#but ghost trying so hard to get back home to his mum after being tortured by roba just for her to send him away? damn dude

[s0fter-sin]

i can’t believe how proud i am of my ghost judgement of solomon ficlet and now it’s up on ao3!

[mykneeshurt]

Haunted chapter seventeen

Christ. Long one this. NOT PROOF READ. I’m playing COD:Ghosts and I’m busy following Keegan like a lost lamb.

Warnings - self-harm/scars/Ghosts past/trauma/explicit smut baby!

Part 18

Small fragile circles being traced on your skin woke you from your sleep. Fluttering your eyes open you saw Ghosts large hand encasing your forearm, his thumb mindlessly tracing a pattern. Stretching your legs you moaned a good morning under your breath. He leant down and kissed your forehead but didn’t respond. ‘You ok?’ You asked confused, he was more of a morning person than you were, it was unlike him to be so quiet.

‘Why’d you do it?’ He asked, voice muffled by your head on his lips. It took you a moment to realise what he was asking. Scars adorned the skin he was stroking with his thumb, a reminder of your youth. You turned into his chest laying your arm over him, ‘if I tell you. Tell me why you don’t sleep?’ He let out a feint of amusement before nodding and placing another kiss on your head.

‘Remember I told you my dad was a bastard? He made me believe everything was my fault. Mum leaving. Him beating her up. How he and my brother treated me. It was the only way I could process the mental pain I was feeling. Physical pain is easier than mental pain yanno.’ You sighed into his chest. ‘I felt like I deserved to feel like that. I’ve done a lot of work on myself, but I still sooth myself by self-punishment.’ Your voice was soft, somber.

‘That why you had the water so hot that night in the shower? Were you burning yourself?’ He asked staring at the ceiling, he resonated all too well with what you were saying. ‘Old habits die hard’ you scoffed ‘can’t help it sometimes, it feels like I’m compelled to do it. Like I have to in order to move on, because I still believe it’s my fault. I need to hurt …’

‘To make amends’ he interrupted. You looked up at him, a sad smile of agreement.

‘I don’t sleep because of nightmares. They’re too real. The pain, the memories. I know you know about my father and what he did to me. But there’s more.’ You rolled off him and propped yourself up on your elbow. Stroking his face you offered him silent reassurance. ‘Was captured by Mexican Cartel, tortured, they tried to brain wash me and two others. Sparks and Washington. They managed to escape but left me, Cartel realised they couldn’t break me. So threw me in a box with a corpse, buried me alive.’

Your face twisted, you tried to remain placid to allow him the space to open up to you. You pressed a loving kiss into his bicep.

‘Used his jaw bone to dig myself out. Some sheriff in Texas found me. Pretty much a blur after that.’ He shrugged.

‘Jesus Christ Simon.’

‘Yeah. I can still feel the box around me, suffocating, the air was putrid from the decaying body. But, the plot thickens’ he huffs, it was almost a laugh. ‘Go home, see my family, ended up meetin Sparks in a pub n we get chattin. Fucker tries to rape this girl was were walking back. He didn’t, I phoned the Police. So, we get back to his hotel, pulls a gun on me, I manage to get out and get home.’ His breath catches in his throat as his body tensed, he was rigid beneath you.

‘We can stop. You don’t need to say anymore. I … I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m sorry …’ the words fall out of your mouth, worried you’ve pushed him too far. He pulls you tight to him, ‘it’s ok. Nothin I don’t see every day.’ He continues, ‘I get home, see my entire family dead. Fuckin executed. All of em. I’m the only one left. My fuckin nephew, they killed my fuckin nephew.’ His fists were tight now, shaking next to you. He looked through you, lost in the image of his family sprawled out on the floor. The Christmas tree in the background casting a poisonous shadow on the scene before him.

You cupped his face as you straddled him, desperately trying to bring him back. ‘Hey. Simon. Focus on me.’ You put his hand to your chest ‘feel me breathe. Breathe with me, come back. Feel my heart, my skin, look at me Riley!’ The commanding tone in tone voice snapped him back. His lifeless eyes once transfixed on the ceiling, now coming back to life as he looked at you. He gripped your hips as his breathing slowed, his muscles giving out beneath you.

You leant forward and placed your forehead on his. ‘I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you. I’m so sorry.’ You led there, breathing each other in for what felt like a lifetime. That was until his phone buzzed in his drawer. A defeated smile crept across your face ‘better get that Lieutenant.’

Sighing you got off him and led back in your spot in the very cramped single bed. ‘It’s Price.’ He answered the call, a series of ‘sir’ … ‘yeah’ and ‘affirmatives’ left his lips. As he put his phone back on his bedside table he rolled over and pulled you back into him. ‘They’ve found Makarov. Wheels up in an hour. Price needs us in the meeting room ASAP.’ You sighed into his chest, back to reality. He lifted his mask and placed his lips on yours, he was gentle, more tender than usual. ‘Now where’s my Christmas present?’ He grinned.

—

The last hour had been a blur. Makarov had slaughtered a mass of civilians at an airport in Moscow. He’s found out he’d had a mole in his team, killed him and left him at the airport with a US badge. Absolute carnage. You boarded the plane and nuzzled yourself into a corner, Soap didn’t join you this time. Instead keeping to himself, his eyes locked on the floor as he twisted his hands together. You, Soap and Ghost were on your way to Rio, to locate Makarovs arms dealer. Price and Gaz would meet you there in a few days, they were running a lead on a Russian Submarine.

It was all go from here on in. You landed in Rio and the heat smacked you in the face as you left the plane. You definitely weren’t in Wales anymore. Laswell had set up a safe house for you to run your operation from. Soap and Ghost were gone most of the time, they seemed fine together: working like the well oiled machine they were. But when it was the three of you it was … tense. You chose to isolate yourself away, give them their space. It was the least you could do, after all this was your mess.

Standing in your room you looked out across the desolate Russian landscape. Snow was falling, small fluffy white pieces kissed the ground. You were lost in your own thoughts completely oblivious to a presence behind you. Feeling someone behind you you went to turn around but two large hands grasped at your shoulders. You knew it was him, straight away.

He pulled you into him, your back flush against his chest. He smelt so good. He slowly brought his hand to your throat causing your chin to lift, as his firm hold held you in place. ‘Hi’ you whispered. His eyes were black, hungry. ‘Shh’ he cooed as he wrapped his free arm around your waist. His fingers danced along your hips, tracing small burning lines against your skin.

His mask already lifted he pressed his mouth to your ear. ‘I have a proposal for you’ he purred. His voice had never felt so smooth before. You twisted in his grip, seeing him eye to eye. You flicked your lips down to his before he initiated the kiss. It was hard, messy, longing. His tongue fell into your mouth claiming it once more. He held you tightly against him, hands running down your body, wanting to feel every inch of you. Your nails bit at his neck, pulling his hair into your grasp. Anything to ground yourself from the intensity of this kiss. You moaned into his mouth, the primal need for him ever growing.

Not breaking the kiss he began to walk you backwards towards the small bed. You struggled to keep up with his demanding pace as he assaulted your mouth with his. As he backed you up, you came to an abrupt halt. Your back hit something solid. But it wasn’t a wall, it was living. Opening your eyes you pulled away and peered over your shoulder. You were met with Soap, peering down on you through hooded eyes. Your mouth went dry. All moisture seemingly now non-existent. Swallowing hard you glanced back up at Ghost.

‘I think we need to clear the air love’ he said nipping at your neck. You felt Soaps ever growing erection on the top of your ass. Instinctively you bucked into him causing him to release a low moan. Peering over your shoulder you whispered to him ‘I thought you hated me?’ Slowly he gripped your hips, pulling you into him. He kissed the back of your neck ‘never.’

Ghost pulled off your shirt before removing his tactical vest. It hit the floor with a thud as he marvelled at your body, your glowing skin, which was littered is bruises from him. Claiming you. Cupping your face he kissed you again, keeping you distracted while Soap edged his hands to the front of your trousers. Popping your button he snaked his hands into your panties and along your slit. Finding you already dripping with pleasure. A groan rumbled from his chest as he gathered your juices on his finger tips. Ever so slowly he teased you open with his middle finger. You broke the kiss, a breathy moan filled the space between you and Ghost.

Keeping your eyes locked on his you felt paralysed with pleasure, Ghost watched as your eyes screwed together tightly. You bit your lip as Soap added a second finger, his hand traced your jaw before he pulled on your bottom lip. You nipped at his thumb pad before licking it base to tip. ‘I want you to come undone. I wanna hear you. I want to destroy you’ Ghosts voice slipped into your mind, taking complete control. You’d do anything for him. There was no doubt in your mind who was in charge here.

Soap was quiet, focused on tearing an orgasm from you. You felt close, between his fingers inside you and his palm rubbing along your clit you felt the closest to heaven as you could. Ghost gripped your throat a broken moan came from your chest as you clawed at his back. ‘Fuck,fuck,fuck’ you moaned into his chest. ‘That’s it. Let me hear you. Let me hear how pathetic you are.’

Fuck you loved it when he degraded you. When he make you feel weak and small. You were close, Soap could feel it on his fingers, you were becoming tighter and tighter. ‘Do it. Cum on Johnnys fingers love. Let him feel your cunt cum for him.’ He tightened his grip on your throat as you frantically chased your high.

‘Jesus Christ’ Soap whimpered breathlessly into your neck, your ass still rolling into him. You came fast and you came hard. You threw your head back onto Soaps shoulder, panting, shaking. He removed his fingers and brought them to your mouth. Locking eyes with Ghost you sucked your juices from Soaps fingers. ‘Fuckin hell’ was all Ghost was able to muster. Seeing you come undone like that, sweat glistened on your forehead from the heat between them. ‘Get on the bed so I can fuck your cunt.’

Releasing you, you stumbled over to the bed completely blissed out already. Removing your boots and trousers you led on the bed awaiting instruction. Ghost pulled his trousers down slightly before freeing his engorged cock. He enjoyed the power imbalance of you completely naked with he and Soap remaining dressed. He wasn’t in the mood for foreplay, he wanted to wreck you. Flipping you onto your hands and knees he landed the palm of his hand across your ass cheek. A crack of skin on skin echoed in the room. A defiant giggle left your lips as you smiled up at Soap who stood in-front of you.

Ghost pressed his leaking tip against you aching cunt, as he lined himself up and pushed into you. The stretch burnt, your pussy already overstimulated. Soap lifted your chin, his cock met your gaze as you bit your lip. You’d always wanted to go to Paris. You stuck your tongue out as he tapped it lightly. Taking it in your mouth you began sucking and trying to establish a rhythm.

Ghost dug his fingers into your hips, surely bruising you. Not that you cared. He settled into a lunge position, enabling him to thrust into you deeper. Harder. Faster. He pace was brutal. His body pounded against yours, god it hurt, but it felt so good. Your moans bordered on pornographic but was music to his ears. The cracks in your voice, the whimpers, the panting, it spurred him on. He needed you so bad, you were like heroin to him. If he could he’d inject your moans into his veins.

Soap cradled the back of your head as a flurry of praise and expletives dribbled from his lips. He’d missed you. He was still hurting but this? Reopening the wounds had never felt so good. The way your tongue felt on the base of his cock, how your saliva dropped from your mouth, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Christ. It would be permanently engraved in his mind. ‘Fuck, so good, so good’ he panted ‘almost there.’

Ghost had wrapped his arm around your waist and was rubbing your clit. Small, firm, circles. The sensation was beyond words, the feeling of them having completing power over you? Was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Ghost upped his pace, he pushed an arch into your back, he watched as your muscles tensed beneath him. ‘Turn over.’

Pulling out you gasped and the sudden empty feeling. Tears pricked at your eyes from the loss of contact. Falling onto your back Ghost lifted your ankles to his shoulders as he re-entered you. Stretching you out again. ‘Good girl … doing so well for me.’ You clenched at the praise sending shockwaves up his spine. He watched as your breast bounced in time with his thrusts, how your eyes were blown out. A filthy grin adorned your lips as you looked up at him through thick lashes.

Soap found your mouth again, pushing back in, feeling the warm walls of your mouth on his sensitive skin. He watched as Ghost fucked you, the sound of your arousal filled the room. Fuck you were so wet. He watched as his cock slid down your throat, bulging, full of him. He caressed your neck, it was gentle, tender, loving. Johnny all over. ‘Gonna cum hen, gonna … ‘ he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he came. Ribbons of cum dropped down your throat as you swallowed. Wanting to take all of him. He withdrew allowing you to breathe. You gasped as he pulled out of your mouth. He planted a firm kiss on your lips as Ghost continued fucking you.

‘Cum for me Simon. Please,please,please’ you begged. You whined as he buried himself deep in your needy cunt. His voice cracked as he whimpered your name, your real name. As he let himself come undone. He reached up to your neck as you felt you second orgasm on the horizon. You were on the precipice of going borderline insane. Feeling your self clench around him you arched your back, mouth open as you moaned and moaned. Repeating his name like some kind of mantra. Ghost rode out his high, gripped onto your ankles, watching as you rambled his name. How it fell so sweetly from your swollen lips.

Soap withdrew, leaving you both alone as he went to go shower. Ghost dropped your ankles and crept forward, his leaning down by the side of your head. He claimed your lips once more, wrapping your arms around him you let slip those three words again. You tried not to say it much, in fear of freaking him out. But what you didn’t expect was for him to say it back, able to hear him this time. ‘Don’t ever leave me?’ He asked desperately. All signs of Ghost now gone. This was Simon, innocent and childlike Simon. You pressed your lips into his with a smile, ‘Never.’

——

A/N: ALL ABOARD FOR PARIS. Does it go? I dunno. But I wanted it in there. I wanna be them ok? Coming to the end soon! Onto 2009 MW2 timeline now. Enjoyyyyyy

[yackers]

I'm always up for peddie HCs!

they both low key have undiagnosed adhd. if you wanted to torture them just make them sit still and quiet for longer than two minutes. half of their detentions start with them being left unsupervised

eddie steals her leather jacket. technically it’s like a men’s large and she got it from the charity shop in town and he takes it from her all the time because he likes the smell of her perfume. he almost gets away with it too until alfie notices

sometimes they hang out in the tunnels at night because eddie has the locket and it means they can also sneak out the house easily when the front door is locked

eddie forces mr sweet to take them to a redo meal in a less fancy restaurant with a nicer atmosphere. he basically has to drag her there kicking and screaming but she ends up having a decent time and all the comments about her not being his sort stop. mr sweet keeps testing her on things only she’d know all night to make sure she’s not piper

eddie bought her a really cool necklace for Valentine’s Day, despite her saying it was a dumb useless holiday that didn’t mean anything to her. she had bought him candy that he had been missing from home. kt was consulted for both presents

his mom regularly calls patricia after they get back together. he’ll come in to her room and she’s like “I’m on the phone to your mum so you mind! yeah that was him 🙄 anyway how are the cats?”

she however doesn’t let him meet her parents until after they’ve graduated. he ran into them when he was helping her pack her stuff to go to college in America

he calls her all the time when he’s just walking around or in between classes or if he’s on the way to meet her. she finds it a little weird at first coz she’s not used to being in a relationship but pretty soon everyone gets used to him being on speaker whilst she’s just like getting a drink

the reason she dumped him was because he told her that he loved her in passing and it freaked her out. she figured out she loved him back like a week later but she figured it was too late. it definitely wasn’t.

they’ve been banned from ever doing washing up duty together again at least six times. no matter how hard victor tries they some how always end up together, both soaked and the whole kitchen covered in bubbles

at this point it’s so easy to catch them both doing something wrong together that whenever victor needs an odd job doing like his gardening he just keeps a close eye on them for like 2 hours and he can usually manage to find a reason to give them detention and make them do it. they secretly kinda enjoy it

some ghosts harass eddie a few time between s3 and tor and sibuna has to be reassembled. it’s never as bad as the other times but patricia and eddie work together as a bad ass couple

they play long ass games of truth or dare that can last weeks at a time. patricia always picks dare because she hates talking about herself and there isn’t much she won’t do if you double dog dare her. eddie just keeps trying to push her to her limit so she’ll say truth. he just wants to know what her middle name is. no one else will tell him

[dapandapod]

For the hug prompts: 9, 13, 27, 40.

They're all amazing prompts and I narrowed it down to those four with a lot of effort, lol.

The hug that feels like home is my favourite though. A

s someone who (because of covid) will see their mum for the first time in 18 months tomorrow evening, where she can visit me, but I still can't go home, that hug is going to feel like home ❤ (sorry I didn't mean to get all rambly)

Hello love! It is my honor to recieve these chosen four, and uh. Sorry my brain went and made it a wee bit angsty.... Hope you like it! Because I tried to get all of them!!

9, the hug that feels like home 13 the hug to hide your tears 27, the hug you didn’t know you needed 40 post-nightmare hug

Pairing: Lambden

Warnings: Near death experience, possibly ptsd, mention of past torture and scars? I tried to make it soft, but there is a lot of sad in there

This is Aiden returning to Lambert after presumed being dead. Enjoy!

