Crow bucked his hips at the feeling, earning a giggle from Isabelle. He couldn't help, but look at her, she looked beautiful, even if she was giving him a blowjob. Isabelle took him in her mouth bobbing her head up and down, hollowing her cheeks .

Crow let out loud moan, as his head fell back onto the pillows and his eyes rolled up to the back of his skull. His hips bucked as Isabelle's tongue worked its magic. One of her hands slid up Crow's thigh, void energy pulsing through her fingertips and onto his skin. Crow caught his breath, feeling like he was on the edge.

"Isabelle, come here, I wanna finish inside you," He managed.

The Awoken female smiled and crawled on top of him. One of Crow's hands found Isabelle's waist. He smiled as her sapphire eyes met his amber ones.

"I know I said this earlier, but have to say this again," Crow said, using his other hand to cup her cheek, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Isabelle replied with a smile, leaning down to kiss Crow.

He returned the kiss as he flipped the both of them over, so that he was now on top. He pulled away from Isabelle's lips. The hand on Isabelle’s waist found its way to her panties and slowly slipped them off her. He readied himself at her entrance, pushing into her gently. Isabelle moaned as she kissed Crow again. When he was fully inside her, he started to thrust his hips. He kept a slow rhythm as he and Isabelle moaned softly- making love.

Solar and Void mixed perfectly. Sliding, pushing, and pulling never felt so good. Crow felt Isabelle's fingers dig into his back. Surely to leave marks in the morning. The sounds falling from Isabelle's mouth was like a sweet melody that harmonized with his own.

How was he this lucky to be married to a woman this beautiful both inside and out? Crow had no idea. A woman so caring, kind, loving, passionate, understanding, intelligent, and charismatic should not even exist, it was simply impossible. But here was living proof in his arms, coming undone by his touch and his touch alone.

Isabelle arched her back against Crow's chest as he sped up his thrusting. He pressed feather light kisses to Isabelle's neck and collar.

His love for her was something he couldn't describe. Trying to would cause catastrophic results. But he would simply do anything and everything he can for her and their son.

"Crow," Isabelle mewled, her head lolling back.

Her bubble gum pink hair clung to the sweat forming on her forehead. The purplish blush on her ears spread to her cheeks, neck and chest. Crow groaned as her walls tightened around his cock.

"Hummingbird," He muttered back in her ear.

"Fuck, I'm close, Crow," Isabelle moaned, wrapping her legs around his torso, quivering under his touch.

Crow sped up his thrusting. Isabelle's moans increased, curses slipped passed her lips. He felt her tighten around him one last time before her orgasm hit, cumming all over his cock. He finished a few minutes later, his seed spilling inside her.

They both panted heavily. Crow pressed gentle kisses to Isabelle's forehead before pulling out and collapsing on his side of the bed.

He heard Isabelle chuckle, "That was the best sex, we've ever had."

"You could say that again," The hunter said.

"Wanna join me for a late night shower?"

"You know I do."

The couple chuckled again before getting up and heading to the master bathroom.

[doyelikehaggis]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scanny | Scott McCall x Danny Mahealani (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @childofsquidward

The collie laying on the table is patient and docile as Scott finishes slotting the cone into place around her neck. She just stares up at him with big eyes, nudging against his hand with her nose.

Laughing, Scott rubs her head. Her tail gives a little wiggle in response.

"You know, you're the only one I've seen who isn't bothered by this thing," he tells her, scratching behind her ear. 

She just gives a playful yip in response. 

The bell rings over the front door, alerting Scott to someone entering the animal clinic. Somewhat pointless considering he heard the heartbeat first. But Lola's ears immediately perk up, and her tail bangs against the table.

Scott grins at Danny when he appears in the doorway, holding two festive coffee cups.

"You've been missed," he says.

Lola's already standing on the table, barking fondly at Danny. He laughs, and moves towards her, fuelling her excitement.

"By which one of you?" Danny jokes.

Scott's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, but he falters, and Danny's already focused on Lola again anyway. Heat rushes to his face. He quickly tries to regain some composure. 

"Hey, girl! Oh, you look so good!" Danny coos. "Did Dr. McCall take good care of you?"

Scott tries to bite back a smile and fails. He's getting used to hearing his friends call him Dr. McCall, more as a joke, but something about the way Danny says it gives him this fluttering in his chest.

So, when he first saw him at the start of December, it was a surprise. He'd practically disappeared off the face of the earth for two years, and then suddenly he was back in town for the holidays, to see his family and friends. 

But not only that, Scott hadn't quite realized just how attractive Danny is. Was he always that good-looking while they were at school together? Of course he was, everyone knew it. But Scott hadn't exactly been out to himself at that point, so seeing Danny back from New Orleans, even more tanned, with even more defined muscles—yeah, Scott might get a little nervous whenever he sees him now.

