#i just passionately sang this song and my dog and my mom stared me down like im a freak

[issaxcharlie]

Ghost Of You 2/2

Pairing: Ghost! Luke Patterson x Fem Reader

Summary: Luke, Reggie and Alex have to assimilate their loss. For Luke of his girlfriend, and for the others of their best friend after suddenly learning that she didn’t have the future they imagined, and instead died 23 years ago.

Thank you to @cookiebuba for being the head of the entire idea and trusting me with it, and to Emy for almost holding my hand to force me to write🤣💜

PART 1 HERE

“It can’t be.”

“Luke, I-”

"No, Julie. You are not telling me that the woman of my life, the purest person who has ever stepped on this world, not only lost her partner and her best friends, but was only able to live her life for two more years and then ended in a horrible accident. It's as if life wanted to torture her before taking her too.”

“Love of ?... Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away. Of course.”

“I- It can’t be true, please tell me it’s not true, Julie.”

“Luke... she loved you so much.”

He falls on the floor. The impact is strong, as if his legs have stopped working.

"I know." He whispers slowly, his gaze empty as multiple tears fall from his eyes.

The rest of the gang threw themselves to the ground around him and hugged him with all their might, trying to unite his broken pieces without any success. Alex and Reggie each crying silently over the loss of their sweet friend.

“What day did she pass away? Alex whispers.

"Let me search, one moment." Julie gets up quickly and checks on her laptop to find a little note about the singer's death.

"The rising singer Y/N Y/L who had just released the biggest hit of her career passed away this afternoon in a terrible car accident after leaving the cemetery where her late boyfriend, Luke Patterson, was buried. Y/L was there in commemoration of the 2 years of the loss of the aspiring musician, who died from a sudden tragic intoxication along with the rest of his band. Something to rescue from this tragedy is that at least she's already reunited with her eternal love. May both rest in peace.”

“This can’t be. My Y/N can’t be gone. Not her, not like that.” Luke is still in denial, unable to believe that his little girl suffered such a terrible ending.

“Maybe she’s not. There's still a chance that she's also a ghost.”

“Yeah, Julie’s right. We need to look out for her, we can't write her off without trying to find her first.” Reggie's eyes sparkle with hope, rushing to cover Alex's mouth in case he says anything other than motivating.

Luke takes his flannel and disappears immediately. Both Reggie and Alex stare sadly at Julie who simply whispers a "go, he needs you." They nod and teleport to their friend.

As expected, Luke is in front of the window of an old music store. He met his girlfriend here so many years ago, the day his parents agreed to buy him his first guitar.

The store had a small section where customers could try out some instruments and she was playing the guitar they had there and singing for the small audience. It seemed like it was something she did often because both the workers and certain customers seemed familiar with the girl.

Luke was captivated by her from the first moment. The energy and passion that radiated from her in every move was unreal. He had never seen anyone happier, much less singing with a borrowed guitar from a small downtown store.

The store is completely abandoned, so without saying anything he comes in and walks towards the small stage.

The ghosts of two 12-year-old kids singing together into the microphone invades his memory. If they only knew.

"Do you remember what was the first thing she said to you?" Reggie and Alex sit next to him on the floor, looking straight at the very small stage. They both try to imagine what their friends must have looked like singing here together the first time. Luke totally invading little Y/N's presentation trying to captivate her with his 0% music experience and 100% of enthusiasm.

Luke laughs through tears. "You have the voice of a country singer."

Alex starts crying when he imagines her. He met her just a few weeks later so he knows exactly how she must have looked and sound.

Reggie smiles while shedding a tear, remembering all those afternoons Y/N convinced Luke to join them in their country sessions. He knows that's why Luke hasn't wanted to know anything about country or his songs since they got back. They remind him of his sweet girl.

“I was so offended. I still didn't know anything about music but I had already decided that I would be a rocker. If I hadn't already been so dazzled by her I would have left without looking back.”

“And what did you answer to defend your honor?”

"You think so?" The three of them start laughing while still crying. A heartbreaking mix of pain comes from their chests.

“C’mon guys, next stop.”

The three of them were teletransporting around the city during the day without any success. Luke's desperation increasing for every place the songwriter wasn't.

At night the three decide to go back to the studio. Luke is heartbroken, bloated after crying all day, eyes red and sore, and whatever it was that was driving him to continue, off.

His friends couldn't do much for him either because each was living the loss in their own way, concentrating on living their own pain until they could process it.

Julie wraps them in blankets on the couch and tries to fill them with love, making sure to hug Luke tightly, who seems about to fall apart.

“Does anyone want to talk about her? Maybe it could make you feel better.”

“She was my entire soul, the words and melody in each of my songs. I just, I love her more than anything in this world. I would give anything for her. My guitar, my voice, my songs, whatever it took for us to be together. I know it doesn't seem like it at this point, but we belong together.”

“We know you do, man.”

“I didn't tell you but I dream about her almost every night since we got back. It is always the same dream. She is in bed, leaving my side intact. She's wearing one of my shirts and hugging my favorite one while sobbing. She falls asleep listening to the ballad I wrote for her soaked in tears and no matter how hard I try to wake her up, I can't get her to see or hear me. I can’t get her. After a few minutes she gets up still asleep and begins to dance as we did so many times, but alone. Then she stops and starts crying again inconsolably. And that's when I wake up."

"I'm so sorry, Luke. She deserved so much more." Reggie walks over to hug him, his head resting on his arm while he sobs.

“We couldn't even say goodbye to her.” Alex cries, his eyes completely red.

“We already know that she visited your graves, perhaps we could do the same, dedicate a few words to her.” Julie offers in an attempt to help them find some peace.

Luke looks devastated, but he nods his head as tears continue to fall from his face, the ring that his girlfriend gave him going in and out of his finger. Alex hugs Julie while she strokes his hair in an effort to calm him down and Reggie runs up to get a notebook and pencil to start planning what to say to his best friend tomorrow.

The three of them hang around all night, crying, writing, hugging, remembering the spark of Sunset Curve. In the morning before going to visit her, they realize is exactly the 25th anniversary of that tragic night that changed the lives of the four forever. Luke nearly punches a hole in the wall upon hearing the sad coincidence.

Her grave is right next to Luke's, who has never been here before and can't help but feel a bit anxious.

“Don’t worry, I’ll start.” Reggie tells the guitarist as he takes a step forward, a small smile on his lips.

"Hello, princess. Long time, huh? I'm Reggie, by the way. In case you don't recognize me from the slight change in my hair. I am trying a little more gel, I want something more elegant and classic. What do you think? Yes, I also thought you would like it.” Julie and Alex smile at hearing him talk to her as natural as possible.

“I tried very hard to think of what to say, because if there is anyone who deserves my best words, it is you. And three things came to mind that I want to share with you.

First, the color yellow.

Yellow like the guitar you were saving for two years to buy. You did everything. You were a babysitter, you walked dogs, you worked in the school library, you sang with your old acoustic guitar in every cafe, basically everything that will let you win some money.

And the day before you could finally go buy it, my dad broke my bass in a moment of anger in one of his typical fights with mom that got really out of hand. At least he didn’t hurt her, huh? But when you're a kid you don't even think about the possibility that something like that could happen, you just focus on the broken instrument in your hand. I ran out and ended up on the stairs of your house with my face soaked and one of the broken pieces in my hand.

You hugged me and promised that everything would be fine. That I was always going to have you four and that we would always be family. You assured me that good things happen to good people. And I believed you, you know? You were always right. But now that I'm here, that I know you didn't have the happy ending you deserved, I'm honestly not so sure anymore.”

Luke and Alex start crying again, each hugging Reggie from one side. Reg tries with all his might to continue through the tears, while Julie looks at them with a broken heart.

“The next day when I came back from school a new bass was on my bed. You talked to Mom so she could take the credit for the gift, but coincidentally was exactly the bass that I fell in love with a year earlier when we went to check if your beloved yellow guitar hadn't dropped in price. Luke revealed to me a few months later that you had to borrow money from your mom in order to complete the exact money for that one.

How generous do you have to be in order to do something like that? how noble? How loving? How selfless? You were always more than I deserved. I was supposed to be like an older brother for you, but it was always you who took care of me. I have Julie and Carlos, and I'm trying to be with them as you were with me. I had the best step sister in the world to teach me, and I hope I can do you justice.” Julie starts crying too after hearing his words, and resists the urge to going to hug him because she knows that they need their space to let go all the suffering that they carry.

“Second, my leather jacket.

When we started the band we made a 100% commitment to being rockstars. And a very important part is the look. You accompanied me on a walk around the city looking for the right outfit to literally go sing to the people who were lining up in front of the clubs.

Anyone could have left me alone on that for multiple reasons, not even these two wanted to face the trouble. But you followed me without thinking twice.

The afternoon was over and we still haven't found anything. Our feet couldn't take it anymore and we had 10 minutes to run to the club. But we stopped by a little store that had a black leather jacket in the window and you said, Reg, this is it.

You excitedly took me by the hand and when I tried it on, the rest was history.

Then I tried to get the whole band to use them but these two boys without fashion sense didn’t want to. You, on the other hand, supported me and wore your leather jacket during all the Sunset Curve performances we had, convincing me that they were our good luck charms and that if we both used them everything would be amazing. Oh god, I miss you so much.

And third, a star.

I thought you were a star when I heard you sing for the first time.

I thought you were a star when you and Luke managed to write the whole Sunset Curve album in 2 months.

I thought you were a star when you bought me my bass, when you made Alex feel better after one of his strongest attacks, when you filled Luke with love and support when he needed it the most.

And I believe it now that I know you are gone.

If you are in heaven, you have to be a star. And not just a star, the brightest star of all. I promise to look for your light every night to wish you sweet dreams. I will also sing you some country since you were the only one who appreciated my incredible sound, I hope it makes you smile.”

“That was beautiful, Reggie. I’m sure she loved it.” Julie finally reaches out to hug him as Alex prepares to be next.

“Hey. I don’t even know where to start.

I- I guess I should start saying I could never pay you all the times you were there to pick me up when I needed someone the most. I went back to dancing a little again. It's not the same without you, but somehow it makes me feel you close. I also met someone, oh Y/N, he’s so special, I'm sure you would have loved him and I would have loved the opportunity to introduce him to you. You were always there.

You were there to support me when I decided to learn drums to cope with my anxiety. You sang the song I was practicing over and over to keep me company and reassure me that what I was doing sounded good.

You were there to support me when I told you I like to dance. We spent hours choreographing different iconic songs and just laughing and enjoying creating more memories together.

Not shocking at this point but you were also there for me when I confessed to my parents I’m gay and you gave me strength all those times that I wanted to fall because they no longer saw me the same way.

You were always my safe place. And I regret with all my heart that I couldn’t be yours.”

Alex breaks down. She kept them on their feet during her darkest days and they paid her off by causing her the most horrible pain imaginable. Julie and Reggie surround her in their arms while sobbing. The last one of the band standing moves closer to the grave and drops to his knees.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so fucking sorry.” Luke tries to be strong, but tears start falling like waterfalls from his eyes, his face red in a mixture of despair, sadness and anger.

“I will never forgive myself for leaving you alone. Baby, I've been without you for only 1 month and I’m going crazy, even with the boys and Julie by my side. I don't even want to imagine what you must have been through those two years. My soul is shattered just thinking about it.

At first when we returned I imagined you were happy after having fulfilled all our plans with someone else. And I thought nothing could hurt me more than that, but obviously I was wrong. Because although it hurt me that I couldn’t be the one who was with you, thinking that you had been happy gave me the peace to be able to continue. Now that I know that life took away your opportunity, the only thing I feel is anger.

Anger towards me, anger towards destiny. Anger at not being able to be together even after death. Since we discovered where you are, I have only been able to think of cross over and finally be with you again.

Or at least go back to the night before everything turned into a nightmare. Fall asleep with you in my arms one more time.

I swear I even miss your snoring and you biting my cheek after your goodnight kiss, as you would say, in a gesture of love.”

“Hello again, my love.

I can't believe 25 years have passed. First of all, I want you to know that I'm okay. Or well, the equivalent for ghosts that are destined to haunt the earth alone for all eternity. I made a friend for several years, Rose. I told you about her, remember? I know you guys would have been good friends, she was a ridiculously talented musician. Since she died I no longer had the strength to go back to the studio, but for a long time I enjoyed her company in one of my favorite places. She promised to tell you that I'm waiting for you. I will wait whatever time is necessary, okay? I love you so much, baby.

You three are always on my mind, and I think I can finally accept that the pain is just never going to go away. But lately something super strange has happened to me, let me tell you.

Throughout these years, in the darkest days, I see you. But, they were always memories.

A month ago, I started to see you having other kinds of experiences and I honestly don't know how to feel about it. Am I going that crazy? I selfishly hoped that you too were ghosts for so many years. I looked for you 5, 10, 15, 20 years. And just as I decide to give up, my head imagines you all over the city.

The first time I saw you singing Reggie's jam on the beach. You guys looked so happy, love. It filled my heart with peace for a few seconds, knowing that somewhere up there you are enjoying life singing together all day.

Then I saw my beloved Alex with a cute boy. My heart melted, I can’t even explain how much I wanted to run to hug him and gossip about it.

Baby, he looked so peaceful. I always wanted that for Alex. I didn't know whether to be happy or cry because that didn’t actually happen, so I did both.

The penultimate time was a few nights ago when I was walking in front of the Orpheum and I heard your voices. How wicked my mind is, right? A knife to the heart would hurt less.

And now, I can't even get close to your grave because I'm imagining you all again.”

Y/N doesn't know what to do, if she gets close enough will they disappear? What If they don’t? Will she bear to see them up close? She has been dancing with their ghosts in her dreams for so many years, but It’s not the same as doing it when she is fully awake.

She is about to run out of there in fear when the silhouette of a fourth person catches her attention. She doesn't know why, but it immediately reminds her of Rose. Could it be that she is imagining her friend too?

Curiosity is stronger than fear, like all those times when she got into trouble with her boys. She walks carefully towards her grave which is next to her beloved Luke.

“I swear I even miss your snoring and you biting my cheek after your goodnight kiss as you would say, in a gesture of love.”

“I don't freaking snore, I told you a million times already... and now I'm talking with my imagination, great.”

The band turns in shock towards the fifth voice. That's when she can see the girl's face and realize who she is.

“Julie? But, how?”

“Y/N?” Alex whispers on the verge of passing out.

She starts to panic, just before the boys can do something about it, a new person appears behind her.

“Hey, you took a long time." She turns around and jumps into the arms of who has become her only friend in recent years.

“Phoenix, thank god.” Her body continues to shake but she clings tightly to her friend while crying uncontrollably.

To say the ghosts are confused would be an understatement. And apart from that, the guitarist is having many conflicts with the jealousy that he is feeling at the moment. They haven't seen each other in 25 years and when they finally do, she runs into someone else's arms and clings to him like her life depends on it.

What does that mean for them? Is it too late?

“Beautiful, what's wrong? Who are they? Oh, wait. You guys were at the club a few weeks ago, you're friends with Willie, right?”

Luke feels like dying all over again hearing him call her that. She continues to shake but finally lets go.

“What? You can see them?”

“Shouldn’t I?” He looks at her skeptical and shifts his eyes from her to the ghosts.

“I- Oh my god. I'm going to pass out.“

“Baby, look at me.” Luke’s voice is a mix between a plea and a demand. The terror of knowing that perhaps he has already lost her without having had the opportunity to fight for her clouds his judgment and tears begin to fall from his face again.

25 years. 25 years fighting not to forget his voice. 25 years having him only in dreams, in memories, in melodies. 25 years waiting for him. 25 years on her own.

She turns slowly to meet those honey-green eyes she craved for so long to see, a painful smile from Luke makes her smile through tears.

She carefully lifts her right hand and gently draws it to his cheek, almost exploding at the feel of it.

“You came back. Oh my, It’s really you.” She jumps to the guitarist, entwining her legs at his hips, her arms tangled with all her strength around him, her head buried in his neck inhaling his scent. Tears coming out as if to drown her, all the pain and suffering that she faced all these years finally leaving her body.

Luke wraps her tightly in his arms, still unable to process what’s happening.

Alex and Reggie begin to smile without fully assimilating what is happening, while Julie begins to jump of joy.

“Babygirl, I'm sorry to ruin the moment but I have to rush to the club. Will you be okay here?"

“She's always safe with me." The guitarist growls, and Y/N starts laughing when she hears it.

"The jealous, protective baby in the beanie is right, don't worry Nix. I’ll go and find you later."

Phoenix nods with a smile and disappears. Julie begins to scold Luke while Reggie and Alex approach to touch the cheek of their best friend, still in the arms of the guitarist who does not seem to have any intention of letting go.

“We should go home to catch up. Reggie and I will accompany Julie, it seems that you two should speak alone first." Luke doesn't think twice and disappears with her in his arms.

“Good things happen to good people.” Reggie whispers as he hugs his friends and they start walking home.

Luke and Y/N reappear in the studio and they are both shocked for a few seconds. The girl trembles again in fear of dreaming.

“Hey, come here baby. Shh, I’m here, I promise.”

“Don’t leave me ever again, please.” He can see that it is very difficult for her to understand that is really happening, and to think that she lived without him not 2 but 25 years makes him want to cry again.

“I won’t. I promise, beautiful. Never again.” Luke wraps her in his arms, but she lifts her head from his chest to push her lips against his. The kiss is urgent, but they both instantly recognize each other and fit in perfectly. Luke picks her up again and gently lays her down on the couch, both desperate to feel the other, to recognize every inch.

“I missed you so much baby, I love you more than anything.” Luke whispers between kisses, not willing to have her an inch away from him.

“I love you my love. I love you, I love you, I love you.” She says while kissing the love of her life, happy for the first time in 25 years.

Before things get to escalate, the rest of the band shows up in the studio followed by Julie who clearly walks through the door.

"Let go of her man, it's our turn!" Y/N gets up quickly from the sofa while her boyfriend complains and she throws herself at both of them who pick her up as best they can and spin her in the air.

They put her down and Julie and her stare each other, both raise their arms and meet in a quick but sweet hug.

“You said my name back there, how?” The question that she has stuck since she met her finally coming to light.

“I met your mom many years ago when I came to visit the studio and realized that she could see me. We were friends for many years and I had the opportunity to see you grow up, but I always made sure to be upstairs when you came in in case you could see me too.”