Send me a hug prompt?

On Ao3! Hug collection here

Aiden wakes up with a start, his breath coming fast, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He can still feel it. The cold breath of death on his neck, the numbness in his limbs. The pain where the arrows had hit home, where his shoulder still aches long after healing.

Time has passed since then, but no time can distance him from the memories. It doesn’t matter how far he runs, every night he feels it, every night he wakes up, body forcing itself upright in it’s panic to stay alive.

The room is empty. Both his swords lie at the side of his bed and downstairs the cooks of the inn are waking up and preparing for the day. He is all alone, but as tears prickle his eyes he feels the need to hide.

Sitting up and leaning against the wall, Aiden hides his face against his legs. Sobs tear through him, and he clenches his teeth to muffle the sound, hugging his thighs tightly. The fear just won’t let him go.

It takes him the better part of an hour to calm down, and then he resigns himself to his morning routines. It is no miracle he is alive, it was painstaking work. His muscles need to be reminded of that work, how to give when he stretches and bends.

He is fine.

He is alive.

It is enough.

The path leads ahead, and where he would usually stroll with no care in the world, he is hesitant to go now. He isn’t sure Lambert still wants him around.

They didn’t part on the best terms, and then That happened.

This is Lambert's territory. No cats allowed.

But the only decent inn around here, The Peddler, is that one inn where Aiden and Lambert usually met up after a long time apart. And with Aiden’s body still in the shape it is, he can’t afford to sleep too often on the ground anymore.

It will be fine. Lambert will never know, he will just be there over the night. No harm done.

Turns out, it isn’t fine.

When Aiden enters the dimly lit inn, Lambert is already there. His eyes go wide when they lock onto the cat witcher, and Aiden suddenly finds it really hard to breathe. He stands in the doorway, indecision plaguing him. He could just turn around, leave, ride far away from here and pretend nothing happened. Or, he could listen to his body, not give a shit about Lambert, rent a room and get the fuck out of sight.

Both are tempting options.

The decision gets made for him however when Lambert stands up, chair scraping against the floor.

Fuck. He can’t stay. Not with what they had yelled at each other last time. Not when those burning eyes radiate anger and betrayal.

Aiden turns around and steps back out into the falling darkness. He shouldn’t have come here.

He makes it as far as the stables when Lambert catches up to him. Aiden hears him coming, but he doesn’t… do anything about it. Something small inside him whispers that maybe he wanted Lambert to find him. That he missed him.

That thought hurts more than any arrows, any torture, any nightmares.

With a hand on his shoulder he is turned around, shoved against one of the wooden beams.

“What the fuck, Aiden!” Lambert hisses. “I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m clearly not.” Aiden retorts.

It’s been a while. Years, if he was being honest. Lambert's hand on Aiden’s bad shoulder tightens and he can’t help but wince. The other witcher notices, frowning and gentling his grip.

“Where have you been? Have you been avoiding me all this time?”

Always straight to the point, Lambert.

“For a while.” Aiden admits, no point lying about it.

Lambert keeps staring at him so Aiden has to look away. His heart is aching just looking at the wolf again.

“And the rest of it?” Lambert insists. “Kitten, your eye--”

“Please.” Aiden interrupts him. He knows what he looks like now. “Not here.”

Lambert looks at him for a moment, and then he sighs.

“I am not letting you run away again.” Lambert mutters, catching his wrist instead when Aiden tries to shrug him off.

Whatever travel companion Lambert had found, they are ignored now. Lambert leads Aiden up a set of rickety stairs and down a familiar hall. They usually rent the double room down the hall, but Lambert had no reason to this time. Instead they walk to the room right across, Lambert pushing him inside with a hand on his lower back.

There is only one bed in here, crammed in with a small writing desk filled with Lamberts projects. Half of them being bombs and somewhat dangerous experiments to let lying around unguarded.

The room looks well lived in, actually. Clothes are thrown haphazardly over the only chair and a few plates are stacked on top of the chest by the foot of the bed.

“Been living here for long?” Aiden asks. “Not like you.”

Lambert doesn’t even reply, just turns to face Aiden. It is a little bit intimidating, having someone stare at him so intently, seeing him.

Slowly he reaches out, giving Aiden plenty of time to back out of reach. Aiden can’t move, can’t think.

Lambert’s thumb reaches out and traces one of the new scars on his cheek. Aiden closes his eyes, and then Lambert’s arms are around him crushing him.

It’s been such a long time since someone hugged him. Touched him, really, without setting a bone or sowing a wound. It startles him, how much he needed it.

And more than that, it is Lambert’s arms around him. Aiden never could say what Lambert was to him, prickly asshole as he is, but this feels right.

Safe.

It takes him a moment to realize Lambert isn’t letting him go, and Aiden finally gives in and wraps his arms around Lambert’s neck. For a long while, they just stand there, breathing each other in, enjoying the warmth, the closeness. It is like a piece of himself has been missing, and it took Lambert to hold him to feel whole again. His throat feels tight, and he pushes back. Aiden is not going to cry here.

“What happened to you?” Lambert whispers, again reaching for Aiden, again letting his thumb drag against his cheek. “I thought you… I avenged you.”

Aiden will not cry. He will not.

“Thank you.” he whispers back. “They almost had me.”

They talk very little that night. The shock of being in each other's company again puts all old disagreements on hold. Lambert doesn’t ask, but when it is time for sleep Aiden feels his eyes on his back as he removes his tunic.

“You take the bed.” He grunts, grabbing Aidens bedroll and throwing it out on the floor. No comments or pity. Again Aiden swallows around the tightness in his throat, and he falls asleep faster than he has in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for the nightmares to return. Cold breath against his neck, the strain on his muscles as the chains keep him upright, the edge of the knife pushing into his skin.

Once again he startles awake, sitting upright and gulping for air, ghost sensations of the dream crawling and clawing in the back of his mind.

Breathing is hard, and he focuses on that for a while. But this time, Aiden isn’t alone. He can hear shuffling from the floor, feel the mattress dip, and then Lambert’s warm body leaning against him. Aiden turns into him, accepting the comfort he is offering.

Whatever it is they had, whatever this is, Aiden breathes easier with Lambert near him. Lambert’s hand rub against Aiden’s bare back, pulling him closer. He tucks Aiden under his chin, cupping his neck, and all the tension in Aidens body gives out at the same time.

“It’s alright, kittycat. I got you. You are safe.”

You are home.

Lambert doesn’t say it but suddenly it is clear in Aiden’s mind. He is home. The walls don’t matter, nor the town. As long as Lambert is there to catch him when he falls, Aiden knows he is safe. How this madman, this absolute imbecil pushed himself inside Aiden’s heart is forever going to be a mystery.

As is his habit, Aiden doesn’tsleep more that night. But he allows himself to be held, to breathe in the stink of sweat and chemicals and something else that Lambert must have rolled in earlier in the day. He allows himself to feel, to remember, to talk.

Lambert listens all the while.

Their old fight is still there, but in the far back. They will talk about that too, eventually. For now, all that matters is the sun slowly climbing in the sky, Lambert’s thumb tracing back and forth behind his ear, and Aiden being allowed to lean on him, pressing his nose into his neck.

If Aiden felt a kiss against his hair, he won't mention it. If Aiden pressed a barely there kiss into his collarbone, Lambert didn’t mention it either.

For now, there is just peace, safety and home.

[magickrosegalaxy]

So this is a very long story that happened around 2 years ago now, but the events started about a year and a half previous. So I hope you’re prepare for a hell of a read.

To lay the ground work, I’m an empath so I’m already incredibly sensitive to other beings around me. At the time I was living with my mum, sister and boyfriend of 3 years. My mum, sister and I are all witches whilst my boyfriend at the time was a serious atheist who did not believe in the paranormal in anyway and would often mock it.

It hard started with the sensation of being watched in the bathroom. The first time I thought it had been my boyfriend trying to scare me like he’s done in the past, but it started to unsettle me the more I would turn around and he wouldn’t be there.

Then I began to feel watched in other places; the hallway, the stairs, the kitchen until in began to happen all over the house. Especially in my bedroom. Who ever it was used to stand and watch me from the end of the bed or loom right over my face. I couldn’t see then but I could feel them.

Nobody else could feel or sense him, they didn’t believe this fear I was having. They didn’t realise that whatever it was had picked it’s target and was masking itself from everyone else. Feeding of the fear and isolation it was giving me.

Eventually it came to the point where I neither slept nor ate. And in the last 6 months before it all kicked off I had become severally ill and clinically depressed (It’s worth mentioning here that I already have preexisting mental conditions and disabilities and this had caused the worst low of my entire life).

About 3 months before the events came to its crescendo my sister got tonsillitis with an infection on top. Being unable to breath we took her to the hospital, this was around 3/4am. When they was at their most active. I had been down stairs looking after my sister when my mum screamed from upstairs. Bolting upstairs I found her sobbing heavily. Full body tears.

She explained that she was fine and that these weren’t here tears. She had been coming out of her bedroom when she had seen this brilliant flash of white and this overwhelming sorrow had come over her and she had started crying. It actually took a solid 1 hour and 20 minutes to stop crying. I knew that what had happened was whatever had been feeding on me, had come for my mum whilst her defences were down in her panic for her child. And something had protected her, original we had all thought that it was my brothers whom had died some 20 years ago, but it just never quite fit.

The final turning point came when when everyone became worried for my health as I was working 40-50 hours a week on rapidly declining physical and mental health. So my grandparents had gone away for 3 weeks and had asked me boyfriend and I to house sit and care for their cats. Which worked well for me as I had recently been signed off from work due to soft tissue damage after a fall at work. The first week and a half was bliss, no watching or feeding. I began eating and sleeping again.

And then one night I felt them. Watching me whilst I lay in bed. The fear had rolled over me and forced me out of a dead sleep. At first I thought I had imagined it and that it was just my anxiety playing tricked, but after a few more days my suspicions had been confirmed. It had followed me across town to another house.

Unable to take anymore I went to see my mentor and beloved friend. (For purposes of identification I will be referring to peoples names via initinal) S had been guide to me when I had lost my faith and since then we had shared a very strong bond. S has two shops, a store/cafe and a market stall. I had found her at the market stall and she read instantly that something was wrong. And I just broke down, sobbed and told her all that is going on.

S put me in touch with her paranormal medium friend B. I called B on the phone and he felt it was incredibly pertinent that he get to our property with his partner as soon as he was available in 3 days time. The moment B and L walked in the what had been following me became insanely angry, furious at what was happening.

My mum stayed with me whilst I talked to B and L about what had been happening. L used her abilities and told me she could see a figure in a dark hood, almost like a monk. During this my mum started sobbing again, the sadness had come over her and she felt like she could not breath.

She said his name was James, and he was a preist. He had been murdered by that monk for falling in love with a woman from his parish. They had planned to leave and marry but the church was furious when they learned of this and had killed him for his ‘sin and betray of God’

It took work but with the help of B and L but mum eventually got James to move on to the next plane where his love was waiting for him. The moment James had passed the monk (how we were referring to him) became enraged. I remember screaming in fear and repeating over and over how his mad that you had taken his toy away.

It took four different blessings and several protective spells and banishments and a lot of will power to banish him. I don’t remember much but I was told I had fainted, the monk had tried feeding on me, sucking out my power in an effort to fight back. When I came to I could feel he was gone. I felt like I could breath for the first time in just over a year and a half.

About a week or so after the visit for B and L a news arrival was released about an abbey that never been registered or kept on file with the church. The local parish did some digging and learnt that this abbey had been home to an order of a brotherhood of monks that were kept quiet in the churches history. This brotherhood were not scholars but essentially a hit squad for those that they considered extreme sinners. Such a preist who had abandoned his vow to God for a woman.

And it had been one of those monks that had tortured me. To this day I still have a crippling fear of the dark and silence.

But that’s my story.

Oh on a side note, we have a resident house ghost. A young boy named Jamie. He like to play games and tricks and always takes the Mayo out of the cupboard. But Jamie had been pushed out during all these event. The darkness and evil of the monk had sent him into hiding but a couple of days after the banishment we found the Mayo sitting on the countertop again!

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

Jazzmine and Harry have a rough breakup, and Harry immediately regrets it soon after she leaves.  But two long months go by before he finds her in a park.

Based off the song ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ by One Direction

