#my toddler telling me to recycle while she's gone for an hour

[deadmomjokes]

The bean has recently started adding advice-giving and reassurances to her goodbyes. You know, like “See ya! Be safe!” and “Bye! Watch out for deer!” “See you soon!” That kind of thing.

Only she’s 3, so her addenda are.... Well....

Going to the park with dad: “Bye bye! Don’t forget to recycle!”

Leaving the Christmas Lights show: “See ya! It’s okay, we’ll be back soon!”

Leaving family holiday dinner: “Bye bye! Sleep good! Don’t worry, we’ll be back in a minute!” Oh, actually, honey, we’re not coming back today. Maybe another day. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back in a.... sometime!!”

Saying bye to Grandma on video call: “Bye, I love you! Don’t go too fast!”

Bye to Great-Grandma on video call: *screaming* “I! LOVE! YOU!!!” *back to peppy chipmunk voice* “Okay bye bye, eat some dinner, love you, MUAH!”

At preschool (leaving, generally addressing class and teachers): “Bye bye, you can do it! Have fun! Wash your hands!”

Also at preschool (arriving, dismissing me): “Bye Mom, don’t forget to have a snack!” *whispers* “Okay you can go now please.”

And, my personal favorite, to the door greeter at the store who gave her a friendly wave and ‘bye bye,’: *waving cheerfully* “No thanks!”

[peralta-guaranteed]

do not mind me I am just here thinking about Jake being the little spoon with Amy while also being the big spoon with Mac and creating the perfect Peraltiago cuddle sandwich

(I do mind you very much anon because I had never thought about that before and oh my god do I need it now)

The sound of Mac's favourite new tv show echoes quietly from the bedroom when Amy steps out of the bathroom in a towel, and as stressed out as she still is after that hot shower she just enjoyed, the sight of Mac and Jake cuddling on her side of the bed is enough to make her shoulders relax, no matter what they've just put behind them. They're here now, safe and sound, Mac's eyes closed shut and his pacifier bobbing away, Jake's hand absent-mindedly stroking over his head, the other one wrapped around his middle to hold him close while he stares at the television screen across the room with hazy eyes.

-*-

They've all had a pretty hard and frankly scary week. Amy'd already warned Jake that she would probably not be home much to help out at all, gearing up for a major meeting and discussion panel with several higher-ups she was trying very hard not to panic about, and she was more than relieved that Jake had taken it all in stride even when daycare called in as well, to tell them that Mac's usual two days a week would have to be cancelled due to another outbreak.

And then Mac had gotten sick anyway, so sick that Jake lost his nights to sitting up with him as well, as Amy tiptoed in and helped as much as she could - she'd gotten maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, barely able to make herself presentable for work in the mornings, but she could tell from Jake's haggard looks every morning as she kissed him goodbye for the day that he'd gotten even less.

It was enough to make that week one of the few she underscored with a harsh black line in her monthly planner, but she added a red line underneath on thursday, when Jake called her at work - something he rarely ever did, sticking to texts she could choose to ignore until later if she was too busy - to tell her he wasn't taking any more chances and bringing Mac to the ER after the morning had brought another intense round of throwing up, 5 blown out diapers in under 10 minutes and a fever that made the super-smart kid thermometer she got them blast out a rather terrifying warning beep.

Seeing her baby with an IV in his arm as she raced into the ER after giving Holt the quickest explanation she could, quietly sniffling and sucking on a freeze pop Jake was holding for him while also hugging him in his lap, told her he made the right call before the pediatrician coming over to speak to her ever could.

-*-

"He needs more fluids than he could drink right now." Jake explained what the doctor had already said when she came over to kiss both him and Mac on their foreheads, a tired sigh from the both of them in response. "But his fever is already down from the medicine they gave him."

They were allowed to take him home for the night, luckily, after his fever had gone down some more and the nurses had made sure he'd kept at least one meal in, with another big bag of medicine and 'What To Do If...' instructional booklets Jake was reading out loud for her as she drove them home. Jake was holding onto Mac's foot in his car seat like a lifeline, even as his little buddy dozed on and off from the stress of the ER and so many foreign people around him, lifted him into his arms more carefully than ever to carry him up the stairs to their apartment, and Amy knew he was not going to just put him down into his crib-converted toddler bed, nor would Mac let him, the way he clung onto his shoulders with a sad little whine in his throat from the exhaustion of the past days.

So she'd switched on the bedroom tv for some comfort - screen time rules be damned in this case - while Jake got Mac into some fresh pjs, took him just long enough so that Jake could get into sweats as well, and promised to take over for him after her shower so he could jump in, too.

-*-

But she doesn't believe he's going to take her up on that offer as she sees them side by side on the bed now, Mac's back pressed firmly against Jake's chest as he curls around the little guy.

Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.

Mac is fast asleep now, as safe as he could ever be. On a normal day, she'd probably think about lifting him out of Jake's arms to put him to bed in his own room, but she'd rather sleep there herself than to break up their little bubble of quiet.

"You know you can turn it off once he's asleep." She whispers instead after getting her own PJs on, climbing onto the free side of the bed carefully.

"Beep and Boop are gonna explain why we need to recycle next." Jake mumbles as an answer when she leans over his side, strokes through his messy hair as she reaches for the remote on the bedside table.

"Your wife should not need to explain why you need to take the chance to sleep when you can after this week." She presses a kiss to his temple as the screen switches off.

"I feel like I've forgotten how to do that." Jake sighs, and she can see the exhaustion on his face, the lines around his mouth and bags under his eyes that actually make him look his age for once. "What if Mac wakes up again? I don't think he ate enough, and-"

"If he wakes up, you'll wake up. You always do." She says in the most soothing voice she can muster, her hand not stilling in his hair as she watches his eyelids flicker. "And even if you don't, I'm still here to wake up too."

Everyone likes to be the little spoon. It makes you feel safe.

She slides up to him without moving her hand from his nape, nestles against his back as he sighs once more, deeper and calmer than before. One of his hands lets go of Mac and settles on her thigh instead, wrapped around his hip to really stay close.

"I'm gonna call in sick tomorrow. Holt will understand." She mumbles against his shoulder where her head rests, her fingertips scratching along the very edge of his hairline as her other arm comes around his waist, finds his hand on Mac's tummy to interlock their fingers against his soft, even breaths.

"Love you." Jake mumbles in reply, and his voice is halfway into dreamland, she can tell from its cadence alone, but she still answers.

"Love you too."

She spends a moment longer awake, feeling the steady breathing of the two most important people in her world under her hands, before her eyes fall closed as well.

-*-

None of them have moved even an inch when she blinks awake first in the morning, and Jake growls in his sleep when she twists around to reach for her cellphone on the bedside table, so she's quick to settle back against him once she's sent off a sick-call text to Holt and receives, weirdly enough, a thumbs up emoji as a reply and nothing else.

There's a much more expected follow up of "Dear Amy, I hope you and your family will feel better soon. Give Jake my best. Sincerely, Deputy Comissioner Raymond Holt" when she wakes up again a few hours later, and Jake makes no noise in his sleep this time, when she sneaks around to the side of the bed were Mac is smiling at her wide awake. She lifts him out of Jake's hug as only she ever could without waking him, and they share a lazy, tummy-friendly breakfast before Jake pats into the kitchen with his eyes half-closed and hugs them both from behind before getting himself a massive cup of coffee.

"Did you sleep okay?" She asks with a smile as the cup lifts into the air as he downs it.

"You never sleep badly as the little spoon, Ames." He grins softly before kissing her, Mac's hand slapping onto his cheek from her lap to keep them from completely getting lost in their kiss.

"But I did dream about Beep and Boop making me sit through an exam about recycling and I completely failed."

[rpf-bat]

I Choose Defeat

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Angst, Drama

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 5. Prompt: “Killing Romance.”

When Gerard makes the decision to ‘kill’ My Chemical Romance, your hidden feelings for him, turn to despair. You’re crushed by the reality that he’s no longer your bandmate, but you try your best to move on. Four years later, you have a quiet life in New Jersey - and a child that isn’t is. But, when you get a call in the middle of the night, asking you to get the band back together, you find yourself jumping at the chance. 

You and the other members of My Chemical Romance, sat around a coffee table, at Reprise Records headquarters. You sipped from your mug anxiously, unsure why Gerard had called this meeting. 

Is this about the new studio space?, you wondered. He did say he wanted to build a new recording spot, on his property, so that we’ll have an easier time, putting together the rest of the new album. 

But, something in his melancholy expression, told you that he wasn’t here, to show off blueprints. His hazel eyes seemed to stare right through you.

You glanced at Frank on your right, and Ray and Mikey on your left. They seemed nervous, too, as they waited for Gerard to speak. The silence in the room was deafening. 

“So,” Gerard said finally, “I’ve decided I quit.” 

“What?” you blinked. 

“I no longer want to be the vocalist of My Chemical Romance,” Gerard spelled out. “I’m out.” 

Four jaws dropped in unison. The mug nearly fell right out of your hand. 

“That means that My Chemical Romance is….over with,” Mikey realized. “I mean, there’s no way in hell that we could continue the band without you.” 

