Euphoria

Pena's Playlist Spotify

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut

Pedge's Jukebox

Pena's Playlist (Spotify)

*Pena who listens to music on the way to stressful DEA ops to distract himself *Rolls his eyes every time “La Bamba” comes on the radio, but mindlessly taps his foot regardless *Sits in the corner at the annual family potluck, listening to music and wishing he had someone to dance with *Endlessly annoyed with the elevator music playing at the DEA offices *Three whiskeys in at the bar, deluged with cigarette smoke and already horny *Favorite playlist for making love so he can sync his rhythm with song of choice *Blares the music loudly to cover sexy time sounds; NOT SUCCESSFUL *Can’t hold a melody to save his life, but can occasionally be found post coital in the shower, humming to himself in the steam *Loves hearing you sing under your breath in the kitchen as you prepare Ajaco. Secretly reminds him of his mother, but he will never say so

*thanks @strangergraphics-archive for the cool dividers!

Happy Halloween Pirate Pedge!

Oh my! With the boopage wars I quite nearly forgotten our Halloween Poll for Pedge's costume! I think y'all were inspired by this SAG Awards classic look and voted for Pirate Pedge! Pedge and I managed to write a quick limerick for anyone feeling saucy. I hope your Halloween yields excellent booty. Aarrrrrrgh!

Triggers: smut abounds plentifully in this bizarre Halloween RPF

There once was a Pirate named Pedge Who fancied your fancy to edge He traveled the seas His head twixt your knees Your treasure trove he’d give a stretch. On Sundays you’d walk his hard plank Your tooshie he’d give a quick spank He’d shout, “‘Vast there mate!” Your lips penetrate Or watch as you had a quick wank Pirate Pedge never is snooty His hours he’ll spend seeking booty While walking the deck Your pussy he’ll wreck Considering it true beauty’s duty His sword is beyond earthly measure When plowing canals for their treasure When seeking medallions He’s one sexy stallion And always cums after YOUR pleasure On Mondays when feeling quite bold You like a quick tease and a scold He’s captain to you You like playing “crew” And always do just what you’re told. While searching your map for the “X” He’ll spot the right spot during sex Like coins for your slot He’ll leave you besot And edge you till happily vexed Discarding his fancy eye patch His lips to your lips he will latch The seas are quite violent But you are quite pliant And love when that itch will get scratched So here’s to a holiday haul And hoping we all have a ball Whether treating or tricking Licking or flicking A Happy Halloween for ALL!

Make Your Own Kind of Music

*fan art includes lyrics to the classic song "Make Your Own Kind of Music"

Pedro at the Beach

Ah! This turned out a little better than I was expecting! I didn't get to do as much sewing as I wanted, but featuring some Pablo Neruda poetry and my handy dandy PP coloring book among other things... We know our guy likes the beach...

Moody Rockford

This marketing was so spot on for "Merge Mansion". I'd love to write for Tim Rockford someday, but in the interim, check out @inept-the-magnificent "Nebble Files" and @ghotifishreads "Tim Rockford Short". And hey. You don't have to take my word for it...

Intoxicated

As we continue our therapeutic series, please proceed with caution. This blurb is not written to romanticize the disease of alcoholism, but to speak to concepts of control, intimacy and consent.

Triggers: alcohol, mostly fluff, implied smut, loss of control, intoxication, hmmm...maybe infantilism, if you squint...

Weeeeeeeee! You were drunk. Drunkity, drunk, drunk, drunk, druuuuuunk. You were flying high. Buzzing, floating, tipsying, trip-sying…Literally so, as Pedge grasped you around the waist, fumbling with the keys as your head lolled onto his shoulder.

“I feel goooooood…” you smiled into his neck.

“Gooood, pobrecita. Let’s get you some water and get you to bed so you can feel even better…”

“Bed…We've shared a bed…I like sleeping. We share sleeping too.”

“Mmmmhmmm…” he hummed, finally jarring the door opening and practically carrying you over the threshold.

“You’re so pretty…” you mumbled, as he awkwardly fumbled for the lights, propping you up against the wall and attempting to shut the door. “I’m pretty?” he questioned, grinning dolefully and placing a hand across your forehead, checking your temperature. “Are you hot? Do you want a shower first?”