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Jazzmine

Word Count:  2,596

~~~

Counted all my mistakes and there's only one

Standing out from the list of the things I've done

All the rest of my crimes don't come close

Harry sat at his kitchen table, an open notebook in front him.  He tapped a pen on the wood, reading through the spiral bound paper, his handwriting sloppily spilling across the pages.

The notebook held a list of everything he'd ever done wrong that he could remember.  There was a lot in that notebook.  Everything from little petty things, to some things that haunted him to this day.

But after reading over it all, there was just one thing that stood out.  One big mistake that had caused him to write this list in the first place.

To the look on your face when I let you go:

He remembered that day so clearly, like it had been just yesterday that he'd told her that it was all over.  

He still didn't know what had possessed him that day to tell her those hurtful words.  Was it the stress of being famous, or just something else entirely?  He wasn't sure.  His eyes closed as the memories played through his mind.

She'd been sitting at this very table, and he'd walked into the room, stating in a monotone voice that the two of them were done.  That it was over and to pack up her stuff.

Her face in that moment was burned into his mind, the way the blood drained from her tanned face, leaving her as pale as a ghost while she stuttered.  "Harry?  We're done?  Why?"  She stammered out, but he'd just turned away from her, not wanting to speak about it.  

"Harry, baby.  Tell me what's wrong.  We can work through it."  She asked, standing up and coming over to him, holding out her arms as if she felt the need to be held.  

But when he'd turned around, the look in his eyes had stopped her in her tracks, a confused look frozen on her face.  "Harry?"  She called, her voice wavering uncertainly.  

"It's over, Jazz, end of story."  He'd said, and tears began to stream down the face he'd spent so many hours gazing at.

Her mouth opened slightly, as if to speak.  But then she turned and ran to the bedroom, gathering her things.  He could still hear her anguished sobs and the slamming of the drawers as she packed up.

He'd watched silently as she walked out of the house, her red-rimmed eyes coming to meet his one last time, tears leaving wet streaks on her face.  He hadn't said anything, just stood in the doorway and watched as she'd drove away.

The pen clattered to the floor as Harry's face fell into his hands.  His body shook with heart-broken sobs as he relived that horrible day.

So I built you a house from a broken home

And I wrote you a song with the words you spoke:  

Several days later...

The house was virtually unrecognizable from the state it had fallen into since he'd let her go.  Clothes had been cleaned up and washed, floors had been swept, and dishes had been scrubbed.  

Harry stood in the bedroom he'd shared with her, looking around.  He alone had cleaned up the mess that was his house, redecorating it in the style he knew she liked.

There were some old mementos of hers scattered around.  Things that she'd forgotten about and never bothered to retrieve.  Things that Harry treasured because they had been hers.  

Framed on the walls were songs he had written about her and him.  But one in particular stood out from the rest, partially because of its place above the headrest of the bed, and partially because the frame was her favourite shade of dark blue.

One particular verse had been enboldened so that it easily caught the eye.  'We can work through it'.

Yeah, it took me some time but I figured it out

How to fix up a heart that I let down:

Heaving a sigh, Harry thought back through the torturous past.  Every day without her was like a millennium in a pit he couldn't escape.  But today, today he had worked up the courage to go find her and bring her back.  

He could only hope that she were still his, that she hadn't moved on with someone new.  It would break his heart to see her with someone else.  Someone other than him.  

He'd tried so hard to make himself better.  To figure out where he had gone wrong.  Now it was time to find her, to tell her that he was sorry.  To ask if she would even think about forgiving him.

Now I'm searching every lonely place

Every corner calling out your name

Tryna find you but I just don't know

Where do broken hearts go?

Where do broken hearts go?

Sitting in his car, Harry didn't even know where to start.  He had no idea where Jazzmine might be.  There were hundreds of places he could think of, her mum' house, or her friend's houses, just to name a few.

Until he thought of her work.  Right now she was probably working there, hopefully.  

Harry drove off, butterflies in his stomach as he thought about seeing her face again, hearing her voice in person again.

Stepping out of the car, Harry looked up at the tall, ancient brick building.  He still didn't understand Jazzmine's fascination of the place, of how she could go on for hours about it, but books were her thing, not his.

Walking into the library, Harry took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of both old and new books, and the faint musty smell that came from the aging walls.  

Approaching the librarian on duty, he cleared his throat, making her look up from the stack of books she was sorting.  She smiled, setting them aside as she rested her elbows on the counter.  "Hello, is there something I can help you with?"  She said, and Harry nodded.

"Yeah, is Jazzmine Bloom working today?"  He asked, and the older woman frowned, her expression turning apologetic.  

"I'm sorry, sir, but Ms. Bloom resigned two months ago.  I'm not sure where she is now, sorry."  The woman said, and Harry's heart dropped into his stomach.  

It had been two months since he'd broken up with her...

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded to the librarian.  "Thanks for your help."  He muttered, turning away and walking out of the building; it seemed gloomy and forbidding now.

Yeah, the taste of your lips on the tip of my tongue

Is at the top of the list of the things I want

Mind is running in circles of you and me

Anyone inbetween is the enemy

Stepping out into the bright sunshine, all Harry could think of was Jazzmine, of her long brown hair cascading down her back, her blue eyes sparkling with merriment over one of his 'awful' jokes, and just the gentle feel of her lips on his.  

Just the thought of kissing her made his heart feel heavy.  He craved the feeling of her in his arms again, to protect her from all that life could throw at her.  

But you were the one that failed her...  A little voice whispered quietly in his ear, and tears suddenly pricked the backs of his eyes.  I was the one that failed her.

She was the only thing on his mind; he couldn't get her out.  All he wanted was to tell her he was sorry, to know if she would forgive him and come back.

If she hadn't already moved on.  

The thought killed him a little inside.  He couldn't stand the thought of her being held in another's arms, another guy kissing the lips he had claimed as his own.

Shadows come with the pain that you're running from

Love was something you've never heard enough

Leaving his car parked where it was, Harry strolled down the sidewalk, not caring where he was going, just letting his body go on autopilot.  

He felt so bad for letting Jazzmine down when she needed him the most, during the time she had been feeling the most insecure.  

"And now my actions probably made her feel even worse..."  He mumbled to himself as he walked.  "I should've told her I loved her more often."  

Yeah, it took me some time but I figured out

How to fix up a heart that I let down

Paying no attention to anything or anyone around him, Harry continued his rant to himself aloud, reliving every single horrible moment of his and Jazzmine's breakup.

"I never meant to hurt her, but everything just seemed to get so difficult.  It was like she was distancing herself from me...  I couldn't figure out what was going on, but I thought it was her fault..."

Now I'm searching every lonely place

Every corner calling out your name

Tryna find you but I just don't know

Where do broken hearts go?

Harry's mind was blank of any more ideas of where to go.  Maybe it was time to call Jazzmine's mum, and ask her if she knew where Jazzmine was staying.

If she would even pick up the phone for him...

Taking a right turn towards the green space of the park, Harry continued to ponder.  Where did Jazz go when she was sad or mad at him?  All he could remember was that she liked to get out in nature, away from the distractions of the city.  

One time she had mentioned her favourite park, but he couldn't recall the name of it for the life of him.  If only he could just remember it, Harry felt sure he would find her there.

Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself?

Or are you giving it to someone else?

At least, as long as she wasn't living with someone else now, and snuggling with them on a couch somewhere, watching her favourite movies with another guy.  

Was she taking a nap after a long morning, the other guy curled up beside her?  Did he have his arms around her, comforting her when life got too rough?

Unconsciously, Harry's hands tightened into clenched fists at the thought, and he gritted his teeth.  

Try to find you but I just don't know

Where do broken hearts go?

Where do broken hearts go?

Pulling out his phone, he unlocked it, scrolling through it until he found Jazzmine's contact.  He stared at it for a moment, then tapped on the icon.

The phone rang, but she never picked up.  Heaving a sigh, Harry began to speak when the tone beeped.

"Hey, Jazzy.  It's me."  He began, his voice cracking slightly.

Tell me now, tell me now,

Tell me where you go when you feel afraid

"I know you probably don't want to see me after I broke up with you, but I was just wondering if maybe we could meet up again some time?  Just give me a place and a time and we can meet there."

Tell me now, tell me now,

Tell me will you ever love me again, love me again?

Blinking away the tears that had suddenly sprung into his eyes, Harry continued.  "Baby, I'm so sorry for letting you go.  It was the stupidest thing I've ever done, and I regret it.  I'm sorry for breaking your heart, angel.  Will you ever forgive me?"  He whispered into the phone before hanging up.

Now I'm searching every lonely place

Ever corner calling out your name

Tryna find you but I just don't know

Where do broken hearts go?

He kept walking, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.  He had forgotten how much it hurt to hear her sweet, melodic voice when he knew she wasn't waiting for him.

Finally reaching a park, Harry stepped over the curb onto the perfectly trimmed grass, his feet sinking slightly into the spongy vegetation.

Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself?

Or are you giving it to someone else?

Try to find you but I just don't know

Where do broken hearts go?

He looked around the park and saw other couples out walking, so close in proximity to one another that they ended up brushing shoulders, their faces shining as they gazed at one another.

Harry bit his lip, imagining Jazzmine in the place of one of the women walking by.  Maybe she was out in the sunlight today with someone new, someone who adored her just as much as he had--and still did.

Maybe it was time for one more last ditch effort.  

Tell me where you're hiding out

Where do broken hearts go?

He looked down at his phone, pressing on her contact info again, putting the phone to his ear and closing his eyes as it rang.  

Please pick up...  He thought desperately, praying that he would hear her voice on the other end.

Come on, baby, 'cause I need you now

Where do broken hearts go?

The girl glanced down at her phone that she held in her lap.  The screen had lit up with an incoming call.  This was the second time this day that this person had called her, and the first time she had just let it ring.  

And she intended to do the same now.  

But as she looked down at the profile picture, tears began to swim in her eyes at the sight of the familiar dark-haired guy that stared back, a smile frozen on his face.  

The faint notes of a familiar ringtone reached Harry's ears, and his eyes snapped open as he looked around wildly for the source.  The chances were one in a million, but still--

Tell me, 'cause I'm ten feet down

Where do broken hearts go?

"Jazz."  He whispered as he caught sight of the girl sitting on the park bench.  There was no mistaking her long brown hair and knitted beanie.  He repeated the name louder, the hand holding his phone falling to his side as he began walking towards her.

She looked up, and her blue eyes widened as she caught sight of him.  "Harry?"  She murmured quietly, slowly rising to her feet as he drew closer.  

"Jazzy, I found you."  Harry muttered quietly, his voice cracking as a lump rose in his throat.  "Angel, I'm so sorry."

Come on, baby, come and get me out

Come on, baby, come and get me out

Come on, baby, come and get me out

He opened his arms up to her, stumbling back slightly as she threw herself into them, burying her face into the crook of his neck as she began to sob.  "I missed you."  She hiccuped softly against his shoulder, and Harry blinked rapidly.

"I missed you too, Jazz.  I'm so sorry..."  He apologized again, gently pulling away from her so he could look down into her face.  "Forgive me?"

She smiled a watery smile and nodded.  Harry gave a relieve chuckle as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.  

Where do broken hearts go?

Where do broken hearts go?

Where do broken hearts go?

Where do broken hearts go?

"I thought I would never see you again."  He mumbled against her lips, a soft groan leaving him as she cuddled closer to him.  "I had no idea where you would be..."

Jazzmine didn't respond right away, but just took a deep breath, laying her head against his chest.  "I did what all broken hearts do.  Hide away until you heal again."  

[heartsings]

for doyle’s ghost verse.  the progression i envision for it is also extended to a resurrection plot at some point in time  ( exact timeline, as well as the verse in general is up for discussion ).

  -   his death is excruciatingly painful. the beacon doesn’t just eviscerate him ; the supernatural nature of it causes to sever a clear link between reality from which he was taken, and the afterlife assigned to him after his sacrifice. the flash following his death drops him off in a hell dimension where many souls executed by the scourge reside, tortured and toiling for the likes of purebloods set on remaking them for their own benefit by removing whatever’s left of their humanity. first time, he’s there barely a moment before being ripped back to the docks overlooking the spot where he died.

  -   it doesn’t take long to figure out he’s a ghost, but it takes a while to get used to his new reality. he’s mostly floating at first, invisible and unheard. for most of it, he doesn’t get sent back to hell for long, but there are flashes of it every now and then that keep him on edge. he tries looking over angel and cordelia, or even harriet or his mum, but it’s hard to tether himself at first, and perhaps even harder to watch them mourn him. it gets better eventually and sometimes he watches them, increasingly more frustrated that he can do nothing else to help.  he remains invisible for entirety of season one.

  -   he finds an unexpected ally in dennis. stuck together on the same plane, doyle may just be the first person who sees and hears dennis when he answers ever since his spirit was released. against all odds, they develop an easy friendship. uncomfortable to watch cordelia at home when she doesn’t know he’s there, doyle usually comes around when she’s gone, so he can catch up on things he may have missed. dennis is usually the one he seeks first after he’s been gone a while.

  -   it’s around season two when things start to change. it may be the force of will trying to get through to cordelia stuck in a series of unending visions that triggers it. at first, he’s able to manipulate material things or possess them, then brief echoes of his voice or apparitions from the corner of an eye. it takes a series of textbook hauntings before he first manifests, to the shock of his friends, some time more for him to be able to stay longer, and then longer, and even help them in his new ghostly fashion.

  -   just as soon as that starts, the trips to hell become more frequent, though he never really tells anyone what happens when he disappears. time flies differently when he’s there. for the hours or days he spends on earth, there are years in hell. the longer he’s there, the harder are returns, and it’s dennis who’s most helpful and helps him keep track of events. it makes him feel detached, and clear on the fact he doesn’t really belong with the living, but the reality of staying in hell where it seems he belongs after all anyway, feels even worse.

  -   his stay in hell, however, is not without a purpose, though he doesn’t really know it. not all souls trapped there are lost, and he tries to help free them, and even succeeds with some. it’s not an easy task, but it’s one he chooses just as he chose to sacrifice himself, as the other option was to succumb into the torture and become the monster he already thinks he may be. 

  -   his death wasn’t without meaning, and such was his choice that it made him a subject of a prophecy, which he fulfilled and became the proverbial chosen one of half - bloods like him. now torn between hell and ghostly earth, with the former becoming a more frequent reality, it’s down to giving into the torture, or working out a way for him to return and pick up the path of becoming a champion in his own right.

  -  now, the when and how it occurs is up to plot. the longer down in the series it happens, the bigger chance that doyle’s ghostly appearances become less and less. doyle is tightlipped about things that concern him on such a level, but i imagine it becomes obvious something is going on at some point. as for resurrection, should it happen, it’s important to take note that it takes time for him to heal afterwards. his death itself was traumatic, he already had layers of issues before dying, now clearly enforced by the hell experience and the fact that he was even scheduled there in the first place, not to mention the guilt he feels, primarily about passing his visions onto cordelia that are threatening to kill her. though the whole thing was also certainly eye opening in some cases, but things like this need time. 

  -   this is mostly just a note that whichever way, i’m not assuming anything! i’d love to discuss and plot things beforehand, since realistically speaking doyle’s dead in canon. but who is canon anyway, amirite?

[shawnpetermuffins]

How's It Feel (CG pt 2 again)

A/n: I'm reuploading this because something when wrong when I did it the first time.

Summary: Shawn's starting to feel how you did for way too long and he's realizing he can't cope with the pain.

Requested: yes, by so many of you for god knows what reason

***

The hole in my chest had only grown since y/n walked out of our apartment. I tried texting her, calling her. I tried everything until eventually my messages didn't go through anymore. My calls went straight to voicemail. All of her stuff was gone when I got back from the studio one day too, and if it was even possible, my heart broke all over again seeing that.

And as if not being with her wasn't already messing with my head, having to tell my family was even worse. Mum was pissed, didn't talk to me for three days, Aaliyah over a week. (I’ll be honest, she probably still wouldn’t be talking to me had I not broke down in front of Mum when I went to go work things out with them.) It was torture not being able to talk to two of the most important women in my life, about the other other single most important girl in my life. One who no longer wanted me.

I knew I fucked up, there was no denying that. But I never intended to hurt her the way I did. I took her love for granted, I know that now, but knowing that just makes it hurt worse.

So I spent almost every night following our no-so mutual breakup at the bar, drinking the strongest liquor I could get my hands on because beer just wasn't going to cut it. If I was going to drown in anything, I'd rather it be in alcohol than in my own self pity. And it worked… until I met her.

---

Jordan's presence slammed into my like a ton of bricks. She was everything that the media thought I should be with. Long, flowy blonde hair. Legs for days. That "natural glow" that very obviously was just a dewy foundation - something y/n never wore because she thought it made her look more oily than dewy. By all means, she is who I wanted. Or more accurately, she is who I wanted to want.

Jordan was probably the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. There's not a doubt in my mind. But she wasn't y/n. She didn't stay the night. She hardly ever called, not unless I had promo events or award shows. So I guess lucky for me, it was award season. But these were the only times I'd see her. Only times I'd talk to her. Not that I didn't want to. I did, and I tried. But my messages would go read and unanswered. She never wanted to hang out with me and my friends, and on the ever-so rare occasion that she did accept my offer, it always ended with a quick fuck and she was out the door. There were no cuddles, there was no snuggling. I didn't get to wake up to make her breakfast like I used to do for y/n before I let things go so wrong.