“Well, now I understand how Carlos felt when he found out that we lived with ghosts. And It sounds like mom watches over us both from heaven.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she does.” Both girls smile and hug each other once more.

“I can't believe I endured 25 years without having those beautiful arms around me.” She whispers as they both lie on the couch, Luke has her completely cornered in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It breaks my heart that you have suffered that much for so many years.”

“It was not your fault. You lost as much as I did that night. Besides, I always knew that you would find me sooner or later. We belong together.”

“We do. I, I k-know we have way more to talk about but, who was the dude from the cementery?”

The insecurity in his voice is evident and Y/N can't help but smile. His emotions are complex, real, and nothing can make her happier than that.

“I’ll tell you all about my friend later, okay? For now... dance with me? I want to dance with the real deal.” He smiles and they both stand up, hugging each other as they slowly move through the studio as they did many times before life separated them.

The Luke in her arms is her Luke, the same one she has been waiting for so many years, finally back in her arms. And just as she thought when she lived, she will dance with his ghost for all eternity.

Thank you for reading✨✨

Taglist: @writerinlearning, @ghostofmgg @strangerthanfanfiction713, @thebloodthirstyvampress, @kinda-really-lost, @kcd15, @magnet-girl, @aliandthephantoms, @stxrkspidey, @pinkrockstar19, @s0uz4s, @shycupcakealissa @cookiebuba, @fangirlangioma, @sageellsworth05, @twist3dtinkerbell, @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve, @caitsymichelle13, @ifilwtmfc, @luckylouiebug, @bibliophilewednesday, @totomoshi, @siennanoelle01, @lunashadow6955, @bookfrog247, @morganayennefertyrell, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @rachelle3musicals, @imsydneywalker, @really-dont-forget-it @agentstarkid @talksoprettyjjx @kaitieskidmore1 @lukeys-giggle @katie-navarro @crybabyddl @cocopuffs0211 @marvel-ousnesss @blackhood5sos @tessxblxckthorn

Goy tags: @eternalharry @xplrreylo

[citizen-l]

02. Window

Chanyeol never thought he'd be under someone's flat throwing tiny rocks at their window. Never in a million years did he imagine himself to be in this position. Sure he did some crazy things in life, but never something as cringe-inducing as this. In broad daylight too. Jesus. 

"Hey!" someone called him and Chanyeol looked back to find Officer Joey looking at him with narrow eyes and creased brows. "You're the kid from last night, aren't you?"

"Hi, yeah," Chanyeol said awkwardly. 

"Why are you throwing stones?"

"No one's answering the buzzer?"

"Ever heard of calling?"

Yeah well, Joey, I would, but I have their phone with me. And while we're talking, Joey, fuck you. God, Chanyeol wanted to scream at the ridiculousness of it. 

Chanyeol never would have forgotten to return Baekhyun's phone that he pocketed in case of an emergency just that morning before taking him to get stitches. Never would have under normal circumstances. But getting a too sweet goodbye strawberry kiss was not a normal circumstance. Chanyeol could feel his ears getting warm and red, and Joey was still there staring at him. 

"I have something that I desperately need to give Baekhyun," Chanyeol said. Judging by the familiar way Baekhyun had talked to Joey before, maybe Joey would leave him alone if he realized Chanyeol wasn't a threat to Baekhyun. "Calling didn't help, and I'm pretty sure Baekhyun really needs this. So, yeah…"

Honestly, Chanyeol would have just found Sehun and given the phone to him and been done with it. But Sehun was MIA with Junmyeon. And Chanyeol hadn't had a chance until this late in the afternoon to come by and hand over the phone. But he'd be lying if he said he kinda maybe didn't want to check if Baekhyun was alright. Oh God, what if he's lying unconscious on the floor again? 

"At this hour, he's probably at some rehearsal, hop in," Joey gestured towards the passenger side. 

Chanyeol was having a hard time digesting what was happening. How did he end up riding shotgun in a police vehicle? How did Joey know so much about Baekhyun's schedule when even Sehun was of no help? What the hell was going on with Chanyeol's life, good lord?

Joey dropped at one of the smaller auditoriums east side of the campus. Chanyeol had never ventured this way, never had any cause to. 

"Tell him I said hi," Joey smirked before leaving Chanyeol there. He probably got off on how shook Chanyeol was. 

The huge double doors opened up to a lobby. The signs said dressing rooms were to the left, and to the right were the rows of identical doors leading to the actual auditorium. For audiences. Chanyeol decided it was best to check there first since he could hear voices and music coming from one of the half opened doors. 

The only auditorium Chanyeol had ever been to on campus was on the north end, the one where the big seminars are usually held. This one was different, definitely not for academic or corporate lectures. The lights, the stage, even the seating was different. This was made for performing musicals like the one a dozen or so people were rehearsing. 

"Oh woe, to be trapped in this age…" a woman wailed dramatically while lying flat on the stage. 

"Oh, what is this I see! Some faerie-like creature come for me?"

Someone sang, another voice joined with a deep baritone that sounded somewhat like Baekhyun, but Chanyeol had never heard him sing before. 

"Hello hello, fair man," someone said. 

"Ah! My prince has come to save me, joy be!" shouted a guy as large as Chanyeol but lankier.

That was when he realized they were all talking about him. A bunch of theatre kids finding a new person interrupting their rehearsal, of course they would be dramatic about it. What did Chanyeol expect? 

"How can I help you, sir?" a brunette girl asked with a fake British accent. 

Someone started singing about waiting for him all her life as he went down the stairs towards the stage where he could spot a guy with a bandaged hand and hoped it was Baekhyun. He was wearing a hat so Chanyeol couldn't clearly see the cotton candy fluff on his head. 

A guy in suspenders and lipstick stopped him by starting to dance suggestively and singing a Burlesque song. God this bunch was loud. Two others came around him, the brunette and another woman with red and white streaks in her black hair and the three started a whole number with impressive impromptu harmonies and suggestive body rolls. 

"Chanyeol?" he heard Baekhyun's surprised voice from the stage. 

There he was, hat in hand, pink hair almost glowing under the harsh light of the stage, eyes squinting to see Chanyeol awkwardly standing as three people sang some jazz song and moved their pelvis in a way that Chanyeol would rather not witness at the moment. 

"Hey, hi," he used Baekhyun's interruption as his getaway card and moved around the dancing trio. "Sorry for barging in like this, just wanted to return this."

Baekhyun jumped straight down from the stage seeing his phone. Chanyeol was momentarily shocked, and the worry he felt in that instant thinking something bad might happen to Baekhyun jumping down from so high nearly rendered him speechless. 

"Oh my God, thank you! I've been looking everywhere for it. I really thought I lost it during my steakout yesterday."

Stakeout?

"Nah I took it with me when I took you to the pharmacy, forgot about it afterwards."

"Well, thank you for bringing it back all the way here."

And then Baekhyun was hugging him, arms around Chanyeol's shoulders, hot breath on the side of his neck, Baekhyun stood on tiptoes and Chanyeol didn't know what to do with his own hands. 

"Why can't I get a man like that?" a girl sighed from one side. 

"Wait, is that the guy? He really carried Baek… I mean I can see he's got…"

"Holy shit, he's real?!"

"Of course he's real, Minseok," Baekhyun said and he let go of Chanyeol. 

"Uh, I should go…" Chanyeol said awkwardly. 

"What? Wait, I haven't done anything to thank you," Baekhyun said. 

But you did, Chanyeol thought. You kissed me. That was a thank you, no? What was the kiss about? Why the fuck did Baekhyun kiss him? God, Chanyeol was going out of his mind trying to figure it out. 

"That's okay, you don't have to…"

"Nonsense, let me just get changed and then I'll treat you to something delicious."

"Hopefully not something too delicious," someone said. 

"Don't forget about the party tonight," someone else said. 

But Chanyeol couldn't focus on all the things everyone was saying. He was finally focused on Baekhyun's outfit. Suspenders, a dirty-white pirate shirt tucked haphazardly into leather pants.

"Be a little more discreet ogling his ass, will you?" The guy with pretty eyes, Minseok whispered near and Chanyeol nearly choked on his spit. 

"Oh leave him be," Another guy, the one who was singing with Baekhyun said, he had a cat-like smile. "He's too whipped anyway, let him enjoy."

Jesus. Chanyeol wanted out of here. It wasn't that these guys were half bad. Quite the opposite, Chanyeol found them sort of endearing with the way they passionately rehearsed their lines, danced and sang even without an instructor guiding them, on a Saturday. But taking jabs at Chanyeol and laughing at his "whipped" nature was unsettling him. He was not whipped for Baekhyun, he was just still stuck on a stupid kiss. 

Chanyeol sighed, he couldn't blame anyone. Not these guys, they were just having fun. If anyone, Chanyeol should blame Sehun. Now that guy was whipped, for Junmyeon. A little too much. If it wasn't for Sehun, Chanyeol wouldn't have been temporarily homeless and had to spend the night at Baekhyun's. 

"Stop teasing him, people. See you later," Baekhyun sang as he came back dressed in a baggy sweater and loose camo pants tucked into his boots. He tugged Chanyeol's shirt sleeve to follow him out. 

"Don't forget to bring dessert," someone shouted. 

"Bring Prince Charming as well, while you're at it!"

"Sorry about that, they tend to be a little rowdy during the weekend," Baekhyun said. 

They sat facing each other in a booth at a quaint little café/bakery just outside of their main campus. Chanyeol had never even noticed it, but Baekhyun said they have the best baked goods he ever had. 

"You don't hate sweets, do you?" Baekhyun asked, a little alarmed. 

Chanyeol looked at him like he was crazy, thinking back on how he was seconds away from sucking the taste of freaking strawberry milk from Baekhyun's tongue. Chanyeol coughed and shook his head. He was fine with sweets. Their coffee and chocolate covered donuts came soon after. Chanyeol had to admit they were good, had the potential to ruin his body and all his hard work, but he could indulge on occasion. 

"How did you find me anyway?" Baekhyun asked while licking chocolate off his fingers. 

"Joey," Chanyeol said and tried not to stare. "I was actually at your apartment, he found me and said you'd be at rehearsal. He even gave me a ride. He said hi."

"Ah, makes sense."

"How are you so close to the officer, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh he used to date my mom, didn't work out though. But I like him, we occasionally meet up because he has two dogs and I'm desperately trying to convince him to let me adopt them."

The way he said it made Chanyeol laugh. And that was surprising because Chanyeol doesn't usually feel this comfortable with people so quickly. Well, maybe it had something to do with last night's fiasco. And the kiss. Fuck.

Chanyeol wanted to ask about it, so bad. But it felt weird. And awkward. And Chanyeol wasn't sure he could ask with a straight face. It bothered him. Not in a negative way. More like, he couldn't figure it out and it was irritating. It was like not knowing what that sound was at the back of a well-produced song and obsessing over it for days and even weeks until finally it was clear. 

"What are you doing tonight?" Baekhyun asked. 

"Uh, nothing much, I guess," Chanyeol sipped his coffee. 

"How do you feel about a social gathering? Dinner will be on me."

"The party your friends were talking about?"

"It's not much of a party, really. Just some friends hanging out together."

"Well, I don't think I'd fit in, and I don't wanna be a bother among friends," Chanyeol said. 

"Well, as humble as that sounds, I insist. And you heard Jongin, they want you there. They wouldn't have asked so directly in front of you if they didn't."

Was it worth it? Should Chanyeol give up another night at his apartment to spend time with Baekhyun and his eccentric friends? 

"Wear something white," Baekhyun said. 

"Wait, I haven't decided whether I'd go."

"I've decided for you, it'll be fun. I'll pick you up at 8."

"How's your hand?" Chanyeol decided to change the topic. Maybe he can get away with the party thing later with a better excuse. 

"Hurts a little, but good otherwise. Nearly got plastered under a ladder while rehearsing, but narrowly escaped."

"Does that often happen?" Chanyeol was more alarmed than he probably should have been. 

"Nah, I just got distracted. But anyway, I gotta go make a cake. Oh hey, I should have your number."

Half an hour later, Chanyeol was shifting through his wardrobe looking for white clothes. He had none. He regretted ever agreeing to go to the party, which, by the way, he never explicitly agreed to. 

His phone buzzed with a text from "Kyoong", Baekhyun had insisted, with an impromptu photo of his doing a finger heart, that that be his nickname on Chanyeol's phone. God knows why Chanyeol agreed. 

"Be there in ten." The text read. Great. No way to back out now. 

"I kind of have an issue." Chanyeol texted back. It felt like a weak excuse to get out of going to the party, even though this was a genuine issue. 

And then Baekhyun was calling him and Chanyeol nearly dropped his phone. He finally saw the pout Baekhyun sneakily did which wasn't noticeable with the small icon. Jesus. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, sorry, started driving so I couldn't text back. Don't worry, Bluetooth, and I'm almost at your place. What's the issue?"

"I'm going to hang up and we can talk when you get here."

"Wai-" 

Chanyeol did as he said and waited until Baekhyun was knocking at his door. 

"Okay, glad that you're concerned about me dying on the road but never hang up on me, bothers the hell out of me. So, now, what's the issue?"

"I don't have anything white," Chanyeol said.

"Your roommate? Borrow something of his."

"I don't know if you met Junmyeon or not, but we're sort of not the same size."

"Well, I don't think Sehun owns anything remotely classy either."

That's when Chanyeol finally registered what Baekhyun was wearing. A high collared Victorian shirt with ruffles on the sleeves and neck, a few streaks of shimmering thread on his chest and shoulders. A corset. Loose breeches tucked into knee-high boots. All white. 

"You look beautiful," Chanyeol said before he could stop himself. 

"Why, thank you, dear sir. I spent hours trying to fit this just right. Et voila."

"You made this?"

"Tweaked. I'm no seamstress. But I can use a needle."

Right. Of course. Chanyeol should stop staring at Baekhyun's shiny cheeks that matched the color of his cotton candy pink hair. Get a grip. 

"You said classy outfit, right? I have all-black fits, recital clothes."

"Ah, that would create quite the buzz, but I like the idea. Show me," Baekhyun said. And then he neatly sat down on Chanyeol's bed and crossed his legs, waiting for Chanyeol to appear in his black attire. 

Right. Well, Chanyeol wasn't ready to strip in front of this Victorian ghost boy yet. Yet? Jesus Christ, his mind was well on its way to the gutter. 

"I'll be right back," Chanyeol took the shirt and pants from his drawers and went to the bathroom to change. 

He came back to soft music playing on his speakers. His music. 

"Sorry, I was snooping around and found your disks. You really composed these?"

"Uh, yeah, last term."

"I need to get this on my phone. Later. Well, you look pretty."

Chanyeol felt his ears go red. 

"Are you wearing contacts?"

"Yeah."

"You weren't wearing them last night, you wore your glasses. That's why I couldn't recognize you right away. Well. Mind switching now? It'll fit better."

It was ridiculous how Chanyeol just switched from contacts to glasses without protests. 

"And I love this collar," Baekhyun walked up to him and undid the first two buttons from his half-collar. "Hmm, better. You have any accessories?"

"Uh…"

"My friends are very serious about weekend parties, you'll be surprised by the amount of effort they put in. They'll appreciate it if you showed you cared too. But no pressure, I mean, don't make yourself uncomfortable or anything. You already look really good so I don't think you need to worry, plus I'm sure everyone would just appreciate you being there…"

Baekhyun was babbling and it was so adorable, Chanyeol was shamelessly just staring without being the least bit discreet about it. 

He ended up wearing the silver necklace his sister got him last year on his birthday. Half a heart, the other half was on Yuna's wrist. 

They arrived at Chen's apartment in town. It was… not what Chanyeol expected, at all. Chen, the one with the catlike smile, wore a Peter Pan outfit, all white, with white antlers on his head instead of the hat. He padded barefoot as he welcomed Baekhyun and Chanyeol inside. Some of the others were familiar faces Chanyeol had seen earlier at the auditorium. A Medusa with white dreadlocks and a white snakeskin-like dress contrasting her brilliant ebony skin. A Lucifer in a white suit and tarred feet. Two Victorian ghosts much like Baekhyun but very differently dressed. A guy dressed as honest-to-God Edgar Allan Poe with a fake moustache, looking ready to attend his own wedding in a three piece embroidered suit. The woman on his side dressed as a bride, probably the cousin. And then there was Minseok serving wine wearing a white fur coat and the crown of a king. 

Well. This was. Something. 

"I should kick you out for not wearing even a thread of white," Minseok said. "But you look good, and you're carrying the cake, so I'll overlook this time."

"Don't mind him, you look perfect," Chen laughed with genuine delight. Everyone else agreed. 

"Help me with the cake," Baekhyun gestured towards the kitchen with his head and Chanyeol followed. 

Baekhyun had made two cakes but decorating them and bringing them over would have been a disaster. So he put everything in containers, the cakes, the fondant, buttercream, chocolate and other decorations, and strapped them to the back seat of his car. This party was no joke. 

Chanyeol set down the containers on the kitchen counter, which was already full of dishes being prepared and ready to be set on the table. 

"I feel like I should have brought something," Chanyeol said to Baekhyun. 

"Well, at least you brought your wits," the tall lanky actor dressed like the ghost of Monte Christo said as he handed a glass of white wine to Chanyeol. 

"You having flashbacks of your initiation, Jongin?" Chen laughed as he stirred some kind of soup in a pot. 

"Jesus, don't remind me," Jongin shuddered and went back to sit with the others. 

Baekhyun layered and put cream on the cake. Then fondant. Then carefully crafted cream flowers, roses and white chocolate feathers. Chanyeol stood there in awe, occasionally handing over whatever Baekhyun asked for and watched the cakes turn into works of art. How? One man. How? 

One man who can sing and act and probably dance too, can bake and decorate cakes, sew and fit his own medieval style clothes, and kiss. 

This party was a bad idea. Chanyeol was glad he didn't miss it. Getting to know Baekhyun's friends and how Baekhyun acted around them was a serious thing. Chanyeol paid attention to every conversation and voiceless interaction. He really should be a bit more careful. He couldn't help looking at Baekhyun every chance he got. 

The internal conflict Chanyeol was having was driving him crazy. 

What was happening? 

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

When a God Finds a Girl (part 5)

A/N: I’m having a lot of fun with this one guys.