“Yourrrr hawt…” you drawled, placing your hands on his stomach and jamming your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed you around the waist again before you fell over, and started walking backwards towards the bedroom. “Is my little girl feeling frisky?” he pecked at your lips, innocently, attempting to maneuver you down the hallway.

“Frisky!” you repeated, immediately shutting your eyes as the room spun sideways AND backwards. You missed a few moments, finding yourself now prostrate on the bed as Pedge removed your shoes carefully, massaging your calves.

“Druuuuunk!” you sang out, accidentally kicking him in the face.

“Ouch!” he grabbed his jaw, rubbing carefully and grabbing your other foot before it connected with his chest. You were a lightweight, to be sure, generally only getting drunk…actually, he wasn’t sure if he’d EVER seen you this drunk. There was an industry event and you were coming straight from work having missed every meal, except a stale granola bar. Needless to say, the open bar had originally seemed like a good idea, but he wanted to make sure you didn’t regret it in the morning. He had other plans for the morning BUT he wasn’t sure about your preferences during intoxicated sexy time so he was playing it safe. But damn if you weren’t making this decision challenging.

“Are you mad at me?” you shifted gears dramatically, propping yourself up on your elbows, haphazardly rubbing your eyelids and smearing your mascara sideways.

“What? No! Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know….hashtagdrunk” you pouted, swallowing dryly.

“I’m mad that I let you get dehydrated and had to spend most of that event talking with people I didn’t know, rather than dancing with you…” he admitted, grabbing your hands and pulling you forward gently.

You slumped against his chest as he pulled down the zipper at the back of your dress.

“You smell nice” you slurred, sucking on his shoulder blade, through his dress shirt. He rubbed small circles against your back, breathing deeply and pulling the shoulders of the dress down to your waist. You leaned back, your bare breasts on display for him as he held the back of your neck, lowering you back on the bed.

“Do I smell nice?” you batted your eyelashes seductively, looking up into his countenance.

“Ay Dios mio, yes” he chuckled, kissing you lightly on the lips and pulling your dress off the rest of the way. He hung it lightly on the bedside chair and returned to find you dangling your feet off the side of the bed.

“Are you planning on kicking me again, or can I get you some Advil first?”

Your hands balled up in fists beside you, “SEEE! You’re mad at meeeee!” you whined, beginning to tear up.

“Okay, okay, shhhh” he lowered his weight on top of you, stroking your hair and tucking it behind your ears. “I’m not mad. I’m dehydrated. I’M thirsty. Aren’t you thirsty?”

“Drinks!” you piped up, nearly kneeing him in the crotch.

“Ah!” he grabbed your leg deftly, sliding his hand up to your ass and giving a little spank. “Caught ya that time, Ali!” he planted a small kiss on your nose.

As though transported by magic, you opened your eyes to find him vanished, immediately complaining, “Where’d you goooo? I’m lonely.”

“I know, pobrecita, I’m finding the Advil!” his voice drifted in from the bathroom as he rummaged around the medicine cabinet, drawing a glass of water.

“I’m cold!” you shivered, covering yourself with your arms and curling up into a ball.

“Shit, sorry baby…” he came back in with the Advil and water and immediately started wrapping you in the comforter.

“I’m a burrito!” you joked, scrunching your face like a small child.

“My breakfast burrito…” he teased, kissing your face and neck and forehead, and scooping you up into an embrace.

“Where’s my drink?” you confusedly pouted, unsure of…most things at this point.

“Here at Casa de Pedro we offer bedside service, please be sure to tip your waiter at your earliest convenience…” he reached over for the water and medicine. “Drink, please”.

“Bossy staff…” you managed to retort before gratefully accepting and closing your eyes contentedly. He sat back against the headboard, rocking you slightly and humming to himself for a while.

“Am I floating?” you mumbled, into his chest, grabbing at this dress shirt.

“Yes, pobrecita, we are on a cloud. We are hydrated and sleepy, very sleepy.”

“Yeah, we’re drinky…” you agreed. “BUT…that means we’re a rain cloud…and have to pee….”

