Latest Posts by pedges-world - Page 5

Pike's Place Nightmare Before Christmas

Thanks to @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" this dynamic duo is going strong till Christmas Day. I've started a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: fainting, nightmares, argument, profanity, reference to alcohol, gun use, emergency scenario, panic attack

Series Masterlist

“What are you doing?!” Pike implored, jumping up from the couch and nearly falling over the coffee table in the process.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you pleaded, wrapping yourself more tightly in an attempt to disappear into the floorboards.

“I know we’ve grown closer over the last few days…but you can’t just…How much Merlot did you have?” he questioned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stumbling slightly in the darkened room. Ella Fitzgerald weirdly kept repeating "I’m not yours, for better or for worse" as the record skipped jovially…

“ImsosorryIwasjusttryingtogetupthecouragetosaysomethingandyoulookedosadorablesleepingIcoulndttellifyouhadfeelingsformeandIvebeensoalonethelastfewyearsIthoughtwereallyhadaconnectionandIwouldneverwanttodoanythingthatmadeyouuncomfortableIveneverbeensoembarassedImsosorry!”

Pike was breathing heavily, running his fingers through his hair, trying to grasp the situation and looking wildly around the room as Ella warbled repetitively from the phonograph.

“What is it you want?” he questioned, pausing as all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. “Have you been playing me this whole time?”

Your eyes widened to pleading saucers, holding your hands out in supplication, “Marcus, let me explain…”.

“It’s Agent Pike” his eyes darkened slightly as the room became somehow hot and cold simultaneously. This can’t be happening, you thought as a chill ran through your body unexpectedly. This was your worst nightmare becoming a reality. You had finally circumvented your isolation and fear and taken a real risk and it had blown up in your face. Four years of working from home, becoming more and more distant from friends and family, therapy, a pandemic…You looked over at the nearly finished bottle of Merlot. Geez, did you have a drinking problem now, too? Shaking your head to clear the cobwebs you felt the creeping tendrils of a small headache form at the base of your skull. How had everything gone so wrong in a matter of minutes? And what did Marc…what did Agent Pike say about Washington D.C? Your thoughts were flashing wildly across your mind scape but not making any sense. You weren’t drunk, so why was everything so confusing? You looked up at Pike pacing nervously back and forth as the television sent bizarre flickering images across his face and body.

Share for share, share alike You get struck each time I strike You for me- me for me- I'll give you plenty of nothing I'm not yours for better but for worse And I've learned to give the well-known witches' curse I've a terrible tongue, a temper for two And everything I've got belongs to you, you, you, you, you, you, you….

Your breath hitched in your chest as Ella outlandishly skipped over and over again, adding a horrible paranoia to an already uncomfortable moment.

“For heaven sakes!” Pike huffed, yanking the needle off the phonograph and eliciting a bone chilling scratching sound in the speakers. He picked up the record and smashed it across the hearth. The fire crackled ironically, as Pike looked at you as though seeing for the first time. “I think you should leave” he muttered, lowering his eyes to the ground uncomfortably and almost backing into the formerly cheery Christmas Tree behind him. “Now. I need you to leave now.”

“What?” you whispered, gulping with anxiety and beginning to consider the ramifications of his statement. What time was it? Maybe 2am in the morning? You hugged your body to your chest fearfully, balking with incredulity. Pike might not reciprocate your feelings, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It was officially Christmas Eve, where were you supposed to go in a blizzard? Could you stay in your car till the storm subsided? Maybe you could just promise to stay in the upstairs bedroom till the mechanic arrived…or sleep in the wood shed? A lump immediately formed in your throat as tears sprang to your eyes. This is what you get for believing in yourself, you chided. Pike told you to be the hero of your own story, and now you were going to be more alone than ever.

“Get out. Now!” Pike shouted, grabbing the manilla envelope from under the tree and throwing it in the fire.

“No!” you shuddered, reaching for the envelope helplessly, praying you could somehow salvage the turn of events. You watched the unknown gift crumple into flames, feeling as though your heart were somehow mangled in the smoke. Coughing and sputtering, you stood to your feet, swaying slightly with confusion, feeling an oppressive weight bearing down on you.

“Marcus, I never meant to…” you doubled over in weakness as the room spun around you overwhelmingly.

“Agent! Pike!” he exclaimed, picking up the Christmas Tree and shoveling it into the roaring fireplace. The room was getting hotter and hotter as you fell to the floor gasping for air. The entire cabin was going up in flames. You felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, clawing at your own mortality as Marcus started laughing maniacally…

“Get out of my house!” he cackled, his eyes alight with revenge and terror, seemingly basking in your cries for help.

“Please, please…” you heard yourself crying until…

You sat bolt upright in bed, awakening to the sound of your own voice. Blinking rapidly in the nearly pitch black room you heard the howling wind outdoors. You were covered in sweat and had a pounding headache. Damn Merlot, you reprimanded yourself as the reality of the evening’s events cascaded, unbidden, into your foggy dream-like state. If only THAT had also been a nightmare, but no such miracle occurred. You swallowed a fresh cascade of sobs, desperately wishing you had kept your desires to yourself. But no, you were determined to escape the never-ending isolation of the pandemic, and somehow ended up more alone than ever. Tomorrow, you were leaving, heading into an unknown future. Worse still, you might have lost a real friend in Pike, but what did it matter? Pike was moving to Washington D.C and you had just ruined the only opportunity that had graced your doorstep in a very long time. This was oh so very real. A real nightmare come to life. Your very own “Nightmare Before Christmas”…

Pike stared unblinkingly at the flickering images on the television screen. Perpetually hounded by nightmares for the last several days, he annoyingly found himself unable to sleep, replaying the evening over and over in his mind. He rubbed his forehead placatingly, trying to make sense of the recent complexities. Once again he had repeated the same enthusiastic mistakes, falling head over heels for an idyllic misrepresentation of the truth, and now he’d broken someone else’s heart in the process. He looked towards your upstairs doorway, cold and closed to the harsh winds battling outside. Were you okay? Were you asleep? Were you as unsettled as he was? How could he fix what had been so easily broken? One moment, he held you in his arms, caressing the very gift he had so desperately desired from day one. And the next, you were flying up the stairs in retreat, planning to permanently leave his life before Christmas had even come to fruition.

How had things gone so drastically wrong? First you were strangers. Then, you were circumstantial friends. He didn’t want to treat you like a captive audience. During all those conversations, all those movies, and all those glasses of Merlot, he didn’t want to ruin things the way he had with Lisbon. Even allowing himself to believe that love would find its way to him had felt impossible, so why even mention it? Why mention the move to Washington D.C when that information had only caused harm in the past? Why believe that love had shown up on his doorstep when that door was just going to lead to another dead end?

Pike watched the television as Jack Skellington battled between the two paradigms of Halloween and Christmas, trying to move into a holiday of celebration and joy, whilst somehow taking his own limitations with him. Cynically smirking at the ghoulish figures parading before him, he twitched once again hearing the howling blizzard which had only intensified over the last few hours. The once picturesque landscape had begun to turn, trees clawing loudly at the roof, wind arguing fiercely for dominance. At first a small glimmer of hope had begun to light in his heart. Perhaps he could stall your departure and make an explanation, but what was there to explain? He had come back to tie up loose ends with Lisbon, and after closing that door, had shipped his few belongings to D.C and determined to end the year in solitude. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the holidays would include…you.

And how had he accepted this newfound sense of acceptance and unexpected opportunity? By hiding valuable information and then giving in to his desires without considering the ramifications. He hoisted himself up to grab some more fuel for the fire. The least he could do as a good host was keep his guest warm and try to get you home in one piece before Christmas Day.

The front doorknob rattled ever so slightly as a particularly large gust of wind shook the cabin dauntingly. Pike silently took stock of the resources and reserves that he knew remained in the cabin. Living on the East Coast had given him some inclinations of a real winter, but this was extreme, especially for California. The pipes could freeze, power lines could go down. He was just wondering if he should check the landline in the study, when he caught the telltale overture of trouble. The television started flickering hesitantly along with the lights, until the very mechanism of life itself seemed to grind to a halt, all electricity evaporating into the ether and plunging Pike into immediate darkness. Things just went from bad to worse.

You clutched your chest, hearing the dull thud of your racing heartbeat as blood rushed through your ears. What was that? Somehow the room was even darker than before and you could no longer hear the twinkling sound of the television from the living room. What was going on? You pulled off Pike’s flannel pajamas, nimbly feeling your way to the ubiquitous pink snowsuit.

You hadn’t even waited for an explanation. After the embarrassment of throwing yourself at Pike in a Merlot infused bid for love, his Washington D.C confessional had been the ultimate bruise. For that matter, WHY didn’t Pike mention the Washington D.C move earlier? You bit your lower lip, searching haphazardly for your boots. You’d spent the last few hours tossing and turning over your own missteps, but it takes two to tango. Was he really so oblivious as to think that was an unimportant detail? You found your initial irritation beginning to blaze in the recesses of your regret and guilt. You knew that Pike was too good to be true, but somehow his own contagious enthusiasm had dulled the impenetrability of your emotional armor. You had started believing that love was possible. You hurriedly zipped up the snowsuit, considering your options. You didn’t want to impose on Agent Pike anymore than you had to. Maybe this was a sign to try to bring your old broken down Hyundai to life. Much like you, maybe Bessie still had some kick in her and had just stalled. Pausing to listen a dull thrumming sound clicked into gear and the cabin seemed to pulse with a timid heartbeat once again. You glanced at your dimly lit cell phone by the bedside table. Stuffing your feet into your snow boots you checked the phone’s reception. Dead.

Everything felt like it was disintegrating. You thanked your lucky stars you were with Marc…Agent Marc…Agent Pike, but what if your subconscious was right? Pike would never place you in any harm, but it was clear you had worn out your welcome. You were both going your separate ways, and that was that. Maybe we don’t know each other very well at all, you paused, wondering how you were going to extricate your Californian self from this Snowpocalypse of 2024. You felt like Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas”, pining after a love that was never going to come to fruition. Maybe you WERE that wilting version of Donna Reed in a snood, trapped in a reality that never seemed to mirror the deepest of your desires. It was time to face the music and bring this Hallmark Movie to an anticlimactic conclusion. Just another Christmas alone. You took a deep breath, resolving to exit Marcus’ life as quickly as you had entered it. Roll credits.

Pike was rummaging around the supply closet for a flashlight upon hearing the telltale squeak of the upstairs bedroom’s opening door. You squinted as the light hit your gaze unceremoniously, covering your eyes confusedly. “What’s going on?” you slurred a bit, stumbling down the first few steps. Pike lurched forward with a hand outstretched.

“God, be careful!” he raced up the stairs, taking hold of your elbow and easing you down the stairwell. You ended up at the bottom of the stairs, more confused than ever. Were you still drunk? The television twinkled softly amidst the glowing firelight, but the room felt disorienting at best. You rubbed your eyes sleepily, attempting to form some cohesive, dawning thoughts.

“I’m okay, just waking up…” you blinked rapidly, jumping at the scratching sounds above your head and across the nearby windows. “What was that?” you asked in hushed tones, adrenaline pumping through your system like a shot.

“The storm has really picked up since…you went to bed” he cautioned, drawing his arm around your back to steady you. “I think we’re okay, but those trees are a bit closer to the cabin than I’d like. Annnnnd…I think the power lines are down” he trailed off, hoping to keep you relatively calm and safe. “The generator kicked in, but it hasn’t been in use all year. I don’t feel great about our…situation” Pike pondered, always the man of preparation.

Your eyes widened in concern, wondering how long you could last if the storm continued to intensify. “Can we call for help? I don’t have any reception. What should we do next?”.

“I tried the landline in the study, nothing is getting through yet. I’m gonna head out for a bit and check the generator to see its condition” Pike reached for his jacket, but kept his hand around your waist in solidarity. You reached towards him imploringly, freezing slightly at the unexpected revelation.

“Is that a gun?” you whispered, suddenly quivering with more than the cold. You heard the soft smile in Pike’s voice, viewing his flickering countenance in the relative dark.

“I suppose being an agent on the Art Squad isn’t that dangerous, but it IS standard issue. Just taking extra precautions, there could be wildlife that were disturbed by the storm, or other stranded motorists. I’ve got to keep you safe. I mean, keep everybody safe…” he was rubbing your back in circles as you swayed from side to side. You were feeling overwhelmed, off-kilter, and vulnerable. What kind of assistance could you possibly be in a challenging situation like this? You swallowed dryly, attempting to focus on the firelight and form a cohesive thought.

“Wait, what? Heading outside? Now?!” you began to panic slightly, grabbing at Pike’s forearm. “I don’t want to be by myself! What if we can’t contact anyone? What if you get lost in the blizzard?” your mind began to race with possibility as you felt your throat tightening with emotion. Not alone. Not again. The pandemic came racing back with all of its isolation and feelings of helplessness. Pike paused, considering the options.

