Latest Posts by pedges-world - Page 7

Purple Rain (New York, New York Series)

You and Pedge go to the Brooklyn Museum of Art and Botanical Gardens. It's mostly a love letter to NYC and all us artists living the dream.

Triggers: profanity, discussion of orientation, reference to 9/11, lite smut, friends with benefits, RPF...

Series Masterlist

You were approaching your final week in the Big Apple and things were starting to come together. The show had finally progressed to a designer run, which happened to coincide with Pedro’s callback. You stood in the corner, fidgeting as family and friends cascaded into the small studio room and a table of creatives cast an intimidating presence over the entire proceeding. It was time. You were ready, but all the more nervous wondering what everyone would think. But honestly, there was only one opinion you truly cared about. You heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment, realizing THAT someone was missing, but desperately wanted to connect with your cast-mates before this final run. The cast gathered together for a quick circle-up, as the room began to silence in focus and artistry. Heading to your opening marks, you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and gazing forward, happily saw a familiar figure sneak in through the closing door, quickly giving you a thumb’s up.

Pedge.

Merde.

Here we go…

The room had turned into a bit of a sauna, but the audience was gracious in their applause and congratulations as you hit your final bows. You made quick eye contact with Pedge, who gave you a wink and a nod, biting his lower lip with approval. Pausing before notes and feedback the room started to dissipate as cast members breathed a sigh of relief, ready to head into the out of town tech and eventual opening night. Pedge slung his backpack over his shoulder, shuffling towards you through a sea of excited individuals and laughing audience members. He approached with silent applause, mouth agape…

“Oh my gosh, you didn’t suck!!!” he joked, before crumpling under your playful barrage of punches and tickles. Gathering you up in an embrace and picking you up slightly he whispered in your ear. 

“That was fucking amazing. Way to go J” and your heart grew about three sizes. You breathed heavily in his arms, relieved that the most challenging aspect of the day was done. As he set you down, your eyebrows shot up to your forehead.

“Soooo…how’d it go? Am I watching you on Netflix AND HBO soon?” you clandestinely inquired, pulling Pedge over to a corner.

“Come on, this moment is about you” he deflected, but under your watchful gaze could see that you weren’t easily detoured.

“There were executives there” he chuckled.

“Really???” you squealed as he shushed you cautiously.

“Yeah, I must have missed that in translation. I thought I was just gonna be a place holder, but I was there for like an hour plus.”

“Geeeeeez” you intoned, nodding your head. “I’m already imagining the Narcos merch with your face plastered all over it”.

He rubbed his shoulder awkwardly, blushing slightly. “That doesn’t hardly seem likely” he rolled his eyes. “But it was nice to be taken seriously!” he leaned forward grasping you around the waist, “I think our scene work last night really made a difference”. You felt your heat twitch unexpectedly with the close proximity of his facial hair to your ear, and if the room hadn’t been so oppressively hot, you probably would have burst into goose bumps on the spot. You felt your face flush with arousal, hoping no one in the room would notice.

“I guess I have a job as an intimacy coach if this whole acting thing doesn’t work out” you smiled, locking eyes with him pointedly.

“Yeah, I might just have to utilize your personal expertise” he returned the smile as the production manager attempted to get control of the room.

“Okay, we are celebrating tonight, text me when you finish up. I’m taking you to the Brooklyn Museum of Art, and we can enjoy your last night in New York!”. Your heart dropped into your stomach, realizing the duality of the moment. You were excited to begin your big adventure but sad at the ever-changing landscape of the performance industry.

“Deal” you swallowed, thankful for the camaraderie and support, hoping he didn’t catch your eyes misting over with emotion. He kissed you on the cheek and made his way through the congratulatory sea of humanity. 

Your cast-mate immediately joined you in curiosity. “Ummm, who’s that cutie patootie?” he asked. “Bi, straight, boyfriend, husband, poly, trans, ace cookie?” he rattled off eliciting a small chuckle from you. You hadn’t really stopped to think about it during your quick friendship, and the theater crowd was a pretty…fluid…bunch. But catching Pedge’s eye before exiting the studio, he blew you a small kiss, as you and your cast mate both sighed reflexively.

“Who carezzzz?” you giggled simultaneously.