Thor dotes on you, making a fuss over you and staying close to you. Traeger accepts his interference but only just. He won’t allow Thor to touch you and will actively knock his hand away from you, putting himself between you and the god. Natasha catches your eye and you give her a look, silently pleading for some backup. You aren’t used to this much attention and it feels awkward. Natasha gives you a small nod, “YN,” she asked, “Is that guitar inside yours?” 

You smile, nodding. “Yeah, my brother taught me to play when we were kids.” Sam stands, “I’ll go get it,” he said, “You can play us something. It’s been too long since I heard you play. Or sing for that matter.” Sam heads to the house and you swallow the rest of your beer feeling decidedly not drunk enough to do this. In the firelight, Thor watches your face and feels a pang. He’s heard you sing. Just being silly in your car but still. Your voice is lovely. “Traeger, grab me another beer, buddy,” you say to the dog. The dog trots to the cooler and pulls out the beer, trotting over to you, tail wagging. “Good boy,” you say scrunching his ears and kissing his nose before taking the drink and opening it. “That’s impressive,” Steve said laughing as you tipped a little beer into Traeger’s waiting dog dish. You smile, “Thanks. I taught him some service dog commands. The only problem is sometimes he just does them whenever he wants.” Bucky has a look of realization, “Oh. That’s why he’s a chaotic good boy.” Before you can answer, Sam hands you your guitar. It’s old, scratched and well loved. It’s your first guitar in fact. Like so many sentimental things, you keep it here because you know it’s safest here. 

As you take the guitar from Sam and tune it, the chatter from the others fades away. There is nothing but you and the instrument in your lap. You don’t even know what you are playing as you start. It’s just a warm-up while you wait for a direction to go. Sam leans against a tree, starting to roast a Marshmallow and half shouts, “Free Bird!” You don’t look up from the guitar but you do answer him, “Get Fucked, Sam.” Bucky snorts and Steve laughs, “Someone certainly needs to or the combined sexual frustration in that tower is going to kill us all.” The spy pouts prettily and winks at you, “Speak for yourselves boys.” You stay quiet. You’ve not had sex in so long you aren’t really sure you would know how. You remember what Natasha said about Thor having a crush on you and you’re suddenly thankful your hair is covering your face as it flames red. 

As it has so often before, Hallelujah comes to your mind and you start playing the opening chords.

You heard there was a Secret Chord that David played and it pleased the lord/ But you don’t really care for music do you?/ It goes like this/ The 4th/ The 5th/ The minor fall the major lift/ The baffled King composing Hallelujah/

You were so engrossed in the music that you didn’t notice that every bit of banter, every movement around the fire had stopped. Except for Traeger who was unimpressed and gnawing on a bone. The words soared from you, raw and searing. Thor sat motionless, his mouth going dry. This. This was your heart. This was pain and joy and fear and longing all surging forward as if you had cut open a vein and in front of them. As you sang the last notes the silence was deafening and you looked around self-conscious, “Sorry,” you murmur, starting to set the guitar down, “I must be out of practice.” You can feel tears welling up and you blink them away. Sam stills your hands and tilts your chin up gently, “Damn, Baby girl. Mama Cheri would be so proud of you right now. She always knew you had a gift and look at you... You made that one Cry.” He jerks his head towards Bucky who was hastily wiping away tears. “Play some more, baby girl. Please,” he said. A look passed between you, both of you remembering other nights like this. Long ago. Nights so long ago you almost only remember them the way you a do a dream. Hazy and slow; misted at the edges. But your mom and Clay are gone and Sam is here. Sam is pleading his own heart just as broken as yours and you nod, picking the guitar back up.

“Any requests?” you ask shyly and Natasha’s hand shoots up. “Oh Oh Oh! Do Journey. Do don’t stop believing please?” she asks, hands clasped. “Oh lord,” Sam sighs, “We’re about to get white girl turnt in this bitch.” You laugh and start playing, “Sing along if you know the words... No one needs to listen to me all night by myself.” you say. That song is you and Natasha duet. that ends in both of you giggling so hard you almost can’t finish it. A few songs later you take a break for a beer and Thor watches you. He could see you reeling back in all the emotions that you felt, carefully hiding behind a joke and a big smile. You were so afraid of being vulnerable. You can feel Thor’s eyes burning into you and you can’t help but feel he’s found you wanting that he’s disappointed in you. The thought stings and you try not to consider why. Bucky watches you as you make a s’more for yourself, “Okay, so how?” he asks. You look up confused and he smiles, “How did you learn to play and fucking sing like that?” You blush modestly, “My mom was really passionate about music. She went to Julliard once upon a time but then she had to drop out because of Clay, I guess... It never stopped being a passion. She made sure we could both play and read music and I took voice lessons for a while. Until she died anyway.”

“Mama Cheri was a boss on a stage. Any stage.” Sam said smiling at the memory, “Even if it was just in the kitchen. You, Clay, and Mama Cheri rocked it the fuck out.” You smile at Sam and shake your head, “I was mostly too young to have any real hand it that.” Sam knows better than to press. It had been a long time since you thought of yourself as a performer but, he remembers it. Very clearly. Your small voice like a sparrow against two powerful hawks. Pure, sweet. Adding innocence and clarity. “So if your mom never finished at Julliard, what did she do?” Steve asked, curious. You smile, “She went back to school and got her nursing degree eventually but to make ends meet in the meantime she taught piano.” Sam smirked, “And instead of doing that to make money in college you were a Dominatrix.” he teased. Thor and Steve both choke on the drink they’d been about to take and you blush a little but shrug, “The money was right, and I was good at head games.” Natasha high fives you, laughing, “Yes, girl. Get it.” You laugh lightly feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable. Luckily it’s late. You stretch and sigh, “I think it’s past my bedtime.” you say, “Traeger doesn’t have a snooze button and he likes his walks early.” The others move to start packing up and you hold up a hand, “No, no it’s fine. Enjoy. You don’t have to come in on my account.”

You walk towards the house and Traeger follows you, tail swishing. Thor watches after you, desperate to follow. To tuck you into bed and hold you. Once you’re out of earshot Natasha looks at Sam and glares, “What. The. Fuck. Sam?” she asked, “Why would you just say that?” Sam winced, “I got used to teasing her about it in private.” Steve blinked, “Sam this isn’t private. She doesn’t know us that way.” Thor slips away to follow you to the house, leaving the others behind to their bickering. You lean on the sink, head down, feet apart, and he just watches you for a second. You radiate all your feelings, everything you try so hard to hide. The god coughs and shuffles his feet and after a moment, when you’ve pulled yourself together you turn, smiling politely at him, “Thor, can I help you with anything?” you ask. Thor keeps his heart skip a beat. Even your social smile is heart stuttering. “I-I I thought I might help you, my lady.” He smiles at you and starts to cross the floor to you but when you drop your eyes and pull into yourself he stops. “Lady Y/N,” he says softly, “Please don’t hide from me. I-I- I mean you no harm. I just, ever since the first moment I saw you I can’t breathe when I think about the way you smiled at me.” He sits down, careful to stay relaxed. Careful not to push. The ball is in your court now and all he can do is wait. You still can’t look at him. You can’t. You just can’t. 

Thor wants to plead. He wants to put you on the counter and kiss you until you can’t think straight. He wants to tickle your sides until your breathless and helpless with laughter naked on his bed and then learn every inch of you until he knows the curves of your body better than he knows the back of his hand. As you brush past him, bare feet padding past him he’s too stunned to catch your wrist and stop you. Traeger on your heels, he hears the first quiet sob before the door closes and his heart shatters. All the raw feelings and emotions he’d tried so hard to soothe away burst forth and Thor just wants to kick himself in the head. The god walks out of the house with a bottle of whiskey as a cover but it’s no good. The others read his striking out in his face and no one tries to take the bottle. Thor stares at the sky until long after the others have drifted to bed, praying to Valhalla for guidance. Praying that somewhere your mother and brother aren’t too angry with him for making you cry in this place. 

When Natasha slips into the room quietly and sprawls out on her side of the bed, she doesn’t say anything. The silent tremors of emotion are palpable. She takes your hand gently and squeezes, offering what little support she could. And that’s how you finally fall asleep Traeger asleep behind your knees and Natasha’s fingers laced through yours.

In the morning you wake up first and start the coffee before taking Traeger on his run. Thor is asleep in the yard, half-finished bottle of whiskey in his hand. You wince but head down the drive, keeping Traeger on a good pace. Thor hears the happy yips and the sound of feet on gravel and it stirs him slowly. He watches you disappear down the drive, half admiring the swell of your ass and the thickness of your thighs as you jog away. He hauls himself up from the chair, stretching and groaning as he headed up the steps. “How are you doing, big guy?” Natasha asked, looking up from her phone and handing him coffee. “I feel like an ass,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Natasha made a sympathetic noise, “I’d imagine she’s not feeling much better,” she said. Thor sighs, “She’s just so beautiful,” he said. He took his coffee and walked around the living room, studying pictures on the walls and seeing you grow up through them. Natasha settles on the sofa, watching him but saying nothing. The others drift out for Coffee and breakfast slowly, sleepy-eyed and hung over. When you come inside, sweaty and panting Thor stops, his heart racing. Gods, he thought, shoving his desires for you down. He knew he could seduce you and draw you in with his powers alone but he wanted you to come to him on your own.

“I think I need a swim after that,” you say, smiling as if you didn’t feel like falling through the floor. You go to change into a swimsuit and Natasha follows, “That’s a great plan. I can’t remember the last time I swam just for fun.” Soon you both come out in your suits, cute bikinis and Thor chokes on his coffee, coughing and fumbling to keep his grip on the cup and turn so you can’t see the sudden rise in his sweats. He drops the mug he’s holding and it shatters. Bucky and Sam both laugh and you blush, slipping out the door quickly. No one had ever had a reaction to you like that. It made you feel like you may as well be naked. On the porch, Natasha grabs your hand and the two of you, hands clasped, run laughing into the water, jumping off the dock with shrieks and giggles at the cold water.

@fatheadtheroger

[conspiracieys-archive]

YOU TOOK ME BY THE HAND

MADE ME A MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN

THAT ONE NIGHT! (ONE NIGHT)

YOU MADE EVERYTHING ALRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

SO RAW, SO RIGHT, ALL NIGHT, ALL RIGHT OH YEAAAAHHH

[imaginecredence]

“I’ll see you again.” (part 55)

Summary: A Credence Barebone imagine (Credence x Reader)

Note: This is the 55th part to this imagine so make sure you check out the others! I hope you like and reblog it. There also will most likely be a grammar mistake so bare with me. Anyway… I hope you enjoy! I’m sorry this took so freaking long! Love you guys!!

Date published: January 7, 2018

Warnings: None?.. Your heart might melt, but you’ll be aight

Year: December- 1927

Part: fifty-fifth of ?

MASTERLIST

PLAYLIST 
_______________

Christmas Day came so quickly. The morning was magical with Credence. He woke up early, and came into your room in his blue and white striped pajamas. He nudged you gently, too excited to wait for you to wake up on your own. Your eyes fluttered open to see him leaning over you, smiling widely.

You both completely forgot about breakfast and went straight for the gifts under the tree. Credence had been with you last Christmas, but on Christmas Day, you had been at your parents house, so it was different. Now Credence got that feeling of a true Christmas morning, something he had never experienced before.

He was so excited to see what you got him, but he was even more excited to give you the things he got for you. Giving each other the gifts, you sat across from each other, in front of the tree.

You were so excited to get all the art supplies Credence gave you. And he was so happy with the many books you got him. You explained how much you loved fairytale books when you were younger.

“I-I love it.” He gazed at the book with so much wonder. Then he looked up at you, and leaned over, giving you a big hug.

“I’m glad.” You smiled, grasping his shoulder tightly.

You made breakfast together; pancakes.

Putting on a Christmas record, you swayed along to the tune as you flipped the pancakes.

Credence grabbed your hand, pulling you to the middle of the kitchen. He kept one hand in yours and the other he placed on your waist. And you slow danced around the room. You leaned into him, your head pressed to his chest. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your ear, he was humming to the song.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me.” You said quietly, but he heard you.

“Me too.” He rested his head on top of yours. Then he put his arm farther around your waist, and dipped you back. You let out a surprised squeal, smiling uncontrollably. He gazed into your eyes, still holding you downwards, and passionately kissed your warm lips.

The rest of the day was simple. It was snowing like crazy, so you couldn’t leave the house, but neither of you cared. You decided to make Christmas cookies again, and after that, you snuggled up on the couch to keep warm.

“I can’t wait to go back home for Christmas again.” You told Credence, playing with his fingertips. You were laying back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. “It will be nice to spend New Years with them too.”

“Yeah,” He replied.

Then it was quiet for a moment.

“New Years.” He said so quietly, you weren’t supposed to hear.

“What?” You looked back at him.

“Oh— nothing.” He shook his head.

“Credence, what’s wrong?” You saw the distant worry in his eyes.

“I just—“ he sighed. “After New Years last year, you… you were different.” He didn’t look you in the eye.

“Oh, baby, it’s not going to be like that this year,” you turned completely towards him. “I promise.” You assured, holding both of his hands in yours.

He nodded, still looking down.

“I’m not going to shut down again…”

“You mean it?” He said.

“I mean it.” It shattered your heart to see him like this again. His eyes were so broken looking, you couldn’t stand it.

You placed your hand on his cheek. He moved his gaze up to yours, his eyebrows brought together with sadness.

“I love you.” You smiled lightly.

“I love you too.” He said bashfully, unable to keep a smile off of his face. He pulled you close to him, hugging you tightly.

The next weekend, you left for your hometown. It was so different then last time; Credence was different. He wasn’t so jumpy and scared. And you weren’t so nervous because you already knew that your family loved Credence. You were looking forward to have all of your family under the same roof again, and being all together in the home you grew up in was even better.

You hopped off the train, and took a cab to your house. It felt like déjà vu, like no time had passed since you were last riding in a taxi to your parents’ house.

You looked over at Credence riding beside you. He contently stared out the window, and you smiled to yourself. He was so much different a year ago. He had been so anxious about meeting your family.

“Hello?” You called, walking through the front door of the big, blue house you loved so much.

“Y/N?” You heard your mother say from the kitchen. She came out into the foyer and bounced over to you, her arms open wide. “I didn’t know you would get here so soon!” She hugged you tightly.

“Well, we’re a lot closer this year then last time.” You hugged her.

“I guess that’s true.” She let go, beaming at your face. Then she saw Credence beside you. “Hey, honey!” She hugged him too.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” He smiled hugging her back.

“I’m so glad you’re both here.” She grinned, squeezing both of your hands.

Later that evening you all had dinner together. All of your siblings came home too, and it was so nice.

The next day was the day you we’re celebrating Christmas, so all of your extended family came too. They all came in the late afternoon.

You all were gathered around the living room, and decided this was as good a time as any to tell them about the engagement.

“Excuse me?” You coughed, feeling your face flush with red. You weren’t one to make speeches, or speak in front of a lot of people. “Credence—“ you cleared your throat. “Credence and I have some exciting news.” You nervously smiled, looking up at Credence beside you. His arm was around you sweetly.

“Credence and I… are engaged.”

Everyone seemed mildly excited. You didn’t expect much more than that; they didn’t really know him much at all. They only met him last year, and he was much different then.

Everyone congratulated you, and gave kind words. All of them admired the ring, impressed at how beautiful it was.

Your grandmother came up to you, and insisted on talking with Credence to get to know him more. “I have to get to know the man my favorite granddaughter is going to marry.” She hooked her arm in his, whisking him away. Credence looked back at you looking a little concerned, but you just laughed, knew there wasn’t anything to worry about. Your grandmother was the best person you knew, and she was so kind and accepting of everyone.

While everyone talked and continued to catch up, Credence noticed your little cousin, Alice hiding behind her mother. She stared at him, a little unsure.

He smiled at her, and raised his hand, to wave. She shyly waved back.

“Do you remember me?” He knelt down in front of her.

She nodded in response.

“You’ve gotten to be such a big girl.” He made her smile.

You noticed this from across the room, and grinned. You loved seeing their interactions so much.

Later that night after dinner, everyone was doing their ritual football game outside, or having conversations in the living room. And just like last year, you and Credence were the odd ones out. You found yourselves in the quiet den. You sat on the couch and Credence sat on the coffee table in front of you. You were laughing about something when Credence looked over and something took his attention.

“I never noticed that piano before.” He said, curiously.  

“Well, you’ve never really been in here before.” You looked over too.

“Who in your plays it?” He questioned.

“My mom used to when she was little.”

“Just her?” He asked, looking back at you.

“Well… I play too.” You said shyly.

“What? Really?” He stood up, going over to the piano. “How come you never told me?”

“I don’t really play anymore.” You went over too.

“Play me something.” He looked at you with excitement.

“What did I just say?” You laughed. “I don’t play anymore.”

“Please??” He begged, giving you those big puppy-dog eyes.

“No!!” You laughed.

He just stood there, looking at you with a fake sorrow in his eyes.

You glared at him, unable to stop smiling.

“Fine!!” You gave up, flopping down on the piano bench.

He laughed too, sitting beside you, bouncing excitedly.

You placed your delicate hands on keys and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You began to play a song you used to love to play when you were younger. It came back so easily for you and you felt like you were in another world. The sound of the rich piano filled the small room, and you quietly sang the lyrics to the song. It felt like you were right back to when you were twelve years old. You would come home from a long day at school, and play until your mother called for dinner. You played just to get your mind off of the horrible things people would say about you.

Credence just sat there, paralyzed at how perfect you were. He couldn’t stop gazing at you. You looked like you were right at home, like something had been missing, and you finally found it.

When you finished the last note, you froze for a second, keeping your eyes closed, smiling.

“Wow.” Credence broke the silence. “That was perfect.”

You let out a breathily laugh, looking down.

“Really. That was amazing.” He praised you.

“Thanks.” You looked back at him.

He leaned in, kissing you softly. Then he moved his hand to your cheek, kissing you harder. Then you pulled away, smiling into his shining eyes.

You knew this was going to be a good year.

To be continued….

PART FIFTY-SIX 

[lifeyard-misfit]

Theo

(A/N I wasn’t going to post this because I don’t think it’s particularly good, but then I realized I’m not really planning on working on it any further so what the hell, right?)

For as long as he could remember, the forest sang at night.

It was beautiful, something soft and warm and welcoming, a slow tinkling of bells perhaps, the humming of a harp, the breathtaking wails of a flute.