“Okay” he chuckled, groaning slightly with the weight of both your bodies. Rising from a sitting position and dropping the comforter he carried you like a sack of potatoes into the bathroom. “But after this, we’re going to bed…”

“Bed!” you exclaimed eyes closed, “floating” into the restroom. He tried to set you down gently on the toilet, but you were having difficulty balancing yourself. He braced your chest with his forearm and reached over for the wet wipes. 

“You’re gonna kill me if I let you go to bed without removing that eye make-up” he said, nearly to himself.

“It’sssss raining!” you droned, finally able to relieve yourself and resting both hands on his broad shoulders, swaying a little with the effort.

“Mmmhmmm…” he murmured, pursing his lips and concentrating on cleaning your face delicately. “Is that better?”

You smiled with affection, opening your eyes dopily. But now the rain cloud started tearing up again, lips wobbling and cascading into a full on ugly cry.

“What happened?” he questioned, amusedly concerned at the shifting waters of emotion he found himself happily wading into. He stroked your face, wiping the fat, salty tears that were running every which way.

“I’m not a rain cloud. I’m ruining everythinggggg…” you whined, dropping your head on his shoulder and sobbing quietly.

“You’re not ruining anything” he comforted, rubbing your back and eventually pulling you to a standing position, steadying you as much as possible.

“But I’m a drunk rain cloud!” you cried, hiccuping slightly and collapsing your weight into his hips.

“Yes, but you’re MY drunk rain cloud” he twinkled, kissing you on the forehead.

“I am?” you muttered, now finding yourself back on the bed, unsure of how you arrived there.

“Arms up!” he encouraged, caressing the sides of your torso in an upward motion and dropping one of his large, Lakers shirts over your head. Disastrously, you tried to assist the dressing process as he wrangled you into sleepwear. Needless to say, there was a lot of giggling, hiccuping and sniffling in this endeavor, before you found yourself lying against his chest, fully ensconced in bed and floating towards happy oblivion.

“Mmmm, floaty cloud…” you droned, pulling his face towards you in a tender kiss.

“Good night, pobrecita” he smiled into your mouth, gripping you around the waist.

“Yes, good night both of us” you sloppily reached down to grab his crotch, with abandon, but noticing him stiffen in more ways than one. He wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling back, slightly. “No, pobrecita, time for sleeping” he encouraged.

“Nooooo!” you whined, pushing your breasts up against his torso and bouncing haphazardly.

“Excuse me” he doubled down, grasping your hands in front of you and kissing your mouth softly. “No thank you, rain cloud, I would like to go to sleep”.

You froze, mid bounce, completely overwhelmed with every alcohol fueled emotion that seemed possible. Fear. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Exhaustion. Nausea. But unable to metabolize any of it, you immediately sat up, on overload.

“You don’t want me?” you swayed from side to side, nearly knocking into the headboard.

“That is most definitely NOT the case” he smirked, grabbing your head before it hit the bedpost and massaging your scalp.

“You’re pretty and I’m not!” you moaned, starting to struggle in his grasp with petulance and scooting backwards. “You don’t want me!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…not true. Please sit still…” 

…but you were having none of it, as adrenaline pumped into your intoxicated system, fueling a small temper tantrum. Losing your grip, you fell backwards out of the bed onto the carpeted floor, pushing yourself into a teetering tower of emotion.

“Careful, hermosa, I take great care of my breakfast burritos, please come back to bed.”

“No” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest, stumbling forward and backwards. Pedge took a deep breath, unsure of how to coax a burrito OR a rain cloud back to bed, but doubly sure of its necessity as you confidently staggered in place.

He propped his head up on one hand, gazing at you mischievously. “Okay it’s time for a game.”

You pursed your lips, half-heartedly irritated, “I like games”.

“I know you do, pobrecita” he shifted to the edge of the bed, sitting up. “If you can walk a straight line from the wall to the bed we can continue this conversation horizontally…”

“Oooh!” you clapped your hands enthusiastically, rushing over to the wall, bumping into several items en route. Strangely enough, you found Pedge waiting for you, arms outstretched.