The day couldn’t have gone better, as far as you were concerned, but you found your mind wandering during notes and feedback. Final night in New York. Your heart lurched slightly at the realization that this magical leg of the journey was coming to a close. This wasn’t really a DTR moment, but how were you going to say goodbye? This entire trip had been bookended by an incredible friendship, and you couldn’t have been more grateful. You hoped Pedge was aware of that. Grabbing your script and notes you hurried out the door, heading back to your Airbnb to freshen up. You pulled a little purple sundress out of your suitcase, opting for boots over heels, having learned a painful lesson in the first week of slogging it through the Concrete Jungle. How were you going to say goodbye? It’s not like either of you had expected something different. Right? You tied your hair up with a colorful bow, texting Pedge to meet you at the Brooklyn Museum of Art in about an hour, and bounced out the door gleefully. 

You weren’t sure what constituted a New York state of mind, but this had to be close. The city had been nothing but welcoming to you, and after 9/11 it was so heartening to see the city back to its original fervor. You might have fallen in love in more ways than one, you beamed, heading down the stairwell to catch the train to the Brooklyn Museum of Art, wondering what expectations Pedge had, if any. This friendship had unlocked something inside of you that was exciting and new, but was it just another interaction in a city of strangers? You found yourself exiting the train station without entirely realizing how you had arrived at your location, besieged by thoughts and ruminations about what lay in store. Maybe you built up an entire New York fantasy in your own mind. Laughing in incredulity you exited the train station to find Pedge waiting at the entrance, hiding a bouquet of flowers and conspicuous balloon peaking out from behind his back. His beaming smile oscillated somewhere between boastful and shy as you took in his coifed appearance.

Lavender button down shirt, dark jeans, brown shoes, and a smile that would light up all of Time Square and beyond. You bit your lower lip in anticipation. Maybe you hadn’t misread the signals. Maybe this WAS something special. You swallowed dryly, nearly skipping up to him with excitement.

“It’s too much, right?” he blushed, outstretching his arms in supplication and shrugging placatingly.

“I think it’s just right” you hugged him around the waist, surprising him with your fervor. Looking up into his eyes, you held one another’s gaze for what felt like an eternity, moving closer and closer, like two small magnets. Just as his eyes fluttered shut, poised before your lips, a gust of wind blew the small balloon out of his hand and up into the stormy skies. He chuckled with surprise, grasping after it to no avail. Watching the little balloon drift higher and higher you questioned its surprising message dotting the horizon.

“Hope you feel better soon?” you giggled. “Is that all they had at Duane Reade?”.

“I meannnn….a designer run is a lot of work, I can only assume…we all want to feel better…all the time?” he laughed, tugging you around the waist and leading you into the Brooklyn Museum of Art. Handing off the flowers to an elderly couple on their way out you took Pedge’s hand, happy for these last moments in the city that had quite easily stolen your heart. This had truly been an amazing adventure, and Pedge had opened your heart to the wonders that could await someone living a life of freedom and creativity. The moment seemed to crackle with electricity, as you both spent the first thirty minutes, not saying very much. Stolen glances. Fingertips brushing. Blushing cheeks. It was all so delightful in its simplicity. Just two people. In a museum. Enjoying the moment.

Pausing in front of the Egyptian Collection you regarded his manicured appearance.

“You look real good, Pedge” you smiled. “Is there a special occasion?” you inquired.

He reddened slightly, tucking his hands in his back pockets. “Maybe. Wanted to celebrate your tour.” He rocked back and forth on his heels expectantly. “You did great today!” he smiled, deflecting the attention back on to you.

“Oh my gosh, you haven’t even told me about your callback!” your mouth dropped open with embarrassment, as a security guard shushed you. “And I didn’t even ask! I’m so sorry!” you whispered, “I want to hear everything!”

“Eh, not much to tell” he replied dolefully. “There WERE a number of executives there, which threw me off for a second. I don’t know why the agency didn’t mention that. Or maybe they did, and I was so nervous I forgot. We ran the scene, and it was fine, I guess. They only had a monitor, can you believe it? It was a good thing you and I rehearsed beforehand, it was like acting with a piece of cardboard this morning…” he rolled his eyes in frustration. “I don’t know how they expect us to elicit the kind of intimacy needed if I’m gonna be reading with an automaton!” he exclaimed, receiving a high spirited shushing from the same security guard.