This much was obvious - Gerard was the group’s leader. It’s visionary. A drummer, such as yourself? Potentially replaceable. But the vocalist, lyricist, and frontman? No way. If he was done, his departure would be a bullet between My Chemical Romance’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard sighed. “I’ve been trying, to act like everything’s fine, and keep working on new songs with you guys. But….my heart’s just not in it anymore.” 

“What about the new album?!” Frank interjected. “The demos we’ve been working on so far….I thought those songs really had potential!” 

“The guitar parts you wrote were good, Frankie,” Gerard admitted. “If you want to take those melodies, and recycle them into a new project, at some point? You definitely have my blessing to do that.” 

“Frank might be fine forming some new band, with new people,” you said, tears forming in your eyes, “but, what about me? What am I supposed to do?” 

You had dropped out of school, years ago, when Gerard asked you to drum for his band. And the truth was, that you had nothing to fall back on. You’d spent the last decade of your life, focused on nothing, but being in My Chem. Now, that career was just….gone. 

“I was talking to Andy Hurley the other day,” Gerard said calmly. “He said, that when Fall Out Boy broke up, he became a touring drummer, for some other bands. Like, I think he went on the road with Earth Crisis for a while.” 

“Oh, so you just have all the answers, is that it?” you snapped. You didn’t think, he’d really given that much thought, to how this would affect you, at all. 

“Y/N, come on,” Ray intervened, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You have to admit….the last tour, was really hard on all of us.”

“He’s right,” Mikey sighed. “We were constantly jet lagged. I was eating No-Doz like candy, just to stay awake, during some of our shows.” 

“I...I never said being in this band was easy,” you stammered, “but that doesn’t mean you just give up!”

“I can’t force it, if the passion’s just not there anymore!” Gerard insisted. “Do you remember the last show we played?”

“Yeah, what about it?” you demanded. 

“I wasn’t even looking at the fucking crowd,” Gerard confessed. “Or at my mic. My head was somewhere completely else. I was looking at the sea, in the distance. I didn’t want to be on that stage. And I know that our performance suffered, because of that. It wasn’t my best work. If I can’t give the fans the show they deserve, I’d rather not do any more shows, at all.” 

“You didn’t feel happy at all, when you were playing with us?” you realized. 

“No,” Gerard said bluntly. “I felt nothing.” 

Your chest hurt, and your eyes welled up with tears. Nothing?

Being onstage with Gerard, watching him sing, from behind your drum kit, was euphoria to you. A high that no drug could match. Listening to the crowd sing along with him, as you played your heart out....those were always the best nights of your life. But, clearly, he didn’t feel the same way, that you did. 

You always thought you’d have more time with him. Whether it was in the studio, or on tour….you’d taken for granted, that you would have another opportunity, to tell him how you really felt. 

You’d had feelings for him, for a long time. To put it frankly, you were in love with him. 

I told myself, that as soon as we finished the record, I would confess my feelings to him, you recalled, your hands shaking. I didn’t want it to affect the work we were doing in the studio, so I was going to wait. But now the fifth MCR album, is never going to exist! 

Even if your fantasies of dating him never materialized, you thought you would always have him, as a bandmate. Even if we never became boyfriend and girlfriend….we would still travel the world together, as singer and drummer. That was something I thought I could always rely on! 

Now, everything you thought you’d have, was up in smoke. It was like the rug had been pulled out from under you. 

“Gerard, how could you?!” you cried, unable to stop the tears, from falling from your eyes. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be in any band, if it’s not with you!” 

“Y/N, I’m sorry…,” Gerard began, seeming taken aback, by how deeply, his words had wounded you. 

“Save it!” you barked. “I don’t want to hear it!” 

You grabbed your keys, and stormed out of the room. 

“Y/N! Wait!” Gerard cried. 

His voice didn’t stop you. If nothing was what he felt, sharing the stage with you….then, nothing was exactly what you would be to each other, from this day on. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

FOUR YEARS LATER

You’d moved back to New Jersey, after the band broke up. Los Angeles held nothing for you anymore, but memories. All you wanted was to forget. 

You’d tried to fill the void in your heart, by blowing money on vinyls. You thought maybe, if you turned the volume all the way up, and made the whole house shake with sound, you wouldn’t be able to hear Gerard’s voice, in the back of your head. I felt nothing. 

Your time together had been special to you….but, clearly, you thought, it hadn’t been special to him. So, when the guy at the record store, had asked for your number, you’d given it to him. 

You thought you could get over Gerard, by jumping into bed with someone else. Patrick certainly wasn’t unattractive. And, he was never unkind to you. When he told you that he loved you, you said it back. 

But…..you didn’t mean it. Deep down in your heart, you knew you were still in love with Gerard. And the worst part was, Patrick knew it, too. So, the relationship failed. Of course it did.

But, it had left you with one good thing: a child. You loved your daughter, even though you didn’t love her father. Motherhood had given you a reason to get out of bed every day. Even if you felt like your life was in shambles, you still had a responsibility, to be there for her. 

She looked up at you, with innocent blue eyes, as you tucked her into bed. 

“Mommy need hug?” she asked, holding her teddy bear tightly. 

“No, sweetheart,” you sighed, ashamed that your mental state was so obvious, even to a toddler. “Mommy’s okay.”

You thought to yourself, as you kissed her goodnight, that she might be the only person in this world, to ever truly love you unconditionally. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You were sitting at the kitchen table, alone with your thoughts, and a glass of Pinot, when the phone rang. You wondered who it could be, at this hour. 

“Hey, Y/N,” said a familiar voice, when you picked up. 

“Frank?” you blinked. “What’s up?” 

“How are you doing?” your former bandmate asked gently. 

“Pretty good,” you lied. “It’s been a while.” 

“It has,” Frank admitted. “I just got done with a tour, not too long ago.” 

Right, you remembered. He’s got his own little solo project now. 

“What are you calling yourselves these days?” you asked. “The Cellabration?”

“No, it’s The Patience now,” Frank corrected. “Man, I really wish I could have convinced you to join us. You know you were my first pick, for a drummer.” 

“You found a better one,” you shrugged. “I bought a copy of your CD. It sounds like Matt Olsson is doing a hell of a job.” 

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Frank chuckled. “You been up to much, music wise?” 

“Nah,” you confessed. “I mean, I did a little production stuff, for an indie label, here in town. But mostly, I’ve just been living off royalties, and child support.” 

“Fair enough,” Frank replied. “How’s the little one doing?” 

“Lena‘s doing great,” you smiled. “She’s full of energy, like most three year olds are.” 

You heard Frank laughing. 

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I still can’t believe,” Frank snickered, “that you named your daughter Helena.” 

“Of course I did,” you said wistfully. “Of all the songs we ever composed together, I think that was my favorite.” 

“Honestly, it’s one of my favorites, too,” Frank confessed.

“How are Lily and Cherry?” you asked. “And Miles?” 

“The twins just had their seventh birthday,” Frank said proudly. “God, they’re getting so big. And Miles just started kindergarten, he loves it.” 

“That’s great,” you smiled. “Lena and I, should come over and visit you guys soon.” 

“I’d really like that,” Frank agreed. “I mean, you’re right down the road, after all.”

It was true - Frank, was the only other former band member, who had returned to New Jersey, after things went south. 

“....That’s actually part of, what I wanted to talk to you about,” Frank said, after a moment. 

“What do you mean?” you wondered. 

“So….you and I, still hang out all the time,” Frank began. 

“...Yeah?” you nodded. Where was he going with this? 

“But, you also visited Ray not too long ago, right?” he asked. 

“Uh, yeah, last fall,” you recalled. “He invited me down to his house in California. He wanted me to play drums, for a track on Remember The Laughter.” 

It had been nice to see him again - and even nicer, to get out of the East Coast snow. 

“But, while you were in LA, you also hung out with Mikey, right?” Frank asked. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “He asked me to go to a Dodgers game with him, while I was in town. It was pretty fun. He was asking me for parenting advice the whole time, because Kristin was pregnant with Rowan.” 

All of the former members of My Chemical Romance were parents now….except one. But, you didn’t want to talk about him. To your chagrin, this was the exact person, whom Frank asked about next. 

“What about Gerard?” he demanded. 

“What about him?” you scoffed. Even after all this time, thinking about him, still hurt. 

“I was texting Gee last night,” Frank explained. “Y/N….he told me that you haven’t gone and seen him, even once, since the day the band broke up.” 

“It’s true,” you admitted. 

“Shit, man,” Frank swore. “It’s been four years. Do you really hate him, that much?” 

“I don’t hate him,” you said softly. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Frank tutted. “Was it really necessary, to block his number?” 

“It was,” you insisted. “I have nothing to say to him.” 

“Well,” Frank revealed, “he had something, that he wanted me to say to you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

“What is it?!” you demanded. 

“Damn,” Frank teased. “You sound pretty eager, for someone who refuses to speak to him directly. For the record, it’s kinda childish, if you ask me! You and I are both in our thirties now - and he just turned fuckin’ forty. And I still have to be a go-between, for you two?” 

“Just tell me what he said, already,” you said impatiently. 