“Wow! Yourrrrr really fast, you already won the first game…” you pouted, collapsing slightly into his embrace.

“Well, I like games too” he grinned, holding you in a soft hug. “For this game, we’re gonna count to ten and then start walking, okay?”

You sleepily nodded your head into his chest, “Okay, m’ready…”

“1…2….3….4….7, 6, 5…2…”

You sighed heavily, blinking your eyes rapidly in confusion. “Those numbers are funny…you’re doing it wrong…” you complained, beginning to drift again.

“I am? Well, you’re distracting me, hermosa. Okay I better start over…1…2…3…4….3….”

Not only were your eyelids getting heavier, your whole body felt like a ton of bricks as you felt him swaying you side to side, inching towards the bed.

“M’floating straight, right?” you blearily asked, legs buckling slightly beneath you.

“Oh yes, you are definitely winning this game” he cupped his hands under your ass, carrying you back to bed “but now I’ve lost count so I have to start over again…1…2…3…3.5…”.

“I like this game” you sighed, pecking at his neck with whatever energy you had left.

“I like YOU” he whispered in your ear, tucking you back into bed with a small kiss.

“I don’t have any arms” you observed, content to keep your eyes shut, but furrowing your brow in consternation.

“Rain clouds don’t need any arms, hermosa” you felt the mattress dip beneath you as he settled in for the night beside you, pulling your torso against his chest. Not five seconds transpired before you immediately burst into tears again.

“I’m sorrrryyyyyyyyy” you wailed, suddenly embarrassed and guilty that you had been so needy. AND that you had apparently lost the game.

You heard some soft tittering behind you, and kisses at the nape of your neck. “Pobrecita, please try to be a little nicer to yourself. If I have to keep attending this many events with an open bar and an empty stomach we’re BOTH gonna need some help.”

“Ammmm…M’I…stilllll….your…break (hiccup) fast….burrrrito?” you huffed, starting to hyperventilate.

“If you feel up to it, I have BIG plans for breakfast tomorrow and they most assuredly involve eating you.”

You stopped abruptly, hiccuping into your pillow. 

“That’s your reward for winning the game” he smiled, gripping you tightly around the waist.

“I won?” you smirked, starting to drift into a heavy sleep.

“My plans for your morning wake-up involve a win for both of us…” he teased “Are you ready for the next game?”

“Mmmhhmmmm” you intoned, floating into a hazy dream.

“The first one to fall asleep wins in 5…4….3…2….”.

Pedge, Painter, Poet...Writer?

I KNOW I'm not the first person to fantasize this supposition, but how many of us want PP on Tumblr anonymously? He's already a playwright, avid reader...fan. Who wants to bet he would have a ghost writer at some point, or venture into the literary landscape unannounced?

@for-a-longlongtime

Pedge's Bookshop The Murder

Foyer: There are already so many great AU fics featuring all our favorite Pedro Boys and I'd like to showcase them! In the Coffee Shop Foyer you'll find some great rec's for coffee and books alike. Bring your library card--this if one of my favorite tropes! This week, check out "Snooze" by @tightjeansjavi, it's a beautiful refreshment before our discussion turns to a darker roast...

Triggers: profanity, major spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", references to murder/violence, typical Last of Us canon, no smut yet, just bristling with...academia, cats (allergic?), too much coffee consumption...

Series Masterlist

It was quite early in the morning as you trudged through the main street of the Jackson Commune with a satchel of notepaper and a newfound pocketful of optimism. Only the local apothecary would be open this early, but truth be told, you hadn’t slept much the night before. Bracing yourself against the cold tundra winds, your boots crunching in the seemingly ever-present snow, you couldn’t help but indulge in the inner warmth of your recent hopeful encounter….with Joel.

Finding yourself on an extended winter break, your educational duties had slowed to a grinding halt, as you watched friends and local families celebrate the holidays in whatever unconventional way they could. You had to admit that Jackson had worked a small Christmas miracle in providing decency, organization and community in an otherwise sparse territory. But once again, the holidays only served to highlight your growing isolation in contrast. You loved the small niche you had been able to carve out for yourself, here at the end of the world. You just wished it included someone else. Or at least a good book to read. Enter Joel. 