You both started laughing profusely as you moved on to the American Art Display. Stopping in front of the “Unknown Woman” you gazed up at her enigmatic countenance and back at Pedge. “What do you think?” you asked light-heartedly, ready for another quick retort, but Pedge just kept staring and breathing deeply.

“I think…she knows something we don’t” he surmised, licking his lips tentatively.

“Really?” you questioned with curiosity, squinting into her unreadable facial expression, grasping at what little art knowledge you possessed.

“Yeah, she seems like…even though she’s mysterious, or translucent…or disappearing or something…there’s a contentment in that. She’s okay with it. She’s happy to just…be. Happy to be in the moment she’s in. Happy to be alive”.

“Yeah” you nodded, sighing deeply, and then, surprised to discover that Pedge was no longer looking at the artwork but gazing intently at you.

“Remind you of anyone?” you joked, dipping a finger into his front jean pocket and pulling slightly.

He took a jerky step towards you, nearly bumping into your chest. “Not off the top of my head” he teased quizzically, eyebrows arching up the ceiling.

You smiled with self-deprecation, feeling a shift in your tonality. “I’m sad to be leaving tomorrow” looking around the relatively empty room with a little melancholy and fidgeting with discomfort. “I’m not sure I could have done this without you, Pedge. Just a California girl, I guess”.

He brought his hand up, tilting your chin towards his, “My pleasure” he tutted “You just needed a little push. And a subway map! Geez woman, you DO get lost everywhere, don’t you?” he laughed, tucking that pesky lock of hair behind your ear once again. You smiled broadly without argument. It was true. Perhaps geographically challenged, but intuitively able to find exactly where you needed to be, and who you wanted to be with. Enjoying the journey just as much as the destination. You took his hand tenderly, bringing it up to your heart. “Well, not all who wander are lost. I just want you to know, I really appreciate it”. Momentarily dumbfounded, he smiled simply, bringing your hand up to his mouth for a quick kiss. 

Heading out of the museum, Pedge looked up into the stormy skies. “Geez, looks like New York isn’t entirely happy about your leaving” he pondered, biting his lower lip in confusion. “I’d thought we could go to the Botanical Gardens, but now I’m not sure!”. The sky rumbled with a bit of foreboding.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, pulling him forward amidst the steadily growing winds and darkening skies. “I’m not leaving without one more adventure!” He laughed appraisingly as you skipped down the street with abandon. Pedge had unlocked your heart in a way nobody else had. Who knows, maybe New York had something to do with that too. All you knew was that you were happy, you were grateful and you were ready. Ready for what, you weren’t entirely sure, but enjoying the journey as much as the destination. You headed into the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens feeling a few fat droplets of rain punctuate the ground rhythmically.

“So far so good?” Pedge questioned, breathing in the saturated grass and darkening sidewalks. You began strolling through the Fragrance Garden, Celebrity Path, Daffodil Hilll…

Pedge paused in his steps to cast his arms out to the side in frivolity. “We’ve got the whole gardens to ourselves!” he shouted, cringing upon hearing a booming, thunderous clap above him.

You brought a hand to your mouth in playful chagrin, wondering at heaven’s response. “We might be running out of time Pedge!” you shouted, walking backwards towards the Japanese Hill and Pond Garden. Pedro’s eyes widened to saucer size, running towards you and grabbing you around the waist before you nearly fell over backwards into the Koi Pond. You both started laughing hysterically as another thunderous BOOM! led to an immediate downpour. Giggling with surprise you grasped hands, slipping and sliding to the nearest botanical hot house and flinging the door open to humid, fragrant heat. Your laughter slowed to a halt as Pedge found both arms wrapped around your waist in dripping anticipation. The heavy patter of rain rhythmically lulled you both into a hypnotic silence as Pedge began swaying from side to side.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, unwilling to break the magnetic connection between you.

“Just wanted a dance” he whispered back, pulling you in closer and taking a deep breath at the crook of your neck.

“Pedge….” you allowed yourself a moment of enjoyment, listening to the rain pitter patter above you as heaven roared dully in protestation. “I’m leaving tomorrow….what does this even mean?”