“Fine, fine,” Frank sighed. “I’ll get to the point.” 

“Well, what is it?” What could he possibly have to say, after all this time?

“He asked me,” Frank whispered, “if you would be interested, in getting the band back together.”

You dropped the phone in shock. It hit the tile floor, with a crash. You were lucky, that the noise didn’t wake Lena. You bit your lip. You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. 

Was this real?! you thought, your hands shaking. Oh, god, please let it be real. 

You’d wanted to hear those words for so long. Despite all your anger and resentment towards Gerard….you wanted him, to miss you. You wanted him, to want to get onstage with you again. Because deep down….you still wanted, that, too. 

You picked the phone up off the floor, and pressed it to your ear again. 

“Damn, Y/N, what was that?” Frank gaped. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I can hear you now. So….tell me again? Exactly what he said?”

“He said he wants to get all five of us in a room together,” Frank explained. “Just...try and jam for a little bit, and see where it goes from there.” 

“Where?” you asked. “LA, I’m guessing?” 

“Yeah….”

“Ok, when?” you interrupted. “I can try and find a sitter, to watch Lena for a weekend, so….” 

“Slow down!” Frank urged. “What the fuck, Y/N?” 

“What do you mean, what the fuck?” you asked, eyes narrowing. 

“You just told me, you haven’t said two words to Gerard, since 2013!” Frank reminded. “Now, all of a sudden, you’re chomping at the bit, to get on a plane, and go see him?” 

He had a point. You hated yourself for this. You’d spent the last four years, trying desperately to forget about Gerard. Now, as soon as he dangled the possibility of a reunion in front of you, you were wagging your tail like a dog for him. 

He still has me in the palm of your hand, you realized, cheeks burning. I hate it. 

“We weren’t sure,” Frank confessed, “if you would want to be part of the reunion at all. You guys didn’t leave things on the best of terms. Like...when you see him again, what the hell are you gonna say to him?” 

“I….I don’t know,” you realized. You thought about it for a moment. 

“One thing’s for sure,” you decided. “If My Chemical Romance is having a reunion, you’re sure as hell, not gonna have it without me.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You hesitated in the studio doorway, your hand shaking on the door handle. 

Come on, you told yourself. You’ve come all this way. The flight from La Guardia to LAX was seven hours long. You had all that time, to talk yourself out of doing this. But, you’re here now. You’ve decided this is what you want. 

Steeling yourself, you turned the knob, and entered the room. 

He was there, as soon as you walked in. His hair was a natural brown now - not the short blonde it had been, the last time you’d seen him. It had become streaked with grey - but, then again, so had yours. Despite the lines of middle age, that had now begun to crease his face, he was still so, breathtakingly handsome. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Gerard said, his voice melting you like butter. “You look great.”

You didn’t say so do you - even though it was true. 

“H-how you have been?” you asked, trying to hide your shakes. 

“I’ve been well,” Gerard smiled. “How’s Patrick?” 

“We’re divorced,” you said dryly. 

“....Oh,” Gerard gasped. “Oh, fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You would, if you shot me an email, once in a while,” you snapped, remembering that you were supposed to ‘hate’ him. 

“Oh, so my number’s blocked, but an email’s fine with you?” Gerard huffed. “How am I supposed to know that? The telephone works both ways, you know.” 

“Guys!” interrupted the voice of the reason. “Can you not? Please?” 

“Ray!” you gasped, turning to face your frizzy-haired friend. “How are you? It’s so good to see you!” 

“It’s good to see you, too, Y/N,” Ray smiled. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you guys, too,” said another familiar voice, as Mikey entered the room. 

“Hey!” you smiled, walking over to greet him. “How’s the baby doing?”

“She’s beautiful,” Mikey said proudly. “How’s Helena?”

“Little Lena is getting bigger every day,” you smiled. “She’s adorable.” 

“You can compare baby pictures later,” joked another voice. “I’d win that contest, anyway. I have three cuties at home.” 

“Hi, Frank!” Mikey grinned. “How have you been, dude?” 

“Pretty good,” Frank smiled, setting down his guitar case. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”  

You looked around the room, scarcely believing it was true. But, you didn’t have to pinch yourself. It was real- all five members of My Chemical Romance, were together again.

“Are you ready to jam?” Ray grinned. 

“Absolutely,” you said, surprising yourself. 

“What should we play first?” Frank asked, taking his guitar out of its case, and hooking the strap over his shoulder. 

“Good question,” Gerard shrugged, walking over to the microphone stand, and adjusting it to his height. 

“What about ‘Helena’?” Mikey suggested, tuning his bass. 

“Sounds good to me,” you replied. You sat down, behind the drum kit, that the studio space owned. You still had your original kit - with the Danger Days “Exterminate” drum cover - in your basement, back home. 

You picked up your sticks. It had been so long, but holding them in your hands, felt so right, in a way that you couldn’t describe. 

“Ray, you wanna start us off?” Gerard asked. 

“Alright,” Ray nodded. “One, two, three, four…”

He began to play the opening notes, that you knew so well. 

“Long ago,” Gerard crooned, “just like the hearse you, died to get in again…”

Your cymbals joined him - and at just the right time, too. Like muscle memory coming back. 

“We are,” Gerard sang, “so far from you!”

Mikey and Frank’s parts kicked in, and you felt a wave of adrenaline, that hit you so fast, it almost made you miss the beat. 

“Burning on…,” Gerard continued, surprisingly in-key. 

“Just like a match you strike to incineraaaaate!” Ray harmonized, “the lives of everyone you knoooow!”

The two men sounded incredible together, given that the last time they’d performed this song, was 2012. It was like riding a bike, you realized. You guys had played this one together, so many times, that it only took being next to each other, to unlock it all again. 

You felt a wave of nostalgia, as the song continued:

And what's the worst you take (worst you take)

From every heart you break (heart you break)

And like the blade you stain (blade you stain)

Well, I've been holding on tonight

What's the worst that I can say?

Things are better if I stay

So long and goodnight

So long not goodnight

“....Fuck, that sounded so good!” Gerard grinned, stopping after the chorus. “I thought we’d be really rusty!” 

“I know, right?” Ray laughed. 

Suddenly, Gerard’s smile faded, as he turned back, and looked at you. “....Y/N?”

“What?” you asked. “I agree, that was decent.” 

“Y/N….you’re crying,” Gerard said softly. 

“Huh?” you blinked. You set your drumstick down, and touched your finger to your eye. It came away wet. 

Fuck, you realized, he’s right. You hadn’t even noticed. Despite the sharp words you’d exchanged, when you walked in the door, playing together, had made your true feelings plain. You had missed this. You had missed this so much. 

“I….I think I need a smoke break,” you stammered, and headed for the door. 

“Y/N! Wait!” Gerard called. It sounded just like deja vu. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

He found you outside, holding a cigarette in your shaking palm. You could barely see the lighter through your tears. The stupid flame wouldn’t catch. 

“You want me to get that?” Gerard offered. 

“No!” you sniffed. “Just, go away!” 

Ignoring you, Gerard took the lighter from your hand. 

“Here,” he said, and lit the cigarette for you. You took a drag. 

“....You want one?” you offered, awkwardly handing him the pack, as you wiped your eyes. 

“Nah,” Gerard shook his head. “I quit.”

“...Did you really?” you blinked, surprised. 

“Yeah, just this year,” Gerard nodded. “I figured, if we were gonna do this, I wanted to make sure, that my lungs were in good shape.” 

“....How long have you known, that you wanted to come back?” you wondered. 

“Not long,” Gerard confessed. “Honestly, I thought you would say no.”

“To you?” you laughed, bitterly. “Never.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gerard raised an eyebrow. “I thought you can’t stand me, these days.” 

“Gee,” you sighed. “Listen….I never hated you.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“It wasn’t hate, that kept me away,” you confessed. “It was love.” 

“Love?” Gerard repeated, confused. 

“You broke my heart,” you explained, “when you killed the band.”

“Yeah, all the guys were heartbroken, when I told them it was over,” Gerard acknowledged. 

“No,” you shook your head. “You don’t understand.” 

“Then, explain it to me!” Gerard demanded. “Nobody was happy with me with that day, but you’re the only one who cut off all contact afterwards! And I have spent every day, of the last four years, wondering why!” 

“Because I was in love with you, you idiot!” you cried. 

Gerard gasped, staring at you in shock. 

Fuck, you trembled. I can’t believe I said that out loud. 

“You….wanted to be with me?” Gerard asked, eyes wide. 

“Of course I did,” you said, beginning to cry again. “But, you didn’t even want me as a bandmate anymore - let alone a lover. You didn’t feel a thing - you gave up our life’s work, like it was nothing to you.” 

“Y/N, I was relapsing,” Gerard said softly, staring at his shoes. 

“You….you what?” 

“During the World Contamination Tour,” Gerard admitted, shame-faced. “The stress of being on the road, it was just too much for me. I was seven years sober, and I fell off the wagon. I hated myself for it. But I knew, if we started another album cycle, and went on another tour, after that….I was going to do it again.” 

“That’s why you wanted to quit the band?” you realized. “I never knew….” 