Stumbling into the apothecary with a flurry of wind and snow, you made small talk with the shopkeep, casting a wary glance across the road to The Bookshop. You weren’t sure if Joel and his feline companion would even be accessible this early in the morning, but lo and behold, the bookshop was casting a cheery glow in the wintry dawn. It would be impossible to disguise your enthusiasm, returning a mere 12 hours since yesterday, but you felt restless as ever with the new prospect of passionate…discussion. Traipsing across Joel and this treasure trove of literary wonders had lit a small, ambitious fire within you. You hoped you weren’t getting too far ahead of yourself, but if the apocalypse had taught you anything it was to seize opportunities as soon as they presented themselves, and this was too good a chance to pass up. You weren’t sure if you could edge your way through Joel’s formidable emotional armor, but if Dostoyevsky could help you, all the better. Striking up a conversation about the classic “Crime and Punishment” had nudged a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable vizard of the commune’s most intriguing hermit, and you were determined to get your foot in the door, in more ways than one. Besides, it was good research if you were going to provide the most nurturing and educational atmosphere for his ward, Ellie. Trading for your small apothecary purchase, you crossed the distance to the bookshop, peering at the large “CLOSED” sign in the window. 

Tentatively trying the handle, you breathed a sigh of relief, pushing the door open to the telltale ringing sound of the bookshop bell. Quickly shutting the door, you sighed with contentment at the heat of the foyer. How was it so warm? Your eyes noticed the small wood burning stove in the book nook alcove, nodding your head in affirmation. You didn’t remember that from yesterday. Joel had really thought of everything. Reflecting back on your most recent encounter, you endeavored to make yourself immediately known to avoid a repeat surprise. Though, if totally honest, your stomach dipped slightly with the possibility of seeing his face again, whatever the circumstance. You had spent all night, jotting down notes from your memory of several decades past. The plot of “Crime and Punishment” was very straightforward, but the character names and subsequent themes were a labyrinth of literary genius, and you weren’t a hundred percent sure you could remember every detail. Gone were the days of Google, but you hoped the ongoing conversation with Joel could jog your memory. Or at the very least, maybe add a small spark of cheer to an otherwise dreary and somewhat lonely holiday season.

“Anybody home?” you called out optimistically, noticing the striking fragrance of coffee already permeating the bookshop as the orange tabby trotted in from the backroom, leading the way before Joel’s immediately imposing figure. Joel’s face was buried in a book, as he confidently strode forward, not making eye contact but heading to the wood burning stove. 

“Coffee?” he rasped, a new plaid shirt hugging the broad contours of his frame, as the cat nudged itself against your calves, already purring contentedly.

“Oh!” you quirked, curious as to Joel’s seeming bravado which contradicted his apparent anticipation of your “unexpected” arrival. Perhaps you weren’t the only one who was looking forward to another chance encounter? “I don’t want to use up your stock…” you mused, rummaging through your bags for the apothecary purchase.

“S’no trouble, I’ve got extra” Joel glanced sideways as you retrieved the small parcel of catnip. You thought you caught the smallest upturn of his mouth, but it was immediately gone under your watchful gaze.

“I’ll bet you like that, don’t you, Rascal?” you teased the cat playfully, dangling the treat to its clawing attacks. “What do you think, is that a good name for our furry companion?” you questioned, setting your bag near the foyer armchair and removing your winter scarf.

“You’re the expert, teach” Joel finally looked up, a crackle of electricity flashing across his countenance that quickly disappeared as he turned his back to you, heading towards the wood burning stove. “Hope you like it dark…” he stated matter-a-factly, pouring the coffee into a nearby ceramic and shoving it towards you unceremoniously. “Least it’s hot…” he shrugged, watching you mindfully and towering above you as you sat in the comfortable arm chair.

Pausing as you realized he expected you to drink it immediately, you quickly grabbed the offering, bringing the cup to your lips enthusiastically. This was short lived, as the potent beverage jolted through your system, eliciting a coughing fit, covered by bouts of laughter. “Strong…” you wheezed, nodding your head with appreciation.