“Okay, just stay behind me and don’t let go of my hand, alright?” he grasped your shoulder good-naturedly, drawing his hand up to cup your face and finding a few stray tears. “Hey, what’s this?” he drew you into his body for a close embrace, allowing you to sniffle into his chest timidly. “We’re okay” he swayed with you from side to side, rubbing your back and holding you at the neck comfortingly.

“I’m just…so sorry…for earlier” you mumbled into his chest, feeling your fatigue catching up with you. Pike pulled back, his intentionality apparent even in the void like expanse of these challenging circumstances. The fire flickered dimly in the corner adding a serene warmth to the soft smile on his face. He sighed heavily, wiping his thumb in a circular motion across your cheek tenderly. “There’s…more to say” he began, until more limbs and twigs were crashing and scraping across the nearby windows. “At this rate, I’m not sure any of us are going to be leaving tomorrow” he gulped, taking your hand in his and heading towards the door. “This Christmas is turning into a nightmare, but I’m getting us to the finish line come hell or high water” he promised, flinging the door open and bracing you both against the moderate winds.

The blast of cold air nearly knocked you over in one fell swoop, as you gripped Pike’s hand with determination. It was as though you had been plunged into a full body ice bath, as the tingling, numbing sensation of the winds whipped through your hair and very being. You had a sudden clarity of purpose and renewed energy. Squinting into the snowy winds, you blearily identified the small wood shed about fifty feet away. The wind had cleared the snow a bit, but stray detritus and tree limbs were strewn around the tundra as Pike pulled you forward ambitiously.

“Let’s go!” he shouted over the din of the intense winds, cutting a path to the woodshed, in search of the enclosed generator. “Be careful!” he advised, gripping you tightly around the waist, attempting to shield you from the blizzard which was steadily increasing by the minute. You pursed your lips doggedly, determined to be of assistance. Looking behind you, you saw Bessie the Hyundai, shivering in the cold, her front windshield had been cracked and indented by a falling tree limb. Somehow seeing her forlorn condition, increased your own, as the two of you hobbled to the nearby woodshed, desperate for a solution. Stumbling to the doorway, Pike flung the door of the woodshed open as billows of smoke came cascading out. You fell backwards in surprise, a hard blanket of snow somewhat cushioning your fall as Pike grasped at your arm securely. “Well, that’s not good!” he shouted, motioning you to stay seated as he waved the billows of smoke helplessly. “No way this is gonna last much longer!” he yelled over the din of blistering maelstrom. “I know it hasn’t been used for ages, but I was at least hoping…” a skittering sound interrupted his query as he reached for his gun quickly.

“Jesus Christ” Pike muttered, dragging you backwards and positioning you along the outside corner of the woodshed. “Stay here” he cautioned before you had a chance to argue. You saw Pike’s athletic silhouette poised on the adjacent corner, gun outstretched protectively. He disappeared from sight as you held your breath hesitantly. The winds were like a steely hand, gripping your insides and swirling with a wintery menace. You sat tentatively, bracing yourself against the wooden fixture.

“Pike?” you called, steadily becoming more and more terrified as the moments lapsed. One. Two. Three…you thought back on your therapeutic training. Take stock of your five senses. What do you see? All I can see is snow. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, you thought. Four. Five. What do you smell? Coughing slightly, the arid bite of billowy smoke tickled your nasal passages. Six. Seven. What do you feel? I feel scared dammit, you retorted, crying out again. “Pike?”

Only the winds answered you.

What can you touch? You clasped your hands together for warmth, pining after the handhold you’d sacrificed with Pike’s temporary absence. You blew into your cupped hands for warmth. Eight. Nine.…What can you…?

“Holy hell!” Pike yelled as you heard a furious wrestling sound and then a gunshot echo in the howling winds.

“PIKE!!!!????” you screamed, covering your face in fear and tucking your body, wrapping your arms around your knees. Oh my God. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t feel anything. You were numb. You were nothing. You were completely alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. You rocked back and forth trying to catch your breath. “Pike. Pike. Pike. Pike” you whispered against the howling winds. You couldn’t form a thought, the world was swirling around you confusedly. You weren’t even human. A cry began to mangle at the epicenter of your sternum, radiating into your body as you sobbed hysterically. “Pike. Pike. Pike. Pike”.

Strong arms grasped you at the shoulders, shaking you ever so slightly as your head whipped up to see Marcus’ face pressed close to yours in concern. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t hear anything. You found yourself strangely disassociated, marveling at the pink in his cheeks and the snowflakes dotting his beautiful eyelashes. Not alone. Together. Pike. You and Pike. You smiled numbly, your head lolling back with exhaustion. Pike was shouting into your face, and you were smiling. Just smiling. What a nice Christmas, you thought bizarrely as Pike pulled you to your feet. You immediately collapsed into his arms as the world circled around in a vortex of cold and ice. What a nice Marcus, you thought haphazardly, feeling yourself caged against his broad chest and floating back towards the cabin. You began to hear the crunch of the snow underneath his feet, and the beating of his heart wildly against his chest. Such a pretty Christmas, you sighed, nuzzling into him for warmth and hearing the door slam behind you both abruptly. Pike laid you down on the couch as you watched him with bleary cheer, tossing more firewood into the hearth and returning to you in one quick motion.

Pike ran his hands fixedly over your entire body, looking for any injuries or wounds, as you grinned dopily, your senses quickly rushing back in arousal.

“Can you sit up?” Pike spoke, as though from another room, as your hearing started to focus on the low tones of his concerned voice.

“What?” you slurred, sitting up hesitantly and swaying with the effort. Pike ran his fingers over your scalp and down your arms, attempting to assess the situation. “Keep breathing, I’m gonna get you some water” Pike placed his hand over your sternum concernedly, quickly disappearing into the kitchen. Your thoughts were still blurry as you wondered at the magical fire crackling before you. At least one thing was aiding your survival, you mused, chewing your bottom lip numbly and placing your head between your legs weakly. You tried to take deep, centering breaths. What was going on?

“Damn!” you heard the shuddering of the pipes from the kitchen and Pike’s muted tones as he returned quickly to the living room, kneeling in front of you. “The pipes are frozen, I think” Pike complained, rubbing his hands over your arms and legs and bringing your gaze up to meet his. “Are you okay? How do you feel?” Pike swallowed dryly, looking intently into your eyes. Without thinking you flung yourself into Pike’s embrace, suddenly cognizant enough to grasp the recent chain of events. He gripped you firmly in a bear hug, swaying you gently from side to side. “Thought I lost you there for a second” he chuckled, rubbing your back warmly.

“Goddamit, Marcus!” you mumbled, pushing against his chest aggressively and falling back to the couch with exhaustion. Pike placed his hands on your knees, furrowing his brow with concern.

“I’m fine” he observed, taking off his jacket and hovering at your knees. “Did you hit your head? Are you cold?” he gazed back at the fire and looked above him as a creaking sound split the night air forebodingly.

“What the hell was that?!” you yelled, sitting up unsurely and gripping the collar of his shirt. “I thought….I thought….I don’t know what I thought!!!!” you acquiesced, gripping your hands tightly around his neck and pulling him towards you. Pike rested his forearms on your thighs, bringing his forehead lightly to yours and breathing for a moment.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere” he rhythmically repeated, willing your breathing to slow, while taking stock of the situation. “It kind of freaked me out, too” he whispered. “I know animals will sometimes seek out shelter in a blizzard, but the timing couldn’t be worse…” the cabin creaked again as though in confirmation. You tried to focus on Marcus’ lips as he spoke. What beautiful lips. You’d never noticed how plush they were. So soft. And kissable. You thought back on the disastrous, if not exciting events of the previous night. Sweet. His lips actually tasted sweet. You licked yours hungrily.

“I think we caught the little guy nibbling at the power cables” Pike paused dragging his hand over your forehead with care. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” his voice was still echoing strangely as you blinked heavily. He shook his head continuing undauntedly, “I don’t know much about generators, but I’m assuming we don’t want them smoking like a barbecue pit” Pike chuckled nervously as you reached up to delicately finger the snowflakes in his hair. He closed his eyes contentedly, trying to steady himself. “I haven’t been that scared in ages!” he twitched with self deprecation. “I sort of caught ‘Meeko’, unannounced. He sure didn’t take it very well”, Pike sagged with relief as you ran your fingers over his scalp. Awash with confusion and exhaustion you began giggling uncontrollably.

“What? What’s so funny?” Pike grinned, opening his eyes to your tittering frame.

“Meeko?” you snickered with delight, “…like from Pocohontas? Our grand nemesis of the evening was a raccoon?” you stopped abruptly, suddenly a bit sobered. “Oh my God, did you shoot him?” you gulped, unzipping the snowsuit a bit, to defrost.

Pike shrugged comedically. “Contrary to popular belief, the Art Squad is not the Firing Squad” he jested, “I think he scared me more than I scared him. He definitely ran off in to the woods, but we are none the safer” he glanced towards the kitchen in defeat, pausing to strategize.

“Let me think out loud for a second, my mind is swimming” he reasoned, carefully standing and rubbing his forehead tiredly. “The generator is nearly gone, Bessie is officially out of commission. Landlines are down, as is our cell phone reception. We’ve still got some food, which we could chill outdoors if necessary, but the pipes are frozen. I mean, we’re literally surrounded by snow and we could just melt some of it if things get desperate. But who knows how long the generator will last, and this fire is our main source of warmth. I guess we could burn the Christmas Tree if we ran out of fire wood?” Pike heaved a hefty sigh of defeat, looking at the formerly homey symbol of holiday cheer, now figuratively going up in flames. “But at least you’re not going anywhere this Christmas Eve” Pike tried to focus on that silver lining, peering up at the ceiling with apprehension as the winds only increased their fervor.

Your addled mind flashed on your earlier nightmare, wincing at the nearly clairvoyant similarity. It seemed that one minute you couldn’t wait to stay, and now both of you were desperate to somehow find a way out. “Sounds like YOU might be the one who’s leaving me” you pouted, finally willing to confront the REAL nightmare that neither of you had addressed. Pike sighed heavily, casting his eyes to the floor in disappointment.

“Look, about that…” he began as you stood to your feet unsteadily, trying to even the playing field.

“Why in the world didn’t you say so, Agent Pike?” you teetered precariously as the room seemed to shift diagonally, bracing a hand against the couch for assistance. “How could you let me think…or why didn’t you…” realizing that once again you were at a loss for words. Why was it so hard for you to connect the dots? The pandemic had deprived you of human connection, communication…LOVE! Your life felt like it was in shambles, separate and alone, and Pike’s permanent departure was just one more example of that. Even in a blizzard you couldn’t get anyone to stay!

“Agent Pike? Are we using our Christian names now?” Marcus teased, attempting to lighten the mood after the adrenaline infused hijinks.

“Come on, I’m serious! I feel terrible for making assumptions about…you…and me…or us…or Donna Reed…” you trailed off, stumbling around the room slightly trying to assemble your thoughts cohesively.

“Hey, maybe you should sit down” Pike cautioned, extending a hand and beginning to follow you around the room tentatively. “Please, let me explain, I WANT to explain. When you kissed me last night…”…

“This is SO typical of me” you rambled, pacing in circles as the blizzard howled around you outside. “I finally become the hero of my own story and I can’t even land the guy for heaven sakes!” you protested, unzipping your snowsuit a bit further in the warmth of the fireplace. “I have main character energy!” you shouted as Pike nodded affirmatively “MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY!” you repeated, rubbing at your temples confusedly.

“You do!” Pike encouraged, following along behind you like a woebegone puppy, his hand placed gently at your back to ensure you didn’t fall over. “VERY Kate Winslet!” he supported, moving the small side table out of your way so you didn’t trip over it.

“And the moment I take matters into my own hands…” you whirled in place, gripping Pike by the collar and shaking him emphatically, “you slip right from my grasp!” you collapsed your hips against his, looking up into those glowing, chocolate-colored orbs of light.

“I’m here! You’ve got me” he rasped, holding you at the waist and inching his face closer to yours imploringly.

“No I don’t!” you huffed, beginning your pacing again with Pike in tow. “Now you’re headed off to Washington D.C, and our perfect Christmas is RUINED!” you emphasized for greater effect. “I don’t even have a gift for you! And whyyyy didn’t you tell me?” you whined falling back against Pike’s chest dramatically and slumping slightly against him. Pike propped you up by your elbow, gripping you around the waist supportively.

“Will you please sit down? Something feels off….I’m feeling off” Pike was trying to make sense of everything, but it was difficult with this splitting headache. Had the lack of sleep finally caught up with him? He didn’t even have any Merlot last night, why was everything so distorted?

You pushed away from him, swaying haphazardly in confusion. Now there were…TWO Pikes standing in front of you. Oh well, now you could TWICE as mad! The cabin groaned forcefully as the room seemed to lurch forward and back. “You know, I could really like…BOTH of you if you’d just give me a chance!” you tried to point an accusatory finger at the pair of them as Pike’s image blurred before you.

“I want to! I want more! I want YOU but…GEEZ…my head in pounding right now. Do you have a headache, too?” the Pikes curiously questioned, reaching back to steady themselves at the fireplace hearth and pinching the bridge of their noses with fatigue.