He pulled back for a second taking your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. “It doesn’t HAVE to mean anything” he pondered, plastering a dopey smile across his face. “It’s just a moment, and we can decide whatever we want.” You smiled in recognition, giving in to any last minute hesitations and melding your body against his. Swaying back and forth you caught a quick refrain of his humming.

“Is that Prince?” you muttered into his shoulder, smelling his deodorant and cologne in a heady, rain soaked musk. Pedge suddenly pulled back abruptly, shaking you gently by the shoulders and shouting for high heaven, “ONLY WANT TO SEE YOU DANCING IN THE PURPLE RAIN!!!!”

Purple Rain

Your mouth dropped open in surprise before joining him, “PURPLE RAIN! PURPLE RAIN! PURPLE RAIN, PURPLE RAIN!”. You chuckled, lightly fingering the buttons at his lavender shirt, becoming slightly intoxicated on the seductive mist of rain, flowers and dirt. And then it was happening. You weren’t thinking. You were being drawn towards one another, without time, space or intentionality. You were kissing. You were breathing each other in and out. Lips locked in the wet ambition of desire, you drew your arms around him, tucking your hands into the back pockets of his jeans and grasping lightly. Pedge’s hips jerked forward in surprise as he grinned into your mouth with delight.

“What does THAT mean?” he joked softly, as a blush began creeping up your cheeks with embarrassment, noticing the stiffening length outlined against his pants.

“I think our intimacy exercises are paying off?” you tittered back at him, pressing in for another kiss before jolting with surprise. “Is that your phone vibrating, or are you just happy to see me?” you taunted, gripping his lower lip between your teeth gently.

“Soooooo not important” Pedge growled, dipping his tongue tentatively into your mouth, and then with more fervor.

“Pedggggge” you moaned, sighing contentedly and then pulling back. “It could be important…”.

He paused, with eyes closed, breathing deeply until you both met each others’ intense gaze.

“NARCOS!” you both exclaimed. Pedge fumbled for the phone, attempting to wrestle it out of his front pocket which was irritatingly rain soaked. You both clawed at the space, laughing nervously as the phone nearly slipped from his desperate grasp. You began jumping up and down, clapping your hands quickly in anticipation.

“This is Pedro Pascal, how may I direct your call?” he intoned with a devious smirk.

You stilled completely, trying to read every micro-expression. He turned his back quietly to you responding in almost conspiratorial undertones, “Really? Yes. Okay. Got it. Alright. I think I understand. Thank you”. And then the call was done.

He stood with his back to you, completely still as you swallowed loudly, frozen smile stuck to your face. “WELL???” you finally shouted, matched only by the corresponding BOOM that thudded heavily in the distance. You fixed yourself to rush into his arms in congratulatory embrace, until he turned with an unreadable expression save for the swimming pools of emotion in his chocolate-colored eyes.

“It’s a no” he said, a bit numbly, and in apparent defeat. “I didn’t get it”.

*Spoiler Alert: I feel like things might improve for our hero, but you don't have to take MY word for it.

Moody Acacius

I've got to be honest. I'm avoiding my taxes. I got an extension, but this is preposterous. But #priorities...and #pedropascal...Also, this is apparently more historically accurate, so...you're welcome...

Joel Sits On You Peach + Apple Pie

I gotta say @yopossum's "Snug" already nailed this writing prompt from our beloved @beefrobeefcal BUT it did get the creative juices flowing, as I've started to write for the Pedro Boys, and Joel is one of my favorites. Check out my previous attempts with Moody Joel and I hope you enjoy this Fall treat with a little slice of pie...

Triggers: post-apocalypse, discussions of "married life", M fo F reader, expanding waistlines, mentions of food, playful sitting/wrestling in committed relationship, lite smut at end...

An enigmatic autumn wind whipped around your cozy, creaking cabin. A fire crackled in the hearth and your legs were tucked underneath you as you ventured further into your well worn, re-discovered copy of Frankenstein. It was a miracle you had found it, during the raids and plundering—little luxuries like books, furniture and a home cooked meal had, at times, appeared almost imaginary. Trying to exist outside of survival had been a Herculean task, but with each passing day, your time at the commune and your relationships had started to spark that inner familiarity of comfort and peace. But with it, came the awareness that at any moment, those same luxuries could be whisked away like the bracing autumnal wind you were harbored against.