And it doesn't help that they seem to be seeing more of each other now than they did while at school. They run into each other in town. When Scott went back to fill in for Coach while he was away towards the end of the year, Danny just kept showing up, saying he was visiting a teacher to discuss something (he is, after all, in computer programming now, so it makes some semblance of sense), and they'd talk out on the field. He bmped into him while bringing his mom lunch at the hospital. 

Scott even saw him while out with Lydia two weeks ago. He was catching up with Jackson, who was also back in town for the holidays, like everyone else. 

And now at work, too. The universe seems to be playing some joke on him. He doesn't mind all that much, for once. As long as this isn't going to lead to him finding out that Danny's actually been turned into a vampire, or has been possessed by some new, evil spirit.

"Thank you," Danny says, lifting his eyes to Scott. Of course, Scott's still the one looking up at him, because it would appear Danny has had another growth spurt as well as everything else. 

Scott realizes he isn't answering. Just gazing. He grins, and hastily tries to not be totally obvious.

"Just doing my job," he says with a shrug. 

Danny rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but I know for a fact that this clinic should have been shut for the rest of the holidays. So, thank you for seeing her anyway."

Scott hesitates at that. "Well… you're a friend. And I had to come in today anyway. And—" he looks down at Lola, who's settled back down on the table, and gives her head another rub "—I couldn't just leave this one stranded on Christmas Eve."

"We both thank you, then." Danny then holds out one of the coffee cups. "A gesture to prove it."

"God, thank you," Scott says, gratefully accepting the cup and taking a drink. "I haven't had anything all day. Or since last night. Including sleep. I might be running on three Mountain Dews and a kitkat."

Danny raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "That… can't be good for you."

Scott just shrugs again. He'll probably feel the effects later on today, since it's currently only one-thirty in the afternoon. As long as he makes it to four to head to the station to see Stiles, then he can head back home and have a nap. And maybe food.

"I didn't know the life of a vet was so demanding."

"It's the holidays," Scott explains, taking another drink before continuing. The gingerbread-cinnamon-whatever is in this latte is the best thing he's ever had right now. "Lots of people want their pets better before Christmas and New Year. A lot of strays get found with bad injuries. Currently I have—"

Barking starts up from the dog room in the back. Scott smiles, gesturing towards the door as Lola once again perks up.

"—them. Eight labrador puppies. They're under a year old. Deaton and I were trying to get them rehomed before the holidays, but it didn't work out. That's why I was coming in to work anyway, since Deaton's out of town."

"Never mind, your job is clearly far more demanding than I thought." Danny smiles, glances down at Lola, then pauses. "Do you need a hand with them at all? They sound pretty eager for attention."

"Yeah, I was gonna take them out for a walk once I was finished up here," Scott says.

Danny's grin widens. "You planned to walk eight hyperactive labrador puppies by yourself? In the snow?"

Scott just gives another shrug. "They're not too hard to handle once they're outside."

The look Danny is giving him only intensifies the fluttery feeling in his chest. It's like something's tickling him from the inside. He can feel the heat beneath his skin, in his cheeks.

"Guess that whole Alpha thing really does give you an advantage, huh," Danny says, a certain teasing twinkle in his eyes but his grin sincere.

Scott has barely gotten used to the idea of Danny knowing about the supernatural at all, never mind him making casual comments about it. And especially not while he's looking at him like that.

"I don't know if it's anything to do with that," Scott says, shaking his head. "But… sometimes, yeah. It comes in handy."

Danny nods. The puppies are still barking in the back, trying to get Scott's attention.

"Well, I think Lola could use a walk after being so good about this," Danny says. He looks at Scott, smiling. "Mind if we join you? I can be pretty good with dogs, might help to take a couple off your hands for an hour."

Scott's eyebrows raise in surprise, and his heartbeat raises itself as well. 

"You… but—" he frowns, his head tilting with a confused smile "—it's Christmas Eve. Don't you wanna get back to your family?"

"They won't miss me for a little while," Danny says, brushing it off. Then, because he seems to be catching on, he rolls his eyes, and says, "Please? You helped me with Lola when you clearly already had your hands full. I wanna do more than get you coffee."

Scott's heart drops into his stomach and lurches right back up. He swallows, and tries to keep his mind on one track, biting his lip. 

"Uh… yeah," he breathes out before he can think twice. "You know what? That would be great. Thank you."

"No problem," Danny says, sincerely.

They get Lola to hop off the table, and head into the back room to get the others ready. Danny just laughs when he sees the little christmas hats Scott put on the ones that were happy to wear them.

As they're getting them all on their leashes, Danny casually adds, with a glance at Scott, "And if you were up for it, I'd like to get coffee with you sometime."

Scott accidentally clips the leash to his hand instead of the collar. He winces, quickly undoing it and fixing it to its right place instead. Then he looks over at Danny and his amused grin, his heart racing.