“You never let me explain myself!” Gerard reminded. “You just took off!” 

“B-but, I never noticed you drinking, when we were on tour….” you stammered. 

“I hid it well,” Gerard sighed. “I didn’t want to disappoint you. You thought I was such a great guy….I didn’t want you to see the truth about me.” 

“You are a great guy, Gee,” you assured him. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t gotten so angry at you, for making the choice you made, if I had known how badly you were struggling, on the inside….” 

“It was kill the band,” Gerard revealed, “or fall back into the bad habits, that were going to kill me.”

“I….I don’t want you to get killed, Gerard,” you sobbed. “I would never, ever want that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, for how I’ve treated you, this whole time….”

“I’m sorry, too,” Gerard said, reaching a gentle hand up, to wipe the tear from your eye. “I’m sorry, that I was so self-absorbed, that I never realized, how you felt about me.”

“I hid that well, too,” you confessed. 

“I would never have wasted the last four years of my life like this,” Gerard sighed, “if I had known, that my feelings were reciprocated.”

“Re…Reciprocated?” you repeated. No….could he mean….?

“After you went back to Jersey,” Gerard bared his soul, “I felt like there was a hole in my heart. And I didn’t know why. By the time I figured it out - by the time I was sober, and mentally stable again, and the type of man you actually deserved - goddamnit, Y/N, you were married to someone else!” 

“I only accepted Patrick’s proposal, because I was pregnant,” you admitted, embarrassed. “And I only slept with him, in the first place, to try and convince myself, that I was capable of wanting, somebody who wasn’t you.” 

“But….you and Patrick split up,” Gerard realized. “Fuck. Y/N. If I had known, that you two weren’t still together….I would have been on a plane to New Jersey, months ago, begging you for another chance.” 

“I don’t want him,” you cried. “I want you, Gerard. I always did. I wished Lena was yours, because the wanting never stopped. I want you still!” 

“Then, be mine, damnit!” Gerard cried, and took you in his arms. He kissed your tear stained face, and your sobbing finally stopped, as his lips crashed into yours. 

He tasted so sweet….everything you’d wanted, and more. It was like a dream come true. 

“The guys are waiting inside,” you reminded, “for us to go back in there, and play some more songs with them.”

“Let then wait,” Gerard shushed you, pulling you in again. “I’ve waited four years for this.” 

He kissed you, and you felt as if you could fly. All was, finally, right with the world again. 

[smarchit]

Do No Harm pt 3

It’s here folks!!! So sorry for the delay - it’s been sitting in my drafts for so long. But I’m sick of looking at it and sick of that guilt of not posting eating away at me. Here you go my loves!

Nearly two months had passed since Din had taken Wynn aboard following the Imps' ransack of her village. It sometimes still didn't feel real to her, if she were being completely honest. She was afraid that she would wake up in a prison cell for harboring a fugitive and all this would have been a dream.

Wynn had taken to caring for the Child like he was her own, and she loved him dearly. She sang to him, fed him, chased him around all day, and tucked him into bed at night while Din collected bounties and brought credits for food back with him. 

It was a sort of mutual agreement the pair had come to shortly after she'd come aboard. She didn't mind being alone with the kid. He was a dreadful conversation partner though, but then again, so was his father.

Wynn found herself thinking about him constantly. She worried when he was off on a job, and felt relief wash over her when he would return unharmed. 

Oftentimes, she wanted to just sit him down and talk. About literally anything. He could talk about disassembling his blaster or how to properly gut a Tuan-Tuan for warmth on some backwater planet. She would hang on every word if that were the case. Wynn wanted to talk about how to successfully deliver a breeched baby, or how to dislodge a foreign object from the windpipe of a choking toddler, just because she wanted to remind herself that she knew how to do it. She just wanted to hear him talk about all the random things he knew how to do. For Maker's sake, she wanted to know all the ways he knew to cheat at Sabbac or all the intricacies of carbonite freezing. As cute as he was, the kid lacked in attentive listening skills and active communication. 

It had been so long since she spoke with another person, like really, actually exchanged words with someone apart from little asides with vendors at a market who may or may not speak basic. 

Mostly, she wanted to talk about what had never been addressed - the Imperial siege of her village, his (dashing) rescue of her, and the fact that she knew his name. His real, honest-to-Maker name. He had never formally introduced himself to her, and everyone who the pair had come into contact with referred to him as simply Mando. So she referred to him as Mando. 

He'd called her Wynnlow every day since he first brought her aboard and Wynn grimaced every time the name passed through the vocoder. She actually began to regret telling him that only her friends called her Wynn. She wanted to be his friend in an almost hopeless way.

Mandalorians do not have friends, Wynnlow. They do not have allies. Only each other.

Both the Child and his caretaker were going on nearly three days of silence at this point. Mando had gone off on a job and discouraged her from going to the market on a not so subtle warning that the planet wasn't particularly safe for someone with no combat training.

Wynn would have been alright with being left alone, provided their food supplies held up. Mando was only supposed to be gone for about a week tops, but left two weeks of food on the Crest, just in case. Unfortunately, the airtight seal on one case had broken, leaving half their food to spoil. So as long as Mando came back in time, they'd be fine. He was very rarely late.

To pass the time, Wynn had been studying the Child. She'd seen all manner of children in her time, assisted both first time and experienced mothers alike to bring new life into the galaxy, but never once had she seen anything like him.

If Wynn's guess was anything to go off of, she pegged the Child as the human equivalent of a 16-18 month old. But then, she figured that was an inaccurate scale to go by. He was most likely developing normally for his species, though Wynn constantly wished she knew his species so she would have more accurate information to compare it to.

For the past several hours, Wynn had been rolling a tiny silver ball the Child brought her across the floor. The baby would totter after it and then bring it back, giggling the whole time.

Suddenly, the whole ship rumbled furiously as the main entrance opened with a grating screech. There was a loud scuffle, then strained grunt followed by what sounded like a curse.

"Get in," Mando growled from below. "You were more trouble than you were worth. 

Wynn heard the carbonite chamber activate as it whirred to life in the cargo bay, trapping yet another bounty in its confines. She did her best to ignore the fire that roared to life in her belly at Mando's grunts and growls as he brought the bounty on board. 

The Child toppled into Wynn's lap, blessedly distracting her, the tiny ball still clutched in his fingers. His massive ears twitched as he heard heavy foot steps coming up the ramp.

Mando stormed past the living quarters where Wynn and the Child were playing. He bypassed the fresher and stomped up the ladder to the cockpit. He sounded in a foul mood. 

"Fine," Wynn sighed dramatically. "I'll go talk to him!" She stood, scooped the baby into her arms, and pressed a sweet kiss to his head before she put him in his pod. He blinked sleepily up at her and cooed as he handed her the silver ball.

Mando was angrily mashing buttons in the cockpit and muttering to himself under his breath. The sound was barely coming through beneath his helmet. He barely acknowledged that Wynn had even joined him. 

"He give you any trouble?" he asked without even looking up from the navigator. 

Wynn put one hand in the pocket of her skirt and shook her head. "Nah, he was fine. Couldn't have been better, really. Not much fun to have a conversation with though."

"He's a good listener," Mando replied. There was the faintest hint of a smile on the edge of his voice.

Wynn couldn't help but smile. It was honestly the first time he had made anything remotely close to a joke since she'd been travelling with him.

"You're not so bad of a listener yourself, you know," she hummed. Wynn crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door, eyes focused on Mando as he prepared for takeoff. 

"Is he asleep?" he asked, glancing up at her. 

She nodded and lowered herself into the copilot seat behind him. "If not now, he will be soon. Tuckered himself out."

Mando nodded once. "He usually does. Except when I want him to go to bed. It's like he knows."

Wynn smiled. The way he spoke of his foundling made him seem almost normal. Like there was a big softie under all that armor after all.

"Kids and babies know when we want them to do something for ourselves," she said with a laugh. "And babies will come when they want. Trust me. I got called into the inn one night a while ago, a traveler and his partner got stranded when their ship was damaged. She went into labor three weeks early. I got called in to help."

"Children like to come at inopportune times," Mando said, reaching for a lever. He sighed and dropped his hand into his lap. 

Wynn chuckled and held up the little silver ball the Child had been playing with. She extended her hand to him with the ball in her fingers.

"I think they come exactly when we need them to. Maybe we just don't know it yet."

Mando stared at her, his gaze hidden behind the visor. He watched her curiously, though perhaps for a moment too long, as she cleared her throat in an attempt to get his attention or to break his gaze. Slowly, he reached out to take the tiny ball from her hands. All he wanted was to get them to the next planet together safely. They both knew that they couldn't stay in one place for very long.

Wynn placed the ball in his outstretched hand, slowly, as if she was going to frighten him if she moved too fast. She left her hand in his for a moment, long enough to feel the warmth of his skin beneath soft leather. 

Mando's eyes were locked on where their hands were joined. He felt the weight of her hand in his, the warmth that radiated off of her, a wonderful contrast to the slight chill of the ship's recycled air.

The silence and stillness was broken by the loud wail of the Child from the living quarters.