“You’re just like Ellie” he grumbled, though apparently satisfied with your reaction and heading back to the front counter. “Wht’s the good of coffee if it ain’t strong?” he argued, picking up the book and furrowing his brow in consternation.

“Made it through part two yet?” you probed, eyeing Joel conspiratorially. You wondered if there were only one copy of the book, as you wouldn’t mind a refresher before your next conversation.

“Not the best student, teach” Joel complained, shaking his head with self-deprecation. “Might be a lost cause…” he pondered, setting the book down and gesturing to the stack of books behind you. “Found another copy though…if you want it…” he lowered his gaze to the cat’s playful self-banter, though as your face lit up with recognition, his attention snapped quickly to your ebullient reaction. Grabbing the nearby quilt, you wrapped yourself up in the warmth of familiarity, tracing a finger down the spine of this most recent copy, as though handling a sacred artifact. Nowadays, it really was. These could be the only two copies in the world, for all you knew. You hugged the book to your chest, basking in the warmth of luxury. Opening your eyes you noticed Joel watching you meticulously, his face nearly unreadable, but his eyes shining brightly with acknowledgement.

“Okay” he nodded, returning to the book and leafing through the pages. “Rapscallion’s a damned near idiot if you ask me…” he mumbled, huffing with frustration and taking a large swig of his own coffee to punctuate the opinion.

“Raskolnikov?” your eyebrows lifted up to your forehead, tilting your head sideways and relishing the feline’s ongoing maneuvers. “I assume you’re not talking about the cat…” you jested, breathing in the musky fragrance of the book pages as you delicately fingered your way to the end of chapter six.

“Didn’t think he had it in’m” Joel scoffed, and you wondered if his tone were one of scathing judgement or clandestine admiration. “Guess you can never tell with people sometimes…” he decided, setting the book down heavily on the counter as though aching to avoid it. “Right at the beginning too!” he exclaimed, his eyes squinting with incredulity. “What’s the rest of the book about, anyhow?” he questioned, picking it back up restlessly.

“I can tell you the ending right now, if you want…” you teased, shuffling your feet together playfully and looking over the edge of the book mischievously.

“You wouldn’t dare” Joel gazed at you skeptically, as though trying to gauge your gumption. “What kinda teacher is that?” he mumbled, setting the book back down defiantly. “Could just flip to the end if I want…” he pouted, rubbing at the back of his neck with humility.

“You could, but then you’d miss all the angst” you sarcastically gibed, skimming through the previous pages to see if your memory had been relatively accurate.

“Got a teenager in my house with all the angst you could want” Joel contested, picking up the book one final time as though trying to decipher an ancient, mysterious text. The silence hung between the two of you, stretched into an odd sense of comfort as the quilt melted around you comfortingly and the wood stove crackled joyfully in the corner.

“I forgot about the illness…” you mused, skimming the surrounding pages and reaching for your notebook.

“Is this a pop quiz, teach?” Joel bantered, leafing through the pages cynically.

“No, no tests today, Miller. It’s just interesting to deconstruct the book after the contagion, you know?” you proffered, jotting down some ideas for future pondering. “Dostoyevsky was of the opinion that crime was a harbinger of illness, guilt, paranoia…all manner of psychological maladies that could isolate and twist the human psyche”. If you had glanced up at Joel you might have seen him blanch slightly at the observations, but it was immediately replaced with a mask of stoicism, as you continued. “Wonder what D would have to say about the pandemic of a society bent on destroying itself? A contagion not only of Cordyceps, but of corruption and violence itself. Wasn’t new to Dostoyevsky’s time and it certainly isn’t new to ours…” you trailed off, thankful to be housed in the armored atmosphere of the commune and its residents, rather than fighting and clawing for your own survival from one day to the next.

“Don’t expect the people in the last century had many more luxuries than we do now" Joel surmised, his mood immediately darkening under the onslaught of unarticulated memories. “Survival doesn’t allow for much livin’” he wisely stated, thumbing the ridge of his book as though looking for hidden insights.