He only knew that the forest sang, and that he was the only one who seemed to hear it. The others would take torches and candles in the starry summer nights and run through the trees while he watched their lights flicker and dance away from the forest's edge. He wanted to tell them about the music, ask if they heard it or knew what it was, but what would he say? He, who had not spoken in the two long years since his mother passed? Even if the words could pass his lips, what kind of question could he ask, what kinds of answers would he get? Perhaps the other children heard it and knew something he didn't; perhaps there was no reason at all for his knees to tremble at the sound.

"You still aren't gonna play?"

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a boy one year his senior smiling down at him, a genuine and kindly expression.  

<Logan,> he greeted the older boy, with whom he had developed a method of communication using his hands. He did not know why the boy always asked him to play, or had ever bothered with learning to understand him in the first place, but he could not deny that it made him happy.

"Come on, Theo, it'll be fun!"

Theo smiled at the other boy's enthusiasm but shook his head. Logan harrumphed and threw himself to the grass in front of where Theo was sitting, looking up sideways at him with pleading eyes. "It'd be much more fun with you, I know you'd beat most of us at it! There's nothing to be afraid of."

<I just prefer to watch,> he answered. <You... could join me, if you wanted.>

"Logan! Logan come on!" distant voices called out from just past the tree line. 

"Ah, I promised them I'd lead their team tonight, how about tomorrow?"

Theo nodded, smiling at him to let him know he wasn't hurt.

"Awesome! And hey!" Logan exclaimed, jumping up and grabbing his torch that he had set in a rotting tree stump. "This one's for you, if you change your mind. You can be on my team!"

He pulled another torch out of his rucksack and lit it using his own, passing it down so Theo could take it. Theo hoped that the bright flames hid his blush as their hands touched for the briefest of moments, and then Logan was gone, calling out a goodbye over his shoulder as he crossed into the tree line. Theo watched his flame until he could no longer tell it apart from the others, each one becoming little more than a distant flicker in what could have been a faerie dance. 

He looked then to his own torch and wondered again why Logan spoke to him. Logan was always popular for his charm and good looks. His skin was a beautiful, deep cedar that glowed copper in the sunlight, and his fluffy black hair was usually pulled into a ponytail, but Theo always thought it looked so much more beautiful when it was free, framing Logan's face and bouncing when he laughed. It was no wonder the girls of their little village so often fawned over him, but looks weren't the end of it. Logan was gentle and kindhearted, a personality that was equal parts cool, steady river and warm, blazing fire. He got along with everyone, moving along at his own beat.

Theo was none of these things. He was sickly since birth, so instead of his mother's rose-blush and ivory skin his was  more like ash wood, although he shared her freckles and frizzy red hair. He wasn't very personable either; not that he didn't want to be, but he spent so much of his life sick indoors that he always felt like an outsider among his peers. He was awkward, shy, and perfectly content to sit and watch.

The only thing Theo could figure might have made Logan even take notice in him was that Logan lost his mother, too. They never talked about it, but Theo remembered the funeral seven years ago. Theo's mom explained to him that sometimes, when moms try to have kids, something goes wrong and the mom isn't strong enough to survive. Logan's sister died just months after, from an illness that left Theo in bed for a week. Logan was eight. 

So perhaps Logan knew what it was like, how lonely it felt. Maybe he had always wished for a younger sibling, or someone to replace the one he lost.

But as Theo stared into the fire of his torch, he thought Logan couldn't possibly understand him. After all, he still had a father, and friends. 

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

No, Theo thought, listening to the forest call to him.

What caused him to stay just outside the forest was not a fear of it or the melody that it sang--it was a longing for it. Theo knew that if he left, he might never look back. 

The next night, Logan made good on his promise and spent it sitting next to Theo, watching the others play their little game. 

"I can see why you like it here so much--the lights dancing through the trees are beautiful."

<Yeah, it's cool to watch. Thanks again for the food.>

"Don't mention it."

Logan spent the following weeks in much the same way, opting out of the game to sit by Theo's side, despite the protestations of the boy that he ought to have fun and that he was fine sitting alone.  Theo got to know Logan, what he was like, what his dad was like. He loved the way Logan's nose would scrunch up when he laugh, and it was through that that he noticed Logan had freckles, too. Theo wondered what would happen once summer had ended, if he would still be able to see Logan, or if he leave with the warm days to return to his old friends.

As the days started to turn, Theo could be found sweeping the porch of the house next to his. While he could forage on his own during the summer, in the winter the family there looked after him since him mother died, and although he didn't see them as family, they tried to treat him as their own, as much as he'd allow it. A field sat between their houses, and it was there that he ran into a group of kids his age, maybe Logan's age.

The group mostly female, and each one looked at him with a sneer. 

"Look at her; who does she think she is?"

"It's no wonder Logan spends so much time with her, she's so pitiful."

"Why do you pretend to be a boy, hmm? Think we wouldn't know what you were doing?"

"Let's see how pretty that face of yours is after this!"

It was a boy who threw the first stone, and soon the whole group was at it before Theo could think to run. He crumpled under the assault, feeling his ankle twist as he fell, the food he was carrying spilling out on the ground. 

"He's not really your friend, he just feels sorry for you!"

"I bet he'll be happy when you're not there so he can play with us!"

They continued to shout at him, pelting him with whatever stones they could find, before the distant barking of the neighbors dogs sent them running. Theo slowly lifted his head, gathered what he could, and manage to drag himself the rest of the way home, tears blurring his vision as his ankle flared with agony.

* * *

"Logan come play with us!"

"Have you guys seen Theo?"

"The neighbors said she twisted her ankle--"

"He," Logan corrected the girl. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah, they said sh--he is sleeping it off, he shouldn't be bothered."

* * *

Theo woke up coughing, face down on his floor. He moved to get up, and as his ankle burned he remembered what had happened the night before. He bit his lip to keep from crying as he tried to put the food away in his empty house. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but throughout the day a single question burned in the back of his mind.

Had Logan even cared that he was gone?

* * *

"Where's Theo?"

"They said he's still resting?"

"I should go see him, make sure he's okay--"

"He's probably asleep, come on the game is starting!"

* * *

Theo lay in bed, listening and hoping all night long to see--he was scared to even finish that thought, to consciously acknowledge how much he cared for his newfound friend. As the sun rose in the wake of a near silent night, his cheeks glistened with what he would swear were because of his ankle. 

That evening, he found himself walking again. It hurt, but it was manageable. He couldn't wait to leave. 

* * *

"Where's Theo?"

"I don't know, why?"

"I'm going to see him."

"Wait!"

"Stop!"

"No!"

Logan didn't glance back, unable to shake the knot that formed in his stomach at the indifference--no, annoyance--in response to Theo's absence. 

When he reached the boy's house, it was empty. 

The forest sang at night. A beautiful melody that Theo held dear. He used to play in these woods, when his mother was alive. He thought the song to be no different than the birds or crickets who chirped through the trees, just another sound of the forest. It wasn't until he lost her that it pulled so strongly, as though she was all that kept him from it.

He found himself traveling deeper and deeper, the forest twisting in bizarre ways. Mist was illuminated by the light of a waning moon, close to the end of its cycle. He just couldn't be in that house where she died and that town that didn't care. The forest had something to show him, and in a small, foggy clearing he knew he made the right choice. The music was louder and more passionate than ever, played on a harp by a woman with red hair. 

"Mom?"

She smiled and nodded, opening her arms.

Theo rushed to her, tears streaming from his face as he threw himself into her embrace. Her arms closed around him, cold as ice, but as Theo fell asleep he only thought of how happy he was to see her again. "Theo? Theo! Theo? Theo. Please! Theo?"

Green eyes blinked lazily open, looking into wide, glistening amber eyes that flooded with relief. 

<I... I saw my mom.> Moving his hands hurt. 

"Why didn't you tell me you could hear the forest sing?"

<I...> Theo trailed off, confused and still trying to process everything, until, <you can hear it, too?>

Logan nodded, wiping his face.

Was he crying over me?

"I went to your home but you... I knew. I knew it was the forest, it had to be."

<How did you... find me?>

"I didn't. They did."

Logan moved aside, revealing a multitude of tiny, floating fires. 

<Will-o-wisps?>

"They led me here, and chased off that thing that looked like your mom," Logan's voice broke as he continued, "you could have died."

<My mom, she-->

"It was a faerie, I think, or maybe a ghoul. My mom told me about them, to beware the forest. She was taking your life."

<Why did you come to the forest? You thought I was scared of it.>

"I told you, I hear it too."

Theo thought for a moment, then hesitantly began, <Did you... see your mom too?>

Logan bit his lip. "...yeah, something that looked like her anyway. It was about three years ago. I was so happy, but..."

<What?>

"She had yellow eyes. I ran so fast I got lost. The wisps led me out then."

<I think they're trying to now.>

The tiny flames were lining up, spreading out back into the trees, some tinkling, some humming, some whistling. One floated over to the boys, moving like a leaf twirling through the wind in some strange dance towards them. It began to emit a flutelike wail, moving back and forth as though trying to urge them to move along. 

It was slow going, but then got on their feet, Logan shouldering most of Theo's weight to make up for his ankle and the energy that was drained from him. Just as they could make out the tree line, Dawn broke, and the wisps all vanished with a gasp-like sound.

As they reached town, Theo turned as though he was going to head home.

"Oh no you don't. You're coming with me after all this."

Theo tried to pull away, which only resulted in Logan picking him up, carrying him just past the main street of the town and into a small house nearby. He put Theo on a bed. 

"That's mine, you'll be staying until you're better--put your hands down this isn't a debate."

Theo sighed, rolling his eyes, then closing them briefly. 

"And Theo?"

Opening his eyes, Logan's face was just inches from his. 

"Don't you ever scare me like that again."

Logan was gone then, after the barest press of his lips to Theo's.

"And who's this?" A great big booming voice called from the door of Logan's room, causing Theo to startle awake, the sun just about to set. 

He looked terrified in the direction of the man--he stood easily over six feet, with bulk to match. He looked like he could take down a tree in five swings and carry it to town himself. 

"You're Elise's kid, right?"

"Yeah, this is my boyfriend, Theo!" Logan chirped, slipping past the hulking figure and into the room. 

Theo shot Logan a terrified look. Boyfriend? he thought. Aren't you supposed to ask first?

As though reading his mind, Logan shrugged. Theo turned back, certain he would be kicked out but then he saw the man. 

He was grinning ear to ear, looking between the two boys as though he, too, could read minds. "Is that right? Well, I'm Sam, Logan's dad. You stay as long as you need, your ankle looks pretty swollen. I go grab a wrap for you."

The man walked off chuckling. 

<Boyfriend?>

"Hey, I've been trying to pick you up all summer. I knew there wouldn't be much time otherwise, we do all our canning in the fall, and I help my dad carve up whatever he manages to hunt in the winter. It's not my fault you're thick."

Theo tried to hold back a grin, which only made Logan step forward and kiss his nose.

"Sorry to interrupt," Sam gruffly called from the doorway, holding the supplies he went to fetch. 

Theo felt his face go beat red, and even Logan's cheeks heated up a bit. 

"This is ointment, I made it myself with our herbs, should help with the swelling," he explained, applying it to the wrapping before covering the ankle. "And I know it's tough on you, so if you should ever need a place to stay, a warm meal, or a family to call yours, our door is always open to you. Course who knows, knowing my son it won't take long before you're moving in and I'm calling you son-in-law!"

"Dad!"

The man chuckled, a wonderful booming laugh, and walked out of the room, his son shooing him out the whole way. Theo smiled watching them as the light finally faded from the sky. 

"I'll go get a lantern," Logan told him, following his dad into the hall. 

With nightfall, the forest once again began singing, a strange and beautiful call, and Theo was right where he wanted to be.

[vxltrxn-imagines]

The Voltrons- Heather AU- KeithxReader

Chapter Three- Fight For Me

(A/N: Ah the song that started it all. I've imagined this song with Keith ever since I first saw Voltron then was rewatching Heathers again. Also sorry this took a while I really was trying to work hard to make sure this was different from earlier fic I’ve posted of this, and I just had my wisdom teeth removed, so it was hard to write in the pain plus the loopiness. Hope you guys enjoy this though!)

(Y/N) was curious as she approached the empty table this guy was sitting at, she opened her mouth to start to speak before he interrupted her thoughts and spoke first,

“You shouldn't have bowed down to them. Like some sort of dog.” He scowled softly,

“W-What??” She asked, taken aback, it was a small shock that someone still would stand up to her,

“You clearly have a soul. That guy was your friend, they're all going to crush him.” He sat up from the table and began walking away,

“Hey! Wait! I didn't catch your name!” (Y/N) called, causing the guy to turn back and look at her through his mullet,

“That's because I didn't throw it.” He said as he walked off, causing (Y/N) to stare at him as he walked away. Something in her felt...different. Like she was never truly happy until this moment; Something just felt right.

From across the lunchroom, Kurt and Ram were watching in a huff,

“Who does that guy in the jacket think he is anyway!?” Kurt huffed, “That mullets so gay!”

“(Y/N) seems to be into his stupid act though.” Ram said with his arms crossed, not happy,

“Let's go kick his ass!” Kurt called as he walked up to the guy who now was sitting in the corner, “Hey sweetheart. What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Ohio?” He snickered, as the guy rolled his eyes and tried to ignore them,

“Doesn't the cafeteria have a no fags allowed rule?” Ran asked, as the guy sighed, finally having enough,  

“They seem to have an open door policy on assholes though.” He responded, brushing part of his mullet out of his face and stood up, knowing what he just said was going to start a fight. Sure enough, Kurt and Ram came at him, but he was prepared for it. Students started to gather around excitedly,

“Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit!” They chanted, loving whenever there was drama, causing (Y/N) to look up from where she was. Her jaw dropped as she saw the fight that was ensuing, and she softly sang to herself,

“Why when you see boys fight Does it look so horrible Yet... feel so right?” She asked as she got closer to the crowd around the fight, “I shouldn't watch this crap That’s not who I am But with this kid… Daaaaamn”

She fawned, as she slowly walked up to the crowd, to get a better look at his face and at the fight. It was pretty easy, kids automatically started moving out of their way for her now since she joined The Voltrons, she held her diary close to her heart as she slowly was singing to herself, as Ram and Kurt were getting their asses handed to them,

“Hey, mister no-name kid So who might you be? And could you fight for me” She sang, staring at him adoringly, “And hey, could you face the crowd Could you be seen with me and still act proud”

She wandered up closer to the fight, as suddenly everything paused,

“Hey, could you hold my hand And could you carry me through no man's land” 

She cried, as she held his hand that wasn’t busy punching Ram, loving the feeling of it, loving the feeling of feeling protected by it.

“It's fine if you don't agree But I would fight for you If you would fight for me”

She let go of his hand and backed up, as everything around her started playing again, but she was too busy imagining a world where they were together, kicking some ass and kissing passionately as they finish, “Let them drive us underground I don't care how far You can set my broken bones and I know CPR”

She slightly leaned left, totally swooning as she sang that, imagining how the feel of his lips would be against hers, “Well, whoa, you can punch real good You've lasted longer than I thought you would”

Nobody had ever lasted this long against Kurt and Ram together, and she was totally into it, finding him incredibly hot,

“So hey, mister no-name kid If some night you're free Wanna fight for me? If you're still alive I would fight for you If you would fight for me”

She finished her song as the students around her started chanting again as the fight was ending, with Mr No Name Kid as the clear winner, “Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit Holy SHIT!” (Y/N) started to make her way back up to the stranger, before he and Kurt and Ram were all dragged to the principal's office, and The Voltrons started gathering around her to gossip about what just happened, before (Y/N) told them to come over after school to talk about it instead. She was much too distracted in thoughts of him right now to talk about anything else.

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

Later that afternoon, (Y/N) and the Voltrons were playing croquet in (Y/N)’s back yard. It seemed perfectly convenient that all of them had color balls that matched the colors that they always wore, like some force perfectly planned this scene. Shiro rolled his eyes as he looked over at (Y/N),

“God. Do you always droll this much over guys? You were practically throwing your panties at the new kid,” He paused, and took a look around the house surrounding him, “And, judging by the look of this place, you can’t afford new panties.” He finished his sentence, as Lance and Pidge laughed, but it was more forced than natural laughter; After all, this was what they were ordered to do, Obey and follow all of Shiro’s cues.

“Oh come on, I don’t even know his name. I was just admiring his fighting style.” (Y/N) immediately replied, getting defensive.

“Righhhtt.” He said, as he walked over, and purposely hit his ball to knock Pidge’s off the field. “Your turn, Pidge.” He smirked as Pidge looked back at her ball with annoyance and walked over to it,

“Oh give it up girl.” Lance called out to her, but Pidge was annoyed and determined. She took a deep breath and hit the ball to bounce it off a tree, and through the hoop. Immediately everyone started to cheer for her, except Shiro, as she took a small victory.

“Come take a break, have some pate!” A woman called from a small garden table, causing (Y/N) to look up and smile,

“Sure thing mom! Be right there!” She replied as she walked up, Shiro walking behind her as he began to inspect the plate,

“This isn’t pate this is liverwurst…” He said, with disgust in his voice. (Y/N) shot a look at her mother begging her not to blow this for her. Mrs. (L/N) shined a fake smile,

“Yes, I’m aware. It’s a family joke.” “Oh..haha. Verry funny.” Shiro shot sarcastically,

“So. Do you all have any plans for tonight?” Mr. (L/N) asked. “We’re taking (Y/N) to her first big homecoming party~” Lance cooed from the background, causing Shiro to look at his Swatch,

“Speaking of which…”

“Right! Sorry mom, we have to motor if we want to be ready for that party.” (Y/N) called as everyone started to walk off, until her mother took her arm to hold her back,

“Hey..don’t let those populars change you.” She warned, “You have other friends. You have Hunk.” She spoke softly, causing (Y/N) to look down, still feeling horrible about earlier with him,

“Maybe-Maybe I want more to life than liverwurst and cooking mom…” She replied, as she pulled her arm away from her mother, and wiped her tears secretly. Forcing a brave face as she headed up to get ready for the party later.

[subcutaneous7]

Five Minutes - [Grace/Frankie] - Chapter 2

So this started as a ficlet (now Chapter 1), but due to popular demand and my inability to stop writing them, I've now turned it into a multi-chapter fic! Hope you enjoy the journey (: Thanks for reading. Full Chapter 2  here on A03.