Wynn glanced over her shoulder and sighed as she let her hand fall to her side. "He might be hungry. I told him we'd eat a while ago."

"He doesn't like to be kept waiting," Mando hummed. He reattached the little silver ball and turned away from her, his shoulders squared off, his spine rigid once more.

Wynn sighed and went to gather the baby from his pod. "I'll bring you food too," she promised, poking her head back into the cockpit.

Mando replied with a grunt and a wave of his hand, too busy with finalizing takeoff to even listen to her words. 

It was as if that hand holding, if it could even be called that, had never happened. Mando was back to his same old sullen self. 

Wynn watched him for a moment to try and see if he relaxed when he thought he was alone. She wouldn't ever dare to spy on him when he was eating or any time she knew his helmet was off. She would never even think of betraying his trust like that. One creed to another. 

The way his hand clenched and unclenched several times against his thigh as he sat in the cockpit, however, did not go unnoticed by the young doctor. It was the same hand she'd placed the ball into and held for maybe just a second too long. She still felt the warmth and softness of his glove against her palm.

Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away and went to get the Child to bring him food before he could scream again. 

Once the Child was sleeping soundly in his pod for the night, his belly full from supper, Wynn made her way up to the cockpit.

She found some manuals on anatomy at a marketplace a few weeks prior and Mando had slipped a few credits to the shopkeeper to buy them. She didn't often get time to read when she was at home, and now she had practically all the time in the galaxy. It felt strange, really. 

She stopped just outside the door leading in and knocked loudly to announce to Mando that she was coming in. A second passed, then two, before she heard him mumble a soft, "Come in."

Mando was seated in his chair, watching the stars streak by the window. He turned to her when she entered and he lifted his hand in a small wave.

Wynn paused in the doorway, her gaze locked on the man before her. He was leaned back with his thighs spread almost inviting her in. His hands were behind his head as he lazily turned his head to the side to look at her. She felt her mouth go dry and she swallowed the lump in her throat. 

"Finally gonna learn about the mating processes of Gungan tonight," she said, giving the manual a shake as she entered the cockpit. "I'd rather be doing... anything else."

"Don't torture yourself like that," Mando said, a small chuckle working its way out of his vocoder. 

Wynn smiled and curled herself into the copilot seat. It wasn't often that Mando laughed, but when he did, it always made her feel warm inside, fuzzy and tingly that she'd made someone happy. 

"Where are we going next?" Wynn asked after a few moments of silent reading. At the beginning, she was always nervous that Mando was going to leave her somewhere on some planet alone, with no money and only the clothes on her back. The more she traveled with him, the less anxious she became, but that worry was always there. She doubted it would ever go away, really.

"Back to Nevarro for now," he said. "Gonna turn in these bounties, pick up a few more. Stock up on supplies, head back out."

"Aren't you worried about being tracked down on Nevarro?" She shut the book and held it in her lap, focusing her full attention on him.

Mando shrugged. "Nevarro is a hotbed anyway. Just another face in the crowd there."

"But there's so many Imps there," she replied.

"That's why you're gonna stay on the ship with the kid while I go," he said. He held up a hand when Wynn's eyes widened. "Hang on, let me finish. You'll stay here. If I'm not back by nightfall when we land or you don't hear anything from me in a few hours, you take this ship and leave. Coordinates are in there for a safe destination already. You get there with the kid."

Wynn swallowed down the lump in her throat. She couldn't leave Mando, no matter what.

"You'll be fine," he assured her. "Besides, the possibility of something happening is pretty low. You shouldn't have anything to worry about."

Wynn nodded shakily. "Right."

Mando nodded. "Right."

[deans-baby-momma]

The Padackles Link-Ch. 16

Chapter 15

A/N: I have never watch either movie mentioned so I have no idea if my portrayal is correct. Google helped by explaining the plots.

After I change JJ, I head downstairs to prepare her lunch only to be surprised to find Jensen in the kitchen readying a bottle. He already picked a jar of food and has it sitting on the table with a small spoon.

I lower his daughter into the high chair, making sure she is buckled in tightly before I reach for the jellied meal.Thankfully, he chose one of the more appetizing ones so I knew JJ will be no trouble to feed.

I go about scooping bite-sized amounts and feeding her. Jensen steps over, sitting the bottle on the table beside me.

“You know, I'm home now so I could feed her if you wanted to take some time to yourself,” he tells me.

“And miss this precious face? Nah, I'm good. I enjoy spending time with her,” I tell him just as JJ blows a carrot-flavored raspberry toward the two of us, covering my hand and wrist. “Plus orange spit up is good for the skin. Ain’t that right, miss messy?”

Jensen laughs and leans down kissing the top of her head. “Well, I will clean her up after she's finished Ok?” he says, handing me a towel to wipe off with.

“Yea, okay,” I say, looking at the toddler. “You hear that JJ? Daddy is gonna clean you up after. So make a big mess. Gotta break him in.”

Jensen's mock look of horror causes me to giggle as he then places his hand on my shoulder and leans down to my ear and whispers, “Traitor. I thought we were in this together.”

The feel of his warm breath on the shell of my ear sends shocks down my spine and I shiver. What is this man, this married man, doing to me? How has being with him affect how I react to him? The warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice, the mere presence of him has my body acting all kinds of crazy.

What had transpired just an hour before was nothing more than sex, right? Just two lonely people using each other to feel close. I'm sure he was just missing his wife, my friend, and just needed to feel close to somebody. And as for me, well I really don't have an explanation for it. Yes, I have always thought Jensen Ackles was an attractive man. Who doesn't? If you ever spent time with him and see how he protects and cares for not only his family, but his friends, you can't help but to be attracted. Not to just his good looks, but his fierce need to tend to those he cares for. Jensen Ackles was a nurtured and those he loves reap the benefits.

While Jensen was cleaning the mess that was his daughter after lunch, I went about tidying the kitchen. Wiping the high chair down, placing empty baby food jar in the recycling bin and rinsing the spoon and bottle in the sink.

As I reach to turn the water off, though, all hell breaks loose. Instead of the water flow simply shutting off, the knob breaks and,water starts spewing everywhere, drenching me, the counter and the floor. “Jay!” I hear his hurried footsteps on the stairs as soon as I yell his name.

“What?! What is--" his inquiry is cut short when he catches sight of me. Water dripping down my face, my hair and t-shirt drenched. He barks out a laugh and I just scowl at him. “Drea, you know we have actual showers upstairs,” he chuckles.

I put my hands on my hips and smirked at him. “Smartass! The fucking faucet broke.”

“I see that,” he says, smiling at me. “Go on and change. JJ’s in her crib playing and I'll take care of this,” he motions to the river that used to be his kitchen.

I walk by him and punch his shoulder. He grabs my wrist and pulls me against him. “Baby, if you wanted to get wet I would've helped,” he whispers and winks down at me. His comment catches me off guard and I don't realize his implication until his lips touch mine. I revel in the feeling of our mouths connected and freely open mine when his tongue swipes across my bottom lip.

He moans and pulls away. “I gotta get the water turned off before we float down the street,” his says, the tone of voice giving away his reluctance to stop kissing me.

I walk upstairs on pure automation. Walking into my room, the bed sheets rumbled, the duvet hanging halfway off just reminds me once again that today my life has changed. Today, I had sex with a man who is married to my friend. I should feel repulsed at myself. I should regret falling into bed with him. But I can’t. As much as I try, I can’t feel remorse; all I feel is alive. Almost four years after losing my husband at the ripe young age of 22, I feel renewed. I feel like myself again, Audrea Marianne Murphy.

I smile as I pull the shirt over my head, seeing myself in the mirror. My breasts and chest is covered in bites and marks. I can faintly make out finger shaped bruises on my hips where Jensen had held onto me as he pumped himself into my body. The thought of those actions make my panties damp. Jensen, I think to myself. What is he to me now? Before, I considered him a friend. My savior all those years ago when he was kind enough to stop on the side of the highway to help me with my car troubles. I think back to those days and chuckle. I was in such a state of anxiety and anger that I was downright crabby to him at first. He could have just as easily turned around and left me to fend for myself. Pulling on a clean, dry shirt I laugh out loud at the memory of thinking I was going to walk the 7 miles to the next town in the sweltering Texas heat.  I silently think whoever is upstairs looking out for me for sending Jensen to save me.

After checking on JJ and seeing her happily babbling in her crib, apparently having a conversation with the pink bunny tucked into the corner, I make my way back downstairs to check on the water-logged kitchen. I am stopped in my tracks as soon as I enter the room. Laying in the floor, his torso hidden under the sink, twisting the connection nuts loose is Jensen. A shirtless Jensen. As he works to loosen the hardware the muscles in his stomach clenches causing all kinds of impure thoughts to flow through my mind. I whimper at them and he glances at me, smiling.

“Like what you see?” he winks.

“Eh, plumber’s crack isn’t a big turn-on for me,” I tell him, squatting down beside his legs and peering in.

“Drea, you are one,”he pauses to tug on the tightened bolt, “sassy lady. You know that?”

“I’m just me. You either love me or hate me.” I laugh, straightening myself as he crawls out and sits up.