“I ought to after this nightmare!” you unzipped your snow suit all the way to your waist revealing your sparkling pink bra and fanning your face heatedly. Why the hell was it always so hot?

A dull cracking sound echoed outside as a heavy branch split through the living room window blasting an icy gale of wind through the epicenter of your conversation. Pike shielded his eyes, staggering towards you, grabbing you by waist and pulling you in.

“Careful Pink! Are you okay?” Pike shouted over the din of chaos, bringing both hands to the sides of your face and looking into the dazed expression that was mirrored back.

“I don’t feel so good…” you mumbled, your knees buckling beneath you, crumpling to the ground as Pike cradled your body to the floor. Shielding you against the wind he drew his fingers lightly across your forehead, trying to clear strands of hair away from your eyes. The two Marcus’ coalesced into one image that flickered before you like a dimming television screen before separating again into mirage like images of apprehension.

“Pink? Pink….?” his voice began to distance itself into the dull recesses of your mind as a high pitched whine moved towards the forefront. You reached up to touch his lips tenderly.

“Merry Christmas…” you droned, feeling your body simultaneously feather light and anvil heavy, wishing you had the strength to kiss him once again.

“Stay with me, Pink…” Pike’s voice vanished into an echoing chasm while your thoughts muted to a single pin prick of enlightenment.

What a beautiful nightmare, you mused…before the entire world went dark.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

Treasure Hunt for Missing Post

Pedge the Pirate and I are on a Halloween Treasure Hunt for a missing post. We remember seeing fics that were catalogued as a VHS Rental Library, including some very fun trailers. Does anyone know where this treasure is?

Also final day to "Trick or Treat"!

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!

Frankie's Favorites

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! Don't forget to check out our fic "Moody Frankie", and listen along!

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

Pedge's Jukebox

Frankie's Favorites (Spotify)

*Frankie, who absolutely MUST listen to his favorites when making his famous chili. He says it adds the real spice. This is the only dish he can actually make, other than peanut butter and jelly. *Contrary to popular belief Frankie hates to fly with music. He says it distracts him from important vibrations and the feel of the wind flux. *Always enjoys listening to music while making love, but keeps it at a low volume so he can draw your moans and sighs above it. *If given enough beers or whiskey will become JUST bold enough to join you on the dance floor, drink in hand, barely swaying, eyes closed, one hand on your waist. *Cannot sing to save his life, but is somewhat adept at drumming. Took some lessons in high school, but never pursued. What can we say? The man has good rhythm. *Can occasionally be dragged to the random concert, so long as he gets to go with you. He pretends to enjoy the band onstage, but he’s secretly looking at you whenever he can. *Enjoys rap because it reminds him of military cadence and structured life. Anything that gives him stability feels like a plus, and that includes you. *Always wanted to start a big family, but is unsure if he can measure up. Has even gone so far as to imagine the music played at his wedding, but will probably never share with anyone. *Occasionally drawn into a living room slow dance, if cajoled. Needs no music whatsoever, and prefers silence.


*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

🎶 Name Song Game 🎶

Thanks @wordywarriorwrites for the tag! Pedge and I have been inspired lately with Pedge's Jukebox, and I happen to be a professional musician! BUT most of my participation on Tumblr has been pretty one-sided and doesn't actually include my peripheral passions like musical theater! It's a bit niche, but here is my Username Song Game, J-style. And don't forget to check out my completed RPF "New York, New York Series" that fantastically celebrates my time there...

J's Jams (Spotify)

In case you haven't done it already: @timelordfreya, @inept-the-magnificent, @morallyinept, @sawymredfox, @purpleprincess75

Maxwell's Music

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, this short includes references to death and parental relationship, as per the character's arc in Wonder Woman 1984

Pedge's Jukebox

Maxwell's Music

*Maxwell Lord is all 80’s all the time. He thinks he’s one of the cool kids, but doesn’t realize his…seasoned maturity… *Wakes up at 5am to take a power walk around the neighborhood. Grabs his green juice and pops over to the gym to enjoy the playlist and pump some iron before heading over to work. *On weekends, when he has him, Maxwell Lord is not only determined to teach his son Alistair the important points of business management, but he also imparts the backstory of his favorite bands in an effort to bond…That is, when he remembers… *In the evenings, Maxwell grabs a late night espresso to head to the gym for a repeat visit. He blares the music as loudly as possible and envisions his monetary empire growing exponentially *Doesn’t have time for relationships after the divorce, but will occasionally frequent the local Strip Club for a quickie with his favorite gal “Pussycat” (sexy time with a sexy gal to sexy music) *Absolutely hates silence at the office and around the house. Wants to bombard himself with sound and fury and activity all the time, to avoid thinking about his failures… *During his lunch, will break out his Casio Walkman and allows the music to “pump him up” *Didn’t want to attend his father’s funeral, so he sent money to cover the expense, and then went to work. Didn’t tell anyone about the death but shed a few tears listening to “When Doves Cry”. Promptly decided to never think on it again. *Upon reunion with his son, has vowed to turn over a new leaf and make that relationship his priority. Wonders what his son’s favorite music is, and can’t wait to listen to it…

*thanks @strangergraphics-archive for the cool dividers!

Joel's Jives

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 with literary shorts! 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

Joel's Jives: Spotify

*Joel who only operates on two functions; dead silence or radio music *Joel who can finally relax when good music is playing; mind stilled *Won’t admit to enjoying country music, but secretly does *Often can be found humming under his breath while cooking or stoking the fire, but denies it when you question him *Knows all of the words to “Long, Long Time” by Linda Rondstadt *Only a handful of people know that Joel can play the guitar. You’re one of them. *The only time you get to hear him play the guitar is out on the porch, through the screen door. If you join him outside, he will immediately stop and start asking you about your day *As a teenager would fantasize about touring as a guitarist, always on the road *Doesn’t really like the sound of his own voice, but will sing pockets of phrases to figure out the chords *Was planning on gifting Sarah tickets to “Black-Eyed Peas” until the outbreak occurred *Used to enjoy making love to music, but now it just makes him too sad

*thanks @strangergraphics-archive for the cool dividers!

Moody Zodiac

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA. Dieter has gone animalistic this week, and is exploring all things Jungl-ian, including Zodiac Signs. One of his favorite pieces is Rousseau's Jungle Series which he has taken to paint in the hallways, with his own...questionable additions. His good friend and fellow actor Pedro Pascal has also recommended the Nobel Prize winning novel "Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead" by Olga Tokarczuk. He is currently determined to appear in the live action movie...as a deer, and has invested in a home salt-lick. I for one, have experienced some of the benefits of this devolution into his more base animalistic tendencies, and I have no complaints. Yes, D I will come lie with you on the bear skin rug and tap into our inner beast. Sorry folks, I gotta go...I've managed to stymie his purchase of the local alpaca farm, but I'm not sure how long that will hold. Wish me luck....

My Darling Muse (vi),

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out...

Trigger: it's Dieter bub so this series will DEFINITELY include profanity, drugs, alcohol, sex, smut and any meanderings D wants...He's endlessly inspired by art, poetry, songs, sex and YOU!

Series Masterlist

MY DARLING MUSE,

WHO AM I WITHOUT YOU, IN THIS VAST JUNGLE OF EXISTENCE? AM I THE SUPPLE FEMININE, NAKED AND UNAFRAID? AM I THE WILD OF THE UNKNOWN? WATCHING AND WAITING TO POUNCE? AM I HUNTER OR PREY? DO I WATCH OR AM I OBSERVED? DO I LANGUISH IN WAIT? TREMBLING FOR YOUR CAPTIVITY? OR DO I STALK YOU IN THE FOREST OF FOREVER? CAST YOUR NET OVER ME ENTRAP ME WITH YOUR WILES ENSNARE ME WITH YOUR HOOK OF DESIRE SINK YOUR CARNIVOROUS TEETH OF PASSION SUCK THE MARROW DRY CHEW ON THE BONES OF MY YEARNING DEFLOWER ME IN THE FOREST LIKE A LION, RIP MY WILLING HEART TO PIECES FOR I AM AN ENDANGERED SPECIES AND AM ONLY PRESERVED BY THE CAPTURE OF YOUR HEART IMPRISONED AND LIBERATED FOR EVERY ANIMALISTIC LONGING

*listed in the margins: Baby goats; defense in the wild? Do insects mate for life? Which animals are bi? Research Luxury Jungle Retreat, Is Ayahuasca grown locally? Is that couch available at Ikea?

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA. Dieter has gone animalistic this week, and is exploring all things Jungl-ian, including Zodiac Signs. One of his favorite pieces is Rousseau's Jungle Series which he has taken to paint in the hallways, with his own...questionable additions. His good friend and fellow actor Pedro Pascal has also recommended the Nobel Prize winning novel "Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead" by Olga Tokarczuk. He is currently determined to appear in the live action movie...as a deer, and has invested in a home salt-lick. I for one, have experienced some of the benefits of this devolution into his more base animalistic tendencies, and I have no complaints. Yes, D I will come lie with you on the bear skin rug and tap into our inner beast. Sorry folks, I gotta go...I've managed to stymie his purchase of the local alpaca farm, but I'm not sure how long that will hold. Wish me luck....

*Rousseau classic with unfortunate additions by Dieter

*thank you @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

Pedro-Tober #4

Inspired by @alyssamariag and @norththelemon I've decided to feature curated pics/art, juxtaposed with fics and AI inspired Bitmoji. So much artistry to celebrate this October, look at these amazing artists! Also, it's the last week to "Trick or Treat"! Hit me up!

20.) Frankie Morales IG: VanessaDraws, "Moody Frankie" @pedges-world

21.) Curls @norththelemon

22.) Gladiator @southparkpedro

23.) Din Jarin IG: Tealspy

24.) Sundance IG: Vanessa Draws

25.) Javier Pena IG: Junes.Pegasus, Afterglow Series @pedges-world

Series Masterlist

Moody Nathan

I gotta be totally honest: I forgot this character existed. I'm so sorry Pedge. Oh boy. I think I'm gonna owe him extra chocolate chip cookies, he just went in the other room. PEDGE, I'M SORRY!...I must have seen this character back in the day, but I've never seen a fic about him. They must exist! Are you the one to write it??? I think I've got my hands full, making apologies. PEDGE, I CAN HEAT UP SOME HOT CHOCOLATE WHEN THE WEATHER COOLS DOWN??? Gotta go folks...amends must be made...

Max's Mix 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

Max's Mix: Spotify

*Max Phillips, who has had the same playlist for the last decade and still listens to it on his i-pod *Feels that recent music lacks the passion and conviction of music from the past  *For his next adjustment as Chief of Operations will offer an office-wide mandate to remove on-site music, video games, and personal phone usage during business hours *If possible, would prefer to turn a subject while listening to Beastie Boys, but if not available, enjoys the sounds of licking, sucking and gasping to absolute silence *When possessed of an unalterable mindset, will sometimes listen to “Kiss” by Prince and take a hot shower until he has an opportunity to satiate his bloodlust *Before his metamorphosis, participated in a collegiate band ironically called “The Bloodsuckers”. Even though Max doesn’t play any instruments, he enjoyed bossing the musicians as company manager *Actually enjoys listening to the elevator music that plays at the office

Don't forget to check out our recent Max fic "Bloodsucking Witch", and drop by to "Trick or Treat"! We love Spooky Season ALMOST as much as Max does...

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

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!

Pedge's Juke Box

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! I also am secretly hoping writers might utilize this playlists for inspiration. I can't write with music in the background, but some people can...

Pena's Playlist Max's Mix Joel's Jives Maxwell's Music J's Jams Frankie's Favorites Dieter's Deets Silva's Songs Pike's Playlist The General's Genre Baby's Beats

*Please keep singing darling, we LOVE It....(our DJ)

WIP Wednesday

WIP Wednesday. Um, who do I think I am having SIX open series at the same time? Well, whatever. Much like our guy, I try not to censor myself.

Who Wants to Trick or Treat?

Pike's Place; New Episode Halloween

Pedro-Tober

My Darling Muse

Pedge's Jukebox

Outside of one musical in high school, I'm fairly certain Pedge is not a self-proclaimed musician. HOWEVER, as a professional musician myself I can't help but notice that doesn't seem to stop him from vocalizing every chance he can and I am EUPHORIC. 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 our beloved has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy!

Moody Gladiator

Alright, we collectively lost our minds and for good reason. Our boy was angelically beautiful, coupled with Paul Mescal who is similarly "easy on the eyes". I'm not sure we can handle all of the press coming up, but we're gonna try...

Moody Ricky

I'm sure most of us would like to be "touched by this angel" and I'm going to try to catch the episode this evening. Back in the day I used to watch Touched By an Angel religiously, who knew we were all viewing our lifetime crush in real time?

My Darling Muse (v),

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out...

Trigger: it's Dieter bub so this series will DEFINITELY include profanity, drugs, alcohol, sex, smut and any meanderings D wants...He's endlessly inspired by art, poetry, songs, sex and YOU!