***

Grace’s feet barely touched the steps as she tiptoed downstairs. The house was quiet, save for the sound of running water in the kitchen. Her stomach twisted in knots, head spinning, feeling like her whole world had been turned upside down.

Last night was thrilling, wonderful in many ways, but also insane. This doesn't make any sense, she kept telling herself as Frankie shifted beneath her, kissing with a finesse she never would have expected, but at the same time didn't shock her at all. Frankie was the boldest, most passionate, caring person she knew. Of course she would give herself so fully, so effortlessly, slipping her hands over Grace’s body like she’d been studying the route for some time. Grace did her best to keep up, to give as much as she received, until her mind seized up with fear and forced her to pump the brakes. Still, after what transpired between them, she didn’t think she'd roll over this morning to find herself alone, in an empty bed that was starting to feel so much bigger without another person in it.

As she stepped off the landing, she immediately spotted Frankie at the sink. She was already dressed in her signature overalls, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, one of her orange bandannas sweeping the rest off her face. "What are you doing?" Grace finally spoke, clearing her throat.

"Dishes,” Frankie answered without turning around.

"I can see that,” Grace continued, peering down into the porcelain bin. “But why?"

"Really?” Frankie huffed as she scrubbed. “You're going to question it now?"

"No, it's...thank you,” she corrected. “I just…I guess I was expecting to find you next to me when I woke up."

"Oh," Frankie paused, swallowing. "Sorry."

She refused to make eye contact, scouring the pot from yesterday’s gumbo with a nervous fury Grace only witnessed when Frankie was really struggling, and it made her heart race with uncertainty.

"Usually when we have our sleepovers you refuse to get out of bed until I do," Grace laughed a little, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter, watching her roommate closely. "And then we have to sing your ‘Rise and Shine Oh Great Spirit of the Universe’ song."

"I sang it,” Frankie nodded. “Twice. You were still asleep."

"Frankie..." Grace exhaled, hesitantly reaching out, letting her hands rest on the other woman’s shoulder. “What are you doing? Are you upset with me?"

"No,” she answered. “I just didn't want to overstay my welcome."

"After you fought so hard to get in?” Grace argued, pulling back. “And I let you in?"

"There you go again,” Frankie rolled her eyes. “‘Let me.'"

"You know what I mean,” Grace frowned, softening as she stepped closer. “I thought we had fun last night."

Frankie froze. She let the sponge fall into the soapy sink, turning to Grace with eyes as deep as the moon.

"We did have fun,” she sighed.

"Are you having regrets then?" Grace asked a little sheepishly. "No,” Frankie shook her hands before wiping them on a towel. “I figured you were the one with reservations. You're the one who stopped."

"Stopped?” Grace’s eyebrow rose. “Oh...you mean..."

"We were in the heat of one of the most incredible make out sessions I've ever experienced, and I led a kiss-in with four hundred other couples in the 60s,” Frankie threw the towel on the counter, leaning back against it with her elbows. “Your hands were cupping my breasts and then...you just stopped, said goodnight and went to sleep."

"I was tired,” Grace blushed at the memory, still in shock that she'd done that. “And I didn't...didn't want to go too fast. Can you really blame me?"

"Not really,” Frankie shrugged. “But you didn't say that. You just stopped."

"Look...I think we were both moving pretty fast,” Grace admitted, shaking out her hair. “I didn't think either of us was ready for more, and...honestly, Frankie, I don't know what I'm doing."

"Well,” her lips curled up slightly. “That's where talking about it tends to help."

"We can talk!" Grace insisted, straightening her shoulders, ready to dive in. "Let's talk."

Silence.

They both stared at each other blankly, feeling the weight of their decisions, the impact of whatever words they might choose. The kitchen never felt so quiet, the sound of birds in the garden echoing against the walls, sun streaming in on the floor between them.

"Come on, Frankie!” Grace whined. "I don't want things to be weird because of this. We need to act normal."

"You mean like nothing happened?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth!” Grace argued. “That's not what I want."

"What do you want?"

"I don't know,” she shook. "That's just it I...I don't know what comes next. I don't know if this is right or healthy, for either of us...but I do know I liked how I felt last night."

"You did?" Frankie raised a hand to her sternum.

"Yes," Grace smiled gently, moving closer. "Couldn't you tell?"

"Well..." Frankie mused. "There were a few signs."

"I'm sorry I couldn't talk about it last night,” Grace told her, eyes trailing down to her lips, then up again. "But I'm not sorry I stopped. I just think we need to figure out...where we go from here."

"Yes," Frankie whispered. “I’d like that.”

Grace stepped forward. Frankie shut her eyes, refusing to move, taking deep breaths as Grace reached for her hand, watching her painfully, desperately wanting to say and do the right thing.

“Hey, mommograms,” Brianna burst through the back door.

Grace jumped at least three feet in the air, gasping so hard she thought she popped a lung. Frankie quickly slipped out of the way, frantically digging back into the sink for the sponge.

“Brianna, why don't you come in through the front?!” Grace scolded.

"Because, I was supposed to meet this one in her studio, but I checked and she wasn't there. I was afraid dingoes ate my Frankie," she said in an Australian accent, waiting for a laugh that never came. "Sorry. I still have jet lag. And I'm still as single as I was when I flew to Maryland, so...we're all just doing the best we can."

"Amen, sister,” Frankie sighed. "Wait...were you guys fighting just now?” Brianna questioned, looking back and forth between the them. “Because mom has her ‘Oh shit I fucked up’ face on."

"No I don't,” Grace defended indignantly. “That's just my face."

"Yeah, whatever,” Brianna pulled out her phone. “Go ahead. I have emails to check. I can wait for you to kiss and makeup."

Frankie dropped a plate into the sink so hard it crashed loudly against the other dishes, sending water splashing across the counter.

"I think we're fine,” Grace swallowed. “For now. Right, Frankie?"

"Right."

“Okay then, let's get to work. I have to meet up with Bud for some clandestine lunch at a place in Logan Heights. He's very mysterious these days.”

“What are you two working on?” Grace asked curiously.

“I asked her to help me with some financial planning,” Frankie toweled off before crossing into the living room. “I wanted to get things in order before I left for…”

Grace quickly looked down at her feet, the thought of Frankie actually going still making her chest burn.

“But since I'm staying…” Frankie caught herself. “...we have all the time in the world.”

“Well, not too much,” Brianna reminded. “I still have a life. And a dog…”

“Shouldn't I be there too?” Grace noted. “I'm assuming some of it has to do with the loan.”

“Yes, good point,” Brianna clapped her hands together. “Two birds, one Brianna. I like. Let's do this.”

"You two get started,” Grace waved at them. “I’m going to get changed, and then I'll make us some coffee and finish the dishes."

"Thank you,” Frankie smiled softly.

“Did you take your pills yet?" Grace asked.

"Yes, dear," Frankie batted her lashes facetiously, taking her seat at the table. "Thank you, dear."

"See, you two are like an old married couple,” Brianna shook her head, pulling the files out of her briefcase. “Only without the burden of marriage. Or sex. But who needs sex, right? No one, that's who.” Grace caught Frankie’s eye again, both their cheeks flushed.

She bit her lip, selfishly wishing Brianna wasn't there as she headed back upstairs, hoping they'd return to their conversation as soon as she left.

Read the rest on A03.

[skeletorific]

I want to apologize in advance for this

blame @socanonitsreal

kinda nsfwish under the cut? You’ll get it in a second

Chapter One

Hi my name is The Great and Terrible and Maleficent Papyrus and I speak in all caps Papyrus font (that’s how I got my name) and an edgy ripped up red scarf that reaches my mid-back and icy white eyelights like limpid headlights and a lot of people tell me I look like Gaster (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). [[I’m not related to Mettaton but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a skeleton but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white bones. I’m also a member of the Royal Guard, and I live in a magic city called Snowdin in the Underground where I’m in charge (I’m twenty-six). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Mettaton’s Store and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black battle body with matching spikes around it and black leather pants, red scarf and black combat boots. I was wearing red gloves,, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Snowdin. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of dogs stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

“Hey Papyrus!” shouted a voice. I looked up. It was….Jerry!

“What’s up Jerry?” I asked.

“Nothing.” he said shyly.

But then, I heard my brother call me and I had to go away.

Chapter 2:

The next day I woke up in my bedroom. It was snowing and raining again. I opened the door of my coffin and drank some lasagna sauce from a bottle I had. My coffin was black ebony and inside it was hot pink velvet with black lace on the ends. I got out of my coffin and took of my giant MCR t-shirt which I used for pajamas. Instead, I put on a black leather shirt, a pentagram necklace, combat boots and black fishnets on. I put on four pairs of earrings in my brow bone, and put my scarf in a kind of messy knot.

My brother, Sans (AN: Brother dis is u!) woke up then and grinned at me. He licked his long bright golden tooth and opened his red and white eyes. He put on his Marilyn Manson t-shirt with a black jacket, fishnets and red converse with spikes. We put on our makeup ( white foundation and black eyeliner.)

“OMFG, I saw you talking to Jerry yesterday!” he said excitedly.

“Yeah? So?” I said, blushing.

“Do you like Jerry?” he asked as we went out of the house and into Snowdin.

“No I so fucking don’t!” I shouted.

“Yeah right!” he exclaimed. Just then, Jerry walked up to me.

“Hi.” he said.

“Hi.” I replied flirtily.

“Guess what.” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, Good Mettaton is having a concert in Hotland.” he told me.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God!” I screamed. I love Mettaton. He iz my favorite band, besides MCR. “Well…. do you want to go with me?” he asked.

I gasped.

Chapter Three

On the night of the concert I put on my black lace-up boots with high heels. Underneath them were ripped red fishnets. Then I put on a black leather battlebody with all this corset stuff on the back and front. I put on matching fishnet on my arms. I straightened my spikes and made them look all spiky. I felt a little depressed then, so I slit one of my wrists. I read a depressing book while I waited for it to stop marrowing and I listened to some Mettaton. I painted my phalanxes black and put on TONS of black eyeliner. I didn’t put on foundation because I was pale anyway. I drank some monster blood so I was ready to go to the concert.

I went outside. Jerry was waiting there in front of his flying car. He was wearing a Shyren t-shirt (they would play at the show too), baggy black skater pants, black nail polish and a little eyeliner (AN: A lot fo kewl boiz wer it ok!).

“Hi Jerry!” I said in a depressed voice.

“Hi Papyrus.” he said back. We walked into the River Person’s black boat (the license plate said 666) and rowed to the place with the concert. On the way we listened excitedly to Mettaton and Shyren. We both smoked cigarettes and drugs. When we got there, we both hopped out of the boat. We went to the mosh pit at the front of the stage and jumped up and down as we listened to Mettaton.

“You come in cold, you're covered in blood They're all so happy you've arrived The doctor cuts your cord, hands you to your mom She sets you free into this life.” sang Mettaton (I don’t own da lyrics 2 dat song).

“Mettaton is so fucking hot.” I said to Jerry, pointing to him as he sung, filling the club with his amazing voice.

Suddenly Jerry looked sad.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as we moshed to the music. Then I caught on.

“Hey, it’s ok I don’t like him better than YOU!” I said.

“Really?” asked Jerry sensitively and he put his arm around me all protective.

“Really.” I said. “Besides I don’t even know Mettaton and he hangs out with Dr fucking Alphys. I fucking hate that little bitch.” I said disgustedly, thinking of her ugly yellow face.

The night went on really well, and I had a great time. So did Jerry. After the concert, we drank some beer and asked Mettaton and Shyren for their autographs and photos with them. We got Mettaton concert tees. Jerry and I crawled back into the boat, but Jerry didn’t go back into Snowdin, instead he directed the boat into………………………New Home!

Chapter Four-

“JERRY!” I shouted. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

Jerry didn’t answer but he stopped the boat and he walked out of it. I walked out of it too, curiously.

“What the fucking hell?” I asked angrily.

“Papyrus?” he asked.

“What?” I snapped.

Jerry leaned in extra-close and I looked into his gothic red eyes (he was wearing color contacts) which revealed so much depressing sorrow and evilness and then suddenly I didn’t feel mad anymore.

And then…………… suddenly just as I Jerry kissed me passionately. Jerry climbed on top of me and we started to make out keenly against a building. He took of my top and I took of his clothes. I even took of my scarf. Then he put his thingie into my you-know-what and we did it for the first time.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! ” I screamed. I was beginning to get an orgasm. We started to kiss everywhere and my bony body became all warm. And then….

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!”

It was……………………………………………………Asgore!

[characterxreader]

Puppy Love

Summary:  You and your best friend spend Valentine’s Day together. Splendid moments are shared and cherished.

Pairing: StevexReader

Word Count: 1,649

Warnings: Cuteness :)

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine's Day! I wanted to get a oneshot out for the holiday, even though I may not be able to be on a ton. I hope you guys like this! Also, I am going to try really hard to get Bucharest Chapters going again. I haven’t had time to write this past couples weeks, but I may finally finish the chapter I was working on by next Friday, if all turns out well. Ciao!

  When you woke up, it only took a moment to realize what day it was, and the fact that the sun had only just begun to rise. You smiled, glancing to your side. There were only empty sheets that were wrinkled.

  He must be going on a run, you thought, dragging yourself out of bed.

  Perfect.

  The cool air bit at your bare legs and arms. You found a pair of your lover’s sweatpants on the floor, so you snatched them and shimmied your legs into each pant hole. They were baggy, but you didn’t care. You thought they fit perfectly.

  You strutted into the kitchen, flipping the lightswitch. It was brighter outside, but you still needed to see what you were doing. Next, you found a frying pan, laced it on the stove, and began to crack eggs into it.

  That was when you heard the shower turn off. You didn’t realize it was on until the silence grew more quiet. Oh, well.

  You cut up pieces of ham and bacon, adding it into the egg mixture in the pan. As soon as you folded the omelet in half, you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist.

  His nose nuzzled against your neck, and you tilted your head to give him more room. He kissed your neck before murmuring, “I was going to say that I was surprised to see you up so early, but then I remembered what today was.”

  You chuckled, looking up at him and kissing his cheek. “Good morning, best friend.”

  “Morning to you, too, Mrs. Rogers.” You blushed at the name before he pressed his lips against yours. He pulled away. “I guess I should let you finish making breakfast, shouldn’t I?”

  “Yeah, probably.” You bit your lip before turning your attention to the stove. “Do you want to make French toast?”

  “Of course.” He kissed your on the cheek once more before letting go of you and moving around the kitchen to find the proper ingredients.

                                                __________

After breakfast, which the two of you enjoyed in the dining room of your small house, you and he got ready for the day and left your home.

  “Steve,” you said, grabbing his hand, “where are we going?”

  He interlaced his fingers with yours, pulling you closer to him so your shoulders touched. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

  You sighed loudly, leaning into his arm. “Fine. Okay.” Your thumb ran over Steve’s wedding band. “I love you, Steve.”

  He kissed the top of your head, a low rumble coming from his chest. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

  The two of you walked in silence for about thirty seconds before Steve whispered down in your ear. “Hey, are you a Jedi?”

  You stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”   “‘Cause you’re the Obi-Wan for me.” Your eyes lit up before you cracked up. Your giggles caused Steve to wear a triumphant smirk.

  “That--that’s perfect!” you exclaimed. Ever since you and Steve watched Star Wars for the first time, with many more times after that, Steve had searched for many ways to find puns that had to do with Star Wars. He knew it brought you so much joy.

  “Hey, I got one,” you said, pushing your shoulders back. “Are you Rick Astley?”

  “Maybe,” he murmured, eyebrow hiked up over the other.

  “‘Cause I’m never gonna give you up.” He grinned. That was the song he sang for you during karaoke night with the rest of the Avengers. It was also the night that Steve asked you out for the first time.

  His eyes flickered to your shirt before he said, “Well, you got a pizza my heart.” You looked down at your shirt, grinning when you noticed it was there was a pizza shaped as a heart on it.

  “That one is really cute,” you commented. Steve stopped walking, and you looked at where you were.

  “This is my favorite cafe!” you gasped, squealing and kissing his cheek. Blush spread across his face.

  “They have a special on pizza today, so I thought that this would be a nice lunch.”

  “Perfect.” You didn’t realize that the two of you spent over three hours laughing at the dining room table. Now that you thought about it, you were hungry again. “And after this, I have something for you.”   “What could that be?” He opened the door for you. You stood on your tiptoes, whispering into his ear the best you could.

  “It’s a surprise.” He smirked at you before you strutted inside. What you had for him... Well, he was going to be more than happy tonight.

  The two of you sat down at a table before a waitress came up to the table. She grinned at the both of you before tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear and pulling out her notepad. “What can I get for you two lovers?”

  Steve barely glanced at the menu, then looked up at the woman and replied, “Lovers special, please. Extra special.” You laughed, but the noise faltered as you read the menu and it literally said “Lovers Special... $15... Extra Special... +$3.50...”

  “Anything to drink?” she inquired, blowing a bubble from her bubblegum in her mouth.

  “Water,” you and Steve insisted at the same time. She nodded, then walked behind the cafe counter and disappeared into a back room.

  Steve moved so he was sitting beside you on the booth seat. He kept his hands on his lap, but your hand to move other his, and the two of you interlaced fingers.

  “I don’t think you understand how much I love you,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

  You giggled, gazing up into his eyes. With your free hand, you lightly tapped the side of his face. “I think that’s why you married me, you dork,” you teased. He scoffed, squeezing your hand. “But I don’t think I could love anyone as much as I love you.”

    “Good, because I was counting on that.” He poked the top of your nose, and you wrinkled your nose at him, causing laughter to erupt from the both of you. “Do you think the others are getting along well enough?”

  “I think they’re fine. Pepper’s finally back with Tony. Clint’s with his wife. And whoever doesn’t have a date tonight are going bowling and eating out as a group later tonight.”

  “Fun,” you commented. “Hey, did Sam tell you he got a date?”   His eyes widened. “He did? I thought he was only kidding about that.”

  “He asked the girl out yesterday. She’s really nice, and would be good for him.”   “You know who it is?”

  “A new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent helping around the Avengers facility,” you explained. “Her room is where mine used to be. Now when I’m needed there, I bunk with her.”

  He nodded. “Well, I’m sure she’s a wonderful girl if you think so.” Then the both of you looked up at the smiling waitress coming your way with a heart-shaped pizza in one hand and two ice cream sundaes, with two glasses of water, on a tray in the other hand. She sets the tray down on the table with care, then the heart-shaped pizza beside that.