I wonder if this is what y/n felt when I was out the door before she ever got the chance to open her eyes. I wonder if she felt this every morning for the last eight months of our relationship. That's how long it was, I realized when it was much too late. I blew off plans, and I didn't come home, and I didn't talk to her for eight months. But I still expected her to do things for me. Go to my awards shows even when I know she told me she had things she needed to do for work. I called her unsupportive more times than I can count and I unintentionally, but somehow knowingly let her slip through my fingers.

---

Come over???

Jordan read the text three hours ago and still hasn't bothered to respond. Not that I was expecting her to anymore. Unless I ask her to come to an award show with me, I won't get a response for days.

So I'm here, logged into Brian's Instagram looking through y/n's most recent posts because she blocked me on literally everything, not that I can blame her. She knew me well enough to know that after the way we ended things I would want to check up on her. Even though I didn't do it enough while I had her.

Kinda_yourname

7,421 likes

Kinda_yourname Carnival nights call for impromptu photo shoots

📸: @connorbrashier

Comments have been disabled.

I throw my phone onto the coffee table, suddenly sick to my stomach.

Connor. She still talks to him. They still hang out. I knew they had gotten close on the SM3 tour but I'd never realized that they were still close. It shouldn't bother me - she's, in fact, not mine anymore no matter how much I wish she were - But it does. It bothers me so much. Because who is he to be taking pictures like this of the girl I used to call my own? How is someone I considered a friend going to betray me this way?

I want so badly to throw something, to scream, and punch and kick like a dramatic child who's just been told he can't go play outside with his friends because it's far too hot. Other than the fact that my phone is no longer in my hands, and that my fingers are pressed firmly into the denim encompassing my legs, anyone watching me wouldn't be able to tell that I was in such serious turmoil.

I want to go back to feeling something. Even if it is just contempt for myself and the way I let things get so out of hand. But something inside me won't let it happen. I've become nothing but a hollow shell of what I used to be. I feel nothing. I want for nothing. I do nothing. It’s been hell on my music, too. Selfishly, I thought that being heartbroken would help me write another album, but now I have no inspiration. My muse is gone.

---

I'm sitting in the dining room with my mum who seems to be a little on edge while I'm talking to her. She keeps looking toward the door when she thinks I'm not looking, but I can't bring myself to ask why she's acting so weird. I should have.

"Where's Liyah?" I asked.

"Getting ready. She's going out with a friend."

I nodded, "Who?"

Mum shook her head and dismissed the question with wave of her hand, "You don't know her."

Ouch.

"Now, uh, what's going on?" She clasped her hands together.

I furrowed my brows, but shrugged off the uneasiness radiating through her body language. "I uh… I messed up."

"What do you mean?"

"With y/n."

She sighed, "Shawn. It's been three months."

"Yeah. And I haven't been able to write a song since we broke up."

"I thought you said you were dating that new girl."

"Jordan," I mumbled.

"Yes, her."

"It's complicated." I took in a deep breath, "Every time I try to make an effort, it's never reciprocated. She never texts me back, or calls me. She only ever wants to get together when I tell her I have an award show to go to or like I'm doing press. And I don't get that same feeling that I used to get when y/n would look at me. I don't love her, mum. Hell, I don't even know if I really like her or if I'm forcing myself to because I'm trying to compensate for what I don't have with y/n anymore."

Mum didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes told me everything.

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"It's something. What? What are you thinking?"

"Now, honey you know I love you. And I will support you through anything." She took my hands in hers from across the table. "But it sounds to me like you're getting a taste of your own medicine."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't get upset, Shawn. But that's exactly what you did with y/n. She texted and she called and you only wanted her when you needed someone next to you. You didn't treat her like your girlfriend. Not even a little bit. She was 'arm candy.' And that, it pains me to say, is what you are to this Jordan girl."

I run my hands through my hair, frustrated. "I don't want Jordan anymore. And it's clear she doesn't want me. I have to end things with her."

"If that's what you want, then I support you."

"I want y/n, mum… What do I do?"

"There's nothing you can do... Y/n isn't going to take you back."

"You don't know that," I said desperately, even though I knew she was right."

“Sweetheart, you know I love y/n. We all do. And you also know that I wouldn’t be telling you this if I thought that she would take you back. But Shawn… you hurt her. No, that’s not right. You broke her. That whole last year of your relationship shattered her into a million pieces. She’s trying just as hard as you - if not harder - to pick herself back up after this.”

“She’s hanging out with Connor. Did you know that?”

“And what does that matter? You’re with someone else.”

“It’s Connor! He and I are friends!”

“Shawn -”

"Karen! I hope you don't mind. I used my key, is Aaliyah -"

I stilled at the sound of the voice of  both my dreams and nightmares. A voice I never thought I'd hear again. I slowly turned around and was met with her frighteningly pale skin, she looked like she'd seen a ghost, and I knew I probably looked the same.

"Hi," I said like an idiot after a minute of full on staring at her, taking in every single thing I could.

She didn't say it back, just shook her head and averted her eyes and cleared her throat. "Karen, is Aaliyah ready?"

"I'm ready!" My little sister beamed, entering the now overly tense dining room. “Oh... Hey, Shawn.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, only to y/n.

“Liyah, you got your stuff?”

She nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.” She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Mum’s cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

“Is it cool if I take her out to dinner?” y/n asked, still not looking at me. "There were a lot of people at the mall when I passed by, we might be longer than expected.

“What the hell is going on?” I exclaimed, and I knew eyes were on me now, but not the eyes I so desperately wanted to be on me. "Did you know she was coming over?" I asked my mom.

She didn't answer me and that was response enough. “That’s fine, honey. But come back for dessert, okay? Manny and I were thinking sundaes with all the fixings.”

“You know the way to my heart, Karen. We’ll be back by eight.”

Aaliyah was now standing next to my ex-girlfriend once again and my heart ached watching them. They started walking toward the door, and I was going to leave it alone. Let them walk out the house without a problem, but my body reacted before my mind could catch up. “Y/n, wait.” When she didn’t turn around, I took her wrist. “Baby, please. Can we talk?”

“Let go of me, Shawn,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not until you look at me,” I said, desperation lacing between every word.

She sighed and fished her keys out of her pocket, “Hon, can you wait in the car? I’ll be right there.”

My sister nodded and walked out of the house without so much as a glance my way. And when the door shut behind her, those y/e/c eye finally met mine, breaking me even more because they didn’t hold that light they used to.

"What, Shawn? What could you possibly want?"

I open and close my mouth like a fish gasping for water.

"Well?" She arches an eyebrow at me, making me feel small beneath that stare that I desperately wanted just minutes ago, but now I wish she would look away. Because seeing that hurt and hatred behind her eyes is killing me. "What do you want?" She asked again.

And I broke. "You. Always fucking you!"

She scoffed, "No you don't!" She exclaimed. "You don't want me, you're lonely! I'm not your pet, Shawn! I'm not gonna come at your beck and call. I'm a human being. A human being with real feelings. A human being still trying to fix what you broke," her finger jabbed into my chest. "You don't get to say that you miss me after the way you treated me."

"I know, but-"

"Do you seriously think you can defend yourself here?" Y/n crosses her arms over her chest and it only makes me more upset.

"What makes you think you have any right to defend yourself?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Yeah, you're out there fucking around with one of my close friends, right? What? Are you gonna say he's just a friend? That he's just looking out for your well-being? Because that's definitely not the case."

"WHO?! Which of your 'close friends' am I supposedly fucking around with?"

Hearing her curse that way reminds me that we're in my parent's house and I suddenly feel really bad for causing this scene in front of my mum, but we're already too far gone.

"Oh, don't play dumb!"

"Enlighten me." She won't budge from her spot, but I've paced so much and so quickly that I was starting to leave a path in the carpet.

"With Connor. I saw you were together on your instagram."

"How could you even see that if I blocked you?"

"Are you gonna deny it?"

"Am I not allowed to have friends, Shawn? Because last I checked, you weren't my boyfriend, and you sure as hell weren't my 'keeper.' You don't have any right to tell me who I can and can't hang out with. So what if I'm hanging out with him? We got close on tour." She said with a shrug, "not that it's any of your business, but we are just friends"

“I haven’t written since you left,” I said lowly, suddenly much too tired to continue this screaming match that literally just started. “And I’ve been seeing this girl,” I said and tried to find some type of emotion behind her eyes, but there was nothing.

"Then why the hell should it matter if I'm with Connor? Even as friends?"

I couldn’t answer her yet, so I continued, “She never wants to hang out. She’s only there for awards and stuff. It kind of sucks actually.”

She scoffed, “That’s funny. Because that seemed to be exactly what you were wanting while we were together.”

“That’s not what I wanted, y/n. I just lost sight of what we had, my feelings got confused, and they shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to hurt you that way.”

“But you did! And now you’re complaining for what? Because she’s not waiting around for you like I was?”

“Honey-”

“No! You don’t get to call me that anymore! You have no right!”

“Okay,” I hold my hands up in defense. “I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know what to say to make this better. I didn’t realize that you felt this way until it happened to me. And it’s the worst feeling. I feel like nothing I do will ever be good enough.” I sigh, “and I’m miserable without you,” I confessed.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But that's not my fault. You made the decisions that you did and you lost me in the process. That was all you."

"I want to go back. Forget that it's over."

"But you can't," she said, finally uncrossing her arms.

"But if we could?"

She shook her head, "even if we could. I'm not willing to forget."

"Will we ever be okay again? Be the way we used to be? Before we started dating."

She sighed and her gaze dropped once again. "As far as I'm concerned," she started. "You and I were strangers before we got together… and we're strangers once again." With a heavy sigh and a quick run of her fingers through her hair, she turned her attention back to the door that my sister walked out of just minutes ago. "I have to go. Your sister's waiting."

Don't go, I think to myself. Let me fix this. Let me try. But of course I don't say this. I watch her fingers curl around knob and my own fingers twitch, just aching to reach for her. But then the door closes with a soft click behind her and I find myself leaning against that same hard wood, tears blurring my vision.

I slide to the floor, my head in my hands, shoulders shaking with my uncontrolled sobs.

I never thought I'd feel this heartbreak. It's even worse the second time, somehow. Maybe because I know now that this is it for us.

Because I was always the master of words, and her of action. But in this moment, there are no words to save me, nor weapons to save her.

We are caught, defenseless, on seperate sides of the door.

[enchantingkittengaditor]

The Third Maximoff: Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry this is so late life has been hectic.

Summary: What if the Avengers didn’t find the last HYDRA base? What if Pietro and Wanda weren’t the only enhanced? Or Maximoff’s? What if the Avengers were going to take on their greatest challenge yet? What if she was a 13-year-old girl who had to live with them? What if she once tried to kill Clint and Nat, and nobody knew but them?

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Slight mentions Torture and Swearing, Infinity War Spoilers

Why do people never listen to kids? Even when said kids have a combined IQ of 337 and figured out how to destroy vibranium when trying to create the perfect nail polish.

Was it because we were teens or girls? Or was it because they were Tony Stark’s friends?

My brain had started going down this path of questioning the moment they had ignored one of mine and Shuri’s suggestions in favour of one the sentient phone had made instead.

“This would be much easier in the lab,” Shuri muttered under her breath as we walked the winding path towards one of the numerous rooms within the royal place of Wakanda. Down the long and wide halls that had seen more history than most countries.

I felt as if I was the only one looking forward to what was to come. A fight. A fight for my life. A fight for the first time in a year.

I was looking forward to it because it meant I wasn't just another citizen word to be protected by the oh so holy Avengers. The people everyone looked up to.  My sisters. My only living family. But by the feeling in my gut, they wouldn't be alive much longer. That was terrifying. My sister can't beat someone when she lifted it a building just to rescue a cat who then ate the building. Then had hairball containing the building.

I thought about bringing all of this up before the attack but when I turned the final corner I saw wizard shake his head in a mirror. Which might I say is not the weirdest thing to happen to me today by a hypothetical mile. With the weird wizard's strange opinion in hand, I decided not to tell them but instead the fact I may soon be able to see my parents and hug them. And be free of society and my ability to feel death. An ability I’ve grown to hate. It was fine when I felt nothing and even after when there were only slight feelings. But now… now I have emotions I don’t even know the names of. And I feel. I feel more than anyone else and that will be the death of me. Or half the universe. And both are a bad option for me.

The one thing I knew for certain is, either way, I’ll never see one of the people I considered my siblings again. And I don’t know which I would choose to lose.

Pietro. He was dead. He was my overprotective brother. He was my Speedy Gonzales. He was the blue to my purple. He used to sing me a lullaby every night when I was small. He is with my best friend. He forgave me when no one else would. He helped me with my homework. He helped me figure out home to block out other ghosts. He was always there for me. He was.

Wanda. She’s my sister. She’s alive. She helped rediscover what it’s like to truly live. She taught me the joys of looking after a cat (?) for Fury. She helps me live the life I want to. She helps me master my powers. She is.

Natasha. She’s not my blood but she’s my sister. She’s the one who I’ve wanted to beat my entire life. She’s trained me to be a hero without my abilities. She was my first mission & she’ll be my last. She’s helped me adjust like she once did. She’s become a mother and a sister to me. She has.

The whole of the Avengers have become my family and I don’t want to lose them especially to whatever destroying this much because it was too powerful and it is going to win eventually. It’s older than time, what’s wanting the destruction. The current person executing its plan isn’t but what’s to come is.

I have to protect my newfound family because I'm one of the few who can. Me, a half-alien, a person thought to be dead, my best friends, and two American teens one of whom is ironically named America. A group of women have to defend the planet and dimension who has tried to keep us down for millennia. Like to defend those who hate us for the fact that we are women and unapologetic. Those who want us dead. Why should we be? it's not something we can be at fault for no matter what the white straight androcentric system says. We should not and cannot let them get to us or they'll win. And that is not an option not with who we’re about to face.

I only knew him by the name HYDRA gave him and what they knew but that's more then most people in this fight can say. For those of you wondering what is name is, it's Thanos and he will destroy the universe before Ruby. And it was what she was born to do. And she's probably fuming about it.

God, my life is crazy.

And my phone is about to explode from the number of messages Ruby was sending me about her mum music and that she won't destroy the world.

Maybe it's a good thing most people don't know their destinies. Maybe it would destroy us to know what was happening. Maybe there would be more insane people if our world was like at. Maybe I already am. Maybe ruby is. Maybe Kat was. Maybe we all are. Maybe we need to be to survive in this crazy messed up world. Especially now would aliens about to descend from to a country who has tried so hard to avoid the conflicts of the outside world.

“Avengers suit up. Yulia stays here with Shuri, Vision and your sister. I know you want to be in the fight now is not the time, we need you, all of you alive,” Steve said pointedly.

“But-”

“No. No butts”

“Ok, it's not like I can read minds or you know, know what we're up against.”

“Yulia you can't fully control your powers. So you're not going out there and that's final.”

“Leave it, Yulia, nobody trusts us, kids,” Shuri whispered to me.

“But I know how to win, I just need to call someone. And then he needs to call someone and I may or may not I've tried to kill said person.”

All Shuri did was roll her eyes and give me a pointed look before turning her case back to the issue at her hands.

I've messed up my entire life haven't I. Just because I worked for bad people. I didn't even have a choice. No one, except Natasha, seems to grasp the concept. The concept that you don't always have a choice in what you do. It's hard to have a say in everything you do, especially when you're only a child. That's the time the world makes most of the decisions for you and you can't help it. It's not my fault I was raised by monsters who turned me into the thing of nightmares. A thing that looks like an angel but which is truly a devil in disguise. Now I just have to choose a path. Angel or demon. My choice. My rules. My turn to control my own life. My game this time. And I'm going to win it. Because winning is the only way to survive for people like me. People who have been doomed by the world at the beginning.

People like me are made victims and can't escape that fate. The fate of being less than those born into a family not destined to be torn apart in a war we wanted no part in. Torn apart by a man I am now I meant to trust. A man who would either kill us or save all of us. A man who is lost. A man made of iron.

Why is always a man before the woman? All throughout history men have forced us down. They fought to keep us down. But why? Because they're afraid of us because we hold the power to end them if we wanted to. And it's is easier than snapping our fingers. But they don't want us to know that because it threatens their toxic masculinity.

We will be the ones to kill Thanos if Tony doesn't kill himself trying.

Tags: @hollandroos, @hollandarling

[tf2headshotcanons]

How would the mercs show their love and affection to their male s/o. Like dates they would take their s/o on, do they like kisses, etc