“Is that right?” He quirks an eyebrow at me and I realize what I said. I can’t help the blush I feel crawl up my neck and onto my cheeks.

“Oh god!” I exclaim, face-palming myself.”I just have verbal diarrhea around you. Forget I said that, huh?”

He pushes off the floor and stands up, pulling me into his arms. “You’re so cute when you get embarrassed. I remember the first time we met, you did the same thing. It’s adorable.”

I relish in his embrace. Those muscular arms holding me, caging my body in to his. I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his chest. We stand there for a few minutes, just holding one another. I know this isn’t going to last. Dani will be home tomorrow but I’m going to savor it while I can.

He loosens his grip and kisses the top of my head. “I have to run to the hardware store and get a new faucet. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

“God, Jay! It’s not like I’ve been living here for the last week by myself, taking care of the house and your daughter,” I laugh, looking up at him “I think I can manage it for an hour.”

“Well, excuse me for being a gentleman and asking,” he jokes playfully.

“Thank you for being a gentleman then,” I say, standing my tiptoes and kissing him. He deepens the kiss by slipping his tongue between my parted lips. God, this man can kiss!

He pulls away and looks at me. “Wanna watch a movie tonight after we put JJ down?”

“Sure,” I say. “What did you have in mind? I’ve watched more Disney this week than I have in all my life.” I laugh and he joins in.

“So Lion King is out?” he asked me, facetiously.

“Uh, yea.”

“I’ll run by the video store and see what’s new, okay?”

Sounds like a plan. Might want to get some popcorn too,” I tell him. I had noticed the last time I ate popcorn as a late night snack the box was empty. “Extra butter,” I inform him. “Popcorn isn’t popcorn without butter oozing out of it.”

“I agree with you there!”

He goes to get ready and heads out the door while I am once again changing JJ’s diaper. “You’ll be one year old soon, missy. You need to learn to use the bathroom like everyone else.” JJ giggles at me and smiles that toothy grin that I just adore. “Don’t be trying to use your cuteness on me, young lady. It won’t work.” I laugh as I nuzzle my nose into her cheek.

"Mah-ma.”

That one word, two syllables makes me freeze in my spot. Sure, JJ has said it a few times before but that was when Dani was here. Was she calling me Mama? Was me taking care of her while Dani was away confusing her little mind?

"No JJ,” I softly correct her. “I’m not Mama. I’m Drea. Dray-ah.”

“Mah-ma,” JJ giggles. “Mah-ma! Mah-ma! Mah-ma!” She keep chanting the word as I pick her up and carry her to the play pen I had set up in the front room. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want the little girl to stay confused or have Dani heartbroken that her daughter is calling someone else Mama. I decide just to wait and ask Jensen what I should do when he returns from his errand and finishes replacing the kitchen faucet.

An hour later, I’m sitting in the chair watching television when I hear Jensen return. He walks through, looks at his daughter and then me and asks, “How’s two of my favorite ladies?”

“We’re fine,” I answer him nonchalantly, watching JJ turn her head when she hears her father’s voice. I don’t see the look he throws my way as I return my attention back to whatever is playing on the screen. Jensen lays a plastic bag on the end of the sofa and continues on to the kitchen. “I got a couple of movies. I thought I’d let you pick what we watch,” he says over his shoulder.

“Ok.”

I hear cursing coming from the kitchen so I get up and walk in to see what the problem is. Jensen is once again laid out with his upper half under the sink, muttering under his breath.

Squatting down beside his outstretched legs, I ask him what’s wrong.

“Stupid nut won’t go on straight. I think it’s stripped,” he tells me.

I nudge his leg. “Let me in there. I might be able to help.”

He crawls out and hands me the offending fitting. I make my way into the space and using my fingers, twist the hexagonal nut onto the bolt and tighten as much as I can. I know that it will need to more than ‘hand-tightened’ so I maneuver my body back out and grin at Jensen.

“Just needed a woman’s touch. But you’ll need to use a wrench to secure it so that it doesn’t leak.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.” He doesn’t look at me as he goes to slide back under the counter. I listen for JJ and can hear her babbling and laughing so I lean against the bottom cabinets across from the sink and watch Jensen work. I muster the courage to bring up JJ’s earlier faux pas.

“Jay, can we talk?”

“Sure,” he tells me. “You wanna explain to me the cold shoulder you gave me earlier?”

“What? When?” His question catches me off guard. I don’t remember giving him the cold shoulder.

“When I got back. I asked how you were and you gave me short, curt answers like you were trying to blow me off.” By now he has finished with the sink and is sitting against the counter across from me.

“That wasn’t a cold shoulder Jay,” I tell him. “Something happened while you were gone and it has me anxious.

“What happened Drea?” He looks at me worriedly.

“JJ called me Mama.”

“That’s all?” he asks me chuckling? “So what?”

“I’m not her Mama Jay, that’s what! Are we confusing her, having me take care of her while Dani is away? Does she think I’m her Mama because she’s seen us touching?”

“Drea honey,” Jensen scoots over beside me and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “She’s a baby. She doesn’t comprehend the change between you and I. She’s too young. And as for her calling you Mama, when my nephew was an infant and Mac had to put him in daycare for awhile, he called his teachers Mama all the time. It’s not a big deal. Really.”

“So, she isn’t going to think I’m her Mama and Dani is some stranger when she returns?”

Jay slips his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his chest. “No babe. She isn’t going to not know Dee when she gets back. And as she gets older, I’m sure she’ll  have her own special name for you. Probably Auntie Drea.”

“But I’m not her aunt.” I dispute.

“Have you heard what Tom calls me?”

“Unca Jensen,” I answer. I had heard Tom call out for Jensen with that title a few times.

“Exactly. And I’m not really his uncle.” Jensen explains. “A wise man once said, ‘Family doesn’t end in blood.’ And it doesn’t start there either, sweetheart.”

I giggle and slap his chest. “That’s a tagline from your show.”

“Wait! Did you just admit to watching Supernatural?” he asks, excited.

“No. I might have seen the quote on social media and it was associated with something to do with it.”

“You’re breaking my heart darlin’.”

That evening Jensen took care of putting JJ down for bed while I went to my room to shower and get comfortable for our movie ‘date’. I washed my hair in the shampoo I had purchased for the simple fact that it smelled marvelous and shaved anything and everything I could. I know that this morning we had both alluded to something happening tonight and in that case, I wanted to be smooth.I wondered if Jensen had been serious about having tonight but I didn’t want to assume anything else would happen. What if it had just been a one-time thing? What if he regretted sleeping with me? Afraid of rejection I decided to just let whatever happens, happen.

Downstairs, Jensen is sitting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of beer on the coffee table.

“I got two different new releases. A scary one and one that the main character is a heroine. What ya wanna watch first?”

The scary one. If I watch it later, I’ll never sleep tonight!” I tell him, sitting beside him, close but not touching. He reaches out and pulls me next to him and whispers, “I’ll protect you.”

The scary movie ends up being “The Appearing”, about a woman who was possessed, uncovering a dark secret about her past and must face the demon within herself. I close my eyes through most of the movie while Jensen watches and has a running commentary on the special effects used and the storyline itself. I try to pay attention to his interpretation of the film but every time I open my eyes something happens and I have to close them again, snuggling into Jensen’s side. I was pleased when the ending credits rolled.

“You wanna watch the other one? Or are you too scared now?” He looks down at me and smiles.

“Put the damn disc in,” I tell him, determined to redeem myself. The menu screen for The Hunger Games Catching Fire pops up which thrills me. “Oh, I have been wanting to see this one! I watched the first one, one night at a motel in Indiana during my trip.”

“So it was a good choice then?”

“Yes! Thank you Jay!” I hop up on my knees and pull him down to me as he passes by me to take back his spot after inserting the previous disc in its case. I kiss him sound on the mouth.

I watch as Katniss Everdeen escapes  the arena and the clutches of the Capitol just as Peeta falls victim to them, putting him in danger. But when Katniss finds out that her home district has been destroyed and it goes off, I literally yell at the screen. “What? You can’t end it like that!”

“Shh,” Jensen laughs. “You’re going to wake JJ.”

“But how can they stop it there? It’s not fair.”

“They do it that way to make sure people will watch the next one. It’s called a cliffhanger,” he explains to me.

“Because it leaves you hanging,” I nod in understanding. I stand up, pick up the empty bottles and popcorn bowl and take them to the kitchen. Walking back into the room, Jensen is ejecting the dvd and I tell him I’m headed to bed.  

As I walk upstairs I wonder if he will come to my room tonight to cash in on my earlier promise of ‘more’.

Chapter 17

The Padackles Link taglist:

@xxdragonagequeenxx. @carryonmywaywardcaptain @sunskittlex @darlingpeanut @sis-tafics

[thequeeryclass]

“Fake (v/n/adj) – not genuine, counterfeit”

“Girl, you ghetto as fuck.” she laughed. I had told her I scrub the stains from dirty pants when I forget to wash them for work. I told her I don’t have the energy to remember every time. She tells me that it’s ghetto. Her cheeks were round and proud when she says it. Her laugh carries over centuries and oceans back to a land she don’t know. Her teeth are big and bright. Her voice is power. It surrounds me, pulls me close. She sees me. Not more or less. Just me. She tells me I am her. I tell her I grew up that way. She said I’m of her kind, but my mother’s womb is white. She knows that I understand. I understand that I don’t know. I pretend that I can. Ghetto.