Series Masterlist

*artwork by Cat Bug and OsoStudios *cool dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics

My Darling Muse,

YOU ARE THE SUN, AND I THE MOON I ENCIRCLE YOU, CASTING SHADOWS IN THE TUMULT OF EMOTION BUFFETING THE OCEANS I, THE MOODY COLD LANDSCAPE YOU, THE FIERY FLAME I LONG FOR YOUR WARM TOUCH ICY, BARREN AND ALONE WHAT DEPTHS DO YOU ILLUMINE? SUBMERGE IN MY OCEANS BATHE IN MY SEA OF TRANQUILITY MELT THE ICE HEART’S TUNDRA THE SHIFTING TIDES WILL LULL LOSING OURSELVES TO ONE ANOTHER LOST AT SEA, BUT NEVER LOST DROWNING UNTO BREATH I AM MYSTERY, IMAGINATION I AM INTUITION AND AMBIGUITY I FIND CERTAINTY IN MY ENIGMA DRAWING YOU INTO THE UNKNOWN EVER FIXED LIGHT IN THE DARK ANCHOR TO THE HARSH DAY STEP INTO THE NIGHT NAKED MOONBEAMS ALIGHT (scribbled in the margins; the moon is made of camembert, Lunar Landing; Actors needed?, Is the moon pan?, Moon Pie Ingredients?, Lunar Cycle: Impact how high I can get?)

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA. Firgive any typoos, Dieter has gone nocturnal since his good friend Pedro Pascal posted about the Aries Moon and Dieter had his first reading (@firsttarotreader). Now Dieter is determined to read his own horoscope to find his long lost love/s. He wants me to share that he hasn't pooped in three days, after subsisting on a diet of entirely cheese, but it is the "sacrifice of artistry". No Dieter you cannot read my palm again, it's only been five minutes. No we would NOT get a group discount by traveling to the moon as a polycule. I gotta go folks, time for a midnight nap...

Pedro-Tober #3

Inspired by @alyssamariag and @norththelemon I've decided to feature curated pics/art, juxtaposed with fics and AI inspired Bitmoji. So much artistry to celebrate this October, we have our hands full. Look at these amazing artists!

Series Masterlist

13.) Javi Gutierrez: Afterglow Fic (Phoenix Rising) @pedges-world

14.) Freebie! IG: @art_faraday

15.) The Materialists: @norththelemon

16.) Whiskey: @alyssamariag

17.) Arm Sling: IG: @amakuni_s

18.) Oberyn Martell: IG: @vanessadraws

19.) SDCC: IG @vanessadraws

Also, Pedge and I are "Trick or Treating"! DM me to play!

Trick or Treat!

Pedge has been complaining that we're not doing enough Spooky Season activities. I tried to tell him that we are very busy with work, but he's very insistent, so for the rest of October, we are going to "Trick or Treat". Just DM me and Pedge with:

1.) Pedro "Bad" Boy (listed below) 2.) Candy Selection 3.) "Trick" or "Treat"

From L to R: (Max Phillips, Joel Miller, Veracruz, Maxwell Lord, Oberyn Martell, Dave York, Marcus Acacius, Dio, Agent Whiskey)

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

Sexiest Man Alive

Alright, don't everybody get your panties in a bunch, it's not real, it's not real…But, now that some time has passed we KNOW Pedro Pascal IS the sexiest man alive, if such a thing is quantifiable. Did you know since its origin in 1985, there have only been FIVE men of color selected for this enigmatic honor? I think Pedro Pascal won the vote, but declined in favor of personal privacy, and I'm not the only one...

My Darling Muse (iv),

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out...

Trigger: It's Dieter bub so this series will DEFINITELY include profanity, drugs, alcohol, sex, smut and any meanderings D wants...He's endlessly inspired by art, poetry, songs, sex and YOU!

My Darling Muse,

(Bluets Excerpts by Maggie Nelson) “Suppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color.” “I am writing all this down in blue ink, so as to remember that all words, not just some, are written in water.” “Fucking leaves everything as it is. Fucking may in no way interfere with the actual use of language.” “To take a breath of water: does the thought panic or excite you?” “sometimes I do feel its presence to be a sort of wink-- Here you are again, it says, and so am I.” “I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.” “And we have not yet heard enough, if anything, about the female gaze. About the scorch of it, with the eyes staying in the head.” “And what kind of madness is it anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally incapable of loving you back?” *written in margins: Blue Balling? Was I a fish in a previous life? Is Blue...bi? How do you say "fuck" in Latin? Only blue stuff. I love baby goats, but not like that...Practice female gaze...

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA. I don't have much time to talk. Dieter has sworn off writing, after his good pal Pedro Pascal recommended "Bluets" by Maggie Nelson. Now Dieter claims he isn't worthy to worship at the feet of Blue, and is re-painting all 5 bedrooms in his house. Yes, Dieter I'm going to the store right now for all Blue foods...No, I don't think Blue Koolaid is produced naturally...Yes, I promise to listen to Joni Mitchell's album "Blue" and think primarily Blue thoughts for the month of October. I'm not sure if you can dye a goat's hair blue, but we can look into it...I gotta go folks, this is getting out of hand...

Blue Album by Joni Mitchell

*Van Gogh

*Picasso's Blue Period

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

Boxed or Unboxed?

Pedro-Tober #2

Inspired by @alyssamariag and @norththelemon I've decided to feature curated pics/art, juxtaposed with fics and AI inspired Bitmoji. So much artistry to celebrate this October, look at these amazing artists!

7.) @norththelemon

8.) Corona Commercial Spot

9.) IG @amakuni_s

10.) IG @floballestra

11.) Max Phillips; Bloodsucking Witch

12.) IG: vannessadraws

Pedro-Tober Masterlist

Bloodsucking Witch

It's Spooky Season and Moody Max has been rarin' to go! I just watched "Blood Sucking Bastards" and have been enjoying so much Halloween material like Dracula, The Discovery of Witches and Interview With a Vampire, it seemed only preternatural to try my hand at horror!

Triggers: HORROR! All the things you'd expect; blood, witchcraft, vampirism, smut, allusions to death, mind control, dubcon all around, profanity, alcohol, questionable power dynamics (all set in the workplace), fingering, masturbation...gosh we really covered a lot. Pedge was feeling naughty...

In a lot of ways, this year had never been better. Sales had skyrocketed with your leadership expertise, company morale was higher than ever, and you had become nearly accustomed to being a vampire. Truth be told, the latter part of that arrangement had proven more challenging, but Max had provided a tremendous amount of professional support and personal direction. Granted, much of that mentorship had transpired through mind control, but you had no immediate complaints.

Living a life as a successful businesswoman and CEO had been taxing to say the least. It wasn’t until procuring Max as an exciting Chief of Operations, that you stepped into the full height of your professional prowess. It did come at a cost. No more lounging around at the beach. Difficult to do your make up in a mirror that no longer reflected your countenance. And the sex. The sex was mind-blowing, but you really wished you had more to contribute. Bossing people around for the majority of your adult life had always come naturally, but with tremendous isolation. It wasn’t until Max circumnavigated your willpower that your sexuality REALLY came into fruition. Put mildly, you had no idea that type of liberation was possible, until  Max completely overrided your ability to say no. It was hawt. No more manipulations or wondering about their intentionality. Max’s desires were perfectly clear, as he rummaged around the recesses of your own, and you found yourself in a strange intimacy that finally scratched the hidden itch you had never articulated.

But what could you give back? Max had provided company betterment, empowering sex and vampiric immortality. What was your contribution to this relationship? Was Max a better vampire, being with you, when he could have any other vampire at his fingertips? Your cold dead heart beat a little less, with the knowledge that Max had infused your life with the passion and vitality of murderous lust, and you longed for some way to repay him. Yours was a strange tale of enigma and voracity, but compelling nonetheless.

Sitting at your high rise office, you chewed nervously at a Bic #2 Ticonderoga Pencil. What to give to the man who has everything? You mindlessly stood, unbidden, at your desk, feeling the throbbing urge of control, beckoning you to Max’s nearby office. You sighed with contentment, no longer fretting away the office hours in doldrum. What new adventure would Max have on the horizon? Afternoon delight? Company firings? The new delicatessen on Third and Main? The options were endless, as you mindlessly breezed through the hallway, catching your non-reflection in the glass covered entryway.

Enter.

This was the most seductive of intercoms, and you didn’t even need an office memo. You straightened your gray business skirt, hoisting your breasts up voluptuously, hoping that Max once again ripped through your new red negligee, specifically worn for this occasion. Jerking the door open you found him forebodingly poised behind the massive mahogany office desk, with his feet propped lazily upon it.

Shut the door.

You smiled mischievously, unable to contain your excitement. If HR knew about your particular situation…it wouldn’t matter whatsoever. They were vampires too. You hypnotically floated towards his desk, sinking into the thick leather chair and crossing your legs temptingly. 

“Drink?” he finally intoned, motioning to the small bar available to his right. 

“It’s 11am Max” you drawled, dangling your red stiletto heel loosely off the tip of your toe.

“Who the fuck cares?” he jested. “Never stopped us before” he motioned for you to grab him a snifter, as you felt your body drawn upwards, gravitating towards the golden liquid.

“Am I just operating as your waitress today, or did you NEED me for something else?” you questioned, adding ice to the small glass and pouring a shot.

“We have a new exciting opportunity in the Oregon offices and I didn’t want to send any lackey for such an auspicious occasion. I’d go myself, but let’s be honest; the office would completely run amok without my hand’s on attention…” he arrogantly boasted, patting his lap for your curvaceous body to sit atop.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, stuttering slightly in his direction and plopping down atop his eternally hard length. “Are you ever satiated?” you growled, tipping the golden liquid into his mouth as his eyes hungrily devoured the contours of your neck.

“Not around you, Buttercup” he snarled, his eyes flashing a mysterious red tint for one millisecond before downing the shot in one languid gulp.

“Any special instructions?” you whispered into his ear, rolling your hips slowly over his slacks and licking at his icy cold neck into the angular point of his knife-like jaw.

“Try not to have too much fun without me?” his eyebrows shot up as he pursed his lips in a feigned innocence, reaching into his desk for the first class ticket to Salem. You noticed your black negligee from last week’s business meeting, clandestinely housed in his office drawer.

“My drawers in your drawer?” you teased, batting your eyelashes sensuously. He growled into your neck, grazing his fangs over the feather light sensitivity of your skin. 

“I can smell you from here” he moaned, aggressively pushing two fingers past the waistline of your skirt and digging into your hip.

“Max we don’t have time…” you pouted, already feeling the warm tentacles of his mind wrapping around your volition. 

“As the Chief of Operations I encourage all of our employees to make time for important preparation and business acumen. Plus, I really wanna fuck you on this mahogany desk again…” Max smiled into your sternum, lifting you up and depriving you of your skirt in one fell motion.

You leaned back on the desk, spread eagle before him, as he reached for the intercom. “Janet, hold all my calls for the next 15 minutes…” he smirked, dragging his icy digits across the lips of your heat causing you to buck sporadically atop the pile of manilla folders and notebooks.

“The delegates from Microsoft are waiting for you in the foyer…” Janet’s tinny voice garbled from the desktop intercom.

“I SAID HOLD ALL MY FUCKING RESPONSIBILITIES, JANET!” Max yelled, loud enough for Janet to hear through the walls, let alone the crackling intercom.

“Got it, boss” Janet timidly replied as Max ripped the buttons of your suit jacket, exposing your new red lace negligee for his lustful eyes.

“Fuuuuuuck meeeee” he sighed, grabbing your knees and aggressively shoving them to either side.

“That’s my line” you gasped salaciously, feeling every thought ebb and flow out of your littered mind. This was the part you liked best. Sex before Max had always been a mental obstacle course of confusion and conflict. Now the only internal conflict was that you felt guilty about not feeling guilty. Surrendering your body and mind to Max’s control, was the most liberating sexual experience you ever had. You wished he could experience the same delights.

Sound.

A sinfully loud moan escaped your lips as Max thrust two powerful fingers inside you. You barely registered the embarrassment, as your mind absolved itself of all choice.

Enjoy yourself.

An electric shock of desire throbbed through your entire being as your body responded to his galvanizing hypnotic urges.

You’re going to cum. And you’re going to cum hard and fast.

You felt your body careening out of your control, heaving and pulsing around you in ripples as he circled your heat and your clit with expert motions. It was no secret that vampires were fast, but this was unexpected, even for you. You screamed euphorically as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, jettisoning your body into his powerful grasp in a full spasm of delight. He pumped his fingers through you slower and slower as tears ran down your face sloppily.

I’m thinking sushi for lunch, right? his voice echoed in your mind, which you barely acknowledged, smiling lazily and collapsing into his embrace, nodding in the affirmative.

Ah, the perks of being a CEO.

You trotted down the fairway, bright red suitcase in tow for the red eye. How appropriate. Clad in head to toe apparel to avoid even the smallest hint of sunlight you arrived in Salem, Oregon for the business conference Max had arranged for personnel development. You teetered off the evening flight at 3am in the morning, spotting a gaggle of giggling youth, dressed in witches costumes and goth-like makeup. 