I want to clear a few things before I answer, if that's alright? Firstly, I personally don't ship any of them as gay (if you look at my sexuality blog, you'll see that only... 2? I ship as straight and the rest bi or pan. Those two are Sniper and Scout), so I apologise. It's because I don't see them as gay is why I'm running my own blog, because everyone else seems to make them gay so a lot of blogs are similar. I wanted to do something different with my different perspective (and no, I ain't asking for credit or praise doing that either!). So strictly gay (but not bi and stuff) asks are probably better left to the other blogs. Mainly because they fucking know their shit. I'm not gay, heck I've never been in a relationship, so actual loving shit is harder for me to do. does that make sense? O.oTo make it clear to that one cunt that sent me hate, || I do NOT hate gays || I just don't see the TF2 blokes as strictly gay (but many with the potential!) That's it! That's literally it!NOW I want to make it clear, If ya love someone. REALLY love someone. It doesn't matter if they have a dick or vagina. So this will sorta answer for both male and female, because if you love someone, their privates don't matter and that shouldn't differ how you love them. But for you, mate (a fellow Sniper fan), I'll try to gay it up for ya ;) Just... Forgive me if I'm not good at it. I'm not gay so I don't know how it differs. To me, love's love ain't it?HEADCANONMANNON TIME:Scout: Aww crap! He... He didn't expect to be... Ya know? He's honestly not comfortable with it, at first. Why? Because he always (forgive my lack of eloquentcy) wanks off to the most sexy and curvy women. But it never felt... Right. He's worried his mother won't accept him (little does he realise his father told her, and they both accept and love him, but it won't stop her teasing him). Scout... Well, Scout does like to see himself as confident and attractive, and to people he hits on - he can be! But when he actually loves someone? Bloody hell, is he kinda shy! Especially now that he's gay! So... He's timid, awkward, and sweaty. He's nervous and makes a lot of error, but ultimately he scores! He tries to be the "man" of the pair - you know, the protective and dominant one? But he's the lass, and we know it ;) Uhhh places, places... You know, fuck it. He's an amusement park kinda guy! Or a sporty guy (obviously) so places that get you out their! Scout... In the amusement park, would be out of his shell and just Scout. But if they did sports together, it'd be like a scene from Ghost, ya know, behind them and teaching them howta swing? That jobbie. Uhh what else do people do romantically? Um movies? Eat- Does he like kisses? Does he fuck! Though kissing Scout is like kissing a damn dog XP Any how, he'd overall be very competitive (but playful!) and try to protect them. He'd try to be the guy his dad wasn't to his mom. Basically, he'd see his partner as the "mom", but really that's him. Soldier: Ehh now, personally, this doesn't need too much of an answer. Because he has Zhanna, we basically know how he'd be in a relationship, and I'd personally see that he'd be the same with a bloke. Protective but knows he can fight, loveable and complimentary. Involving him in dumb shite and neck snaps. That sorta jobbie. And we already know he loves kisses, but the small and quick ones (preferably multiple times!). Honestly, it won't be much different if Zhanna had a dick... Well, she wouldn't have tits but still- My point still stands! He'd take him to the Raccoon Santuary, Training, Ball Games (ref: Demo), Merasmus' home. It's hard to say whether he'd be "alpha" because he'd most likely pick another strong character too. Chances are, they'd both be the "Dad" figure. I'm not sure whether he'd be a movie bloke. He ain't the brains, but he is the heart and spirit!Pyro: We... We don't even know what the fuck Py is. I'm going to use "they" as we don't know what they are, that would be the same for the same sex partner. Off topic, but If Pyro WAS a woman, I think she'd be good for Pauling. But you didn't hear that prediction from me ;) Anyhow, Pyro loves kisses! The same type as soldier, except loves them all day, errryday. If you give them one less kiss from the day before, they may get sad. Pyro loves watching movies, or colouring, or playing with toys, splashing in a pool, burning things or listening to a story. That's what they'd invite their partner to do. Pyro wouldn't be dominant, but they'd be the emotional crutch, they cuddler and emotive one. Basically, the "Mom" archetype. He's mostly passive BUT hurt their love and they WILL torture you! They're bossy and demanding, but full of love. Pyro just loves to be cuddled. Can we just assume for all of this that Pyro's a female and with Pauling?Demo: He's fucking cuddle central, ain't he? He's open to being gay. Suspected it. Doesn't mind it. Though I do think his Mum wouldn't accept - at first. In the end, she'd settle that he's happy and can adopt (And isn't lazy! That's probably her biggest peeve). Demo is the relaxed and chill lover. Doesn't stress, and although a hardworker can slip into bouts of laze. His man would have to be able to party but strict enough to snap him into place. Like Soldier, they may have gone out to the big ball game, or partying or drinking. You know what? Just suggest that it's Soldier he's dating! And yes, he loves kissing, but the sloppy passionate kind. He likes to take a date home to just cuddle and watch that shitty ghost drama. Oh, but his sword may be teasing you both. FYI. Overall, he's very easy going and outgoing. He'll need someone fun to keep up but somewhat strict to stop him relapsing.Heavy: He quietly mulls things over, but it's nothing new nor strange. Like Sniper, he's quiet and reclusive, though he's physically imposing. Though the quiet type, he's very protective and loving. Can even have a laugh. His ideal dates are quiet, reading, moving, or even deep discussions. Anything intimate and meaningful is a worthy date to him. Like Sniper, he probably needs someone a little more forward to approach him, but otherwise is the more protective one. He's very brotherly too and nurturing like a bear. He just loves time with his man, after all time is the most expensive currency. He's more reserved on kissing. You should know he loves you.Engi: He's another that may be mortified of being gay, mainly because the Southern stereotype of it being "unnatural". But he hasn't seen his old man in a VERY long time, so fuck his approval! Engi is another shy boy... At first. His not reserved, but he is nervous at first. He is what's known as a people pleaser and is worried to get it wrong. Where he's an adventurous inventor, he lacks in forward personality. His partner would have to be really smart and ambitious, though not afraid to try new things. He's romantic and kinky like the Medic. A bit freaky too~ So his bloke would have to be ready for anything INCLUDING surprise dominance. As far as dates go, he loves a traditional homemade dinner with a side order of philosophy and smart talk. He's also up for going to a pub but not much of a clubber, unlike Demo. He SEEMS shy at kissing, but he ain't.Sniper: He's honestly mortified at first. His already a pariah to his parents, God what if this disowns him?! God, it keeps him up at night and makes him sick. When the truth does come out, he doesn't make the first contact to his parents. In his mind, he's now an orphan. To his luck, his parents are just delighted that he's found someone to love. That's honestly their biggest wish for him. Like the Scout, he's withdrawn and reclusive. Not necessarily shy though. Just a loner, think the Wolf Children. It takes awhile to get in his heart, but when you do, he's the protective type. Awkward with intimacy and a little oblivious, which probably annoys his bloke but hey it's kinda cute! He's about the little things, holding hands and lying under the stars. He's probably the first to really settle too. He prefers natural dates, like camping or archery. Heck, maybe a bit of reading, knitting and crafting too! Or kayaking. He needs a slightly more dominant man, a friendly and approachable one, one who gives loners like him time and space, and understanding. Somewhere between social and anti. But he's a good lover, just a misplaced one. And traditional, just like his pa. He's more of a hand holder than a kisser, but his kisses mean a lot to his lover.Medic: The actual gay. He's eccentric and creepy, grumpy and funky, boisterous and ambitious. He'd actually be good for someone like Engi or Hoover. Dominant and frisky, yet around others he can be cold and withdrawn. Not in the shy way, but he's not always one to give out love. He loves to experiment and do some freaky things on the first date. Things that border illegal (like smuggling exotic animal pieces). Risk taker. He doesn't like kisses much, but in the mood he will fuck you silly. He seems prissy and cowardly, but he would be the Queen and dominantor of his man.Spy: Like his son, he's taken a back. Mainly because he's used to charming women but surprisingly, he doesn't mind the change. It's actually a turn on. He's a traditional charmer, dinner by candlelight and a movie. Though he's up to some freakier stuff if his lover allows it. He's the mysterious charmer, though he's drawn to sass and mystery himself. And though he can be quite feminine about his clothes, he still makes a good lover for a man. He's just VERY high maintenance. Sometimes, the mysterious men he likes probably can't cope with his high demands, but he calls them standards. He'll need someone who can cope with his high needs and mask. He appears self sufficient, demeaning and cold, but in reality, he loves to feel loved. He gives tough love but means it. And he loves heated passion, making out and hard sex.

[synoir]

Seasons: Autumn

Fourth addition to the Seasons series

Read in order: Seasons: Winter | Seasons: Spring⎪Seasons: Summer

Sirius Black x Hermione Granger | Muggle AU

Warnings: Coarse language.

Thanks to @thornweed who beta−read this final part!

Read on FFNET (Rating: M): Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 − Chapter 4

Sirius moved towards Hermione and put his hands on her shaking shoulders. The rain was tapping on the window relentlessly, and his girl was holding back tears. He knew she was more angry than sad, but it did nothing to make him feel better.

"I'm so sorry Sirius," she said in a tiny voice. He put a kiss on where the neckline of her dress met with her skin, in hopes that it would be reassuring.

"You've got nothing to apologise for," he said meaning every word. She didn't need to apologise for she had done nothing wrong. "I can handle a little scrutiny from your parents, love. They worry about you and your future. I admit their method is a bit unsavoury but... They'll come around."

Hermione shook her head and took the apple pie she had put on the counter to cool. She had been trying to cook a perfect pie since she had heard her parents were coming to visit them from Australia. Hermione wasn't a good cook and was an even worse baker, but she was stubborn and the result was perfect like everything else she had put on her mind to achieve. Sirius hated that after all her hard work she had done for her parents' visit everything turned so gloomy.

On one hand, Sirius understood their concerns, he really did. He had the same concerns after all. Although his were for more selfish reasons, he couldn't blame her mother and father to want to talk to her about moving in with a man nineteen years her senior. He just didn't expect them to be so callous about their disapproval. He didn't want to think about how the rest of the two weeks of their planned visit would resume.

"They should at least try to be polite," Hermione said with an air of righteous indignation then she sighed dejectedly. "Can you grab the plates?"

Sirius left another kiss on her shoulder before doing as he was told and following Hermione to the dining room.

Sirius had left for work in the morning. After the disastrous dinner, they had decided she needed to talk to her parents alone, so Sirius claimed he needed to go the bar that he owned to check something.

"He doesn't even arrange a day off the first morning we are here?" Catherine Granger asked as she sat down on the living room sofa. Her father had gone for a walk as he did every Sunday morning after breakfast since she could remember, so she was alone with her mother now. She put down two mugs of tea on the coffee table and turned to her mother with a saccharine smile.

"He did actually, but I asked him to give us space so we can talk," she explained. Her mother sighed and nodded her head picking up the mug nearest to her.

"Very well," she said primly. "I don't approve of your relationship with him. Please don't ask me to pretend like I do."

"I don't ask you to approve Mum," Hermione said seriously. "I can't control your feelings. I expect you to be polite towards him in his own home. I expect you to respect the decisions I make for my own life. I honestly thought you would be opposed to it to a degree−"

"He is old enough to be your father," her mother interrupted her.

"But he is not my father," Hermione returned, just as fast.

"Darling, you can't hope to have the same expectations in life as him. You two are clearly very different people. What about your academic career? You had a perfectly good house and a life plan. And now you suddenly throw it all away for a man who has made very different choices than you in such a short time. That isn't like you."

Hermione had promised herself not to get agitated and start to shout, but suddenly that didn't seem possible to her. Still, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"He is very supportive of my academic career," she said. "Didn't you see the study he made for me? That was his birthday gift to me, you know. Not chocolate and roses and a dinner outside. A study with wall-to-wall bookshelves. He cares for me. Yes, he didn't make the same decisions in life. And yes, he is much older than I. We know.

"But you see, that's why it's him. Because we talk about our worries and we work on them together. Because he respects my decisions on a level no one else does. He doesn't treat me like a little girl. He isn't with me because of, what was it that you so elegantly put, A mid−life crisis."

Hermione stopped herself from talking more before she lost the control of her voice. She wrapped her cardigan more firmly around herself and glared at her mother. She gritted her teeth as her mother sighed one more time in a way that screamed you are making a mistake, Hermione. She could hear the unspoken words so clearly in her head she wanted to scream.

"You'll see," her mother said. "One day you'll realise you wasted your youth with an older man and you'll regret it."

"Until that day," Hermione began. "You will accept him. You don't have to like him, but Sirius and I have a serious relationship. So you either accept us or you won't be a part of our life. And I expect you to treat him with decorum in his own house too, while you are here."

"Hermione!" her mother exclaimed, clearly shocked. Hermione didn't blame her. She had been living in Australia for the last couple of years and no longer knew what kind of a woman Hermione had become.

"Alright," came the voice of her father behind them. She turned and looked at him. He must have returned from his walk and now was standing in the living room.

"Dad," she said and her father walked in and sat down on one of the chairs without even taking his coat off.

"I do not approve of it. But alright."

Maybe taking his girlfriend's parents, who had decided to dislike him, to a lunch without the buffer offered by the said girlfriend was not the wisest of decisions. But Sirius was not a child, hadn't been one for a long time, and he wouldn't take it sitting down when his peers tried to belittle him because of the decisions he had made in his private life. Even if those peers were the parents of one of those decisions.

The polite and strained conversation about the day and their plans could have been the only topics that they talked today. But Sirius hadn't invited them out when Hermione was at the university to talk about how good the weather was in Australia during this season.

"You know," he began as he took a sip from his ginger ale. "There is a great chance that I won't go anywhere."

The sudden change of topic was effective, he knew. It was one of the things that disarmed people and showed their immediate response. In this case, it was two pair of eyes looking at him in surprise that soon morphed into scowling. He wouldn't complain; that's why he took them out of the house. So they would be in a mutual territory.

"You should," Matthew Granger said. "You must know she deserves someone –"

"Younger?" Sirius questioned then he smirked. He knew his face must look predatory. It was an expression he had learned at a very young age. "Richer? Although I must admit that would be overly ambitious of you..."

"Excuse me?" Catherine's indignation was almost identical to Hermione's, yet it had the opposite effect on Sirius.

"I understand your worries," he said then. "But I don't care about them. I invited you here to tell you that I will do my best to remain a permanent part of Hermione's life. And I don't mean remaining friendly if this thing between us doesn't work. I mean that I will make it work."

Hermione drove her parents to the airport after a torturous fortnight spent with them in her new home. Visiting for her birthday... What a crap excuse. They hadn't come to visit her for her birthday since they retired and moved to Australia. They usually would send her a plane ticket, and she would have to arrange her life accordingly to visit them. When they did the same this summer and Hermione told them she couldn't because she was moving in with her boyfriend they suddenly decided to make the trip themselves. She would have liked to think that it was because they wanted to see her. She should have known it was to come and convince her that her chosen partner was not good enough.

They didn't like Sirius. Which would be acceptable for her if they had actually made an effort to get to know him. It was worse since they were forced to spend fourteen horrible days in the same house.

Her mother hugged Hermione, and she returned the gesture stiffly.

"You know, you can come and visit us whenever you want," her mother said.

"Well, it would depend on Sirius' schedule, Mum."

Catherine Granger didn't like that answer, not that it surprised Hermione. "You could always come alone."

Hermione snorted. "Like you go abroad without each other," she said pointing at the space between her mother and father.

"Well, we are married, pumpkin," her father said unnecessarily.

Hermione stiffened her shoulders and looked at them. "Well, Sirius and I are as good as married. We live together, pay the bills together, and plan our life together." She shook her head. "And considering how rude you were towards him in his own house, I don't think I will be asking him to visit you in yours anytime soon."

"Are you cutting us out of your life, Hermione?" her mother asked with surprise and her father seemed angry.

"No." Hermione's answer was quick and loud. "Of course not. But I have different priorities, now. Mainly, him."

"Hermione, moving in with someone is not the same thing as being married."

Hermione took a deep breath. "It is for me."

Hermione took out her key and opened the door to her home, their home. She was tired. Now that her parents were gone, she felt the loss of their disapproving presence like a ghost ache. She had apologised to Sirius and he never accepted it, and now she was at a loss on how to make him forgive her. She could have declined her parents when they wanted to visit, but she didn't know how, so Sirius had to listen to her parents' objections and their criticism of his life. He had to listen to them ask about her ex−boyfriend Mark and whether Hermione was still in contact with him, Mark was such a gentleman, after all, and no point in cutting ties because you had broken up. Or they would complain that motorcycles were too dangerous.

Or that whether he ever regretted his tattoos.

Why was he never married?

Oh, his parents were dead? Was it old age?

Hermione smiled remembering Sirius' answer. "Father died because of Mother. She died out of spite. I don't remember actually when... would have to check the date on the death certificates."

Well, that certainly didn't make the Grangers love him more, but Hermione wasn't about the get angry with him because of that. At that point, Hermione wished Sirius retorted with sarcasm to everything they said. But instead, he had held his tongue so as not to increase the tension. She had later warned her mother that Sirius' family was a private and tense subject and she would appreciate them not bringing it up again. So whenever they were alone Catherine Granger lamented on the importance of family and having well-established roots.

So, yes, Hermione was tired. She wanted to open a bottle of wine, take a long bath and then, if she felt rejuvenated enough, probably shag Sirius loudly. She was also tired of keeping it silent. It was a good plan. She knew that Sirius would appreciate the loud sex.

She wanted to skip the living room and climb the stairs toward the bedroom but stopped when she noticed the warm light that was coming from there. She pushed the French doors that divided the area and slowly walked into the room where Sirius was throwing wood into the fireplace, his face glowing as the flames moved in their confines. Crookshanks was right next to Sirius, undoubtedly enjoying the heat. He seemed unaware of Hermione's presence and she liked the small time frame that gave her to watch the man she loved. She noticed the wine bottle opened to let it breathe on the coffee table and the selection of dried fruits and cheese on a plate. She sighed contently. He knew her too well.

Sirius must have heard her sigh because he lifted his head and looked at her. He poked the fire one last time to place the wood properly and got up to walk towards her.