 The colored women hidden in the kitchen accepted me in fashion I had been raised to run from. One parents had worked against with every fiber of their ability. Family was never whole because twelve hour shifts at the plant don’t sleep. Non-smoking rooms at the motel with cigarette burns in the sheets. Skip breakfast because Mama’s already left for work. Giving up makes the little you get look like more. If we throw out the couch, we can put the Christmas tree there. Sweets are cheaper than celery. Soda is better than what comes from the faucet. New means used. Used means it was free. I belong to those women in the kitchen. Poor.   

                                                                                                                                 The leaves are the first thing you notice. When your friend in the seventh grade gives you her “magic picture boxes” and you realize that you never knew that you never knew what it was like to see the world. Color, edges, leaves. No one ever tells you normal people can see each individual leaf on a tree. That’s not how they draw them. Green puffy clouds painted over quick, swift strokes of grass. No one tells you there’s a secret you don’t know about the world. And that is that it’s made up of hard lines and different shades and individual pieces. Your world is not their world. You are not allowed into their world. Contacts are a good disguise. Eyes are not all shaped the same. Glasses are cheaper anyway. Glasses are like a big yellow vest that says you don’t belong. They tell everyone you are a spy in their land of edges and individuals. They scream and yell and they reach out to take away your windows into their world. They don’t want to share. They won’t share. You do not belong. Outside.

 I hear his voice in her screams. I hear my pain in her eyes. It’s her not me. It’s me not him. His anger that lashed out. His highs and his lows clashing together and the pressure formed a twister that took out the town hall during Gustav. His temper floods the wards and bleeds out into schools of dead pets because bullets got bored. Dreams and lifetimes float by on a slick of black oil down into the gulf because they were never anything more than garbage anyway. The rain never stops pouring as mamas drop their babies off bridges because it’s easier than his voice that keeps going when the doors are locked. His voice hits the doors and halls and bounces and shakes till the walls come down like levees because he just needs to relieve the pressure. Apologies won’t erase water marks on walls but I paint over anyway because this is my home too. Six feet underwater, I forgive again. Rotting.

 She whispers that it is all my fault. It’s my fault she’s unhappy. It’s my fault that she’s still alive. She says I have to do better. She says she’d kill herself if I ever left. I can’t go. I can’t stay. I can’t be me. I can’t be her. I can’t be her exes and I can’t be her future. I try anyway. I give her a ring because she doesn’t believe that I love her. She wears it until she loses it. I should be ashamed for not noticing it’s gone. All I notice anymore is how the insides of my eyelids dance when I lay in bed holding her. Rainbows perform a waltz while she scrolls through her phone at three in the morning. Flashes of light tiptoe around the questions on my tests. Red circles during History. Green triangles at lunch. Blue worms wiggle across her face. She wants to sleep with other people. Purple butterflies fade away She never wants to lose me. Blind.

 I saw the headlights before it happened. Didn’t know what they meant. Didn’t realize how close they were. She was next to me. Driving. For a nanosecond of eternity, a halo of light caught the strands of blonde hair on her head. “You’re a tease” she said. “You get me all riled up and then don’t wanna go all the way. It’s not fair.” She was right. I liked kissing. I didn’t like sex. She liked sex. She liked sex more than she liked any of us, past or present. After the first hit, I remember walking myself through the following seconds. I told myself I had been in a car accident. My seatbelt caught me. Second collision is inevitable. Brace for impact. The last thing I saw was my hands go up to defend myself. “I just don’t feel like you love me if you won’t have sex with me.” Those were my words she was taking and recycling as her own. Except, I didn’t want sex. What I had asked for was intimacy. Physical touch. She had pulled away. Said that she didn’t like to be touched. I asked her how we were supposed to have sex without touching. She stopped talking to me for three days. I don’t remember the second hit as much as the first. When the car hit us, I remember the way the frame of the car shuddered. I remember seeing us headed towards the streetlight. I remember closing my eyes. I remember the airbags never caught me. My seatbelt did. At forty miles an hour. Caught me to a dead stop when the hood wrapped around the pole like it was parting the sea. I remember she left me. Jumped right out the car in a panic. “I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship right now. I’ll always love you. I can’t be with you right now.” Can you get out? The voice was loud, and concerned, Ma’am, can you get out of the vehicle? Get out. Get out. Get out. When I pried the door open, the world was cold and blurry and I was terrified that I had a head injury. I was terrified until I realized my glasses had come off in the crash. I took them off the carpeted floor and laid out on the sidewalk, listening as the sirens drew closer. I would not die here. Alone.

 I remember many insignificant things across the dimensions of time and space. I do not remember when I first slept a full night in my own bed again. I do not remember when I stopped needing to check the locks on my doors twelve times a night. I do not remember when I was first able to convince myself that there was no one there on the other side of my closed eyelids in the dark. I do remember hearing the door open in the dark. Whispered drunken giggles of her and him floated around the room. I remember her climbing into her own bed. I remember the feeling of that hand, confidently grasping my leg just above the knee, separated only by my comforter. It’s something I could never forget. I remember I was wearing men’s cartoon pajama pants and an old t-shirt from Sedona, Arizona. I remember pulling away, sure that it was a mistake. I remember the hand gripped tighter, holding it in place. I remember it was strong. Stronger than me. I remember sitting up, and telling the hand to go away. I don’t remember what it muttered. It had a shaved head and broad shoulders. Even in the wild panic of the dark, I never forgot that. I remember the second hand joined the first. Locked me in place. I remember telling it to go away or else. It spoke. It refused. I remember reaching out desperately. Pushing. It didn’t move. Both hands pushed. Hard. It stumbled. The hands left, swaying in open air. They found the floor. They stayed there. I remember watching until sunlight broke through the window. I remember being unable to move because I wasn’t strong enough. I remember grabbing my clothes and running and changing in a public bathroom because I was afraid of the one in my dorm. The one where he was. I remember it in my dreams. I remember it on my pillow. In the dark. I remember it, and I let him go. Damaged.

 Reading is slow. It’s time consuming. Soul consuming. Reading is an existence. I have the patience for it. I don’t have the time. I could write five chapters in the time I read one. I do not. But I could. Reading is traveling. Across time and space and life itself. It’s addicting. I miss it. People suck their teeth. It’s such a good book. I trust it is. The movies are good. The books are probably better. They grew up reading it. I grew up reading everything else. All the worthless stories. Ones that didn’t get a seven part movie deal. Ones no one read. Because they weren’t important. Harry Potter is important. It’s a lifestyle. Harry Potter is queer culture. Reading is hard for me. Words and letters jump around like toddlers on a playground. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes, if you think about it from the toddler’s point of view, it makes sense. Sometimes it’s incomprehensible and I have to step away for a while. Focus bounces like a rubber ball. It goes and it comes back. One page is five thousand irrelevant thought trains. Fifty pages is a day gone. I don’t have so many days as I have collections of fifty pages. Reading is lonely. Reading out loud is not so much. No one wants to listen to someone read. Not an entire book. Not when there are books that they could read themselves. Reading is hard. For a mind that is never calm. Never quiet. Reading is a silent classroom. Sometimes, you want to scream to let the loud out. Reading isn’t exertion. It’s consumption. They don’t understand why I won’t borrow the books. They don’t understand. Isolated.

How can he be safety? How can he feel like home? How could I be so proud of being a lesbian and then let this happen? How can I be gay and hetero without being bi or pan? How can I allow myself to believe that this means anything? How can I possibly know what love is? How can love be anything more than the abuse I have always deserved? How can I deserve abuse if I did nothing to deserve it? How can he love me back? How can he say that he does and then date her? How can I fix myself for him? How can I even consider changing who I am for him? How can everyone see it but him? How can I love a man as a woman and still be queer? How can I betray my people, my community this way? How do I know I love him for more than kindness? How can one person feel like the whole world? Confused. ow How

 Drink every time you feel like you don’t belong. When you’re standing at a party, surrounded by the beautiful people. Thin, lithe, straight. Certain in their own bodies pressed up against each other. Take a shot every time someone tells you that you don’t belong. When they shake their heads no before you even finish the question. Picking apart the molecules of difference and blowing them up on a screen for the world to see. Shaming you for insecurity afterward.  Sip when you thought you did belong, but you find out you were wrong. You find out that your differences are what you all had in common, but you’re too different. They are different, normal. You are different, atypical. It’s got to be your fault. No one else is like that. You must be defective. If you are outed by someone else, finish your drink. At dinner with her parents. At the diner with your family. By “accident” on social media. Drink until none of it matters. Imposter.