You grinned brusquely, remembering the time of year, and Salem’s claim to fame. Witches indeed, you reasoned, wondering what evening activities you might pursue, once your professional responsibilities were done. You spent the day alternating between Zoom sessions and indoor business meetings in the posh hotel located in downtown Salem. Prior to your metamorphoses you never would have thought vampirism to be maintainable, but Max had taught you the inner workings of the coven lifestyle, and you had taken to it remarkably fast. Never a morning person, and already partial to black, the only sacrifice had been your veganism which made a sad departure. As the day’s activities came to an end, you changed into jeans and a maroon top, eager to explore the mysteries of Salem night life and take in the cities charms.

You drifted into a lazy pub crawl, followed by a night tour of historical Salem locations. Looking around at the eclectic group, you saw more witches, ghouls and Halloween vampires, toting plastic jack o’lanterns and cheap broomsticks. The tour guide theatrically droned, “A majority of people accused and convicted of witchcraft were nearly 80% women. The belief was that women were inherently sinful and more susceptible to damnation than men were. Women's souls were seen as unprotected in their so-called "weak and vulnerable bodies". Some likely believed they had truly given in to the Devil, however some women might have confessed in order to spare their own lives. Women who did not conform to the norms of society were more likely to be the target of an accusation, especially those who were unmarried or did not have children….”.

You pursed your lips cynically. Check and check. A slinky black cat materialized in your path, weaving its slinky body between your ankles and trotting down the nearby alley. A flash of light caught your eye as you thought you observed a young, lanky teenage girl with flaxen hair beckoning to you conspiratorially.

You already had dinner, but you were intrigued. Watching the tour guide lead your small group in the opposite direction, you headed towards the darkened alley as the lithe, fairy like creature summoned you to a small apothecary like entryway. The cat’s feathery black tale disappeared inside the stoney residence, as a small bell cheerily chimed in welcome. Max had told you to enjoy yourself, and you were very good at taking direction. You hesitantly poised at the doorway, curious for where the evening’s events were taking you. Opening the door lightly you were immediately greeted by billowy plumes of lavender, soil, eucalyptus, and a myriad of fragrances you couldn’t immediately place.

The darkened apothecary was cheery in demeanor, as a bristling fire hummed at the hearth, and an old tape recorder from the 20th century was playing a frothing beat of Alanis Morisette. You took in the twinkling wind chimes and bowl of crystals, looking around the room in wonder. There was something vibrational about the atmosphere, and you wondered if vampires had found themselves in the previous trials and tribulations of Salem. The cat mysteriously re-appeared at the front desk, as the waif like teenager popped up from behind the cash register.

“How might I assist, young one?” she melodically questioned, drawing her fingers across the purring feline and gesturing around the incense filled room. You quirked your head confusedly, wondering at her demographic. Young one? You were easily 20 years her senior, but there was a maturity about her that distorted the atmosphere around her. You stepped up to the counter, gazing at the cornucopia of enigmatic items sprawled out before you.

“You are special” she ventured, gazing appraisingly into your eyes and biting her lower lip. “Many lives reside inside of you…” she enigmatically prophecied, breathing deeply and looking over a small library at her fingertips. You swallowed dryly, feeling somewhat naked and observed as her fingers danced lightly over the various books and scrolls in the glass case. “Might I offer you some light reading material?” she asked, selecting a small black book that seemed to be archaic and from a bygone era. 

“Please” you rasped, becoming slightly intoxicated with the heady shop fumes and humming thrum of the black cat, butting its head up against your chest.

“It’s on the house” she inexplicably offered, her eyes flashing a millisecond of green before disappearing up the stairwell, the cat scampering after her playfully. You fingered the edges of the antiquated text with curiosity as Alanis Morisette sang,

“You're essentially my employee and I like you having to depend on me. You’re kind of my protege and one day, you’ll say you learned all you know from me. I know you depend on me like a young thing would to a guardian I know you sexualize me like a young thing would and I think I like it…”.

Tucking yourself into the nook of the first class recliner, you fingered the glowing incantations beneath your hand. You were delighted to discover their pulsing energy as you ran your fingertips over the delicate embossing. What did this mean? You tried to pronounce the Latin and French dialects under your breath, and felt a strange warmth emanating from your chest like a tether.

Almost immediately, the person opposite you in the aisle sat bolt upright, eyes ablaze and then sank back in their own recliner, asleep again. 

That was odd, you mused. What did that young waif mean by “many lives lived”? Was she referring to reincarnation? Did she somehow sense your vampiric energy? You had to admit, even during your collegiate years, you had always possessed a preternatural ability to sway individuals to your willpower. You had always interpreted it as leadership ability, and meeting Max had upended any previous assumptions about life in general. But was there more to your diverse and unique existence than anyone had surmised? Is there a world where you were both a vampire AND a burgeoning witch? You clasped the book tenderly to your chest. There was only one way to find out.

Relishing in the clickety clack of your stilleto’d heels you paraded into the offices for the evening shift. You were excited to regale Max with your Salem adventures, and curious if he would notice a difference in your general demeanor. You’d taken it as a good sign that several neighborhood cats had crossed your path upon arrival, but it seemed too good to be expected. Could one woman be so benefitted in their life, as to experience TWO supernatural events in one existence? Only time would tell, as you jerked the large door open and confidently strutted into your CEO persona.

The office was a flurry of activity as vampiric energy raged brightest in the evening hours. You had no sooner deposited yourself in your office, then a magnetic pull alerted you to Max’s desires.

Come to me.

Your heart fluttered in nervous anticipation, smoothing the gray pant suit that was covering a newly purchased pink negligee. At this rate, you would need to liquidate Victoria’s Secret if Max insisted on his unsatiated passions. No matter. Perhaps you could quell the tide, or at least give Max a taste of his own prowess. You languidly drifted down the hallway and paused at his office door.

Enter.

Smiling broadly, you found Max curiously unaltered, seemingly sitting in exactly the same position and in exactly the same suit, knowing that he wore the same apparel everyday to work. You poured yourself into the leather chair opposite him, noting a quirky expression dotting his eyebrows.

“You seem different” he bluntly stated, licking his lips dryly and flashing the smallest portion of his porcelain veneered fangs.

“I enjoyed my trip tremendously, and I’m excited to share some of the new professional skills I’ve acquired…” you began.

“Would you…?” cutting Max off at the onset you made a beeline for the bar, interrupting him.

“Would you like a drink?” you questioned, pouring one for yourself first.

Max bit his lip voraciously, eyeing the curvature of your fit, bloodthirsty body. “Thought you’d never ask” he quipped, enthusiastically leaping to his feet, and sidling up behind you seductively. He drew a line of tickling fancy with his nose along your shoulder blade, as you drolly poured two glasses of whiskey.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for the professional acumen and killer instinct you’ve instilled in me during our time together” you teased, offering him the liquid courage, and mentally refreshing your incantations.

“It was nothing” Max bantered, downing the drink in one rapacious gulp and digging his fingers into the meat of your ass. “I know a good opportunity when I see one” he boasted, lining his hips up with yours and bumping his length against your pubic bone.

Get on the couch.

You gasped slightly, his voice echoing particularly loudly in your ears at this close proximity. His eyes flashed bright red before dulling to a sexual glaze. This was it. If you had the ability to give Max some of the fortitude he had so richly provided you, your life was about to become even more varied than you could have believed. Sauntering over to the leather chaise you flung your high heels into the corner and began unzipping the back of your pantsuit. Max removed his suit jacket quickly, standing above you poised to pounce. Something about his demeanor looked particularly stressed, and you wondered if your absence had contributed to the force of his desperation.

Get on your knees.

Feeling the seductive threads of his hypnotic stare, you closed your eyes to focus your full mental willpower on your response.

You first.

You thought you heard the slightest trace of Max gasping, wondering if you had been remotely successful in your first attempt. Fluttering your eyelids slightly and gazing up at him with curiosity, you noticed his eyes dilate to full crimson lust.

“What did you say?” he whispered, pausing his sexual armada just long enough to undo his leather belt with a swift motion, holding it in one hand.

Get on YOUR knees, you countered, suddenly flush with the thrill of possible empowerment. You caught the slightest stutter in his gait as he braced himself against the couch indeterminately.

Max’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly, dragging a finger across your bottom lip imploringly. You felt the tendrils of Max’s mind control begin to thread through your personhood, almost as though holding hands with your newfound mental abilities. It was a curious wrestling match of intimacy as you mentally grasped one another tenaciously.

I said, GET ON YOUR KNEES, you thrust the full force of your mental acuity across the chasm-like mindscape, hearing the smallest of whimpers escape from Max’s throat.

A moan hovered at the entrance of his mouth as you closed your eyes and muttered the first incantation you had attempted earlier that day.

Hearing a soft thud, you opened your eyes to see Max’s shining countenance, hovering just below your face, from the floor below. His Adam’s Apple dipped noiselessly in his throat as he began panting doggedly.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, unzipping his pants slowly and furrowing his brow determinedly. “Is that you?” he begged, a small smirk teasing at the corners of his fanged mouth.

Pleasure yourself, you commanded, drunk with the power lust of newfound passion, and excited to finally give Max the equality he so readily deserved.

With lightning speed, he removed his length from his boxer briefs and began pumping with abandon, lolling his head back in pleasure and allowing you to hold his torso in place with his tie.

More sound, you growled internally hearing a desperate cry of euphoria escape his liberated lips as he pumped more furiously. “Thank youuuuuu” he droned, giving in to the orgasmic energy pulsing over his exhausted frame.

Cum for me, you commanded, uttering a quick incantation under your breath for added effect watching his delighted reaction coupled with moans and cries of exuberance. You pulled his body into your embrace, waiting for him to catch his breath and steady himself. Feeling his body finally relax against you, you sighed with relief as he nipped the smallest of bites at your neck, drawing a trickle of blood down your sternum.

“Did you like that?” you batted your eyelashes, gazing into the red of his pupils blown wide with desire. Lapping up the honeyed sweetness of your blood he moaned emphatically into your neck, as you bit at his shoulder blade.

Hissing with pleasure he shuddered in your embrace, pulling back with newly discovered respect and admiration. “Professional development is so fucking essential for workplace morale” he observed, flashing his fangs attractively and smashing his lips into yours with a passionate kiss.

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers

Moody Witch

Ha! Okay Pedge and I wanted to try our hands at some Spooky Season Fics, so this weekend we are going to attempt our first Moody Max short. We just watched "Bloodsucking Bastards" and it was a hoot.

Also stay tuned for the Roll-a-Trope Challenge, Episode Five of "Pike's Place; Nightmare Before Christmas". Everything is starting to get intense, it's the Season of the Witch y'all!

Pike's Place A Christmas Story

Thanks to @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" this dynamic duo is going strong till Christmas Day. I've started a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent! New episode every couple weeks.

Triggers: tipsy heroine, smut, Christmas galore in sugary sweetness, discussions of ex, pandemic reflections, profanity, teeny tiny cut, mention of a gun...this one is pretty tame...so far...

Series Masterlist

Pike felt the pulse of your thighs holding him securely in place, as you gripped his wrists, gently pulling them behind his back. His eyelids fluttered momentarily, surprised at this forward change in tonality. You began lazily circling your hips over his gray sweatpants. Somehow his eyes were closed, but he was seeing every detail of your rosy complexion. Every freckle. Every crease. Every sumptuous plump and wrinkle was etched in his mind as his hips jerked forward into your hold. “M-more…” he stuttered, gulping loudly, slightly ashamed at his unabashed reaction. “More pleassssse…” he hissed, hearing the smirk as your voice retorted, “I’m the one calling the shots, Agent”. His head lolled lazily back as he tried to focus on his breathing, and not the feel of your breasts bouncing lightly against his bare chest. “More, more, more…” he mumbled incoherently as you increased your tempo. Pike was pure sensation. Embodied pleasure. A flame, alight under the weight of your soft body that was cascading and rippling atop him. “Do you like your Christmas present?” you drolled, as Pike began to paw at your chest with ravenous attention, gripping the pink lace of your negligee between his teeth and holding you at the back. “Yes…yes…yes…” he droned into your sternum. He opened his eyes to find…the reprimanding face of his ex, now standing above him, with a snow shovel. 

“Lisbon?” he countered, grabbing at the blanket in his lap and pulling it up to his chin. “Can’t you just let go?” she sarcastically questioned, pushing the snow shovel against his chest and digging in slightly. “When will you ever learn?” she growled, slowly morphing into the cartoon version of The Snow Miser, until her head bumped into the cabin’s ceiling. 

“What the hell?” Pike shimmied backwards, now in a full suit and grappling with three heavy suitcases.

“Ho, ho, ho and Merry Christmas!” a loud voice boomed from the outdoors, until Santa kicked the cabin’s door down, cutting an aggressive figure in bright red security apparel and smoking a cigar. 

“It’s not time yet!” Pike shouted with conviction, dropping all three suitcases and reaching for his gun, only to find a small Nerf Blaster in the holster. “Get out of my house! I’m…ON THE ART SQUAD!!!”, he bellowed attempting to pelt Santa with insignificant foam balls that exploded into tinsel.