“Wow, Miller, you might just get an ‘A’ on this quiz after all” you ventured, thinking through the poverty, trauma and history of humanity. What had allowed Dostoyevsky to transcend the challenges of his time, and speak so presciently into the horrors of our own? And what would he think about a society that could no longer hide the contagion of its own demise, clawing and grasping at any thread for survival while debating the loss of its own humanity? “Guess we started with the easy stuff…” you jested, momentarily soothed by the cat’s oblivious joy in such a simple activity.

“Nothing accidental about killin’” Joel bluntly intruded, enunciating his words definitively. “Kill or be killed, if you ask me…” a dark, foreboding seemed to encapsulate his demeanor, as a minuscule shiver rippled across his back. You haltingly held your breath, remembering your surprising encounter yesterday. There was something about Joel that seemed almost primal; a kind of wildness that fit the landscape you found each other in. You weren’t sure how applicable any of the previous societal norms were to a period of history already marked by such far-reaching lawlessness, but you were willing to bet Joel was at least tethered to the laws of nature. How could he and Ellie have survived without it? You were trying to formulate that very question when Joel interrupted again.

“But Rascal is different…” Joel meandered forward as you closed your mouth with hesitation. You’d never heard him utter this many words in the entire length of his commune residency, and you wondered how long he had kept these thoughts to himself. “Rascal…he doesn’t have to…I mean…he doesn’t have to…murder” Joel finally blurted out, slamming the book shut again as though at war with the material itself. Shaking his head with frustration, he headed over to the mismatched bookshelves and attempted to helplessly organize the haphazard assortment of found treasures. 

“Well, of course, I can’t be sure of Dostoyevsky’s intention, but maybe we have a case of Rascal doing the wrong thing, for the right reason?” you offered, setting your book to one side and rising to join Joel in the organization. “I’m not sure alphabetically sorting this cornucopia is going to be the best Dewey Decimal system…” you stated, beginning to pile books and magazines according to thematic interpretations.

“Horse-shit” Joel mumbled under his breath, pausing to look at you carefully, as though seeing something for the first time, and wondering at its validity.

“Why, how do you wanna organize it?” you threatened, pouting with annoyance.

“No, I just mean…you think he shoulda killed ‘em?” Joel spat with incredulity, placing his hands on his hips angrily.

“Oh! Now hold up…I didn’t say that. Come to think of it, Dostoyevsky didn’t even say that. Think about the dream for a sec…” you gathered up a stack of books, heading over to an empty bookshelf and clearing a space for general works and computer science, however irrelevant those topics currently seemed.

“That didn’t make any goddam sense either! Forgive my french, teach…” Joel sputtered, leaning over the bookshelf, now thoroughly engaged. “Iff you’ve got a mare, good and healthy, what’s the point of slaughtering it, just to prove a point?” he bellowed, smacking his hand against the wooden shelf for emphasis. You jumped ever so slightly at how demonstrative he was becoming, but passion was much better than apathy, you reasoned.

“Yeah, that’s one of the most famous metaphors of D’s writing prowess. You’ve got an exploration of man’s bestiality, the suffering of the horse, the innocence of the child. And Rascal is smack dab in the middle of it. I think the 100’s are all about philosophy or psychology or something like that…” you trailed off, trying to decide where to put the 2015 magazine copy of Maxim.

“Still don’t make no sense” Joel returned to grumbling and shoving books around the shelf distractedly. “He goes to all the trouble of planning the murder, and then doesn’t even hide his crime. Keeps blamin’ everybody but himself. I don’t know, teach, it’s almost like he WANTS to get caught…” Joel tossed his hands up flippantly, huffing like an old steam engine, finally giving up. “More coffee?” he blustered, grabbing your half drunk mug with his own and heading for a refill.

“Well, there’s the rub right there” you agreed, trying to remember all the sections of your home town’s now non-existent library. You thought maybe religion was in the 200’s somewhere… “In Raskolnikov, I mean our buddy Rascal, you see a victim mentality, his own inadequacies and self-sabotage, displaced blame…He’s a big old pot of stew, brewing just below the surface. And then, there’s Plato.”

“Not the friend, right? Talks too much” Joel complained, setting your coffee next to you on the shelf and turning the handle slightly towards you. The small gesture didn’t go unnoticed, as you sallied forth.