  You licked your lips before looking at the waitress. “Thanks!”

  “I should be the one thanking the both of you,” she countered. “Both of you saved my life, and this cafe, several years back. Never got around to thanking you, so this is on the house.”

  You nearly wanted to cry. A good feeling always settled in your stomach whenever people still believed in your cause--in the Avengers. So many people hated you and never understood what you were doing, and the people that did appreciate your help never gave thanks or commented.

  “Thank you so much for that,” you breathed. She simply nodded and turned her head. You glanced at Steve, noticing how he was still watching her with a passionate look on his face. Then you realized he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was reminiscing.

  “C’mon, let’s dig in,” you said, breaking the silence the grew so suddenly. He agreed, pulling a slice of pizza out of the corner of the heart, and placed it onto his plate.

                                 _________

“Okay, open.” Steve opened his eyes after you drug him out into the cold once again and brought him to a new place--the surprise.

  He grinned, eyes bright as he stared at the sign. “Are we...?”

  “Getting a puppy? Oh, yeah,” you laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him inside the adoption center. You had met with the adoption people a day before, so they nodded at you and gestured to the pen where you puppy was as soon as they saw you with Steve.

  Steve ran a hand through his hair as he sat by the puppy pen. There she was--a tiny golden retriever that was only a couple weeks old. Her mom died, and she was the only surviving pup after birth.

  “What’s her name?” Steve whispered, his hands holding the dog like it was glass. You had handed him the puppy just before.

  “They didn’t give her a name yet,” you replied, sitting down beside him. The puppy barked, licking Steve’s shaven face. He grinned at it. “You should name her.”

  He leaned closer to you, letting you hold the puppy. She tried to lick your hand, but failed miserably. You giggled at her attempt. “I think I’m going to name her Margot.” Another one of the movies Steve found really interesting was Suicide Squad. He watched it with both you and Bucky, who had a certain fascination with Harley Quinn.

  “The name is suitable.” You kissed his cheek, keeping the puppy close to your chest. He kissed you on the lips. “I love you, Steve.”

  “I love you, too, (Y/n).”

[ralphmorgan-blog1]

Nobody Would Have Been Surprised If I Had Died

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It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like.

First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, turned and there he was, sitting at the round pale-blue Formica table reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a large man. Wavy hair and beard intertwined with strands of black and white. Blue-blue eyes. A department store Santa. He smiled at me. Introduced himself. I was late for practice. So I told him to wash his dishes before he left.

My mother met him the night before. The bowling alley was the place-to-be in our small town, with a crowded bar, nightly bowling leagues, giant trophies and a video game arcade. Normally we went with her, gorging on pizza and Dr. Pepper, but my youngest sister was sick. So my mom went alone, met him and brought him home.

She’d been looking for a man for a while. She was a mother with three little girls. She did not have a job. That was a lot to take on for anyone. Her second marriage had ended a year earlier. He started sleeping in her bedroom every night after they met. A few weeks later, I woke up to find them both gone. It was Christmas Eve morning. She’d left a note. They had gone to Vegas, a four-hour drive. Watch your two younger sisters, please. They’d be back that night.

I wasn’t mad. I was hopeful. She was lonely, she was drinking more and the laundry was piling up in the garage. He lifted her up, easily, and swung her around the room, happily, and he bought all three of us brand new bicycles. I wanted it to work out for her this time. We all did.

I woke up before dawn on Christmas morning and they still hadn’t come home. The Christmas tree was decorated and the red and green lights were blinking expectantly, but the cookies and milk were untouched. I ate the cookies, drank the milk, and then stole her money from the cigar box.

I rode my new banana seat bike that he bought me in the dark to the 7-Eleven on Grand Avenue, where I bought presents on behalf of Santa. I bought records for my two sisters. The 45’s of I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family and I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes by Jim Stafford. The three of us had a band called “Wonder.” I played the drums on the back of a set of silver pots, while they played the tambourine and maracas. Our mother was best and only audience. At the store, I bought as much candy, soapy bubbles and plastic toys as I could afford. Then, I bought one more thing. A gift for my mother. The .45 record of You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I wanted her to know I would stay.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Remembering will have to do…”

I wanted her to know I would remember her.

I rode my bike home as the sun rose. I wrapped the Christmas presents and put them under the tree. I quickly made pancakes, which my mother had always done for us on Christmas morning. My sisters woke up shortly after and opened their gifts. If they were disappointed in the small bounty, they didn’t say. We got out the silver pots, played the records and sang the songs. It was a happy Christmas morning. The only thing missing was our audience.

My mother called hours later. They were driving back from Vegas. Would I find a restaurant open for Christmas dinner? Scouring the Yellow Pages, I made a reservation at a Chinese restaurant in the next town, and it was there my mother showed us her diamond ring and told us they were getting married. From that day forward, he lived with us. The changes happened rather fast.

I never liked meat. Even as a very small child, my mother told me I would spit out beef. For dinner, my mother made meatloaf, his favorite. She gave me the side dishes: mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese. He insisted I eat the meatloaf. I wouldn’t. My mother defended me. But he was the man of the house now. I could not leave the kitchen table until I ate the meatloaf. My mother shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep. She had a black eye. I never saw him hit her. But I didn’t have to eat the meatloaf.

He bought her a red Lotus, an expensive sports car with a stick shift. Then, they took another trip to Vegas and left us alone. I stole my mother’s car keys and drove my sisters to school in the brand new Lotus. I taught myself how to drive her stick shift, but not very well, because I hit a tree in the school parking lot. Students stared. Teachers stared. The car was towed.

I was 14 and didn’t have a driver’s license. They called my mother in Vegas. She returned with a black eye, a split lip and a badly bruised arm hanging limply by her side. He walked right past me into the house without saying a word. She looked right at me and said, quietly, “I took it for you.”

It was my fault I wrecked the car. It was my fault he beat her.

My mother started drinking more. He started drinking more. The fights happened more. A passion play and we were the audience. Parenting became an afterthought. When the food in the house ran out, my sisters and I would take a taxi and my mother’s checkbook to the grocery store. We’d load up the shopping cart and not with very good choices. In front of the cashier, I’d carefully fill out the dollar amount on the check, and then forge my mother’s signature. It was a small town.

Everybody knew why. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Life became a routine. When the fighting started downstairs, my younger sisters left their bedrooms and showed up in mine. The record player went on. The record collection grew. I learned which chair to wedge under the doorknob to keep my bedroom door shut. I learned which concealer worked best to hide her bruises the next morning. Sometimes, the ambulance would come. Sometimes, she’d wear dark sunglasses, a loose sweatshirt and a big floppy hat when she walked the dogs.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

There were moments of hope. Because nobody is angry and violent all day, every day. They just have to be angry and violent one day. My mother would wake us up in the middle of the night, and tell us to pack a suitcase. We’d hole up in a hotel. We were underworld spies, prisoners from a jailbreak. We’d order food, watch Charlie’s Angels, hope to never to be found. But we were never really lost, because a day or two later, he’d knock on the hotel door, carrying flowers. And it was over. Because who doesn’t want to go to Disneyland? Who doesn’t want to be the first house on the block to have a swimming pool?

My mother hated guns, so there were no guns in our house. I slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. I used it once. I was 16. The fighting downstairs stopped, abruptly, in the middle of my mother’s scream. I called 911 and then I crept downstairs. He was hunched over her body. She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I put the knife to the back of his neck to stop him from killing my mother. The ambulance came and took her away. The police came and took him away. We snuck into a next door neighbor’s backyard and slept on their lawn furniture. We woke up with blankets. Of course, they knew.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Weeks later, I was called out of my high school English class. My mother was at the school and wanted to talk to me. It was Halloween. I was a vampire, my long black cape flapping in the wind. She, newly released from the hospital, looked like a mummy, with her hollow eyes, her head shaved and her 32 stitches wrapped in white bandages. School was in session, so we were alone. She’d paid his bail. He was sorry. He was waiting at the house. Would I give him another chance, please?

My mother came to my school, begging me not to break up with her.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I broke my own heart when I did not come home from school that day. My mother could “take it” for me, but I couldn’t “take it” anymore. My middle sister, 13, ran away. Our father, remarried with two new small children, put her into a boarding school. My youngest sister, who had a different father from my mother’s second marriage, was only 6, so she cried herself to sleep at night. Our family was torn apart. So they moved to a new house on the outskirts of our small town on a secluded dirt road.

Last time I saw him, I was 16. When I pulled up to the new house to get my things, he stepped outside to meet me. The beard was gone. He’d lost weight. He was calm. He held a shotgun in his hand. It was pointed down, non-threatening. There was finality in the moment. I was leaving home for good. There was finality in the presence of a weapon. If I was willing to use a knife, he was willing to use a gun.

My sister was still in that house. My mother was still in that house.

Everybody knew.

Neighbors, coaches, grocery store cashiers, elementary, junior and high school teachers, school principals, classmates. Her parents knew, my father knew.

Everybody knew. Nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

I never saw my stepfather again. There is no big turning point moment here, where I confronted him about the abuse. Where I asked him, point blank, why did you beat my mother? Where I told him, point blank, the pain he caused my sisters and me could be forgiven, but it could never be undone. My mother left him a few years later. She died a few years after that.

My stepfather did not murder my mother. My stepfather did not murder me.

But had my stepfather picked up a gun and killed us all, nobody would have been surprised. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But nobody got involved. Because we somehow believe that we are safe from a guy who “only” beats his wife. We’re not a member of that family, so it doesn’t really affect us.

Had my stepfather picked up a semi-automatic weapon and killed scores of strangers in a public place, nobody would have been surprised by that either. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But now everybody’s involved. Because innocent people have been killed in a church, in a nightclub, at a concert or a cafe, and in an elementary school.

Domestic violence no longer lives inside that one house on the block. Domestic violence lives in the public now.

According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the majority of all mass shooters in the United States killed an intimate partner or family member during the massacre or had a history of domestic violence.

Somebody out there, right now, knows the next big mass shooter. Somebody out there is getting blamed, screamed at, beaten up.

Somebody out there wants to believe that he’s sorry, that he’s changed and that love means giving him a second chance. Even if that second chance means giving him another bullet because he missed the first time.

Somebody out there, right now, needs our help.

Once, you could feel sorry for the three little girls from the violent home forging a check at the grocery store. Once, you could smile softly, avert your eyes and do nothing. Not anymore.

The facts show that domestic violence is a very clear warning sign that people outside of the family might also be hurt in the future.

Violent men don’t just drop out of the sky with guns and start shooting up people in public places. There are warning signs.

Abused women and children are the canary in the coal mine.

It starts somewhere. It starts in the home.

Nobody would have been surprised if I had died.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Our memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

Of you and me against the world  

I love you, Mommy

I love you, baby…”

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Woman Reveals How Everyone Turned A Blind Eye To What Her Stepfather Was Doing

In the wake of the horrific mass shooting that left 26 people dead in Sutherland Springs, Texas recently, writer Katherine Fugate decided to share her own story.

“It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like.

First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, turned and there he was, sitting at the round pale-blue Formica table reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a large man. Wavy hair and beard intertwined with strands of black and white. Blue-blue eyes. A department store Santa. He smiled at me. Introduced himself. I was late for practice. So I told him to wash his dishes before he left.

My mother met him the night before. The bowling alley was the place-to-be in our small town, with a crowded bar, nightly bowling leagues, giant trophies and a video game arcade. Normally we went with her, gorging on pizza and Dr. Pepper, but my youngest sister was sick. So my mom went alone, met him and brought him home.

She’d been looking for a man for a while. She was a mother with three little girls. She did not have a job. That was a lot to take on for anyone. Her second marriage had ended a year earlier. He started sleeping in her bedroom every night after they met. A few weeks later, I woke up to find them both gone. It was Christmas Eve morning. She’d left a note. They had gone to Vegas, a four hour drive. Watch your two younger sisters, please. They’d be back that night.

I wasn’t mad. I was hopeful. She was lonely, she was drinking more and the laundry was piling up in the garage. He lifted her up, easily, and swung her around the room, happily, and he bought all three of us brand new bicycles. I wanted it to work out for her this time. We all did.

I woke up before dawn on Christmas morning and they still hadn’t come home. The Christmas tree was decorated and the red and green lights were blinking expectantly, but the cookies and milk were untouched. I ate the cookies, drank the milk, and then stole her money from the cigar box.

I rode my new banana seat bike that he bought me in the dark to the 7-Eleven on Grand Avenue, where I bought presents on behalf of Santa. I bought records for my two sisters. The 45’s of I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family and I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes by Jim Stafford. The three of us had a band called “Wonder.” I played the drums on the back of a set of silver pots, while they played the tambourine and maracas. Our mother was best and only audience. At the store, I bought as much candy, soapy bubbles and plastic toys as I could afford. Then, I bought one more thing. A gift for my mother. The .45 record of You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I wanted her to know I would stay.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Remembering will have to do…”

I wanted her to know I would remember her.

I rode my bike home as the sun rose. I wrapped the Christmas presents and put them under the tree. I quickly made pancakes, which my mother had always done for us on Christmas morning. My sisters woke up shortly after and opened their gifts. If they were disappointed in the small bounty, they didn’t say. We got out the silver pots, played the records and sang the songs. It was a happy Christmas morning. The only thing missing was our audience.

My mother called hours later. They were driving back from Vegas. Would I find a restaurant open for Christmas dinner? Scouring the Yellow Pages, I made a reservation at a Chinese restaurant in the next town, and it was there my mother showed us her diamond ring and told us they were getting married. From that day forward, he lived with us. The changes happened rather fast.

I never liked meat. Even as a very small child, my mother told me I would spit out beef. For dinner, my mother made meatloaf, his favorite. She gave me the side dishes: mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese. He insisted I eat the meatloaf. I wouldn’t. My mother defended me. But he was the man of the house now. I could not leave the kitchen table until I ate the meatloaf. My mother shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep. She had a black eye. I never saw him hit her. But I didn’t have to eat the meatloaf.

He bought her a red Lotus, an expensive sports car with a stick shift. Then, they took another trip to Vegas and left us alone. I stole my mother’s car keys and drove my sisters to school in the brand new Lotus. I taught myself how to drive her stick shift, but not very well, because I hit a tree in the school parking lot. Students stared. Teachers stared. The car was towed.

I was 14 and didn’t have a driver’s license. They called my mother in Vegas. She returned with a black eye, a split lip and a badly bruised arm hanging limply by her side. He walked right past me into the house without saying a word. She looked right at me and said, quietly, “I took it for you.”

It was my fault I wrecked the car. It was my fault he beat her.

My mother started drinking more. He started drinking more. The fights happened more. A passion play and we were the audience. Parenting became an afterthought. When the food in the house ran out, my sisters and I would take a taxi and my mother’s check book to the grocery store. We’d load up the shopping cart and not with very good choices. In front of the cashier, I’d carefully fill out the dollar amount on the check, and then forge my mother’s signature. It was a small town.

Everybody knew why. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Life became a routine. When the fighting started downstairs, my younger sisters left their bedrooms and showed up in mine. The record player went on. The record collection grew. I learned which chair to wedge under the doorknob to keep my bedroom door shut. I learned which concealer worked best to hide her bruises the next morning. Sometimes, the ambulance would come. Sometimes, she’d wear dark sunglasses, a loose sweatshirt and a big floppy hat when she walked the dogs.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

There were moments of hope. Because nobody is angry and violent all day, every day. They just have to be angry and violent one day. My mother would wake us up in the middle of the night, and tell us to pack a suitcase. We’d hole up in a hotel. We were underworld spies, prisoners from a jailbreak. We’d order food, watch Charlie’s Angels, hope to never to be found. But we were never really lost, because a day or two later, he’d knock on the hotel door, carrying flowers. And it was over. Because who doesn’t want to go to Disneyland? Who doesn’t want to be the first house on the block to have a swimming pool?

My mother hated guns, so there were no guns in our house. I slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. I used it once. I was 16. The fighting downstairs stopped, abruptly, in the middle of my mother’s scream. I called 911 and then I crept downstairs. He was hunched over her body. She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I put the knife to the back of his neck to stop him from killing my mother. The ambulance came and took her away. The police came and took him away. We snuck into a next door neighbor’s backyard and slept on their lawn furniture. We woke up with blankets. Of course, they knew.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Weeks later, I was called out of my high school English class. My mother was at the school and wanted to talk to me. It was Halloween. I was a vampire, my long black cape flapping in the wind. She, newly released from the hospital, looked like a mummy, with her hollow eyes, her head shaved and her 32 stitches wrapped in white bandages. School was in session, so we were alone. She’d paid his bail. He was sorry. He was waiting at the house. Would I give him another chance, please?

My mother came to my school, begging me not to break up with her.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I broke my own heart when I did not come home from school that day. My mother could “take it” for me, but I couldn’t “take it” anymore. My middle sister, 13, ran away. Our father, remarried with two new small children, put her into a boarding school. My youngest sister, who had a different father from my mother’s second marriage, was only 6, so she cried herself to sleep at night. Our family was torn apart. So they moved to a new house on the outskirts of our small town on a secluded dirt road.

Last time I saw him, I was 16. When I pulled up to the new house to get my things, he stepped outside to meet me. The beard was gone. He’d lost weight. He was calm. He held a shotgun in his hand. It was pointed down, non-threatening. There was finality in the moment. I was leaving home for good. There was finality in the presence of a weapon. If I was willing to use a knife, he was willing to use a gun.

My sister was still in that house. My mother was still in that house.

Everybody knew.

Neighbors, coaches, grocery store cashiers, elementary, junior and high school teachers, school principals, classmates. Her parents knew, my father knew.

Everybody knew. Nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

I never saw my stepfather again. There is no big turning point moment here, where I confronted him about the abuse. Where I asked him, point blank, why did you beat my mother? Where I told him, point blank, the pain he caused my sisters and me could be forgiven, but it could never be undone. My mother left him a few years later. She died a few years after that.

My stepfather did not murder my mother. My stepfather did not murder me.

But had my stepfather picked up a gun and killed us all, nobody would have been surprised. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But nobody got involved. Because we somehow believe that we are safe from a guy who “only” beats his wife. We’re not a member of that family, so it doesn’t really affect us.

Had my stepfather picked up a semi-automatic weapon and killed scores of strangers in a public place, nobody would have been surprised by that either. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But now everybody’s involved. Because innocent people have been killed in a church, in a nightclub, at a concert or a cafe, and in an elementary school.