“Have you been naughty or nice???” Santa boomed, reaching for a large red satchel and throwing it over Pike in one motion. Pike wrestled in the dark, helplessly shouting to get your attention, his feet slipping underneath him in the silky satchel. “Ho, ho, ho and Merry Christmas!!!!”

Pike jerked awake in the dull morning’s light, his heart thumping wildly in his chest sporadically. Rubbing his face with fervor, he reached for his phone haphazardly, knocking a wine glass to the cabin’s floor. “Damn” he whispered, afraid to make too much noise while you slept in the upstairs bedroom. Sleeping on the living room couch had been the obvious choice for the last few nights, but maybe he needed to scale back on the Merlot. If it was going to be fueling his nightmarish dreams, he probably should stick to hot chocolate from now on. He smiled with chagrin, looking at the small mess, and mostly finished plates of pasta adorning the nearby coffee table. Pike was meticulously neat, almost to a fault, but the last few days he couldn’t help himself, relaxing into an easy routine with his newfound guest. The pink motorist. You.

He smiled to himself, carefully sliding into his morning slippers and padding around the shards of glass to get a broom and shovel. He shivered slightly in the morning’s air and abrupt memory of his ex standing before him with her own shovel, pointing an accusatory finger. Pike was no psychologist, but he knew enough about artistic interpretation to divine his nightmarish subconscious. Even fictional exes had a point. The definition of idiocy was utilizing the same technique and expecting different results. He shuffled quietly through the living room to begin tidying up. Despite evidence to the contrary, his experience had taught him, that even with the best of intentions, love doesn’t just come knocking on your door. There’s a constant complexity of timing, experiences, desires…to say nothing of blizzards, exes and…whatever that was. He shook his head with self-deprecation. Get your head out of the sky and back in the snow, Pike, he chastised himself, sweeping up the remnants of broken glass, reaching for the final remainder…

Stretching like a cat and blinking sleepily into the friendly sunshine you smiled conspiratorially hugging Pike’s shirt to yourself indulgently and breathing in the fading woodsy scents. Pike had been kind enough to retrieve your luggage from Bessie the (now broken-down) Hyundai, but you always managed to change into his pajamas from the first wind swept evening at “Pike’s Place”. You bit your lower lip with confusion. How were you so comparatively unbothered? It had now been 72 hours since your first snowsuit-ed appearance at Pike’s doorstep, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Once you ascertained your relative safety, the last three days had snowballed into a cozy blur, falling into an easy routine, learning about your welcoming cabin mate, working from home…

You paused. I’m not working from home, I’m working from HIS home. Or home away from home? What am I even doing, and why am I so delighted by this turn of events? You huffed a sigh of confusion, relishing the memory of coffee, cookies and movies that had accompanied your easy friendship with Marcus over the last several days. Agent. Pike. You rolled your eyes at your momentary mental lapse. Things weren’t perfect. You had several digital arguments with the mechanic down the hill, a bumpy start to your unexpected stay, and the most snowfall Big Bear had seen in a decade. You thought of Bessie, now completely covered in drift, shivering in the whitened landscape. But you couldn’t care less. Christmas Eve was in 24 hours and you were stranded with Marcus until the unforeseeable future….and you couldn’t have been more enamored. It had been a difficult negotiation of self as you realized how rusty your post-pandemic social skills had become. There was the looming presence of his ghostly ex and your own insecurities, but with every emotional flinch, Pike seemed completely unawares, wrapping you in a holiday blanket of friendship, safety and chocolate chip cookies. It was almost too good to be believed, and you felt yourself waiting for the other Christmas stocking to drop. But maybe you could take a page out of Pike’s book and believe in a Christmas miracle. Maybe you WERE the hero in your own story and this “made for you” Hallmark extravaganza could finally get started without you ruining your own rom-com. Your eyes twitched to the door with surprise at the muffled sounds from the living room.

You heard Marc…Pike’s sleep-muddled voice tinged with emotion.

“More…Yes, yes, yes…” you listened, unsure of what you eavesdropping on. “Lisbon?”

Shit. Was that his ex? Your memories flashed on the small photograph you had accidentally stumbled upon in his briefcase. Good Lord, are they talking on the phone? Oh my God, would she come and visit for Christmas? Wouldn’t THAT be my luck, you pondered. Maybe the threat of the ex wasn’t quite so distant as you’d hoped. You flung the blankets off, shivering in the newfound cold, your legs mostly bare under Pike’s large flannel pajama top, searching for your morning slippers. What were you hoping for? you chided yourself, padding around the room looking for a change of clothes, and eyeing the door clandestinely. You could listen a little bit…just to…you know…stay informed? You pouted grumpily, shuffling across the room and pressing your ear against the door. 

“What the hell?” Pike raised his voice a bit. “Get out of my house!”

You audibly gasped. Was she already here? Pike sounded PISSED. Okay, score one for us you quickly appraised, before marveling at her bitchy bravado. How dare she show up on Marcus’ doorstep for the holidays, after breaking his heart! The irony of that accusation didn’t escape you before hearing a crash of glass and raising up to your full height of 5’3”. Oh hell no. Where’s my crowbar?

With all the force a small redhead could muster you nearly flung yourself down the stairwell, crowbar in hand, prepared for anything except the vision you found.

“StopStopStopStopStop! There’s glass!” Pike cautioned, holding up a distressed hand ornamented by a small trickle of blood. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” you gulped, tiptoeing down the stairwell carefully and crouching at Pike’s side. 

“Just clumsy” he chuckled, before you grabbed his wrist, eyeing the small cut appraisingly. Without even thinking, you popped his finger into your mouth and began sucking lightly. Oh my God. You had never been a morning person and the adrenaline of the moment had completely overridden your common sense, but this was…Your eyes rounded to small saucers as Pike’s mouth dropped open in surprise. You both froze mid-moment as Pike’s eyes drifted down your body, gazing at your freckled knees and silky skin. His length tantalizingly twitched in his gray sweatpants, as he desperately prayed you hadn’t noticed. You had.

“Are you wearing my pajamas?” Pike finally rasped, pulling his finger ever so slowly out of your mouth and using it to tuck a hair behind your ear.

“They’re very well made” you heard yourself respond, as though from another universe, balanced precariously close to Marcus’ curious expression. “DO YOU HAVE A FIRST AID KIT?” you yelled into his face with overt concern as Pike nearly fell backwards in surprise.

“Of course!” he quipped. “Check the study if you want, I think I’ll probably survive the blood loss thanks to your…quick thinking…” he smiled as your cheeks reddened. You gulped with embarrassment, making fast work of finding the first aid kit as Pike cleared the glass from the living room.

You carefully padded into the kitchen, sitting at the nearby barstool as Pike drifted in front of you. “S’okay Doc, it’s just a flesh wound” Pike joked, leaning against the counter and positioning himself rather closely between your spread knees. You cleared your throat with arousal, attempting to focus on the task at hand, grabbing some anti-bacterial. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Agent” you smirked, unknowingly mirroring Pike’s clandestine dreamscape as he shifted awkwardly. You held his hand in yours, applying the spray and then blowing over his finger seductively, watching the light goosebumps splay across his forearms.

“I thought I heard voices downstairs, was somebody here? Did the storm lighten up?” you wondered, trying to get a read on Pike’s expression.

As though shaking himself from a daze Pike sighed heavily, answering, “No! I was just…uh…I talk in my sleep…” he grinned, turning his lower body slightly towards the counter. This was a surprising way to wake up and he wasn’t 100% sure if the rest of his body had gotten the message.

You nodded, peering out the window at the new layer of snow drifting from the sky. “It’s even worse!” you exclaimed, placing a bandaid around Pike’s pointer finger as he winced pathetically. “Sorry…” you apologized, planting a feather light kiss on the tip of his finger. 

Wow. I’m really laying it on thick, you thought. But seeing Marcus’ eyes crinkle appreciatively banished any self doubt that might have remained.

“Well, here at Pike’s Place, we remunerate friendly bedside manner with copious coffee. I assume you’d like your regular order m’lady?” Pike jested, squeezing your arm lightly with gratitude.

“Absolutely” you sighed, happy to re-start your daily routine. Somehow the last three days had transpired the way you wished the pandemic might have. Easy conversation as you worked from your laptop. Taking a lunch break mid-day you would join Pike around the small tv and flickering hearth, marveling at the manilla folders and envelopes of art curators, recent cases and photographs. Between laughter and mouthfuls of tuna fish sandwiches Pike was already teaching you a lot about art dealers and policing the black market. And as you finished your evening work, you and Pike would always watch another movie fueled by your questionable cooking attempts and…one too many bottles of Merlot. Is this how other people had waited out the pandemic? You reminded yourself to stop the comparison game and just be grateful for the moment you had. Tomorrow, Bessie could spring to life, or the blizzard could die down, and…there goes Christmas.

You swallowed, watching Pike’s fit form shuffle into the kitchen, pulling out two mugs and heating up the skillet for pancakes. Your heart lurched violently in your chest realizing that you had started placing an expectation on celebrating Christmas…with him. It wasn’t even a hope you’d articulated to yourself until this very moment, though you’d already cautioned your parents that things were proceeding unexpectedly and they should make other plans. But this was more than a haphazard circumstance, this was steadily becoming that aforementioned Hallmark Movie, but you weren’t sure you were up to heroine material.

Pike turned towards you, “Sugar?”

You frowned pensively, once again trying to reconcile the many doubts floating through your vision.

“Hey, what happened?” Pike teased. “Tired of my pancakes already? We can have…I think there’s a waffle iron here somewhere” he started rummaging around through the cabinets.

“No, I love your pancakes!” you piped up, “I was just…thinking…about Christmas” you trailed off, unsure of how much could be readily shared.

Pike paused reflectively, “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I’m sure, being stuck here with a complete stranger for the holidays wasn’t your dream vacation” he grimaced, pouring the arabica roast into an old fashioned coffee maker.

You stilled, surprised that Pike had somehow drawn the opposite conclusion from your emotional reality, but unsure how to convey the disconnect. “I mean, you’re not a complete stranger” you joked, tossing a bandage at his back to get his attention.

Pike turned, his face full of theatrical gravitas. “Ma’am that is not entirely hygienic hospital behavior at Pike’s Place” he shut the coffee machine with a flourish, stooping to pick up the tissue. “I was thinking…” he stopped abruptly, desperate to turn over a new leaf, but also conflicted regarding your confession. You waited, breath poised as the cogs turned in Pike’s head.

 “Thinking was your first mistake, Agent. I dare you to tell me that last thought. I double dog dare ya!” you teased from last night’s viewing of “A Christmas Story”.

Pike chuckled throwing up his hands in supplication. “I was determined to sulk around this Christmas until…” he gestured towards you, as you pantomimed a theatrical bow. “But as you might have guessed, Christmas is a big deal in the Pike household…”.

You gasped audibly, clutching your chest with dramatics. “What? From the apron and cookies and general holiday enthusiasm, I NEVER would have guessed!” you taunted, smelling the chocolatey aroma of coffee percolating in the sunshine infused kitchen.

“And lately, it’s almost like…Christmas is barreling towards us, gaining speed, and I just wish there was something I could do about it. For you. Or us. I mean, you” Pike tripped over the finish line, quickly resuming his cooking activities without ruining the entire proposition. Your face burst into a Cheshire-like grin. Of course. This didn’t seem like a man who was trying to get rid of you. Marcus seemed like the contemporary embodiment of Father Christmas, and he’d probably been waiting for such a moment as this to test the frigid waters. YOUR frigid waters if you’d ever loosen up.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked innocently enough, until Pike swirled around, running out of the kitchen enthusiastically.

“I’m so glad you asked, I’ve written down some ideas!” he nearly bounded into the study, rummaging around through his notebooks and displaying it proudly before you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you twinkled, skimming the lengthy list of possible Christmas activities to enjoy, during a blizzard.

“Just…since…you got here” Pike admitted, running back to get the brewing coffee before it bubbled over. “I mean…just brainstorming is all…we don’t have to…” Pike set about finishing breakfast as you read.

If there was a ten step program to celebrating a Hallmark Christmas this was it. You had to give it to him; Pike KNEW Christmas. And at this rate, Pike knew YOU. The only reason you hadn’t suggested these things was because you had turned into the Grinch. But no longer. 

“I like it. Work with you’ve got” you whispered, as Pike placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of you with questioning eyes and curiosity. 

“Too much? Not enough?” he joked, as you fingered the impressive drawings in the margins.

“I think it’s perfect”.

It looked like the pink snowsuit was about to get a dubious refrain as you and Pike endeavored to find Christmas in the snowy tundra. You bore a striking similarity to Randy Parker in your pillowy snowsuit, oversized boots and Lenny Kravitz style scarf. Between slipping and sliding out of Pike’s helpful grasp, you finally collapsed in a heap in the powdery snow, flailing your arms like a small child.

“I believe I am currently fulfilling Number 5 on your Christmas List” you giggled “though I’m not sure how many snow angels are bright pink!” you laughed as Pike gazed at you wonderingly.