“No, not the friend. Like, Plato the philosopher. We don’t have any copies of “The Republic” do we?” you asked, thumbing through the woebegone copy of Curious George you’d stumbled upon.

“Don’t think the bookshop is ready for requests, teach” Joel observed, taking another large sip of his newly refreshed coffee.

“Yeah, I’m getting ahead of myself” you smirked, returning to your task. “Plato was the first philosopher to really start pondering the justice of society. What is considered good? And how do we assess the good of the many versus the needs of the individual?”.

Joel took a pregnant pause, waiting in anticipation for more which never followed. “Well, what’d he say about it?”

“I don’t know, we don’t have a copy of the ‘The Republic’, Miller. Get to work!” you teased, stuffing the copy of Curious George against his chest, which felt like a brick wall under your feathered touch. “Kids section” you decisively stated, looking into Joel’s immovable countenance with joviality. “Something a little easier than ‘Crime and Punishment’”.

“My readin’ level?” he sarcastically quipped, rolling his eyes and looking at the cover.

“Oh no, you’re a man of action around here, I can tell” you intoned, returning to your task at hand. “‘Crime and Punishment’ is written for individuals JUST like us. There’s theory and there’s action, and everything in between. But this old book from the 1800’s is just as relevant as it ever was”. Joel stood before you, resuming his characteristic reticence and gazing at you curiously. 

“I can see why Ellie likes ya” he finally stated, as though casting approval, before disappearing behind a nearby bookshelf to start the kid’s section. Smiling to yourself you winked at Rascal the cat who was purring nearby. Several hours transpired as you and Joel worked together silently, trading books for appropriate sections and slowly making your way through the bookshop and the dwindling pot of coffee. It was nearly noonday when you stood up to achingly stretch, wiping your hands together proudly with the confidence of a hard morning’s work.

“Alright Miller I’m taking off!” you began to shout, turning to find Joel standing a matter of inches away from you. You startled with surprise before crumpling with embarrassment amidst a flurry of anxious giggles. Clearing your throat, you side stepped his broad frame to grab your own copy of “Crime and Punishment” and satchel for the road.

“I mean, ya just got here…” Joel muttered, as Rascal appeared around the corner, attempting to stowaway in your belongings. “What’s the homework, teach?” he shrugged boyishly, casting a glance at his own copy of the classic.

“Let’s see, I think that gets us to the end of Part Two, let’s pick up at the end of Part Three…” you rationalized, kicking playfully at Rascal as it wrapped itself stubbornly around your jeans cuff.

“Alright, you’re bringin’ lunch next time” Joel huffed, returning to the front desk and resuming his recognizable constitution of vexation. Your mouth dropped open with incredulity at his authoritative assumption, before he called after your departing figure.

“Only fair, since I made breakfast” while his face didn’t register any shift in emotion, his voice held a thread of teasing, as you deftly attempted to dislodge Rascal from your ankle.

“You call that breakfast, Miller?!” you bantered, setting the cat atop the nearby quilt, to mewling protestations that were immediately doused by the wintry gale cascading in from the now open doorway. The bell chimed your begrudging departure as Joel looked up from the book directly. 

“See ya tomorrow, teach” he waved with two fingers, returning to his next reading assignment, as you braced yourself for the moderate walk home. Walking a fair pace down main street you hugged the copy of “Crime and Punishment” lovingly to your chest, smiling at the commune’s square come to life with laughing children and approving parents. Pausing for a moment to gaze behind, you could have sworn you saw Joel’s formidable figure standing in the bookshop foyer, looking in your direction, but it was almost immediately gone amidst the flurry of snow and town activity. See ya tomorrow, Miller, you jested, already planning your next passionate…discussion.

@morallyinept @littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges

@janaispunk @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya @schnarfer @devineconjuring 

@mermaidgirl30 @mandolover37 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk 

@sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave 

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Afterglow Series

I love the throw down as much as the next gal, but I love the "Afterglow" even more. Excited to attempt this sexy time experimentation, writing for some of the Pedro Boys with variety in shorter snippets. Wanted a therapeutic outlet for our great and not so great "O"'s. Mostly self-indulgent intimacy writing, though Pedge is VERY excited...

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