Hermione didn't move, instead, she let Sirius come to her, with steps unhesitating yet not fast. Like a man who knew where he was going, like a man who knew who he was going towards. Hermione's heart filled with familiarity and attraction towards him. He stood when he was in her personal space, and he belonged there like a limb of hers. His hands moved up and his palms pressed onto her arms, gently squeezing and climbing up towards her shoulders only to climb down again.

Her eyes teared up. How did her parents not see how much they belonged together? How easy it was for them to just be when they were together? Even fighting was easy with Sirius. It lacked the fear of being judged or misunderstood because all that he shouted and got angry and frustrated, he was there and he would hear her. It was easy to laugh with him because he wouldn't keep it down, he would reach the very peak of joy and take her with him. It was easy to make love to him because they hadn't stopped learning each other, and their curiosity was mingled with a passion that was born of physical attraction and wants they shared. She watched Sirius' every move like the man was a poem that decided papers were too confining and he broke free of them, and as sappy as that sounded Hermione didn't think she would ever get tired of reading it.

When Sirius' right hand reached up to her face to cup her cheek and his thumb moved right above her cheeks to take a teardrop Hermione realised she was crying. A second later she was enveloped in his arms, their bodies touching each other over Hermione's thick coat and his wool jumper and jeans, but it felt as if there were no restrictions at all. Familiar. He was familiar.

And he smelled like home.

"Sirius," she began raising her head to look at him and his arms squeezed her firmer in reassurance. She wanted to apologise for her parents' treatment of him, thank him for putting up with it. She wanted to say that he came first now, that she loved him and that he was a part of her; a permanent fixture that her parents would have to accept. She could probably talk about what she thought, what she wished for and what she felt. The words that came out of her though were different, and even though she hadn't planned for the words to be spoken she wasn't surprised when the question left her mouth and became a breath shared by the two of them.

"Will you marry me?"

Sirius' heart leapt.

Did he hear her right? Did she just ask what he thought she asked? He looked at her face, focusing on her eyes. There were no tears anymore, just the shine that was left from them. The tiredness had gone from her posture and instead, she had that stubborn stance that he loved so much, shoulders raised and chin up, like it was not a strain on her neck when she looked at his face but a natural posture. The decisiveness and a lack of fear that he found in her face warmed his heart. It wasn't a romantic uprising towards her family in search of rebellion, and how dare he think such things about Hermione, anyway? Did she ever say anything that she did not firmly believe in?

"When?" he asked then took a deep breath. "Yes. Hermione," he leant in and put a kiss on her lips, barely holding himself to not tremble. "I will marry you. Just say when."

She smiled at him and kissed him once again, rising on her toes and holding herself with arms placed on his shoulders. "Anytime."

Sirius nodded and grinned leaning to hoist her up in his arms and moved her to the sofa. He gently laid her there and followed her body with his. "I think autumn is a great season for a wedding."

Hermione's following laughter was a thing that should have been bottled for an eternity. The humankind surely would miss out on not hearing it over and over again. "I agree. October is my favourite month. And it's right between our birthdays too, very convenient."

He hummed in approval and kissed her cheek and then her ear. "James owns this great house north of here. It belonged to his parents. It's fancy and big enough for a small wedding."

Hermione sighed lightly, pleased and Sirius put an open-mouthed kiss right below her chin, a place he knew she liked. Sure enough, she let out a small moan. "I think I could find a nice dress by the time. Silver and midnight blue for the wedding colours, I was thinking."

Sirius chuckled. "Were you, now?"

Hermione shrugged. "No, but blue is my favourite colour and white is too boring."

Sirius made a sound to show her he agreed. "I like it. Chocolate for the wedding cake?"

"Of course," Hermione said immediately. "That place we discovered, Honeydukes? I love their chocolate cake."

Sirius moaned as he thought of the promise of that particular flavour and kissed her full on mouth to reward her for the amazing idea. "We should ask Luna to make the invitations. I have a feeling that she would make it weird enough to fit us both."

Hermione grinned as Sirius started to take off her coat. He struggled a little with the thick material and when he was done her hands wormed their way underneath his jumper. "Open bar?" she asked hesitantly and was surely considering the expense of such frivolous wishes.

"Oh, love, you know how to excite me," he said and settled between her legs and as if they were waiting for the cue they hugged his waist. "I think I can arrange that, yes. I'll ask Narcissa for a catering company for the food."

"Oh," Hermione said but Sirius couldn't be sure if that was a testimony to the closeness of their bodies or an agreement to his idea to let the Malfoys handle the food. "That would please the masses, I think."

"Would it please you?" he asked with a firm move of his hips that pressed onto her core.

"Yes... yes it would," was the content response from his woman.

Sirius grinned and kissed her again moving his body in sync with her heated responses, and finding a rhythm to remind her how good they were together. He watched her face as her eyes fluttered close, like a promise of things to come. The light from the fireplace was turning her wild hair that was around her head into a fiery halo and warming the lines of her face. "I love you."

Hermione hummed and pressed her chest firmly against his, arching towards him. "And I love you," she said and he kissed her with all his being.

And it was like magic.

The End

This had been a joy to write although a little bit slower than I would have liked. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I will as usual tag some of you here. If I have forgotten someone know that it wasn’t intentional.

[etoilesdephan]

Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt? (Chapter 2: Ubi mors ibi spes)

Chapter masterpost

Chapter summary: Phil's in the intensive care, and the police has some questions for Dan.

Read it on ao3!

Chapter word count: 2027

Overall word count: 4648/?????

The sight of the machines surrounding Phil, beeping lowly, their wires and sensors attached to the pale body wrapped in the white of medical plasters, bandages and hospital gown was a sight that Dan never wished to experience. He recalled the time when Phil had stayed by his side when he had been in the hospital, and he hadn't been able to imagine how it felt, but the realisation hit him like a ton of solid bricks the moment he stepped behind the curtains.

It was a helpless feeling, to watch the machine that supported Phil's breathing part his unnaturally pale lips to allow a tube to pass. It was the pain of worry of what if it would not have a happy ending. It was the insufferable knowledge that the intensive care staff would make him leave within an hour or two and he wouldn't know how Phil was until the next time he would be allowed back in.

A nurse surveyed the group of five when the Lesters and Dan piled in and shook her head “No more than two visitors at a time,” and, as if sensing the panic that set between them, repeated, more clearly “Two at a time, you all have two hours in total to visit him,” and though Dan wanted to scream and hold on, to not leave Phil's side, he dryly swallowed and stepped back, allowing the parent pair Lesters to go first. It was their son, and no matter what place Dan would take in Phil's life, he knew their family almost better than his own, knew how much they cared for each other. He had no right to interfere, no matter how much it would pain him to spend longer time away and in the darkness of unknown.

“Excuse me,” A voice caught him off-guard and he realised two people, both wearing neat police uniforms, were staring at him “Officer Bloom and Starley.” A document was flashed before him just long enough to see the official coat of arms ”We would like to ask you a couple of questions about what happened last night. I take it you are Daniel Howell.”

''Y-yes of course,'' Dan stuttered out and, after giving a brief look over his shoulder at Martyn and Cornelia who just nodded at him, turned to follow the two officers down the hall.

“Please, take a seat, this shouldn't take too long,” As if sensing Dan's frantic about somehow missing his chance to see Phil again, the female officer added while the male officer pulled out a notebook. And here Dan had thought that they would've switched to newer technologies by now.

“You and Mister Lester live together, is this correct?” He nodded, the throat dry, dark eyes trying to focus on the woman's face, the way he could see the outline of her contact lenses, “And you are the first emergency contact in his documents?” Again, he nodded, wringing his fingers together, the anxiety as if having found a permanent residence in his joints.

“What is the nature of your relationship?” At that, he flushed bright red and the sudden rush of blood to his face made him feel dizzy again “I-I mean we're...” He scolded himself mentally at his stuttering; to think he should be over feeling like a teenager caught in a lie by now. Then again, he wasn't used to telling this to complete strangers, no matter how official “We've been together for the past four years,” he could still clearly remember the day that they had made it official, after clearly having danced around the idea for months.

The scraping of the pen against the paper made his skin crawl “Where were you last night during the accident?”

The guilt struck him once again and his fingers ached from the tightness of his grip “I was…. Outside. We had a fight and I left to have a walk and clear my head.” Eyes downcast, he didn't notice the two officers exchanging glances briefly. “There have been noise complaints before, is this correct?” he hated the interrogation, his heart fighting between the choices of withering and jumping out of his mouth. “Ye-yes, but it's because we do these videos,” he tried to explain, paused “For YouTube…?” his words came out in a question and his eyes looked at the officers almost pleadingly.

His hands began to hurt, the twisting of fingers testing his joints.

“Do you know where the incident happened?” the question took him by surprise “N-no, nobody told me, I got the call when I was out still and have been here ever since.”

And that was when he realised that he had been told that someone had called the ambulance in. And who would do that if that had happened in their apartment?

His heart sank “It happened about a block from your shared apartment,” the words came like an accusation, though spoken neutrally, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

It was his fault.

Phil had followed him out.

He would be sleeping soundly at home, about to wake up and eat all of their cereal again if Dan hadn't stormed out.

Before he realised it, his hands had found his head and he leaned forward, hugging it, shaking his head a little, trying to squish his ears shut “No, no….” he muttered, distressed, the sinking feeling in his chest increasing, a black hole forming in his soul and sucking away all life.

“I think you should continue another time,” he heard Martyn's voice and he couldn't thank him enough for stopping this torture.

He had caused this.

Phil was in coma, patched up after being stabbed.

Because of him and his stupid tantrums.

“Dan, can you handle seeing him now?” his head shot up, eyes red-rimmed and surprised “I think I need to keep mum company for a bit so you go first, Cornelia and I will go afterwards,” the reassuring smile reminded Dan so much of Phil that he had to take a moment to answer, but finally he nodded. A sleeve rubbed against his eyes to clear the dampness, he croaked a thank you and turned to leave the two officers who were now standing aside, talking quietly among themselves over the notes.

It didn't matter, not now.

He gave a weak smile to Phil's mum when she looked up and she returned it just as weakly.

Then, he was suddenly surrounded by whiteness, the sterile scent of the stale air and the silence of bodies, each hidden behind a curtain and a nurse patrolling between the patients to ensure that everything was peaceful. Dan felt foreign in the room, all clad in black, like the death itself amongst the hopeful survivors.

It was like slow motion when he walked up to Phil's bed, now alone with his best friend for the first time since they had yelled and glared at each other. The things that he had said, had thought in that fit of anger were replaying in his brain and he had to try hard not to start crying again.

He'd never seen Phil look so broken. Though mainly intact, there was an unnatural stillness in his limbs, his skin looked paler than it ever had and his hair was an unfamiliar mess, with signs of where his mother had attempted to fix it, even if only a little bit.

The chest, though not completely motionless, didn't look natural in the rise and fall. It made Dan want to reach out, to place his hand over Phil's heart like he had done so many times, but never had it been to confirm that he was alive, and the mere thought of this need to check made him feel so very helpless.

“Hey, Phil,” he murmured barely above a whisper, standing over by the bed, trying not to trip over any of the wires. Carefully, he reached out to grasp Phil's fingers, and for a moment he hoped that he would feel them tense, Phil trying to hold on back, but there was nothing. The fingers remained cold and motionless in his touch.

It hurt. For the first time in his life he felt as if Phil was rejecting him, and that was with all the fights that they had had, even at their lowest.  

The sharp cheekbones jutted out more visibly than ever, just above the medical equipment that Dan didn't even bother to try and name anymore, and he reached out, brushing his fingers over the pale skin, longing to kiss every barely visible freckle on that face and for that feeling of when Phil leaned into his palm even in his sleep. He wished that the other man would awaken and that they could make jokes about how dumb and ghost-like Phil looked in the hospital gown, and to plan what to have for dinner as soon as Phil would get out.

When he would get out. That seemed like such a foreign idea now. The thought of Phil warming up the familiar spaces again seemed so far-away, though he was sure that if Dan would return home right now, there would still be the lingering scent of blown-out candle lingering the air and the half-finished cup of coffee on the office table.

Dan's teeth raked over the lower lip, biting down painfully.

“I'm so sorry, Phil, please, please,” he sunk to his knees by the bed, resting his head against the side of the white, scratchy cotton, all whilst holding onto the limp fingers of the older man “Please, don't leave me,” his voice, usually so loud, had completely lost the volume, the usual joy that it held around the other man, as if it was left to sleep in coma alongside Phil.

And it was then that he began to realise that he was tired as well. Though uncomfortable, the position began to lull him and he leaned a little closer to kiss the top of Phil's palm lightly “I love you,” he murmured against the skin, dark eyes shut and too tired to reopen. His knees ached, his back did too, but he didn't want to leave. No, he had made that mistake and look at where it had gotten them. He feared that as soon as he would leave Phil would be gone, forever, and Dan knew that his life would fall apart without a moment to wait if that happened.

The moment came, however, when he had to leave. His head bowing in sleep as missis Lester lead him to the cab; it was agreed that the Lester parents would stay with Dan for a few days and he had drowsily agreed, unable to imagine going to an empty apartment alone and Martyn's and Cornelia's being too small to fully house two more grown people at the time.

The feeling of home was extremely overwhelming, the scent stronger than ever, the silence more piercing than he remembered it. The lights had been left on, noting where they had been before.

There was a stray sock in the hallway, colourful and clearly Phil's, probably accidentally kicked out of the older man's room when he had rushed out of the house after grabbing his coat. Dan picked it up, slowly, unsurely walking towards Phil's room. The door creaked when pushed open; he remembered Phil musing out loud that they should oil it eventually. They never had.

The room felt empty, but still so very distinctively Phil, with all the colourful little things scattered across the surfaces, and the random pieces of clothing strewn around the floor. Numbly, Dan set the sock on the shelf, eyes tiredly surveying the room. There was the book that Phil had begun reading just a couple of days ago, on the nightstand. And there was light breaking through the blinds that Phil had closed last because it had been night.

Slowly, Dan lied down in Phil's bed, bunching the blanket up and close to his face, inhaling the familiar scent. It could almost make him believe that everything was fine and Phil was here.

Almost.

He had never felt colder than this.

[sunlitroom]

Gotham s3e12 - Ghosts

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham.

Jerome's rampage at GCPD. Jim at Jeri’s club.  We see residents influenced by Jerome, and hear his words again: sanity is a prison.  We meet Selina's mum.  Ed resigns his post, and vows to destroy Oswald.  Jim swears that he’ll bring Mario in alive.  Lee is leaving Gotham for good.  Jim shoots Mario.

As always, long post will be long - reaaally long.  There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot may appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)).  There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism.  Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

We open on Mario’s funeral.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

Lee is crying.   Falcone is grim-faced.   Jim watches from a distance.  Harvey approaches him, and tells him he shouldn’t be here.  Jim justifies his killing of Mario, but Harvey tells him to back off.  The law is one thing – but this is about family.  They lost a son, a husband.  Now is not the time to talk to them about the past, or try to apologise.

Oswald walks through revolving doors into City Hall.  He phones Ed - who is not available.

Fuck's sake Ed, that’s the ‘leave a message’ of an edgy 14 year old.

Oswald's perky assistant greets him, and tells him that the press is here. Oswald bristles, clearly anticipating criticism.  As he strides into the room, his assistant tells him crime is down, employment is up – he’s doing well, in short.  

Oswald can’t believe it, and enjoys the moment in front of the cameras.  His deputy Chief of Staff bustles in.

You did it! Cash in on this good news.  I’m here to help.

Oswald wishes aloud that Ed were there.

His deputy, Tarquin, tells him that Margaret Hearst wants an interview.  She has sway – can help him become known nationally.  If he turns her down now, she won’t come back.  Oswald falters momentarily, but then decides to go for it.

How's my hair?

Jim arrives home.  As he takes off his coat, he hears bottles clank in the kitchen.  He draws his gun and approaches to find Victor drinking some milk from the bottle. I’d shoot Mario if Victor showed up in my kitchen as a result.

Victor is here as a messenger.  Jim messed up.  Falcone is beside himself: Victor’s never seen him like this.  He matter-of-factly tells Jim it’s only a matter of time until the hit is ordered.

Jim tells him he’s welcome to try.  Victor turns more serious

I don’t try, and I never stop.

*Bites lip*

He walks past Jim, stopping to say that it was

Nice knowing you, you're a good egg.  And nice shot on Mario.  I Never liked him.

We’re at Selina’s home. Her mum says it’s a nice place, but asks,

What's with the raggedy clothes?

Well fuck you, Selina’s mum - where was your support?

Selina asks her why she waited 11 years to see her.  Maria asks her if she knows how many times she thought of her.  She had no choice but to leave.  She left Selina at same orphanage her mother left her.

Selina asks who her father is, but her mother dodges the question and asks if he’s dating ‘that kid.’

Selina sighs.  Maria tells her she got into serious trouble and had no option but to run, and you can't run with a five year old.  Your five year old, Selina points out. Maria says that she just wanted to come and tell her she loved her.

(An aside – this all stinks to high heaven.  After so many years, she just pops back?  Nope)

Selina brushes off her ‘I love you’

Alright then.  It’s been so fun. Bye

Selina’s mother sighs, and says goodbye.  Selina holds her head in her hands.

Oswald meets Miss Hearst. She clearly dislikes him.  She opens by commenting that he seems to have found his calling in office – but wonders whether he just has the knack of showing people what they want to see.  She wants to get inside his mind and share what she finds with the citizens of Gotham. She also wants the interview live, at City Hall.