“I believe it’s listed as Number 4, but you won’t be penalized for a technicality” Pike nearly jumped on top of you, amidst your squeals as he rolled to the side making his own snow angel beside you. A small, ill-formed snowball caught him across the neck, peppering his chest with an explosion of icy sensation as he sat up, forebodingly.

“Oh, is that the game you wanna play, California?” he cautioned, rolling to one side and compacting a large, skilled arsenal as you froze mid-play. 

“I surrender!” you tittered, throwing your hands above your head in mock surprise. “That wasn’t me. That was…Scrooge! The Grinch! I saw him sneaking around the cabin…” Pike lunged in your direction, caging you in against his body, poised to stuff a handful of snow down the front of your suit. Your eyes glimmered temptingly, simultaneously hopeful and terrified, as he thought better of it, throwing the snowball over his shoulder and offering you a hand up.

“I will not be dissuaded, Pink” he joked, attempting to pull you to your feet amidst giggles and protestations. “Even the Grinch will not deter us as we quest for Christmas!” Pike finally hoisted you upright, pulling you into his body closely, the smell of coffee, mint and pine tingling your nose coldly. Your lips numbed in anticipation. Was he going to kiss you? He held your gaze for what felt like an eternity, as the snowy landscape somehow burned warmly. Licking his lips and taking a deep breath he pulled back, holding your lower back with a steadying hand. “Now to find our Christmas Tree” he announced, trudging towards the woodshed, ostensibly to get an axe of some kind.

That wasn’t just in your head, right? you mused, watching his athletic form cut a path through the waist high snowdrift towards a patch of smaller trees. Was your buddy, Pike just playing it safe? Or did Marcus feel the same atmospheric crackle that you just did? Once again you flashed on the photograph of Lisbon, somehow juxtaposed by a sorrowful image of you pacing the floor in your self-imposed, pandemic quarantine. Were you so desperate for connection you were imagining things? Or was there something more between you and Pike? Pike beamed broadly from about 50 feet away, shaking a small pine free of dotty snowflakes and cupping his hand to his mouth, “What d’ya think, Pink? Is this the one?”

You smiled to yourself clandestinely. Oh yes Agent Pike, this might be the one indeed.

Pike dragged a small pine tree over the threshold as he simultaneously attempted to corral your giggling, unsure footing into the cabin’s cozy interior. Pike slammed the door shut, grinning broadly as you slipped wildly backwards, grabbing onto to his waist comically.

“Okayeeee California! Thank God we’re not sending you back out on the road quite yet! We’ve got a Christmas to assemble, and you look like Bambi on ice…”

You were having trouble catching your breath, a steady stream of uncontrollable laughter racking your ribs and threatening your bladder. ALL of that pent up pandemic pressure was FINALLY starting to dissipate, and you were starting to feel euphoric in the possibility. Pike pulled you to your feet, unzipping the hood of your snowsuit, his finger lingering at your sternum for a moment. 

“Sorry I’m a little weak-knee’d” you uttered breathlessly as Pike looked down at your blue-tinged lips. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob painfully in his throat as he begrudgingly pulled back with a doleful smile. 

“Um…Happy to get you back on your feet” he stuttered, searching for the rusted Christmas Tree stand in the hallway closet. You took a deep breath attempting to rally your resolve. You couldn’t tell if Pike reciprocated or was just being cordial. Heaven’s knows you found yourself in a unique situation, but you didn’t want to make the same mistakes from the past, becoming so isolated that you couldn’t reach out and accept a gift that was right in front of you. Somehow, you’d have to ascertain what the situation was with the ex. Did he still love her? Why did they break up? Or was this just another case of slipping into the friend zone? As your cold exterior had begun to melt, was it already too late, or could things be salvaged, much like this MacGyver’d Christmas? There was only one way to find out.

“What do you think?” Pike stepped back from his quick work, admiring the victorious and homey tree that wobbled proudly next to the hearth. “A Christmas miracle in the making!”

“It’s perfect” you beamed, excited to see where the evening’s festivities would take you. 

“Moving on to the arts and crafts portion of our day” Pike teased, “I think there is some kind of bird or ham hiding in the outdoor freezer, which means all that remains is finding…the perfect gift” Pike paused dramatically.

You burst into another bout of laughter, unsure of his meaning, “Do you have a Macy’s hiding out back that I’m unaware of?”

Pike rolled his eyes comedically as you dusted off your snow boots and plopped unceremoniously onto the couch to defrost.

“Pink, you can’t have a Christmas without gifts, we just have to think outside of the box. Literally” he sat down next to you, propping his feet up on the coffee table and gazing at the crackling fire pensively.

“I’m gonna need to know way more about my target audience before I go shopping” you mused. “I’m fairly certain Amazon doesn’t deliver via chimney, and unless you are pining for a crowbar, my options are limited” you paused. “Twenty questions?”

“Shoot” Pike teased.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue”.

“Music genre?”

“Jazz”.

Your eyebrows cocked upward. Noted.

“Favorite food?”

“Depends. Are you cooking?”

You kicked Pike lightly on the shin as he began chuckling.

“Best gift you ever received?”

The atmosphere in the room stiffened slightly as Pike readjusted on the couch. “Uhhhh…well…Lisbon gave me a signed screenplay of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, last year…it’s…uh…in storage now…” he trailed off, disappointed at the finality of the story. Your breath caught in your throat hesitantly. This was it. This was the information you needed, but you didn’t want to push things when so much of the day had been steeped in perfection.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t have to…” you began, until Pike waved you off, gesticulating.

“If we’re going to be celebrating the holidays together, I probably need to revisit Christmas Past. It’s just a little…embarrassing…” he nudged the coffee table with a small pout.

“More embarrassing than isolating yourself completely for two years?” you encouraged, willing Pike to share anything that would offer insight. “Or was it more embarrassing than this bright pink snowsuit I can’t seem to escape, despite my best efforts?” you teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Fair enough” Pike acquiesced. “Though…I am still very partial to pink” he admitted, choosing his next words carefully. “Lisbon…my ex…just didn’t…we weren’t on the same page” he confessed, as though for the first time. His eyes took on a shine that didn’t seem entirely related to the cold. “I made some mistakes, and…read the signs wrong…and she broke it off. She’s with somebody else…who isn’t me” a momentary pained look flashed across his face before resuming its quintessential good natured complexion. “Your turn” he ventured.

“Shoot”.

“Favorite color?”

You tilted your head telepathically.

Pike tossed his hands up in surrender. “Favorite music?”

“Jazz” you pursed your lips mischievously.

“No cheating in class, please” Pike joked. “Favorite gift?”

The deep silence that stilled in your chest felt simultaneously liberating and cavernous as you realized how long it had been since the holidays felt…normal.

“Last year I had to do Christmas alone and it was really…weird” you recollected. “I finally opted to buy myself a really fancy journal so I wouldn’t feel so lonely” you shared, blushing slightly at the admission. 

“So…your best gift was…you” Pike smiled, satisfied with the description. You were a bit less satisfied, collapsing in on yourself and kicking him again, this time on the flank. 

“Shutup” you whispered, aware that in some respects, he was right.

Pike grinned knowingly and hoisted himself up with a huff, heading to the kitchen. “Time for Pike’s Place to get to work on the afternoon rush” he teased, grabbing his holiday apron and starting lunch. Your eyes narrowed ambitiously. This was the key. Lisbon might have known Pike, but she didn’t know what a gift she had in her grasp, and you weren’t going to make the same mistake. Sounds like she had dropped the ball, and not taken every advantage in front of her. This was one Christmas gift you were determined to unwrap, proving to Pike once and for all that he was more than worth the wait. 

Finally satiated in holiday magic, you and Pike laughed over crumbling sandwiches in the small dining room. Your laptop, helplessly shoved to the side, did nothing to dissuade the celebratory events as Pike spread an impressive cornucopia of magazines and newspapers to begin the “arts and crafts” portion of Christmas. Your Girl Scout badges were finally coming to fruition. Pike was annoyingly prodigious at all things artistic and had soon crafted more than a few impressive ornaments whilst regaling you with curated art insights. Lisbon was an idiot. Fuck it. YOU were Donna Reed, not in a snood and not in a pink snowsuit. You were gonna seize a page from Pike’s enthusiastic Place and grab Christmas by the balls. Or maybe Pike! Gasp. Marcus. Riiiiiight. Marcus. The force of your abrupt arousal throbbed noisily between your legs as you shifted slightly. Drawing yourself back into reality you found Pike gazing at you fixedly. You started at the intensity of his stare, hoping he wasn’t telepathically gifted.

“Getting bored?” Pike redirected, setting down the scissors and glue and looking outside at the resuming snowfall.

“Hardly” you muttered, just under your breath. The phone rang.

The phone rang?

Pike’s mouth dropped about a foot as you both froze expectantly. “What in the hell?” Pike laughed, running towards the study, barely remembering the landline that hadn’t been used in ages. “Pike’s Place, how may I direct your call?” you heard his muffled tones through the door stifling your laughter. You really had stepped back in time. The cabin grew eerily quiet as Pike spoke in hushed tones and finally hung up the phone. You swallowed noiselessly. Was something wrong? Was there a family emergency? Lisbon hadn’t reared her beautiful head again, had she? The sheer enormity of possibility stretched in front of you as Pike’s disappointed face flashed in front of you for a millisecond.

“Good news!” he exclaimed, wiping the conflicted look from his face almost immediately and sitting back down at the table. You breathed a sigh of relief, though still unsure of his unreadable reactions. “If it really is a problem with your transmission, like before, the mechanic finally ordered the CV joints and can give you a tow back into town tomorrow…” Pike delivered his monologue perfunctorily, trying to plaster a jovial smile on his otherwise lackluster expression, pausing in masked defeat. “Merry Christmas Pink, you’re free!”

You tried to hide your immediate disappointment, peering out the window to hide any blossoming tears and noting the short cessation of snowfall. “On Christmas Eve?” you cynically observed, trying to keep the harsh bite out of your tone, but reverting to a Scrooge like facade. 

“You don’t have to go to Macy’s after all!” Pike overtly chimed, a bit too melodically, settling into the silence of the anti-climax and gazing around the formerly happy cabin. The hearth crackled joyfully as “A Christmas Story” played on endless repeat on the television. Though the small Christmas Tree, devoid of ornaments seemed to slump in defeat. You bit your lower lip, gazing at the snow covered lump that was Bessie and trying to stifle a snow storm of tears hovering behind your eyes. 

“That’s wonderful news” you droned, not attempting to hide the obvious disappointment in your tone. It seemed ludicrous to indulge your now obsolete Christmas fantasies, but at what cost? You couldn’t even get to your parents in time this late in the season, and the tremendous repeated isolation seemingly stretched out before you. Another Christmas alone and perched on what was poised to be your best Christmas yet. “Guess I better get packing!” your voice cracked suddenly as you dove up the stairwell, wiping away stray tears as Pike called after you concernedly. Running up the stairs you slammed the door shut, throwing yourself on the bed dramatically. You couldn’t even stop the now steady stream of tears, muffling your cries into the pillowcase. There goes the holidays. There goes Pike. There goes your very own “Christmas Story”, up in ashes in the glimmering fireplace. A Merry Fucking Christmas.

Pike swallowed hard, hearing the upstairs bedroom slam shut theatrically. He had expected you to be delighted, but rushing upstairs to pack? Something didn’t add up; were you really so desperate to escape Pike’s Place? Pike forlornly gazed around the cabin, trying to once again cajole himself into celebrating the holidays alone. I mean, this is what he had planned. Survive the holidays and return to life. A life without love. Pike shook his head abruptly, gathering up the ornaments and trudging to the Christmas Tree. Help out a stray roadster in need. Drown sorrows in Merlot. Pike flashed on his repeated nightmares of Lisbon and Christmas chaos. Maybe scale back on the Merlot, he reprimanded himself. It wasn’t a surprise that he had once again misread the signals. It’s what he seemed to do best. But you’d seemed thoroughly delighted with the day’s festivities, and he had mirrored it. Just another mis-step Pike, he chided himself. The main thing now was to focus on giving you a celebratory send off, and getting back to the realities of work and solitude. Pike stepped back from the now decorated tree, gazing at it appraisingly. Time for this Holiday Fantasy to come to a close, he reasoned. Stop thinking with your heart, and start thinking with your head. Time to grow up, Pike. Maybe Christmas is really just for kids.

You needed several hours to regain your composure and pack your few belongings. You gazed annoyed at the stupid pink snowsuit hanging in the corner. Almost as though rehearsing a play, you began to fashion your monologue for departure. “Thank you again for all of your help, I couldn’t have survived this experience without you!” you chirped, hoping to convince yourself that a quick exit was the only solution. The choppy waves of emotions threatened to cascade over you with every re-direction as you exhaustedly sat on the bed. What if you didn’t just take this lying down? You might be leaving tomorrow, but what if you made some sort of grand gesture? Marcus had said that Lisbon chose.somebody else? Maybe this was your chance once and for all to prove to Marcus that he was worth the same care and enthusiasm that overflowed so naturally out of his very personhood.  Over the last several days, he had done nothing but shower you with care and concern. Wasn’t it time to jump into the holidays with both of your snow-booted feet, and take a genuine risk? 