Domestic violence no longer lives inside that one house on the block. Domestic violence lives in the public now.

According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the majority of all mass shooters in the United States killed an intimate partner or family member during the massacre or had a history of domestic violence.

Somebody out there, right now, knows the next big mass shooter. Somebody out there is getting blamed, screamed at, beaten up.

Somebody out there wants to believe that he’s sorry, that he’s changed and that love means giving him a second chance. Even if that second chance means giving him another bullet because he missed the first time.

Somebody out there, right now, needs our help.

Once, you could feel sorry for the three little girls from the violent home forging a check at the grocery store. Once, you could smile softly, avert your eyes and do nothing. Not anymore.

The facts show that domestic violence is a very clear warning sign that people outside of the family might also be hurt in the future.

Violent men don’t just drop out of the sky with guns and start shooting up people in public places. There are warning signs.

Abused women and children are the canary in the coal mine.

It starts somewhere. It starts in the home.

Nobody would have been surprised if I had died.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Our memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

Of you and me against the world

I love you, Mommy

I love you, baby…””

Source: Medium.com

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Woman Reveals How Everyone Turned A Blind Eye To What Her Stepfather Was Doing

In the wake of the horrific mass shooting that left 26 people dead in Sutherland Springs, Texas recently, writer Katherine Fugate decided to share her own story.

“It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like.

First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, turned and there he was, sitting at the round pale-blue Formica table reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a large man. Wavy hair and beard intertwined with strands of black and white. Blue-blue eyes. A department store Santa. He smiled at me. Introduced himself. I was late for practice. So I told him to wash his dishes before he left.

My mother met him the night before. The bowling alley was the place-to-be in our small town, with a crowded bar, nightly bowling leagues, giant trophies and a video game arcade. Normally we went with her, gorging on pizza and Dr. Pepper, but my youngest sister was sick. So my mom went alone, met him and brought him home.

She’d been looking for a man for a while. She was a mother with three little girls. She did not have a job. That was a lot to take on for anyone. Her second marriage had ended a year earlier. He started sleeping in her bedroom every night after they met. A few weeks later, I woke up to find them both gone. It was Christmas Eve morning. She’d left a note. They had gone to Vegas, a four hour drive. Watch your two younger sisters, please. They’d be back that night.

I wasn’t mad. I was hopeful. She was lonely, she was drinking more and the laundry was piling up in the garage. He lifted her up, easily, and swung her around the room, happily, and he bought all three of us brand new bicycles. I wanted it to work out for her this time. We all did.

I woke up before dawn on Christmas morning and they still hadn’t come home. The Christmas tree was decorated and the red and green lights were blinking expectantly, but the cookies and milk were untouched. I ate the cookies, drank the milk, and then stole her money from the cigar box.

I rode my new banana seat bike that he bought me in the dark to the 7-Eleven on Grand Avenue, where I bought presents on behalf of Santa. I bought records for my two sisters. The 45’s of I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family and I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes by Jim Stafford. The three of us had a band called “Wonder.” I played the drums on the back of a set of silver pots, while they played the tambourine and maracas. Our mother was best and only audience. At the store, I bought as much candy, soapy bubbles and plastic toys as I could afford. Then, I bought one more thing. A gift for my mother. The .45 record of You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I wanted her to know I would stay.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Remembering will have to do…”

I wanted her to know I would remember her.

I rode my bike home as the sun rose. I wrapped the Christmas presents and put them under the tree. I quickly made pancakes, which my mother had always done for us on Christmas morning. My sisters woke up shortly after and opened their gifts. If they were disappointed in the small bounty, they didn’t say. We got out the silver pots, played the records and sang the songs. It was a happy Christmas morning. The only thing missing was our audience.

My mother called hours later. They were driving back from Vegas. Would I find a restaurant open for Christmas dinner? Scouring the Yellow Pages, I made a reservation at a Chinese restaurant in the next town, and it was there my mother showed us her diamond ring and told us they were getting married. From that day forward, he lived with us. The changes happened rather fast.

I never liked meat. Even as a very small child, my mother told me I would spit out beef. For dinner, my mother made meatloaf, his favorite. She gave me the side dishes: mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese. He insisted I eat the meatloaf. I wouldn’t. My mother defended me. But he was the man of the house now. I could not leave the kitchen table until I ate the meatloaf. My mother shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep. She had a black eye. I never saw him hit her. But I didn’t have to eat the meatloaf.

He bought her a red Lotus, an expensive sports car with a stick shift. Then, they took another trip to Vegas and left us alone. I stole my mother’s car keys and drove my sisters to school in the brand new Lotus. I taught myself how to drive her stick shift, but not very well, because I hit a tree in the school parking lot. Students stared. Teachers stared. The car was towed.

I was 14 and didn’t have a driver’s license. They called my mother in Vegas. She returned with a black eye, a split lip and a badly bruised arm hanging limply by her side. He walked right past me into the house without saying a word. She looked right at me and said, quietly, “I took it for you.”

It was my fault I wrecked the car. It was my fault he beat her.

My mother started drinking more. He started drinking more. The fights happened more. A passion play and we were the audience. Parenting became an afterthought. When the food in the house ran out, my sisters and I would take a taxi and my mother’s check book to the grocery store. We’d load up the shopping cart and not with very good choices. In front of the cashier, I’d carefully fill out the dollar amount on the check, and then forge my mother’s signature. It was a small town.

Everybody knew why. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Life became a routine. When the fighting started downstairs, my younger sisters left their bedrooms and showed up in mine. The record player went on. The record collection grew. I learned which chair to wedge under the doorknob to keep my bedroom door shut. I learned which concealer worked best to hide her bruises the next morning. Sometimes, the ambulance would come. Sometimes, she’d wear dark sunglasses, a loose sweatshirt and a big floppy hat when she walked the dogs.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

There were moments of hope. Because nobody is angry and violent all day, every day. They just have to be angry and violent one day. My mother would wake us up in the middle of the night, and tell us to pack a suitcase. We’d hole up in a hotel. We were underworld spies, prisoners from a jailbreak. We’d order food, watch Charlie’s Angels, hope to never to be found. But we were never really lost, because a day or two later, he’d knock on the hotel door, carrying flowers. And it was over. Because who doesn’t want to go to Disneyland? Who doesn’t want to be the first house on the block to have a swimming pool?

My mother hated guns, so there were no guns in our house. I slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. I used it once. I was 16. The fighting downstairs stopped, abruptly, in the middle of my mother’s scream. I called 911 and then I crept downstairs. He was hunched over her body. She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I put the knife to the back of his neck to stop him from killing my mother. The ambulance came and took her away. The police came and took him away. We snuck into a next door neighbor’s backyard and slept on their lawn furniture. We woke up with blankets. Of course, they knew.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Weeks later, I was called out of my high school English class. My mother was at the school and wanted to talk to me. It was Halloween. I was a vampire, my long black cape flapping in the wind. She, newly released from the hospital, looked like a mummy, with her hollow eyes, her head shaved and her 32 stitches wrapped in white bandages. School was in session, so we were alone. She’d paid his bail. He was sorry. He was waiting at the house. Would I give him another chance, please?

My mother came to my school, begging me not to break up with her.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I broke my own heart when I did not come home from school that day. My mother could “take it” for me, but I couldn’t “take it” anymore. My middle sister, 13, ran away. Our father, remarried with two new small children, put her into a boarding school. My youngest sister, who had a different father from my mother’s second marriage, was only 6, so she cried herself to sleep at night. Our family was torn apart. So they moved to a new house on the outskirts of our small town on a secluded dirt road.

Last time I saw him, I was 16. When I pulled up to the new house to get my things, he stepped outside to meet me. The beard was gone. He’d lost weight. He was calm. He held a shotgun in his hand. It was pointed down, non-threatening. There was finality in the moment. I was leaving home for good. There was finality in the presence of a weapon. If I was willing to use a knife, he was willing to use a gun.

My sister was still in that house. My mother was still in that house.

Everybody knew.

Neighbors, coaches, grocery store cashiers, elementary, junior and high school teachers, school principals, classmates. Her parents knew, my father knew.

Everybody knew. Nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

I never saw my stepfather again. There is no big turning point moment here, where I confronted him about the abuse. Where I asked him, point blank, why did you beat my mother? Where I told him, point blank, the pain he caused my sisters and me could be forgiven, but it could never be undone. My mother left him a few years later. She died a few years after that.

My stepfather did not murder my mother. My stepfather did not murder me.

But had my stepfather picked up a gun and killed us all, nobody would have been surprised. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But nobody got involved. Because we somehow believe that we are safe from a guy who “only” beats his wife. We’re not a member of that family, so it doesn’t really affect us.

Had my stepfather picked up a semi-automatic weapon and killed scores of strangers in a public place, nobody would have been surprised by that either. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But now everybody’s involved. Because innocent people have been killed in a church, in a nightclub, at a concert or a cafe, and in an elementary school.

Domestic violence no longer lives inside that one house on the block. Domestic violence lives in the public now.

According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the majority of all mass shooters in the United States killed an intimate partner or family member during the massacre or had a history of domestic violence.

Somebody out there, right now, knows the next big mass shooter. Somebody out there is getting blamed, screamed at, beaten up.

Somebody out there wants to believe that he’s sorry, that he’s changed and that love means giving him a second chance. Even if that second chance means giving him another bullet because he missed the first time.

Somebody out there, right now, needs our help.

Once, you could feel sorry for the three little girls from the violent home forging a check at the grocery store. Once, you could smile softly, avert your eyes and do nothing. Not anymore.

The facts show that domestic violence is a very clear warning sign that people outside of the family might also be hurt in the future.

Violent men don’t just drop out of the sky with guns and start shooting up people in public places. There are warning signs.

Abused women and children are the canary in the coal mine.

It starts somewhere. It starts in the home.

Nobody would have been surprised if I had died.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Our memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

Of you and me against the world

I love you, Mommy

I love you, baby…””

Source: Medium.com

Almost finished… To complete the subscription process, please click the link in the email we just sent you.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2zWQ4Pk

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2kXVkin via Viral News HQ

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Woman Reveals How Everyone Turned A Blind Eye To What Her Stepfather Was Doing

In the wake of the horrific mass shooting that left 26 people dead in Sutherland Springs, Texas recently, writer Katherine Fugate decided to share her own story.

“It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like.

First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, turned and there he was, sitting at the round pale-blue Formica table reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a large man. Wavy hair and beard intertwined with strands of black and white. Blue-blue eyes. A department store Santa. He smiled at me. Introduced himself. I was late for practice. So I told him to wash his dishes before he left.

My mother met him the night before. The bowling alley was the place-to-be in our small town, with a crowded bar, nightly bowling leagues, giant trophies and a video game arcade. Normally we went with her, gorging on pizza and Dr. Pepper, but my youngest sister was sick. So my mom went alone, met him and brought him home.

She’d been looking for a man for a while. She was a mother with three little girls. She did not have a job. That was a lot to take on for anyone. Her second marriage had ended a year earlier. He started sleeping in her bedroom every night after they met. A few weeks later, I woke up to find them both gone. It was Christmas Eve morning. She’d left a note. They had gone to Vegas, a four hour drive. Watch your two younger sisters, please. They’d be back that night.

I wasn’t mad. I was hopeful. She was lonely, she was drinking more and the laundry was piling up in the garage. He lifted her up, easily, and swung her around the room, happily, and he bought all three of us brand new bicycles. I wanted it to work out for her this time. We all did.

I woke up before dawn on Christmas morning and they still hadn’t come home. The Christmas tree was decorated and the red and green lights were blinking expectantly, but the cookies and milk were untouched. I ate the cookies, drank the milk, and then stole her money from the cigar box.

I rode my new banana seat bike that he bought me in the dark to the 7-Eleven on Grand Avenue, where I bought presents on behalf of Santa. I bought records for my two sisters. The 45’s of I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family and I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes by Jim Stafford. The three of us had a band called “Wonder.” I played the drums on the back of a set of silver pots, while they played the tambourine and maracas. Our mother was best and only audience. At the store, I bought as much candy, soapy bubbles and plastic toys as I could afford. Then, I bought one more thing. A gift for my mother. The .45 record of You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I wanted her to know I would stay.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Remembering will have to do…”

I wanted her to know I would remember her.

I rode my bike home as the sun rose. I wrapped the Christmas presents and put them under the tree. I quickly made pancakes, which my mother had always done for us on Christmas morning. My sisters woke up shortly after and opened their gifts. If they were disappointed in the small bounty, they didn’t say. We got out the silver pots, played the records and sang the songs. It was a happy Christmas morning. The only thing missing was our audience.

My mother called hours later. They were driving back from Vegas. Would I find a restaurant open for Christmas dinner? Scouring the Yellow Pages, I made a reservation at a Chinese restaurant in the next town, and it was there my mother showed us her diamond ring and told us they were getting married. From that day forward, he lived with us. The changes happened rather fast.

I never liked meat. Even as a very small child, my mother told me I would spit out beef. For dinner, my mother made meatloaf, his favorite. She gave me the side dishes: mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese. He insisted I eat the meatloaf. I wouldn’t. My mother defended me. But he was the man of the house now. I could not leave the kitchen table until I ate the meatloaf. My mother shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep. She had a black eye. I never saw him hit her. But I didn’t have to eat the meatloaf.

He bought her a red Lotus, an expensive sports car with a stick shift. Then, they took another trip to Vegas and left us alone. I stole my mother’s car keys and drove my sisters to school in the brand new Lotus. I taught myself how to drive her stick shift, but not very well, because I hit a tree in the school parking lot. Students stared. Teachers stared. The car was towed.

I was 14 and didn’t have a driver’s license. They called my mother in Vegas. She returned with a black eye, a split lip and a badly bruised arm hanging limply by her side. He walked right past me into the house without saying a word. She looked right at me and said, quietly, “I took it for you.”

It was my fault I wrecked the car. It was my fault he beat her.

My mother started drinking more. He started drinking more. The fights happened more. A passion play and we were the audience. Parenting became an afterthought. When the food in the house ran out, my sisters and I would take a taxi and my mother’s check book to the grocery store. We’d load up the shopping cart and not with very good choices. In front of the cashier, I’d carefully fill out the dollar amount on the check, and then forge my mother’s signature. It was a small town.

Everybody knew why. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Life became a routine. When the fighting started downstairs, my younger sisters left their bedrooms and showed up in mine. The record player went on. The record collection grew. I learned which chair to wedge under the doorknob to keep my bedroom door shut. I learned which concealer worked best to hide her bruises the next morning. Sometimes, the ambulance would come. Sometimes, she’d wear dark sunglasses, a loose sweatshirt and a big floppy hat when she walked the dogs.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

There were moments of hope. Because nobody is angry and violent all day, every day. They just have to be angry and violent one day. My mother would wake us up in the middle of the night, and tell us to pack a suitcase. We’d hole up in a hotel. We were underworld spies, prisoners from a jailbreak. We’d order food, watch Charlie’s Angels, hope to never to be found. But we were never really lost, because a day or two later, he’d knock on the hotel door, carrying flowers. And it was over. Because who doesn’t want to go to Disneyland? Who doesn’t want to be the first house on the block to have a swimming pool?

My mother hated guns, so there were no guns in our house. I slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. I used it once. I was 16. The fighting downstairs stopped, abruptly, in the middle of my mother’s scream. I called 911 and then I crept downstairs. He was hunched over her body. She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I put the knife to the back of his neck to stop him from killing my mother. The ambulance came and took her away. The police came and took him away. We snuck into a next door neighbor’s backyard and slept on their lawn furniture. We woke up with blankets. Of course, they knew.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Weeks later, I was called out of my high school English class. My mother was at the school and wanted to talk to me. It was Halloween. I was a vampire, my long black cape flapping in the wind. She, newly released from the hospital, looked like a mummy, with her hollow eyes, her head shaved and her 32 stitches wrapped in white bandages. School was in session, so we were alone. She’d paid his bail. He was sorry. He was waiting at the house. Would I give him another chance, please?

My mother came to my school, begging me not to break up with her.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I broke my own heart when I did not come home from school that day. My mother could “take it” for me, but I couldn’t “take it” anymore. My middle sister, 13, ran away. Our father, remarried with two new small children, put her into a boarding school. My youngest sister, who had a different father from my mother’s second marriage, was only 6, so she cried herself to sleep at night. Our family was torn apart. So they moved to a new house on the outskirts of our small town on a secluded dirt road.

Last time I saw him, I was 16. When I pulled up to the new house to get my things, he stepped outside to meet me. The beard was gone. He’d lost weight. He was calm. He held a shotgun in his hand. It was pointed down, non-threatening. There was finality in the moment. I was leaving home for good. There was finality in the presence of a weapon. If I was willing to use a knife, he was willing to use a gun.

My sister was still in that house. My mother was still in that house.

Everybody knew.

Neighbors, coaches, grocery store cashiers, elementary, junior and high school teachers, school principals, classmates. Her parents knew, my father knew.

Everybody knew. Nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

I never saw my stepfather again. There is no big turning point moment here, where I confronted him about the abuse. Where I asked him, point blank, why did you beat my mother? Where I told him, point blank, the pain he caused my sisters and me could be forgiven, but it could never be undone. My mother left him a few years later. She died a few years after that.

My stepfather did not murder my mother. My stepfather did not murder me.

But had my stepfather picked up a gun and killed us all, nobody would have been surprised. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But nobody got involved. Because we somehow believe that we are safe from a guy who “only” beats his wife. We’re not a member of that family, so it doesn’t really affect us.

Had my stepfather picked up a semi-automatic weapon and killed scores of strangers in a public place, nobody would have been surprised by that either. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But now everybody’s involved. Because innocent people have been killed in a church, in a nightclub, at a concert or a cafe, and in an elementary school.

Domestic violence no longer lives inside that one house on the block. Domestic violence lives in the public now.

According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the majority of all mass shooters in the United States killed an intimate partner or family member during the massacre or had a history of domestic violence.

Somebody out there, right now, knows the next big mass shooter. Somebody out there is getting blamed, screamed at, beaten up.

Somebody out there wants to believe that he’s sorry, that he’s changed and that love means giving him a second chance. Even if that second chance means giving him another bullet because he missed the first time.

Somebody out there, right now, needs our help.

Once, you could feel sorry for the three little girls from the violent home forging a check at the grocery store. Once, you could smile softly, avert your eyes and do nothing. Not anymore.