"Like—like a date?" he asks, hardly daring to believe that's what he means. Danny was never interested in him. Was he? 

Scott's quickly going through every interaction he's ever had with him.

"Exactly a date," Danny corrects. 

Scott's eyes are wide. His mouth opens, then closes. He wasn't prepared for this. Sure, the thought of Danny liking him back crosses his mind after Stiles and Lydia both insisted that he did after he told them about running into him all those times. But that doesn't mean he was prepared for it.

"You can say no," Danny says, giving another casual shrug as clips the last lead on to the last excited puppy. "I just thought I might as well ask. Waiting three years to do it was bad enough, I didn't want to seem totally pathetic by waiting four to at least know what you'd say."

"Three—what?" Scott asks in disbelief, sure that he must have somehow misheard. "You've wanted to ask me out for… three years?" 

"Like I said, it was starting to seem pathetic." Danny looks at him, holding his stare with a soft gaze. "But, Lydia told me that you came out last year, and after seeing you, I figured I should at least ask."

"Wow. Uh…" Scott's mind is a mess, and he can't sort his thoughts out. Except for one. "I'd love to."

Danny blinks, thrown off his own guard now. Apparently even he wasn't prepared. But he quickly recovers, as does Scott, smiles forming across both their faces.

"Go on a date with you, I mean," Scott says, as if it needs further elaboration. 

"Really?" Danny asks. "Uh… today?"

Scott's breath is knocked out of him, but he's already nodding again. "Yeah, absolutely."

He didn't think anything could make the fluttery feeling in his chest worse. Turns out, Danny smiling at him like he is right now is the thing that can. 

"Okay, great," he says. "Then let's get these guys out of here."

Scott happily agrees. They head out of the back door after making sure the front is locked up. It has to be an hour or more that passes as they walk the dogs through town, taking an open path into the woods, through the snow. The whole way, Scott and Danny are talking, and laughing, catching up on the years they missed and in between. 

[iluvzfewdnstoreyz]

Nightmare Dream Home

Afew years ago my ex husband and I moved our new little family into a cute 3 bedroom little house. It was painted blue, and therefore has since been called the blue house. The 1st week there we were in our living room watching television, when a massive shadow went up the wall behind us, onto the ceiling where a mist formed with it. It moved across the ceiling down the hallway and disappeared into the nursery. I was a die hard skeptic at this time. My ex husband asked me if I saw it. I am ashamed to say, I told him I had and that it was merely someones headlights outside. He argued that the windows were not near any road and the mist was not explained by this theory. I shrugged it off and accepted my explanation anyway.

We began having experiences hearing footsteps running down the hallway to bathroom; banging and scratching on the walls; toys turning on and off without batteries; hearing children cry outside the nursery window; large shadow and mists movement daily; a full body apparition of a woman, the kids complaining they could not sleep because "they" would not leave them alone; cold spots, lights flickering and going off, sounds of heavy furniture being moved around in the vacant bedroom; the television coming on and or going off on its own accompanied by an odd high pitched hum and sometimes a faint sound of music. I continued to find explanations for these events and ignored what I could.

As things escalated everyone in the household experienced nightmares, and some of us began sleep walking. I was one of them and I had the most frequent episodes. I would wake up under the kitchen table; on the floor in odd places; and even outside. There would be mud on my feet and other signs I had been outside. My family said I would have my eyes open but I did not respond to them like myself and I seemed vacant.

We were advised to try and get EVP. To talk to it. To ask questions. Doing this was our undoing.

We caught some low class EVP's in the question and answering stage. Nothing alarming or conclusive. Following our EVP session when we went to bed something growled. I was in bed and my ex husband was reaching up to the ceiling fan to turn the light off leaving the fan on. Something growled angrily from the foot of the bed. I thought it was our dog. I found her at my mother's feet, in the den, where she had been when I left to go to bed. We searched our property outside and found nothing. Even after all that I was convinced some stray or even my dog growling must be what we heard.

Later that night I woke to something strange. My computer monitor was visible at the foot of the bed. Standing in front of the monitor was the silhouette of my shirtless ex husband. His back was to me and he was just standing there. I called out to him but he didn't answer or turn around. Something told me to look at his side of the bed. I did and nothing was there. I looked back and my husband had vanished into thin air.

I realized that what I had seen couldn't have been a person. I smelled something burning. Then the covers began to be pulled down off of me. I froze. The air conditioner was a window unit. It began to beep and go from low fan to medium fan to high fan then back to low over and over. In unison with each fan cycle change the blinds were flipping open and shut, along with banging on the walls.