Oswald is rattled, and starts to say he wants the interview at him – but for some reason allows himself to be talked over and told what to do.

As she leaves, Hearst comments that Gotham will see the Mayor as he truly is.  Oswald tells her to dig deep, and that he has nothing to hide.

As he watches her leave, though, he sees a vision of his father watching him and walking away.  He gasps.

The morgue at GCPD. Lucius is acting as medical examiner.

There’s a young woman on the table.  From where she was found last night, she had been wandering along the train tracks in a state of undress.  Does this automatically make anyone else think of Ronette Pulaski, or just me?

She apparently had a coronary due to electric current being applied to her.  Harvey asks if it was torture.  However, Lucius continues.  The young woman – Melanie – was stabbed to death three days ago.  She was in the morgue two days ago.  Harvey is incredulous

Doesn’t anyone die in Gotham anymore? (Don’t you dare be foreshadowing). It’s not a morgue, it's a motel.

Jim and Harvey leave, but encounter Lee  - looking for acting captain Harvey to arrest Jim for Mario's murder.  Lee is protesting – asking why Mario was murdered and not Barnes.  Jim looks like he’s hurting, but doesn’t respond.  She steps towards him and tells him:

You're the real virus, Jim. You seep into people’s lives until you destroy them. You haven’t heard the end of this.

Aw - Jim teared up.

Van Dahl mansion – complete with gothic thunderstorm.  Oswald sleeps fitfully in the sofa, still dressed.  He hears a noise, and wakes with a start.

He gets up off the sofa, and we see he’s in his socks – spiked shoes by the sofa.  It makes him look vulnerable and normal - humanising him. It also emphasises the odd way he has to hold his foot, reminding us of his injury – and he limps badly here.  He’s without neck-tie too – again reminding us how much of him is image and outer shell.

Ghost Elijah walks past. Oswald sees him.

Father?

Help me

Oswald gasps.  Of course.  How?

Ghost Elijah tells him only one thing: he's not to be trusted.

Oswald asks who – but Elijah disappears.  There’s a hammering at the door.  A shaken Oswald answers, only to be told that someone has dug up his father's remains.

At the city morgue with Jim and Harvey.  Jim introduces himself to the assistant- Dwight.  They ask to see Melanie, but she – of course – isn’t there – which Dwight seemed unaware of.  He comments that there’s no security cameras here – so there’s no way to know what happened.

Jim looks suspicious – he doesn’t trust this guy.  He jumps at hearing the janitor’s mop hit a locker. His eye is caught by the Jerome type sticker on a trolley. Harvey comments that he seems jumpy.

Wayne Manor.  Bruce is wondering why the owl is important to the court. Alfred suggests that they hide it, perhaps in the cave.  Or – you know – just leave it on a side-table, like they do two minutes later when the door is knocked.

It’s Selina’s mum, arriving just as they were discussing the owl.  Alfred greets her, and we see that he plainly has a crush on her.  She’s got a box with her that she wants to leave for Selina.  Bruce asks her to stay, but she says she has a train to catch.  She tried reaching out to Selina, but she’s too angry.  

(An aside - Selina’s mum gets massively on my nerves.  Yes, your teenage daughter, who has fended for herself on the streets, is angry because you abandoned her as a child. You don’t get to act all wounded because she knocked back the first effort you made.  Ugh.)

Harve and Jim are following Dwight, who worked at Indian Hill before the morgue.  He leaves the morgue, talking to someone on the phone, asking angrily how she got out?  Harvey and Jim follow.

Falcone household, I guess? Lee says the autopsy shows Mario was infected. Carmine doesn't care.  Mario was his son.  He does admit:

I cared for Jim Gordon. In some ways, he’s more like my son than Mario.  But it’s natural law - blood for blood

Lee says she hates him. Everything bad that happened in her life is due to him. Or, you know, her conscious adult decision to continue to pursue a relationship with him – but anyway.

Falcone says that doing this will be a weight they'll have to carry for the rest of their lives.  Lee’s not used to this burden

Can you live with it?

She apparently can.  Carmine says he will kill him, by his own hand.

Selina is crying alone in apartment when Bruce brings the box by.  Bruce comments that he knows she’s missed her mother for years, and that he can’t imagine how she's feeling.  Selina angrily says that she left her here alone. Bruce replies:

It’s hard to forgive. The hardest thing any of us have to do in this life

He tells her that this might be the only chance she has to reach back to her mother.  Selina says that she's a crook.  Bruce counters that she’s still her mother.  Maria enters as Selina opens the box, finding her baby things. She embraces her mother and cries.

A city street.  Dwight enters an abandoned theatre.  Jim and Harve follow. There’s a crowd there, in vague clown/asylum get-up.  Harvey comments that this is weird.  A guy gets up on stage, turns on a light.  Harvey comments that it’s even weirder.  The guy gives a speech tailored for teenage edge-lords and those in the throes of a mid-life crisis.

People of this city are slaves.  They go to work to pay taxes, mortgages.  They believe newspapers, fear who politicians tell them to.  They’re mentally shackled.  But someone understood and spoke out.  He stood up to jailers and puppets.

We see the Jerome footage, with the speech he gave at GCPD.

They all repeat it.  Yes, they are all individuals.  

You know, if they like dressing up and audience participation, they should try Rocky Horror instead.

Harvey takes mercy on us, and fires at the ceiling.

Jim starts beating people, and really, I’m on board with this.  The crowd try to rush them, and Jim and Harve run.  As they reach the alley, though, they’re not safe, because there’s Victor shooting at them from a ledge.

Jim quickly tells Harvey that Falcone put out a hit – but that he’s only after Jim, because,

Zsasz is very professional that way.

Zsasz’s henchwomen chase Jim into a restaurant kitchen.  Jim shoots one, and uses another as a human shield, which does not go down well with Victor.  He stalks hm

It's an inevitability, Jim. Embrace it.  You’ve had a good run, you should know that.

Jim pushes a cart out to distract him, and they have a punch-up.  Jim pulls the trigger when Victor is out for the count on the floor – but there’s no bullets left. Victor’s left all dishevelled on the floor.

Oswald sits in his in his father's study.  He’s wearing the dressing gown his father gave him when he first went there after Arkham – again reminding us of his vulnerabilities - even more so because it looks 2 sizes too big for him.

He hears the faint sounds of someone singing ‘happy birthday’ and startles.   Elijah appears again.  He says he needs his body back in the earth to be at rest.  He also tells him ‘he cannot be trusted’.  He then follows this with something about ‘Isabella is on the other side with us, telling dark tales of murder’ – and wraps up by telling him not to trust the birthday boy.

(An aside - The bit about Isabella sticks out like a sore thumb, but Oswald is distressed enough that he is probably unlikely to notice.  Again – you’re invited to sympathise with him, trembling and tearful.)

Lee visits Barnes in Arkham. He seems calmed.  He says that Lee wants to know whether Mario was diseased, and would have killed her.  He comments that he feels better and clearer than he ever did.  Lee seizes on this.

So he could have lived a normal life!

Barnes says the virus is not a disease, but a cure – and then unravels right in front of us.  The whole town – full of murderers, thieves, rapists. James Gordon is one of them

When I get out, he'll be the first that I judge.  

Everyone will be tried, convicted, executed.   The city will be purged.  Innocents will thank their saviour, the executioner. 

Lee watches him wide-eyed and leaves hurriedly.

Selina's mum at dinner at Wayne Manor, reminiscing about her crimes.  Bruce is entertained.  Alfred asks her to stop – and she apologises and compliments the meal.  Selina banters with Alfred, and demonstrates how easy he is to pickpocket.  Maria repeats the trick while hugging him.  They have a flirtatious moment.  Bruce asks her to stay, and Alfred will drive her home in the morning.

Oh – Selina’s so happy. This is doomed.

City Hall.  Oswald climbs the stairs, clearly exhausted.  He’s white-faced and limping badly.  His assistant greets him, but he dismisses her. Looking round the corner, he notices an impromptu celebration and sees a group of people with birthday cake for Tarquin.

Oswald breaks into Tarquin’s office and follows muddy footsteps to a closet.  He pulls a body bag from it.  Opening it, he finds his father's corpse.  Oswald is – of course – horribly traumatised.

Tarquin enters.  He seems to have no clue what’s going on. Oswald says that he’s sick and asks who he’s plotting with.  He tells Oswald he’s mistaken.  Enraged, Oswald beats him to death with a trophy and screams with rage over the corpse.

There’s a knock at the door. Oswald flees, leaving the bloody trophy behind.

Lee bursts into Falcone's house.  Barnes is insane – he needs to call it off.  Falcone points out that she said she hated him, and wanted revenge, but it was to mask what really scares her: she still loves James Gordon.  God, this story again.  Someone hire Zsasz to kill me.

Oswald staggers into his interview:

Sorry I'm late - mayor stuff

We see people watching at home – a family apparently stuck in the 1950s, and some cops at GCPD. Oswald loses it slightly – spilling water down his front, and spotting a bloodstain on his cuff, but manages to pull it together.

Jim arrives home. Harvey comes in just behind him with a shotgun.  He asks Jim why he didn’t say anything about Victor.  Jim says it’s his business – but Harvey points out that’s a bit ridiculous, seeing as how he’s usually standing next to him.

Victor arrives and shoots everything in sight with a machine gun.  Running out of bullets, he switches to his normal double gun set-up. Spotting Harvey, he offers an amiable ‘what’s up?’ – and points a gun at his head.  He tells Jim to drop his gun – it’s his time to die today, not Harvey. Harvey tells Jim to shoot Victor, but is interrupted by…

Carmine

Relax Zsasz. Job's cancelled. You can go home

Victor leaves, perfectly happy, with a perky OK boss.  

Jim walks up to Falcone and apologises.  Falcone is unmoved, and says that if it were up to him, he’d be dead.

Harvey knocks back a whiskey.

(An aside.  I’m a little confused here.  Suspecting as he does, and did before, that Lee is still in love with Jim – surely he’d just order the hit anyway?)

Oswald’s interview continues, and Hearst is needling him, looking for a reaction. The talk of murder behind his rise to power, the murder of Galavan…. She manages eventually to score a hit by talking about his father, and the insinuation that Oswald murdered his stepfamily for inheritance reasons.  She pushes, telling him that the people want the truth.

Oswald, meanwhile, is completely distracted and agitated – because he’s spotted Elijah’s ghost again. He replies:

To hell with the people

We see shocked responses from the TV audience, and Hearst smirks.

Oswald doesn’t care, and chases his father ghost.

Oh Oswald

Both bodies are gone, and an aghast Oswald runs from the building.

Outside, Ed smirks from a distance.  Opening a car boot, we see Elijah’s remains and Tarquin’s corpse in the boot

(An aside - And it makes sense, really, that Ed would manipulate Oswald’s grief like this.  He did it first in his apartment, gleefully seizing on Oswald humming his mother’s lullaby and using it to exploit his weakness and get what he wanted.  He did it again when he saw Oswald gazing at his mother’s statue and confessing his loneliness – using her exact words of love and support to again exploit him and make himself seem indispensable.  There’s no reason he wouldn’t continue to use the same strategy when it's worked so well in the past.)

We get a brief explanation of what happened.  Ed employed Clayface to impersonate Elijah, and played on Tarquin’s ambition to secure his help.  Tabs and Babs approach

Why not leave the bodies for cops and have him arrested?

Ed says that’s too easy. He wants a slow, painful death by a thousand deep cuts.  They’ll destroy his mind.  Then his empire – Babs interjects.  And finally, when’s he’s broken and alone, they’ll do the humane thing – and put him out of his misery.  Babs and Ed laugh in anticipation

Dramatic tension demands a downfall here - they're too smug, and Oswald has been made too sympathetic in comparison.  I would guess Ed and Babs will not get things all their own way.

Maria kisses Alfred on the cheek as thanks for the car ride.  As they reach her apartment, Maria asks Selina to wait behind.  We hear an angry conversation about owing money. Again – I think this is a stitch-up. Selina’s just as exposed to this situation waiting outside as she would be just entering, and Maria knows she’ll come in as soon as she hears her threatened.

Selina says that Bruce will pay the money her mother owes.  The man – Cole – says that seeing as it’s Bruce Wayne, he’ll ask for more cash. Maria tells Selina they need to warn her friends, and that her past is coming back to punish her.  Selina is understandably irritated:

Good job, Mom

Jerome’s priest is at Indian Hill.  He seems irate, but the morgue assistant assures him that his designs work.  He protests, however – saying that the currents are too strong, and wind up killing them.  They need to move quickly – apparently.  It’s time to get ‘him.’

We move to a warehouse and see a row of containers – one of which contains Jerome.

My past is coming back to punish me.

Restless ghosts, in one form or another, show up repeatedly throughout this episode.  We have the very literal ghost of Elijah, conjured up by Ed to terrorise Oswald.  Its very real echo is Oswald’s actual grief over the loss of both parents – which makes him vulnerable to Ed’s manipulations.  There’s the ghost of Jim and Lee’s past.  The ghost of Isabella, the motivation for Ed’s actions.   Jerome – still haunting the city.  Selina’s mother delivers the ghost of the little girl she abandoned in the box of mementos.  Alice’s ghost haunts Barnes through her her virus.  The girl in the morgue gets up and wanders alongside the railway tracks after her death. Everyone must deal with the spectre of their past, in one way or another.

It’s hard to forgive. The hardest thing any of us have to do in this life.

One way to leave the past behind and put restless ghosts to bed is through forgiveness.  We see Selina forgive her mother immediately after the scene where Lee refuses to forgive Jim – although Lee changes her mind later, resulting in Jim’s life being spared.  Ed cannot forgive Oswald for what he did, and pursues revenge instead.  Oswald is nowhere near being at peace with his past, and so is easily tormented by it.

Jim

Doesn’t have the easiest time, this episode.  He’s chased by Victor, Lee tells him he’s a life-wrecking virus, and Falcone says he’d like him dead.  I’m assuming he’ll figure out Lee called off the hit, which might boost his mood a little.

Is he going to interact with Bruce at all this season, incidentally?

Oswald

Oh dear.  Gotham loves woobie-ing Oswald, and they’ve really gone for it here. We are fully aware that Oswald did a terrible, unforgiveable thing – but they were at pains here to show us Oswald tormented, vulnerable, and alone.  We’re reminded of his past in Arkham, the loss of his parents. His physical disability is played up. Even after you’ve watched him bludgeon some guy to death with a trophy – you’re still on his side, because the writing very much pushes you there.

I’m hoping Oswald rallies soon.  Too much suffering is no fun to watch – and Ed and Babs were far too smug in this episode. Oswald played mob bosses off each other and enjoyed the thrill.  He can outwit this pair.

Ed

Not seeing any of the inner-conflict I saw in the previous episode, sadly.  Ed’s enjoying himself.  Even if he can’t go through with murdering Oswald, this manipulation is as unforgiveable as Isabella’s murder.

[fascistslooklike-blog]

The oldies

Mike Pence looks like he chose the wrong grail. mike pence looks like wax and powdered milk. Mike pence looks like the ghost of Christmas yet to come. But the part of Christmas where you are at Best Buy trying to return a DVD copy of the second season of CSI:Miami that your uncle got you. Mike pence looks like you were painting a fence and accidentally painted a stick bug. Mike pence looks like a ghost of a shart. Mike Pence looks like if Slim Jim decided to make a vanilla flavor meat stick. Mike pence looks like someone tricked him into smiling once and he's been trying to undo it ever since. Mike Pence looks like he is sustained by children's sadness. Mike Pence looks like an over cooked Lima bean. Mike Pence looks like one of those cyborg people in the opening credits of Westworld. But if the 3D printer stopped working and they put him in the discard pile. mike pence looks like the villain in a caddyshack sequel Mike pence looks like if a tapeworm was wearing a human Halloween costume that came from Spirit Halloween Store. Mike pence looks like that cat turd that's been behind the litter box for months and you're just now finding it Mike Pence and Jeff Sessions look like the evil millionaire brothers from an 80s movie that try to buy and demolish an orphans summer camp to build a Walmart super center. But more molesty. Mike Pence looks like he has Lego hair. Mike Pence looks like if Trump was living A Christmas Carol and got to the ghost of Christmas yet to come and offered him the job of VP. Mike Pence looks like a GoodValue candy cane that had all the red licked off it then dropped on the carpet. Mike Pence looks like the shi tzu ate a bunch of tinsel and then pooped. Mike Pence looks like he has an edited version of A Christmas Carol where he just watches the scene with tiny tims empty chair on loop. Mike Pence looks like a wet little Debbie zebra cake. Mike pence looks like someone that figured out a way for the wet bandits to sue Kevin for all the mental anguish. Mike Pence looks like his favorite holiday dish is miracle whip sandwiches. Mike Pence looks like his favorite holiday tradition is sitting quietly and considering poor children and laughing to himself. Mike Pence looks like he volunteers to bring dessert to family holiday potlucks and then just brings frozen milk. And then it's just for the adults. Mike Pence looks like someone that gathers his family around the Christmas tree for holiday stories and just reads the Bible quietly to himself. Getting angry if his family stops watching him read to himself Mike Pence looks like someone that watches the first half of How the Grinch Stole Christmas(up till the grinch gets back to his cave with all the gifts from whoville) year round. Mike Pence looks like a ketchup packet that's been licked clean. Thought I was being chased by Mike pence earlier. Turned out to be bird poo on my back windshield. Mike Pence looks like if you only used that useless white crayon from your 96 pack of crayolas (with sharpener on the side!) Mike pence looks like one of those crappy bully ghosts that were mean to Casper. Mike Pence looks like one of those long cotton swabs that they use at the health department to swab your junk and check for STDS. But guess what, it already had STDs on it Mike Pence looks like one of those fish that live in caves and evolve into translucent assholes. Mike Pence looks like he still has a CRT tv on purpose. Mike Pence looks like he gets a secret boner every time someone mentions Hitler. Mike Pence looks like he would be excited to have Jeff Sessions around so they can talk about all their favorite jams. Like poor people crying. Or how people lose control of their bowels when you electrocute the gay out of them. Mike Pence looks like his favorite book of the Bible is Mein Kampf. Mike Pence looks like he moisturizes his "skin" with salt. Mike Pence looks like ten seconds into a Dr Pimple Popper video. (Don't look that up if you aren't familiar) Mike Pence looks like his patronus is wet toilet paper. Mike Pence looks like he has that Benjamin Button disease but instead of getting younger he's just a piece of shit. Mike Pence looks like he hates music. Even bad music. Just doesn't see a point. Mike Pence looks like he had all the mirrors taken out of his house so he would stop scaring himself. Mike Pence looks like he would have "pray the gay away" stickers made if he didn't think using stickers was gay somehow. Mike Pence looks like he finds egg shell texture paint offensive. Mike Pence looks like he sniffed really hard once and his upper lip disappeared. Mike Pence looks like he is always smelling a fart. And that makes him happy. Mike Pence looks like if you started to tell him a knock knock joke he would just hand you. Card that said "no soliciting" and walk away. Mike Pence looks like his favorite food is flour Mike Pence looks like he has never heard a punchline to any joke Mike Pence looks like the kind of guy that doesn't see a problem using "bing bing Ching Chong" when ordering Chinese food. Then get mad and ask how that's racist. Mike Pence looks like he orders his coffee by saying thing like "I like my women like I like my coffee...aryan". Then he just drinks hot water and talks about how stiff it is. Mike Pence looks like he loves to make home made ice cream. But really he just relates to rock salt mixed with ice on a spiritual level. Mike Pence looks like he says things like "the only good minority is the 1%". Mike Pence looks like the inside of a coconut. Mike Pence looks like a sculpture my child did in first grade Mike Pence looks like he really loves third wave ska, except for all the guitars and horns and drums and stuff. Mike Pence probably used to look like a young Brad Pitt. But then he saw a man kiss another man and it shocked him into the apparition he is now. Mike Pence looks like he looked into the Ark of the Covenant. Mike Pence looks like he chose the wrong grail. Mike Pence looks like he got voted into office because he was running against "beheading all of your loved ones". And people just thought they were picking the lesser of two evils. Mike Pence looks like he says "now we all like a good joke, but this is going too far" every time he passes a mirror. Mike Pence looks like when you leave grits in a pot too long then go to clean it and they all come out in one pot shaped lump. Mike Pence looks like he doesn't understand why everyone is upset that Trump likes women pee on each other. As long as it wasn't two dudes. ‪Mike Pence looks like he eats healthy. He only absorbs the life force of athletic children. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he loves winter. Because when he goes outside the cold air keeps its host body from rotting. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he's excited to see a broadway musical telling the life story of Martin Luther King but featuring an all white cast. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he meant to shed his people skin a while back and just can't get around to it. He's just an ashy reptilian ‪Mike Pence looks like he gets up to "public bathroom antics". But feels like it's ok because he makes up for it by torturing gay youths. ‬ Mike Pence looks like he was born 8 months premature. ‪Mike Pence looks like he only watches Full Metal Jacket with his shirt off and all alone. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he blames all his angry confusion on the first time he saw a man with a ponytail.He has sexy fever dreams about that guy‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he saw a ghost rider comic and wondered why people kept drawing him on fire. Mike Pence looks like he would use the urinal right next to you even though there are 2 empty ones on each side of yours ‪Mike Pence looks like Michael Graves was his favorite Misfits singer. ‪Mike Pence looks like he would love to take a hot bath but is afraid he would just turn into a dead skin bath bomb. ‪Mike Pence looks like he dozes off each night mumbling"ANCIENT SPIRITS OF EVIL TRANSFORM THIS DECAYED FORM TO MUM..um MIKE PENCE"#thundercats‬ Mike Pence looks like Senator Kelly from Xmen after he turns into a mutant and becomes water ‪Mike Pence looks like he got "his" and "hers" pillows for him and his wife. And sometimes...He makes her sleep on the "his" pillow. #kink‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he googles porno by typing"STRAIGHT sex where female human isn't allowed to talk or be seen and is actually male"‬ Mike Pence looks like he is a huge fan of male competitive endurance tickling. Mike Pence looks like a racist unmasked Scooby Doo villain. Mike Pence looks like he irons his tshirts. Mike Pence looks like he is stoked to become president in (vegas odds) one year when Trump is impeached. Mike Pence looks like the stains you would find on a mattress on a hotel if you used a black light? Mike Pence looks like the whitest part of the outside of the box of generic saltine crackers Mike Pence looks like grated parmesan cheese when viewed at 500x under a microscope. Mike Pence looks like the black sheep of the Quaker Oats family. Mike Pence looks like he likes his steaks "extra well done". He's probably one of those people that will send it back if it's not burned enough. Then puts ketchup on it. Mike Pence is so white he doesn't have to wear a robe at a Klan meeting Mike Pence looks like he doesn't cast a shadow. Mike Pence was surprised to find white rice in a box of Uncle Ben's Mike Pence shocked that Colonel Sanders actually not a Colonel. Mike Pence looks like he cans his Christian farts like your grandma cans tomatoes. Mike Pence won't display the Rosary because it resembles anal beads a little too much. Mike Pence looks like an off brand Q-Tip. Mike Pence looks like he thinks there should be reasonable allowances for abortion. Like if the fetus is gay. Mike Pence looks like he has his original "host body" stuffed in a closet somewhere. Mike Pence looks like drywall's wet dream. Mike Pence looks like the starches his own shirts just by wearing them. Mike Pence looks like an albino albino. Mike Pence is the type of guy who would get angry watching the Andy Griffith show because Barney never pistol whipped Otis drunk ass before (un)locking him up. mike pence's only problem with baby powder is that it isn't white enough. he still rolls in it nightly. Someone once told mike Pence he smelled like a "jizz fart" and he got offended cause he thought they said "jazz bar" Mike Pence marinates his steaks in Liquid Paper. Mike Pence looks like a taco bell dollar menu option: a stack of flour tortillas with a side of sour cream. Mike Pence looks like he respected Sarumon the White until he saw him standing a little too close to those dark-skinned Uruk-Hai.

[shawnpetermuffins]

How's It Feel (CG pt 2)

A/n: I really struggled to write this, I'm not gonna lie. It wasn't turning out the way I wanted it at all, but this is what I've got and I still hope you like it.

Summary: Shawn's starting to feel how you did for way too long.

Requested: yes, by a lot of you surprisingly

Word count: 2.8k

***

The hole in my chest had only grown since y/n walked out of our apartment. I tried texting her, calling her. I tried everything until eventually my messages didn't go through anymore. My calls went straight to voicemail. All of her stuff was gone when I got back from the studio one day too, and if it was even possible, my heart broke all over again seeing that.

And as if not being with her wasn't already messing with my head, having to tell my family was even worse. Mum was pissed, didn't talk to me for three days, Aaliyah over a week. (I’ll be honest, she probably still wouldn’t be talking to me had I not broke down in front of Mum when I went to go work things out with them.) It was torture not being able to talk to two of the most important women in my life, about the other single most important girl in my life. One who no longer wanted me.

I knew I fucked up, there was no denying that. But I never intended to hurt her the way I did. I took her love for granted, I know that now, but knowing that just makes it hurt worse.

So I spent almost every night following our not-so mutual breakup at the bar, drinking the strongest liquor I could get my hands on because beer just wasn't going to cut it. If I was going to drown in anything, I'd rather it be in alcohol than in my own self pity. And it worked… until I met her.

---

Jordan's presence slammed into my like a ton of bricks. She was everything that the media thought I should be with. Long, flowy blonde hair. Legs for days. That "natural glow" that very obviously was just a dewy foundation - something y/n never wore because she thought it made her look more oily than dewy. By all means, she is who I wanted. Or more accurately, she is who I wanted to want.

Jordan was probably the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. There's not a doubt in my mind. But she wasn't y/n. She didn't stay the night. She hardly ever called, not unless I had promo events or award shows. So I guess lucky for me, it was award season. But these were the only times I'd see her. Only times I'd talk to her. Not that I didn't want to. I did, and I tried. But my messages would go read and unanswered. She never wanted to hang out with me and my friends, and on the ever-so rare occasion that she did accept my offer, it always ended with a quick fuck and she was out the door. There were no cuddles, there was no snuggling. I didn't get to wake up to make her breakfast like I used to do for y/n before I let things go so wrong.

I wonder if this is what y/n felt when I was out the door before she ever got the chance to open her eyes. I wonder if she felt this every morning for the last eight months of our relationship. That's how long it was, I realized when it was much too late. I blew off plans, and I didn't come home, and I didn't talk to her for eight months. But I still expected her to do things for me. Go to my awards shows even when I know she told me she had things she needed to do for work. I called her unsupportive more times than I can count and I unintentionally, but somehow knowingly let her slip through my fingers.

---

Come over???

Jordan read the text three hours ago and still hasn't bothered to respond. Not that I was expecting her to anymore. Unless I ask her to come to an award show with me, I won't get a response for days.

So I'm here, logged into Brian's Instagram looking through y/n's most recent posts because she blocked me on literally everything, not that I can blame her. She knew me well enough to know that after the way we ended things I would want to check up on her. Even though I didn't do it enough while I had her.

Kinda_yourname

7,421 likes

Kinda_yourname Carnival nights call for impromptu photo shoots.

📸: @ connorbrashier

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I throw my phone onto the coffee table, suddenly sick to my stomach.

Connor. She still talks to him. They still hang out. I knew they had gotten close on the SM3 tour but I'd never realized that they were still close. It shouldn't bother me - she's, in fact, not mine anymore no matter how much I wish she were - But it does. It bothers me so much. Because who is he to be taking pictures like this of the girl I used to call my own? How is someone I considered a friend going to betray me this way?

I want so badly to throw something, to scream, and punch and kick like a dramatic child who's just been told he can't go play outside with his friends because it's far too hot. Other than the fact that my phone is no longer in my hands, and that my fingers are pressed firmly into the denim encompassing my legs, anyone watching me wouldn't be able to tell that I was in such serious turmoil.

I want to go back to feeling something. Even if it is just contempt for myself and the way I let things get so out of hand. But something inside me won't let it happen. I've become nothing but a hollow shell of what I used to be. I feel nothing. I want for nothing. I do nothing. It’s been hell on my music, too. Selfishly, I thought that being heartbroken would help me write another album, but now I have no inspiration. My muse is gone.

---

I'm sitting in the dining room with my mum who seems to be a little on edge while I'm talking to her. She keeps looking toward the door when she thinks I'm not looking, but I can't bring myself to ask why she's acting so weird. I should have.

"Where's Liyah?" I asked.

"Getting ready. She's going out with a friend."

I nodded, "Who?"

Mum shook her head and dismissed the question with wave of her hand, "You don't know her."

Ouch.

"Now, uh, what's going on?" She clasped her hands together.

I furrowed my brows, but shrugged off the uneasiness radiating through her body language. "I uh… I messed up."

"What do you mean?"

"With y/n."

She sighed, "Shawn. It's been three months."

"Yeah. And I haven't been able to write a song since we broke up."

"I thought you said you were dating that new girl."

"Jordan," I mumbled.

"Yes, her."

"It's complicated." I took in a deep breath, "Every time I try to make an effort, it's never reciprocated. She never texts me back, or calls me. She only ever wants to get together when I tell her I have an award show to go to or like I'm doing press. And I don't get that same feeling that I used to get when y/n would look at me. I don't love her, mum. Hell, I don't even know if I really like her or if I'm forcing myself to because I'm trying to compensate for what I don't have with y/n anymore."

Mum didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes told me everything.

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"It's something. What? What are you thinking?"

"Now, honey you know I love you. And I will support you through anything." She took my hands in hers from across the table. "But it sounds to me like you're getting a taste of your own medicine."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't get upset, Shawn. But that's exactly what you did with y/n. She texted and she called and you only wanted her when you needed someone next to you. You didn't treat her like your girlfriend. Not even a little bit. She was 'arm candy.' And that, it pains me to say, is what you are to this Jordan girl."

I run my hands through my hair, frustrated. "I don't want Jordan anymore. And it's clear she doesn't want me. I have to end things with her."

"If that's what you want, then I support you."

"I want y/n, mum… What do I do?"

"There's nothing you can do. Y/n isn't going to take you back."

"You don't know that," I said desperately, even though I knew she was right."

“Sweetheart, you know I love y/n. We all do. And you also know that I wouldn’t be telling you this if I thought that she would take you back. But Shawn… you hurt her. No, that’s not right. You broke her. That whole last year of your relationship shattered her into a million pieces. She’s trying just as hard as you - if not harder - to pick herself back up after this.”

“She’s hanging out with Connor. Did you know that?”

“And what does that matter? You’re with someone else.”

“It’s Connor! He and I are friends!”

“Shawn -”

"Karen! I hope you don't mind. I used my key, is Aaliyah -"

I stilled at the sound of the voice of both my dreams and my nightmares. A voice I never thought I'd hear again. I slowly turned around and was met with her frighteningly pale skin, she looked like she'd seen a ghost, and I knew I probably looked the same.

"Hi," I said like an idiot after a minute of full on staring at her, taking in every single thing I could.

She didn't say it back, just shook her head, averted her eyes and cleared her throat. "Karen, is Aaliyah ready?"

"I'm ready!" My little sister beamed, entering the now overly tense dining room. “Oh... Hey, Shawn.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, only to y/n.

“Liyah, you got your stuff?”

She nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.” She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Mum’s cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

“Is it cool if I take her out to dinner?” y/n asked, still not looking at me. "There were a lot of people at the mall when I passed by so we might be there longer than expected."

“What the hell is going on?” I exclaimed, and I knew eyes were on me now, but not the eyes I so desperately wanted to be on me. "Did you know she was coming over?" I asked mum.

She didn't answer me and that was response enough. “That’s fine, honey. But come back for dessert, okay? Manny and I were thinking sundaes with all the fixings.”

“You know the way to my heart, Karen. We’ll be back by eight.”

Aaliyah was now standing next to my ex-girlfriend once again and my heart ached watching them. They started walking toward the door, and I was going to leave it alone. Let them walk out the house without a problem, but my body reacted before my mind could catch up. “Y/n, wait.” When she didn’t turn around, I took her wrist. “Baby, please. Can we talk?”

“Let go of me, Shawn,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not until you look at me,” I said, desperation lacing between every word.

She sighed and fished her keys out of her pocket, “Hon, can you wait in the car? I’ll be right there.”

My sister nodded and walked out of the house without so much as a glance my way. And when the door shut behind her, those y/e/c eyes finally met mine, breaking me even more because they didn’t hold that light they used to.

"What, Shawn? What could you possibly want?"

I open and close my mouth like a fish gasping for water.

"Well?" She arches an eyebrow at me, making me feel small beneath that stare that I desperately wanted just minutes ago, but now I wish she would look away. Because seeing that hurt and hatred behind her eyes is killing me. "What do you want?" She asked again.

And I broke. "You. Always fucking you!"

She scoffed, "No you don't!" She exclaimed. "You don't want me, you're lonely! I'm not your pet, Shawn! I'm not gonna come at your beck and call. I'm a human being. A human being with real feelings. A human being still trying to fix what you broke," her finger jabbed into my chest. "You don't get to say that you miss me after the way you treated me."

"I know, but-"

"Do you seriously think you can defend yourself here?" Y/n crosses her arms over her chest and it only makes me more upset.

"What makes you think you have any right to defend yourself?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Yeah, you're out there fucking around with one of my close friends, right? What? Are you gonna say he's just a friend? That he's just looking out for your well-being? Because that's definitely not the case."

"WHO?! Which of your 'close friends' am I supposedly fucking around with?"

Hearing her curse that way reminds me that we're in my parent's house and I suddenly feel really bad for causing this scene in front of my mum, but we're already too far gone.

"Oh, don't play dumb!"

"Enlighten me." She won't budge from her spot, but I've paced so much and so quickly that I was starting to leave a path in the carpet.

"With Connor. I saw you were together on your instagram."

"How could you even see that if I blocked you?"

"Are you gonna deny it?"

"Am I not allowed to have friends, Shawn? Because last I checked, you weren't my boyfriend, and you sure as hell weren't my 'keeper.' You don't have any right to tell me who I can and can't hang out with. So what if I'm hanging out with him? We got close on tour." She said with a shrug, "not that it's any of your business, but we are just friends"

"I haven't written since you left," I said lowly, suddenly much too tired to continue this screaming match that literally just started. "And I've been seeing this girl," I said and tried to find some type of emotion behind her eyes, but there was nothing.

"Then why the hell should it matter if I was with Connor? Even as friends."

I couldn't answer her yet, so I continued, "She never wants to hang out. She's only there for awards and stuff. It kind of sucks actually."

She scoffed, "That's funny. Because that seemed to be exactly what you were wanting while we were together."

"That's not what I wanted, y/n. I just lost sight of what we had, my feelings got confused, and they shouldn't have. I didn't mean to hurt you that way."

"But you did! And now you're complaining for what? Because she's not waiting around for you like I was?"

"Honey-"

"No! You don't get to call me that anymore! You have no right!"

"Okay," I hold my hands up in defense. "I'm sorry. I just, I don't know what to say to make this better. I didn't realize that you felt this way until it happened to me. And it's the worst feeling. I feel like nothing I do will ever be good enough." I sigh, "and I'm miserable without you," I confessed.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But that's not my fault. You made the decisions that you did and you lost me in the process. That was all you."

"I want to go back. Forget that it's over."

"But you can't," she said, finally uncrossing her arms.

"But if we could?"

She shook her head, "even if we could. I'm not willing to forget."

"Will we ever be okay again? Be the way we used to be? Before we started dating."

She sighed and her gaze dropped once again. "As far as I'm concerned," she started. "You and I were strangers before we got together… and we're strangers once again." With a heavy sigh and a quick run of her fingers through her hair, she turned her attention back to the door that my sister walked out of just minutes ago. "I have to go. Your sister's waiting."

Don't go, I think to myself. Let me fix this. Let me try. But of course I don't say this. I watch her fingers curl around knob and my own fingers twitch, just aching to reach for her. But then the door closes with a soft click behind her and I find myself leaning against that same hard wood, tears blurring my vision.

I slide to the floor, my head in my hands, shoulders shaking with my uncontrolled sobs.

I never thought I'd feel this heartbreak. It's even worse the second time, somehow. Maybe because I know now that this is it for us.

Because I was always the master of words, and her of action. But in this moment, there are no words to save me, nor weapons to save her.

We are caught, defenseless, on seperate sides of the door.

***

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A/n: I didn't feel the same way about this one as I did the first one, but I hope you enjoyed it!

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