 “Keep you in the dark, You know they all pretend” – Foo Fighters in “The Pretender”. Ghetto. Poor. Outside. Rotting. Blind. Alone. Damaged. Isolated. Confused. Imposter. To not belong. To be a summation of all that you are. To know that you belong where nobody else belongs. The warmth in June when the fireflies begin to flicker. The second star in the night sky. The cold darkness of the ocean. The red clay of the Grand Canyon.  Faded road markers and twisted trees. The first leaf to fall in autumn. To exist. To not belong. To be ostracized. To fade into the background. To burn holes into the earth like the sun. To redefine perfection. To fall from grace and make your own. To sink into the sunlight laid across the grass and grow old with someone in an afternoon. To live just to breathe and to just keep breathing. To be ghetto, poor, outside, rotten, disabled, blind, alone, broken, isolated. To not understand. To realize that the only imposters are your own doubts and the ones that gave those doubts to you. To be everything you are. To be.

  Queer.

[writingscraps-fantasy]

Eleinbora - Part 2

I planned to follow the river for as far as it would take me. I walked through the jungle for hours at a steady pace. I doubted my family would notice my absence until I was well away. Even then I thought they would make few attempts to find me. My mother would find a way to make herself the victim of my leaving, as she’d made my unusual birth and my peculiar differences about her suffering. I stopped to eat at midday, nestled in the foliage near the riverbank.

The humid air of the jungle was hot with smells. Petrichor was released from the black earth underlaid the freshness of green vegetation and the bright blooms of hibiscus, bougainvillea, and orchid. A pungent fume drifted over and clung to my nose, putting me on alert. It was different from the loamy smell of rotting wood and leaves; the scent of the jungle recycling itself was more of a comfort than a bother. This other smell was a paler thing; dry, powdery, like old bones.

One moment I was alone, the next moment I was aware of a small child peering at me from the underbrush.

“Hello,” I greeted the child.

The child panted heavily in return. She was not old enough to be alone at home much less out in the wilds. Her skin was paler than I’d ever seen before, cast with gray and nearly as white as her very sharp looking teeth. I wondered if she was ill.

“Are you hungry?” I held out some of the dried meat carefully.

The child stared at me, the whites of her eyes were wide around russet irises. Her eyes were clouded like the blind butcher in Malacca City. I continue be shocked by this little girl; she was small enough that I wondered if she had the ability to walk. The toddler was bald, naked, and probably malnourished.

“Are you lost?” I asked.

She didn’t speak and I thought perhaps she couldn’t talk yet. She might have been left in the jungle by parents who wanted a boy; my parents had told me I was lucky not to have been one of the forest children. I thought they had mostly worried a ghost child would haunt them. We couldn’t have been that far from a village if that was the case.

She reached for me, wordlessly. I sighed, wrapping the meat up again and shrugging into my pack with sudden weariness. I was in no position to care for a child and I did not know what I was going to do with this child.

“I can’t do nothing, though,” I muttered, more to myself than to her, as I picked her up.

I started walking with the toddler in my arms. I didn’t know where I was going but my feet seemed to have a direction. It wasn’t very long before we came to a dozen small bamboo houses covered by thatched roofs and supported by stilts.

In the center of the small village there was a line of people carrying baskets of fruit, tin ingots, and other valuables. At the front of the line was a woman seated on a raised dias. I was started to find myself falling into the line. As I got closer I could hear people greeting the woman by calling her majesty.

She was dressed like a noble woman. Her hair was loosely covered by a shayla scarf that matched her knee-length, long sleeved blouse over a long, pleated skirt. Her bright red batik clothes were patterned with gold and green, colors popular among the nobility.

She was dressed like a noble woman, wearing enough gold to drown in six inches of water. Her hair was loosely covered by a shayla scarf that matched her knee-length, long sleeved blouse over a long, pleated skirt. Her bright red batik clothes were patterned with gold and green, colors popular among the nobility.

The people were placing the baskets down at the foot of the dias. When it came to me I put the child down and stared into the face of the woman. Her eyes were the same russet brown as the child in my arms. With the sun just behind me I could see now that they shined red in the sunlight.

“Look what my baby Tuyul has brought me in tribute,” the pale woman cooed, talking more to the child than to me.

“I am trying to return her home,” I said.

“You have returned her home,” the woman’s smile and teeth were sharp, “I must reward you with a gift.”

There was something about her eyes that made me feel slightly out of step with the rest of the world. Her sleeves were voluminous and from inside her robes she pulled out a flower I had never seen before.

“I am Lady Madam Kamala binti Kelana, youngest granddaughter of Sultan Muhammad, Shah of Pahang until my uncle poisoned him,” she gestured gracefully with her wide, sweeping sleeves, “These people come to me to offer tribute, respect, and their adoration for my lineage and my beauty. Allow me to gift you with this rare flower from Jipang, the kingdom of the eight islands.”

It was customary to refuse a gift at least twice as a matter of etiquette and courtesy. The sprig of pale yellow flowers was sweet and overpoweringly fragrant.

We went through the motions of politeness even as I wondered if her lineage was truly worthy of respect. I had heard from my father that Sultan Muhammad Shah had never been sultan of Malacca because he had murdered the son of his father’s Prime Minister. The boy had accidentally knocked Sultan Muhammad Shah’s headdress off when his ball missed the mark during a game. The Sultan’s adult son had gone into a rage and strangled the boy to death. The Sultan had been persuaded to exile his son and had sent him to rule in Pahang when he had been the heir apparent for the entire Sultanate of Malacca. Pahang had been a recently conquered nation at the time and owed tribute to Malacca.

I finally accepted the gift and the woman leaned forward to tuck the sprig of flowers behind my ear. The six petal flowers were small but the thorns were long, red, and sharp. I felt a sting and an immediate sense of peace. As the feeling washed over me I felt muscles relax that I hadn’t even realized were tense.

“You must never take this off,” Madam Kamala nodded to the foot of the dias, “Do not speak of your compulsion to anyone. Sit there until I tell you to move.”

I sat down at the foot of the dias next to a basket of flowers. As the day wore on I eventually got the feeling we were waiting for something. Her worshippers, that’s how I thought of them, brought in more tributes. Eventually the trail became sparse.

“How did your child know to bring me here?” I asked in a quiet moment.

“She is Tuyul,” Madam Kamala shrugged, then absently picked up the baby.

Madam Kamala adjusted her dress, sliding the baby in to feed. I had to look away because there was no milk from Madam Kamala’s teat, only blood which the pale child sucked up greedily.

“I do not know what you mean,” I answered, unable to block out the hard, metallic scent.

“You are not a spellcaster,” Madam Kamala surmised, “I had wondered, with your eyes, if you might be a witch of some kind. I suppose, though, if you were a spellcaster you would have known better than to touch a dead baby.”

“Dead?” I asked. I felt alarmed but it was distant, disconnected from my thoughts or actions.

“I was so distraught when I lost my baby,” Madam Kamala continued, “I almost didn’t see it as a blessing in disguise. A stillborn child can be used in ritual magic to create a Tuyul. The Tuyul is like an animal. She isn’t very smart she can be told to bring me things. I told her to go into the jungle and bring me a slave. The last girls who served in my bedchamber died. They were sickly little things.”

Madam Kamala removed the child from her bloody breast. It crawled toward one of the houses and climbed like a monkey onto the roof, playing with its feet. She rose to her feet, graceful and elegant in her fine clothes, after the last of her supplicants had placed their offerings on the foot of the dias.

“I am so grateful for the lives of my loyal subjects. I accept these meager tributes,” she projected her voice for the worshippers, “You have my blessing to continue your lives in my service. I know you have no need of fine jewels, precious stones, gold, or silver so I will keep those gifts to show my love for you.”

“Bring the offerings inside for me, child,” Madam Kamala instructed me.

I followed her up the stairs and into her house, the largest one in the village. As I did, I realized with that distant sense of alarm that something was wrong with me. I did everything Madam Kamala asked. She asked me to do the cleaning around her home and I complied. While I cleaned Madam Kamala inspected her new treasures. When I was done she called me and I followed the call to a large partitioned bedroom.

“You must give Toyol a cup of fresh milk every morning,” she instructed me, “Every evening she must be put away in the chest. When Tuyul is put away you will help me get undressed.”

I reluctantly picked up the undead child. I opened the chest set against the outside wall and saw inside was a simple wooden child’s toy and a small urn. I closed the creature inside the chest. Obedient, though now aware I had no choices of my own, I helped Madam Kamala remove her clothes. I helped her put on a white blouse with three-quarter length sleeves and loose, white pants. The white clothes were stained with a red so dark it was nearly black. When she was dressed in the blood-stained white clothes she led me over to the mat on the floor where she slept surrounded by her treasures.

She pulled a small knife from beneath the mat and I could not run. I expected her to kill me but I did not flee. I presumed the poison or magic from the pale flowers tucked behind my ear kept me from becoming tense or panicked.

“Please don’t kill me,” I begged her.

“Of course not, girl, why would I waste a brand new servant?” Madam Kamala’s laugh was bright and young, “I will take only a little blood from you to keep myself lively and beautiful.”

I woke in the night, uncomfortably aware that I needed to empty my bowels. I got up and went outside to find a tree and dig a hole beneath it. When I was finished I buried excrement, urine, and handfuls of leaves beneath the soil. As I began walking back to the house I imagined myself walking away. My feet unerringly brought me back to the place where I now slept next to Madam Kamala.