The facts show that domestic violence is a very clear warning sign that people outside of the family might also be hurt in the future.

Violent men don’t just drop out of the sky with guns and start shooting up people in public places. There are warning signs.

Abused women and children are the canary in the coal mine.

It starts somewhere. It starts in the home.

Nobody would have been surprised if I had died.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Our memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

Of you and me against the world

I love you, Mommy

I love you, baby…””

Source: Medium.com

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Woman Reveals How Everyone Turned A Blind Eye To What Her Stepfather Was Doing

In the wake of the horrific mass shooting that left 26 people dead in Sutherland Springs, Texas recently, writer Katherine Fugate decided to share her own story.

“It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like.

First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, turned and there he was, sitting at the round pale-blue Formica table reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a large man. Wavy hair and beard intertwined with strands of black and white. Blue-blue eyes. A department store Santa. He smiled at me. Introduced himself. I was late for practice. So I told him to wash his dishes before he left.

My mother met him the night before. The bowling alley was the place-to-be in our small town, with a crowded bar, nightly bowling leagues, giant trophies and a video game arcade. Normally we went with her, gorging on pizza and Dr. Pepper, but my youngest sister was sick. So my mom went alone, met him and brought him home.

She’d been looking for a man for a while. She was a mother with three little girls. She did not have a job. That was a lot to take on for anyone. Her second marriage had ended a year earlier. He started sleeping in her bedroom every night after they met. A few weeks later, I woke up to find them both gone. It was Christmas Eve morning. She’d left a note. They had gone to Vegas, a four hour drive. Watch your two younger sisters, please. They’d be back that night.

I wasn’t mad. I was hopeful. She was lonely, she was drinking more and the laundry was piling up in the garage. He lifted her up, easily, and swung her around the room, happily, and he bought all three of us brand new bicycles. I wanted it to work out for her this time. We all did.

I woke up before dawn on Christmas morning and they still hadn’t come home. The Christmas tree was decorated and the red and green lights were blinking expectantly, but the cookies and milk were untouched. I ate the cookies, drank the milk, and then stole her money from the cigar box.

I rode my new banana seat bike that he bought me in the dark to the 7-Eleven on Grand Avenue, where I bought presents on behalf of Santa. I bought records for my two sisters. The 45’s of I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family and I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes by Jim Stafford. The three of us had a band called “Wonder.” I played the drums on the back of a set of silver pots, while they played the tambourine and maracas. Our mother was best and only audience. At the store, I bought as much candy, soapy bubbles and plastic toys as I could afford. Then, I bought one more thing. A gift for my mother. The .45 record of You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I wanted her to know I would stay.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Remembering will have to do…”

I wanted her to know I would remember her.

I rode my bike home as the sun rose. I wrapped the Christmas presents and put them under the tree. I quickly made pancakes, which my mother had always done for us on Christmas morning. My sisters woke up shortly after and opened their gifts. If they were disappointed in the small bounty, they didn’t say. We got out the silver pots, played the records and sang the songs. It was a happy Christmas morning. The only thing missing was our audience.

My mother called hours later. They were driving back from Vegas. Would I find a restaurant open for Christmas dinner? Scouring the Yellow Pages, I made a reservation at a Chinese restaurant in the next town, and it was there my mother showed us her diamond ring and told us they were getting married. From that day forward, he lived with us. The changes happened rather fast.

I never liked meat. Even as a very small child, my mother told me I would spit out beef. For dinner, my mother made meatloaf, his favorite. She gave me the side dishes: mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese. He insisted I eat the meatloaf. I wouldn’t. My mother defended me. But he was the man of the house now. I could not leave the kitchen table until I ate the meatloaf. My mother shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep. She had a black eye. I never saw him hit her. But I didn’t have to eat the meatloaf.

He bought her a red Lotus, an expensive sports car with a stick shift. Then, they took another trip to Vegas and left us alone. I stole my mother’s car keys and drove my sisters to school in the brand new Lotus. I taught myself how to drive her stick shift, but not very well, because I hit a tree in the school parking lot. Students stared. Teachers stared. The car was towed.

I was 14 and didn’t have a driver’s license. They called my mother in Vegas. She returned with a black eye, a split lip and a badly bruised arm hanging limply by her side. He walked right past me into the house without saying a word. She looked right at me and said, quietly, “I took it for you.”

It was my fault I wrecked the car. It was my fault he beat her.

My mother started drinking more. He started drinking more. The fights happened more. A passion play and we were the audience. Parenting became an afterthought. When the food in the house ran out, my sisters and I would take a taxi and my mother’s check book to the grocery store. We’d load up the shopping cart and not with very good choices. In front of the cashier, I’d carefully fill out the dollar amount on the check, and then forge my mother’s signature. It was a small town.

Everybody knew why. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Life became a routine. When the fighting started downstairs, my younger sisters left their bedrooms and showed up in mine. The record player went on. The record collection grew. I learned which chair to wedge under the doorknob to keep my bedroom door shut. I learned which concealer worked best to hide her bruises the next morning. Sometimes, the ambulance would come. Sometimes, she’d wear dark sunglasses, a loose sweatshirt and a big floppy hat when she walked the dogs.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

There were moments of hope. Because nobody is angry and violent all day, every day. They just have to be angry and violent one day. My mother would wake us up in the middle of the night, and tell us to pack a suitcase. We’d hole up in a hotel. We were underworld spies, prisoners from a jailbreak. We’d order food, watch Charlie’s Angels, hope to never to be found. But we were never really lost, because a day or two later, he’d knock on the hotel door, carrying flowers. And it was over. Because who doesn’t want to go to Disneyland? Who doesn’t want to be the first house on the block to have a swimming pool?

My mother hated guns, so there were no guns in our house. I slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. I used it once. I was 16. The fighting downstairs stopped, abruptly, in the middle of my mother’s scream. I called 911 and then I crept downstairs. He was hunched over her body. She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I put the knife to the back of his neck to stop him from killing my mother. The ambulance came and took her away. The police came and took him away. We snuck into a next door neighbor’s backyard and slept on their lawn furniture. We woke up with blankets. Of course, they knew.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Weeks later, I was called out of my high school English class. My mother was at the school and wanted to talk to me. It was Halloween. I was a vampire, my long black cape flapping in the wind. She, newly released from the hospital, looked like a mummy, with her hollow eyes, her head shaved and her 32 stitches wrapped in white bandages. School was in session, so we were alone. She’d paid his bail. He was sorry. He was waiting at the house. Would I give him another chance, please?

My mother came to my school, begging me not to break up with her.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I broke my own heart when I did not come home from school that day. My mother could “take it” for me, but I couldn’t “take it” anymore. My middle sister, 13, ran away. Our father, remarried with two new small children, put her into a boarding school. My youngest sister, who had a different father from my mother’s second marriage, was only 6, so she cried herself to sleep at night. Our family was torn apart. So they moved to a new house on the outskirts of our small town on a secluded dirt road.

Last time I saw him, I was 16. When I pulled up to the new house to get my things, he stepped outside to meet me. The beard was gone. He’d lost weight. He was calm. He held a shotgun in his hand. It was pointed down, non-threatening. There was finality in the moment. I was leaving home for good. There was finality in the presence of a weapon. If I was willing to use a knife, he was willing to use a gun.

My sister was still in that house. My mother was still in that house.

Everybody knew.

Neighbors, coaches, grocery store cashiers, elementary, junior and high school teachers, school principals, classmates. Her parents knew, my father knew.

Everybody knew. Nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

I never saw my stepfather again. There is no big turning point moment here, where I confronted him about the abuse. Where I asked him, point blank, why did you beat my mother? Where I told him, point blank, the pain he caused my sisters and me could be forgiven, but it could never be undone. My mother left him a few years later. She died a few years after that.

My stepfather did not murder my mother. My stepfather did not murder me.

But had my stepfather picked up a gun and killed us all, nobody would have been surprised. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But nobody got involved. Because we somehow believe that we are safe from a guy who “only” beats his wife. We’re not a member of that family, so it doesn’t really affect us.

Had my stepfather picked up a semi-automatic weapon and killed scores of strangers in a public place, nobody would have been surprised by that either. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But now everybody’s involved. Because innocent people have been killed in a church, in a nightclub, at a concert or a cafe, and in an elementary school.

Domestic violence no longer lives inside that one house on the block. Domestic violence lives in the public now.

According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the majority of all mass shooters in the United States killed an intimate partner or family member during the massacre or had a history of domestic violence.

Somebody out there, right now, knows the next big mass shooter. Somebody out there is getting blamed, screamed at, beaten up.

Somebody out there wants to believe that he’s sorry, that he’s changed and that love means giving him a second chance. Even if that second chance means giving him another bullet because he missed the first time.

Somebody out there, right now, needs our help.

Once, you could feel sorry for the three little girls from the violent home forging a check at the grocery store. Once, you could smile softly, avert your eyes and do nothing. Not anymore.

The facts show that domestic violence is a very clear warning sign that people outside of the family might also be hurt in the future.

Violent men don’t just drop out of the sky with guns and start shooting up people in public places. There are warning signs.

Abused women and children are the canary in the coal mine.

It starts somewhere. It starts in the home.

Nobody would have been surprised if I had died.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Our memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

Of you and me against the world

I love you, Mommy

I love you, baby…””

Source: Medium.com

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2mPdYcD via Viral News HQ

[trendingnewsb]

Woman Reveals How Everyone Turned A Blind Eye To What Her Stepfather Was Doing

In the wake of the horrific mass shooting that left 26 people dead in Sutherland Springs, Texas recently, writer Katherine Fugate decided to share her own story.

“It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like.

First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, turned and there he was, sitting at the round pale-blue Formica table reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

He was a large man. Wavy hair and beard intertwined with strands of black and white. Blue-blue eyes. A department store Santa. He smiled at me. Introduced himself. I was late for practice. So I told him to wash his dishes before he left.

My mother met him the night before. The bowling alley was the place-to-be in our small town, with a crowded bar, nightly bowling leagues, giant trophies and a video game arcade. Normally we went with her, gorging on pizza and Dr. Pepper, but my youngest sister was sick. So my mom went alone, met him and brought him home.

She’d been looking for a man for a while. She was a mother with three little girls. She did not have a job. That was a lot to take on for anyone. Her second marriage had ended a year earlier. He started sleeping in her bedroom every night after they met. A few weeks later, I woke up to find them both gone. It was Christmas Eve morning. She’d left a note. They had gone to Vegas, a four hour drive. Watch your two younger sisters, please. They’d be back that night.

I wasn’t mad. I was hopeful. She was lonely, she was drinking more and the laundry was piling up in the garage. He lifted her up, easily, and swung her around the room, happily, and he bought all three of us brand new bicycles. I wanted it to work out for her this time. We all did.

I woke up before dawn on Christmas morning and they still hadn’t come home. The Christmas tree was decorated and the red and green lights were blinking expectantly, but the cookies and milk were untouched. I ate the cookies, drank the milk, and then stole her money from the cigar box.

I rode my new banana seat bike that he bought me in the dark to the 7-Eleven on Grand Avenue, where I bought presents on behalf of Santa. I bought records for my two sisters. The 45’s of I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family and I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes by Jim Stafford. The three of us had a band called “Wonder.” I played the drums on the back of a set of silver pots, while they played the tambourine and maracas. Our mother was best and only audience. At the store, I bought as much candy, soapy bubbles and plastic toys as I could afford. Then, I bought one more thing. A gift for my mother. The .45 record of You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I wanted her to know I would stay.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Remembering will have to do…”

I wanted her to know I would remember her.

I rode my bike home as the sun rose. I wrapped the Christmas presents and put them under the tree. I quickly made pancakes, which my mother had always done for us on Christmas morning. My sisters woke up shortly after and opened their gifts. If they were disappointed in the small bounty, they didn’t say. We got out the silver pots, played the records and sang the songs. It was a happy Christmas morning. The only thing missing was our audience.

My mother called hours later. They were driving back from Vegas. Would I find a restaurant open for Christmas dinner? Scouring the Yellow Pages, I made a reservation at a Chinese restaurant in the next town, and it was there my mother showed us her diamond ring and told us they were getting married. From that day forward, he lived with us. The changes happened rather fast.

I never liked meat. Even as a very small child, my mother told me I would spit out beef. For dinner, my mother made meatloaf, his favorite. She gave me the side dishes: mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese. He insisted I eat the meatloaf. I wouldn’t. My mother defended me. But he was the man of the house now. I could not leave the kitchen table until I ate the meatloaf. My mother shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep. She had a black eye. I never saw him hit her. But I didn’t have to eat the meatloaf.

He bought her a red Lotus, an expensive sports car with a stick shift. Then, they took another trip to Vegas and left us alone. I stole my mother’s car keys and drove my sisters to school in the brand new Lotus. I taught myself how to drive her stick shift, but not very well, because I hit a tree in the school parking lot. Students stared. Teachers stared. The car was towed.

I was 14 and didn’t have a driver’s license. They called my mother in Vegas. She returned with a black eye, a split lip and a badly bruised arm hanging limply by her side. He walked right past me into the house without saying a word. She looked right at me and said, quietly, “I took it for you.”

It was my fault I wrecked the car. It was my fault he beat her.

My mother started drinking more. He started drinking more. The fights happened more. A passion play and we were the audience. Parenting became an afterthought. When the food in the house ran out, my sisters and I would take a taxi and my mother’s check book to the grocery store. We’d load up the shopping cart and not with very good choices. In front of the cashier, I’d carefully fill out the dollar amount on the check, and then forge my mother’s signature. It was a small town.

Everybody knew why. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Life became a routine. When the fighting started downstairs, my younger sisters left their bedrooms and showed up in mine. The record player went on. The record collection grew. I learned which chair to wedge under the doorknob to keep my bedroom door shut. I learned which concealer worked best to hide her bruises the next morning. Sometimes, the ambulance would come. Sometimes, she’d wear dark sunglasses, a loose sweatshirt and a big floppy hat when she walked the dogs.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

There were moments of hope. Because nobody is angry and violent all day, every day. They just have to be angry and violent one day. My mother would wake us up in the middle of the night, and tell us to pack a suitcase. We’d hole up in a hotel. We were underworld spies, prisoners from a jailbreak. We’d order food, watch Charlie’s Angels, hope to never to be found. But we were never really lost, because a day or two later, he’d knock on the hotel door, carrying flowers. And it was over. Because who doesn’t want to go to Disneyland? Who doesn’t want to be the first house on the block to have a swimming pool?

My mother hated guns, so there were no guns in our house. I slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. I used it once. I was 16. The fighting downstairs stopped, abruptly, in the middle of my mother’s scream. I called 911 and then I crept downstairs. He was hunched over her body. She was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I put the knife to the back of his neck to stop him from killing my mother. The ambulance came and took her away. The police came and took him away. We snuck into a next door neighbor’s backyard and slept on their lawn furniture. We woke up with blankets. Of course, they knew.

Everybody knew. But nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

Weeks later, I was called out of my high school English class. My mother was at the school and wanted to talk to me. It was Halloween. I was a vampire, my long black cape flapping in the wind. She, newly released from the hospital, looked like a mummy, with her hollow eyes, her head shaved and her 32 stitches wrapped in white bandages. School was in session, so we were alone. She’d paid his bail. He was sorry. He was waiting at the house. Would I give him another chance, please?

My mother came to my school, begging me not to break up with her.

“When all the others turn their backs and walk away

You can count on me to stay…”

I broke my own heart when I did not come home from school that day. My mother could “take it” for me, but I couldn’t “take it” anymore. My middle sister, 13, ran away. Our father, remarried with two new small children, put her into a boarding school. My youngest sister, who had a different father from my mother’s second marriage, was only 6, so she cried herself to sleep at night. Our family was torn apart. So they moved to a new house on the outskirts of our small town on a secluded dirt road.

Last time I saw him, I was 16. When I pulled up to the new house to get my things, he stepped outside to meet me. The beard was gone. He’d lost weight. He was calm. He held a shotgun in his hand. It was pointed down, non-threatening. There was finality in the moment. I was leaving home for good. There was finality in the presence of a weapon. If I was willing to use a knife, he was willing to use a gun.

My sister was still in that house. My mother was still in that house.

Everybody knew.

Neighbors, coaches, grocery store cashiers, elementary, junior and high school teachers, school principals, classmates. Her parents knew, my father knew.

Everybody knew. Nobody said a thing.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

I never saw my stepfather again. There is no big turning point moment here, where I confronted him about the abuse. Where I asked him, point blank, why did you beat my mother? Where I told him, point blank, the pain he caused my sisters and me could be forgiven, but it could never be undone. My mother left him a few years later. She died a few years after that.

My stepfather did not murder my mother. My stepfather did not murder me.

But had my stepfather picked up a gun and killed us all, nobody would have been surprised. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But nobody got involved. Because we somehow believe that we are safe from a guy who “only” beats his wife. We’re not a member of that family, so it doesn’t really affect us.

Had my stepfather picked up a semi-automatic weapon and killed scores of strangers in a public place, nobody would have been surprised by that either. He was a violent guy, they’d tell the news cameras. Everybody knew that.

But now everybody’s involved. Because innocent people have been killed in a church, in a nightclub, at a concert or a cafe, and in an elementary school.

Domestic violence no longer lives inside that one house on the block. Domestic violence lives in the public now.

According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the majority of all mass shooters in the United States killed an intimate partner or family member during the massacre or had a history of domestic violence.

Somebody out there, right now, knows the next big mass shooter. Somebody out there is getting blamed, screamed at, beaten up.

Somebody out there wants to believe that he’s sorry, that he’s changed and that love means giving him a second chance. Even if that second chance means giving him another bullet because he missed the first time.

Somebody out there, right now, needs our help.

Once, you could feel sorry for the three little girls from the violent home forging a check at the grocery store. Once, you could smile softly, avert your eyes and do nothing. Not anymore.

The facts show that domestic violence is a very clear warning sign that people outside of the family might also be hurt in the future.

Violent men don’t just drop out of the sky with guns and start shooting up people in public places. There are warning signs.

Abused women and children are the canary in the coal mine.

It starts somewhere. It starts in the home.

Nobody would have been surprised if I had died.

“And when one of us is gone

And one of us is left to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Our memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

Of you and me against the world

I love you, Mommy

I love you, baby…””

Source: Medium.com

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2mPdYcD via Viral News HQ