Your nose crinkled delightedly in curiosity. You HAD to be imagining things. Your mouth began to salivate like Pavlov’s Dogs, tentatively opening the door and tiptoeing down the stairs hesitantly. Billowing fragrances of ham, chocolate, and wine wafted over you as you smirked at the twinkling Christmas Tree now fully decorated. The record player in the corner was playing some Ella Fitzgerald as “A Christmas Story” repeatedly looped on mute. Your mouth dropped open upon seeing the candlelit dinner shining before you.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, as Pike peeked his head around the corner.

“Merry Christmas?” Pike shrugged with chagrin, removing his apron and straightening his tie. You stood gaping, completely speechless at the celebratory sight glowing before you. This was more than anybody deserved, particularly you. Somehow you had stumbled into “An Unexpected Christmas Story”, and you weren’t going to wait for anyone else to pull it from your grasp.

“It’s too much, right?” Pike winced with embarrassment. “I just figured…I couldn’t eat this ham all by myself…and…we ought to…celebrate your return to freedom on this somewhat snowy Christmas Eve…eve…” he trailed off, desperately hoping this fell under the facade of friendship. You might not reciprocate his feelings, but life had taught him to seize whatever joy crosses your path, because opportunities evaporate at a moment’s notice. And he was just grateful to be enjoying the moment he was in…with you.

Without saying a word, you ran into his arms, grasping him tightly about the neck, determined to hold your tears at bay.

“Whoa!” Pike mumbled into your hair, surprised at your reaction, but pleased nonetheless. “I’m just glad Bessie brought you to my doorstop to remind me about the true meaning of Christmas” Pike chuckled. “Which is, always get your transmission checked before a long sojourn” Pike pulled back to tuck a stray hair behind your ear hesitatingly “…and always expect the unexpected”.

This was it. You picked at the edges of your sweater nervously, as you and Pike sat on the couch watching the umpteenth reshowing of the AMC classic. You were already three glasses of Merlot in, particularly as Pike had refrained, but you couldn’t seem to get enough liquid courage into your system to fuel your plans of seduction. Your eyes traveled to the shimmering Christmas Tree aglow with homemade ornaments and frivolity. A small hiccup racked your body as you noticed a manilla envelope with a bow sparsely dotting the otherwise barren underskirt. Was that a gift??? You covered your mouth in incredulity, about to scoff at Pike’s preparation before hearing his contented breathing next to you. You knew he was a morning person, but perhaps the day’s events had tuckered him out. He was dozing peacefully next to you, fingers twitching mere inches from your thigh. A pained expression crossed your face, adoring the placid expression and parted lips that greeted you. Oh God, he was so handsome. Admiring his aquiline nose and fluttering brown eyelashes, your Merlot fueled gaze hungrily absorbed how broad his shoulders were and the sinewy veins pulsing at his neck, underneath his now loosened tie. Baby Jesus Christ. You unbuttoned the top of your shirt, once again overheating in the worst blizzard of a decade. You looked out the darkened window seeing a fresh batch of snow cascading downward. Cindy Lou be praised, maybe there was a way to redeem this turn of events, if you could just grab Christmas by the ornamental balls, and maybe Pike in the process. You reached for the nearby glass of Merlot, eyeing the bulge in Pike’s pants conspiratorially. Was he …? You blinked nonsensically over the rim of your wine glass, hoping to bypass your own insecurities. From the tv, Ralphie Parker touted the benefits of an official red-rider carbine action two hundred shot range model air rifle BB gun. You knew exactly what you wanted to give Pike for Christmas. But were you going to be brave enough to pull the trigger?

Pike felt the echoes of his discontent pulling him further and further down. He wanted to be happy for your apparent victory, and enjoy the remaining time he had with you, but he also couldn’t keep his eyes open. Early mornings and poor sleep lulled him into a dozing stupor as the ghost of Lisbon kept jostling him awake. With a start, he sat up, the television off, cabin cold and barren, save the glowing light of your room at the top of the stairwell. Nooooooo. He took in the shimmering Christmas Tree and empty bottle of Merlot, sad that Christmas had come and gone so anticlimactically. He gazed down at the manilla envelope, planning to give it to you before you left. He felt his heart wrench in his chest uncomfortably, acknowledging yet another loss. Why did the holidays always inspire so much pathos in him? Where was his “Wonderful Life?”, and why did it always seem to be slipping from his grasp?

Your fingertips dragged seductively over his shoulder to his forearm, and like something out of a dream, you floated into his view, clad only in your delicate pink bra and lace panties, silhouetted by the sparkling fire. Pike’s voice caught in his throat, completely captivated by the glowing figure in front of him. His eyes trailed hungrily over your curving frame, turning his palms up in supplication and hoping beyond hope that things would turn out better than his past romances. Without saying a word, you straddled his hips and began circling them enticingly. His eyelids fluttered shut as his head fell back against the couch, delicately bringing his fingers across the smooth skin of your ass. He whispered your name sacredly. It felt like a miracle. “Miracle at Pike’s Place…”

Pike’s pretty eyelashes were fluttering in sleep as you moved slightly closer to his warm body. His lips were moving incoherently as his palms sat upward on his lap imploringly. You couldn’t help but be magnetically pulled to his supplicant posture….and then…he whispered your name. It wasn’t so much of a whisper as a soft moan, as your eyes shot up to his sleeping countenance. Oh God, don’t have to tell me twice, your Merlot addled brain reasoned. With all the nuance of a bulldozer you practically leapt onto Pike’s lap, placing both hands on his broad shoulders as he grabbed you around the waist confusedly.

“W-what?” Pike mumbled, heart pounding fiercely in his chest and waking to find you astride his lap, lower lip stained in wine.

“Is this okay?” you asked, realizing the cart was significantly in front of the horse at this point, but you didn’t care. Not only was your libido exploding like a firecracker, you were officially out of time. Or were you? You placed your hands lightly to the sides of Pike’s neck, pulling him towards you. “Can I kiss you?” you beseeched him, grabbing at the collar of his dress shirt and woman-handling the loose tie.

“K-kiss me” he repeated dumbly, eyes wide as saucers.

You had no idea if that was a question or a statement, but the Merlot had other plans. You smashed your lips to his with abandon as you felt his hands melt into your back, drawing down your body passionately. It was everything you had been dreaming about and more, but within a few seconds, Pike was pulling back. 

“Wait, wait…we can’t do this…” he panted, clearly conflicted in the heat of the moment.

“Pretty sure we’re two grown-ups, we can do whatever we want” you mumbled into his neck, kitten licking up by his earlobe. You felt his body shudder underneath you excitingly.

“No…I mean…I’m out of time…we’re out of time…” he implored, pushing back from you every so slightly.

“It’s okay! I’m not going to leave tomorrow…I’ve decided to stay! I want a Christmas with you…” you blushed unabashedly at the revelation, but in for a penny, in for a pound. You didn’t want to celebrate the holidays with anyone else, and this was your chance to prove to Pike what the last few days had meant to you.

“No, you don’t understand!” Pike grabbed your hands, pulling them in front of your body. “I’M leaving…” he stated emphatically, looking directly into your eyes so there could be no misunderstandings.

You didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?” you stammered, halting your movements and pulling back with embarrassment. “I…I mean…I’m not drunk…I’m a little tipsy…but…you don’t have to leave…I mean…I thought…” you couldn’t grab the thread of understanding as Pike’s gaze continued to soften with concern. You slid off of his lap, gathering up your knees to your chest, sitting as far from him as possible on the living room couch. “Pike, where are you going?” you held your breath, willing yourself to disappear under the floorboards.

“I…I’m leaving…after Christmas” he apologized, seeing your still confused expression. “I don’t work in the Sacramento offices anymore. I’m moving to Washington D.C”.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

PB + J: Interview

I've been seeing this cute questions prompt, and it got me wondering how the man himself might respond. Before I knew it, Pedge was! At least in my IMAGINATION. I have imbibed most of his interviews so it's an educated GUESS, but I also like writing dialogue and this was a fun exercise.

It's also interesting how many times Pedge acts as an avatar for my personal growth or emotional exploration. As always, Pedge is a self-made man, if you count Bitmoji and my FABRICATED answers...

Do you make your bed?

J: Never. I detest it. I want at least one area of my life that stays cozy and messy and immediately ready for cuddles. Plus I’m single, so nobody else to answer to.

Pedge: If I remember. I’m kind of lazy. When given the chance, I’m a homebody so….wait, do I have a guest? 

Favorite Number? 

J: Seven? Three? I’m not superstitious, but I like patterns.

Pedge: Favorite number? Uh…2 billion…and FIVE! Point…6. 

What’s your job?

J: How much time have you got? I think of myself as an artist and collegiate professor. I specialize in music, theater and art mentorship.

Pedge: The jury’s still out. I’m trying. I think it’s official, but who knows? Trying to play in the sandbox over here. Would love to write some more. One dream at a time…

If you could go back to school would you?

J: Absolutely. I’m a collegiate professor so I go to school for a living. But I would get every degree, every subject…okay not EVERY subject…

Pedge: Absolutely not. I kind of….suck at school. I’m very good at reading. I’m voracious. But school and I were not a great fit.

Can you parallel park?

J: Yes, nervously. I had an apartment in college that required parallel parking, but downtown areas make me tremendously anxious. I hate doing it.

Pedge: Um, hello? Whataryatalkinabot? Yeah. I live in LA. Well, when I’m not in NY, and there nobody drives. I mean, I guess I’d rather walk? Without talking…I’ve got headphones.

Can you drive a manual car?

J: Nope. My grandma taught me to drive a tractor. Does that count? Don’t think I remember…

Pedge: Uh…I don’t know. Do I? I feel like this is one of those questions where they ask if you can do something so you lie about it on your resume. Yes. I also can ride a horse. That one I can actually do…

What’s your guilty pleasure?

J: Smoking. I have a weekly cigarillo and read Tumblr. Boop.

Pedge: NOTHING. I have no guilty pleasures…because pleasure is not something to feel guilty about. I did like smoking in Narcos. Narcossss. 

Tattoos?

J: I’ve been planning four very specific tattoos, particularly after my hysterectomy last year. But I’m waiting for the right time. Not sure when that is exactly…

Pedge: Yes. Next question.

Favorite Color?

J: Yes. I like all colors.

Pedge: I like colorful things. Colorful people. I’ve never forgotten that quote by Alice Walker, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple and don’t notice it”. I just finished reading “The Autobiography of Red” by Anne Carson. And I like “Bluets” by Maggie Nelson…

Do you like puzzles?

J: Definitely, but my mom is the expert. I like Lego Sets and internal emotional puzzles.

Pedge: Don’t have the patience. I can like…stand and point where things would go. I’ll boss you around while you work on a puzzle…I’d rather read…

Any phobias?

J: The ocean. This is ridiculous because I grew up on the West Coast, but I’ve only “swum” in the ocean once, in Mexico. I also dislike thinking about infinity. It’s just too scary.

Pedge: Phobias? Spiders? I like horror movies, so I’d take a good scare, especially in the cinema. Unemployment? Does that count? 

Favorite Childhood Sport:

J: Dance. Running? I didn’t get into half marathons until adulthood, so PE was a terrifying experience. Can we never do dodgeball again? 

Pedge: Viva Chile! I like futbol. I mean, soccer. If we win. WHEN we win…I swam competitively as a kid. Until I didn’t.

Do you talk to yourself?

J: Constantly. This is an ongoing monologue that never ceases. Why do you think I’m in the arts.

Pedge: Isn’t that…what we’re doing now? Wait, what is this? Who are you? Whyaruaskinmeallthesequestons? Yes. Sometimes I can’t get myself to shut up. Now, if I would only listen.

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the dividers!

Pedge Tease

Pedge felt like a little tease today and wanted to know if you'd like an early release of the Roll-a-Trope "Pike's Place Episode Four"? It's slated for release this weekend, but if I get more than 10 votes in the affirmative, we'll release it tonight :) What do you think? Delayed gratification?

Pike felt the pulse of your thighs holding him securely in place, as you gripped his wrists, gently pulling them behind his back. His eyelids fluttered momentarily, surprised at this forward change in tonality. You began lazily circling your hips over his gray sweatpants. Somehow his eyes were closed, but he was seeing every detail of your rosy complexion. Every freckle. Every crease. Every sumptuous plump and wrinkle was etched in his mind as his hips jerked forward into your hold. “M-more…” he stuttered, gulping loudly, slightly ashamed at his unabashed reaction. “More pleassssse…” he hissed, hearing the slight smirk as your voice retorted, “I’m the one calling the shots, Agent”. His head lolled lazily back as he tried to focus on his breathing, and not the feel of your breasts bouncing lightly against his bare chest. “More, more, more…” he mumbled incoherently as you increased your tempo....

Moody Fall

Grump. I is in a bad mood. Here are some pretty pictures for me and anyone else in a bad mood. Now...I am in a slightly better mood. Hmph.