I suddenly became a little girl. I felt like all the air hang been sucked out of my body. I could not take air in to make a sound. I am embarrassed to say I urinated on myself. When I finally could take air, I gasped and began screaming for my mother like a child. I mustered the courage to finally move and reached for the door knob next to the bed. At that moment my husband came in and flipped the light on at which point it all stopped. He had been in the bathroom vomiting. His mysterious illness stopped right then as well.

I looked for a new home. I no longer was the skeptic.

Before moving I found a necklace on my dresser one day. I thought it was left there as a gift so I put it on thinking nothing of it. A couple days later I woke to a blinding headache. My husband got up to get my migraine medicine but fainted just outside our bedroom. I got up and went down too. I crawled to the kids room. I found my son first. I got him aroused enough to help walk him outside. I went back into the house for my daughter and husband. My husband crawled out while I located our daughter. She was 3 at the time. I found her tiny little body blue and unresponsive in her bedroom. I drug her out the front door thinking after I called 911 I would return to the home and lay down. I believed my daughter dead and wished to follow. My thinking was very muddled.

I went in and retrieved the phone. Passing out twice in this process. When I returned to the front door, my daughter's eyes were open. So I laid down in the yard and called for help. When paramedics and firemen arrived, I was told we had carbon monoxide poisoning. The firemen said 30 per square feet was lethal. My home was over 500 per square feet. Just short of barbecuing in the living room, no explanation for those levels was found in the home. No one in my family knew where the necklace had come from. I removed it at the hospital and left it there.

We moved shortly after that. The last night everyone was at our new home while I was at the blue house cleaning so we could collect our deposit. I was tired from the night before. The whispers and banging on the walls were relentless. I was in my bedroom when someone knocked on the door. I went and looked through the peephole and see the silhouette of a man I believed to be the neighbor across the street. I saw him lean down and look into the peep hole, then a bright light behind him appears and he turned and walked away. I opened the door and no one was there.

After shutting the door I realize he had stooped down to look in the peep hole at me. How is that possible I thought. He wasn't taller than me. Anxiety hits as it begins to hit me that the tall man could not have been my neighbor or any normal human being. My lungs seize up. I rush to the bedroom to get my rescue inhaler out of my purse.

That's the last thing I remember. The next thing I can recall I am slamming into a wall, falling from a standing position. I am in the living room. I am freezing. I have never been so cold. I looked around and was very confused about where I was. I didn't recognize it without the furnishings.

I am so cold my jaw was chattering. I wander briefly through the home trying to get my bearings as to where I am. I go into the bathroom. At this point, I begin to have a dejavu feeling, like I know, that I know this place, but I can not put it together in my head. It is fuzzy and slow moving.

I am desperate to get warm. I can see in the mirror that my lips are blue. "What the hell is wrong with me" I think. I begin filling the tub with hot water and I strip quickly climbing in.

As the water fills and my body begins to warm I see my cell phone on the floor next to the tub. It must have fallen out of my bra when I was undressing. I used to keep my cell phone in my bra along with money etc. I pick it up and call my husband.

When he answered I started crying. "I just woke up. I'm so cold."

He was frantic, "where are you! Where have you been! I have been calling you for hours. You didn't come home!"

I looked around the bathroom. I finally recognized it. I told him I was at the blue house.

"Babe where have you Been? We last spoke over 5 hours ago. Its 3am." He said.

I took about half an hour to warm my body enough that I would get out of the tub. My husband came and got me. I was too confused to even figure out how to get home on my own. I can not express how terrifying this was.

It turned out the man I thought I saw had passed away.

I don't know what I was doing in that 5 hours. It's scary to be up doing things with no recollection of it.

I don't know what happened to me that night or why. Seizure maybe? I try not to think about it.

We have continued to have issues, but very mild in comparison. We did lose one of our children to suicide about a year after moving. I can't help wonder if it had anything to do with what attacked me. Had it attacked him after leaving the blue house? He left no note. I am left never knowing.

I have accepted that there are no answers for me. My best friend lives next door to the blue house. She says that the new neighbors do not complain of having any issues. She had experienced something every time she had come into the blue house when I lived there. She has not experienced anything while on any of her visits to the new neighbors. I am too terrified to even pass the house. I do not visit her in her home. She comes to visit me.

I am a shadow of the person I once was. The events at the blue house severely traumatized me and my family. My son's death sent me over the edge into a full nervous breakdown. Which is not as dramatic as it may sound. I simply quit functioning. I closed myself off from the world and just stopped. I could not remember how to do a job I had done daily for 5 years. I had to be walked through it daily until I was terminated. I cried so much that my face was chapped all the time. Even now, 4 years later, I am struggling to reclaim my life. I pray no one else comes into contact with whatever that thing was.

Thanks for reading my story. Sharing it helps me let it go and heal. I am open to alternate explanations and discussions. You do not have to agree with me, and you can even think I am crazy. I only ask that you be respectful. Crazy or not, my life has been shattered into pieces because of what I experienced. Thank you. Shine on.