One aspect of your survival that seemed to anchor you to the realities of that new, peaceful life was Joel. Getting to know one another under the desperate, iron clad vice of hardened survival had been tempered by years of camaraderie, companionship…and eventually love. In one sense, marriage no longer existed, but had evolved into a state of committed partnership that transcended more than a contractual piece of paper. It was an unspoken agreement that was brought to life in passion, in practice and in repetition. In all the ways that humans were crafted for one another, you found yourself fitting into a life and another person who was helping you knit yourself back together. 

Except for today. Joel was running late. As usual. The foreboding skies were darkening as you anxiously awaited his return, hopeful that the day’s patrol hadn’t exhausted him beyond recognition. “Marriage” had been good to Joel. His mental health and stability had improved, and he seemed, over-all, a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the “effect it had on his waistline”. You smirked, pausing in your reading, as you reflected on HIS choice of words. Joel wasn’t a vain man, by any definition, but his survival acumen was unmatched. Even in this happier state, it was difficult for Joel to relax into any kind of comfort whatsoever. It was only by your daily proddings, smushy kisses and love of baking that you were infinitesimally dragging Joel down the path of blissful, partnered life. If he’d ever get home.

You heard the tell-tale signs of your Frankensteinian bedmate lumbering up the wooden porch and flinging the door open as cascades of leaves and hay blew in after him. Slamming the door shut behind him, he grunted in recognition as you yelled from the couch, “DO NOT TRACK THAT MUD INTO MY HOUSE BIG MAN! TAKE THOSE BOOTS OFF IMMEDIATELY AND GO TO THE KITCHEN”. You pursed your lower lip with slight chagrin, aware that you were running a little hot. Joel’s heart might be significantly armored, but you bit your tongue with embarrassment. Annoyed at your own need, you hoped that Joel knew you well enough to discern your restless state. Joel always had a way of handling you that kept you grounded and present, but perhaps there were some moods that even Joel couldn’t tame. He huffed with exasperation, dropping his coat on the ground unceremoniously and heading into the kitchen.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GARDEN OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS, BUT YOU NEED TO GET OUT THERE AND WRANGLE THOSE CARROTS INTO SUBMISSION!” you shouted from the living room, as Joel clanged around the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. “MARIA CAME BY TO ASK FOR AN EXTRA SHIFT NEXT WEEK IN CASE RAIDERS WERE COMING UP THE SOUTH PASSAGE!” you bellowed, annoyed that you had to sacrifice another evening with Joel at home. “THE LEG ON THAT DINING ROOM CHAIR IS MORE WOBBLY THAN EVER, AND YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO EAT THAT APPLE PIE UNTIL YOU HAVE SOME…soup first…!” you trailed off, lost again in your literary masterpiece as the kitchen chaos lulled to a dull roar.

You began mouthing the words of one of your favorite passages, “I endeavored to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise.” You temporarily paused in your reading, suspicious at the sudden silence in the house.

“DON’T YOU DARE ATTEND THAT COUNCIL MEETING THIS EVENING AFTER A FULL DAY OF PATROLS, WITH NO FOOD IN YOUR STOMACH AND AN ACHING BACK! AND IF YOU EVEN GIVE ME ONE IOTA OF SASS ABOUT TAKING A BATH THIS EVENING I WILL ABSOLUTELY SMOTHER YOU WITH KISSES UNTIL YOU’RE BEGGING FOR REPRIEVE!” you let your voice echo in the cabin, pleased with your relative confidence and bravado. Joel might inspire fear in the hearts of the commune residents, but you had seen this man in a bubble bath. It was obvious to you who wore the pants in this family.  

You continued reading, “I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye…”. You nodded your head in approval. It was so ridiculous that Mary Shelley hadn’t been recognized in her day as the foremost writer of science fiction. Eyeing the page skeptically, you were just about to shout something to that effect when Joel’s peach of a jean clad ass loomed large in your vision before he promptly sat on top of you.

“Jo-OOOOOOH-el!” you huffed as the warmth of his body covered you like a man-blanket, easing himself atop you delicately, at first, awkwardly smashing the book into your chest with solidity. The pine scented cologne of his plaid shirt muffled your laughter as he wriggled his hips atop you, sinking back to full effect.

“Needs Cheddar” he grumbled, mouth full of sugared sweetness, chomping away at the apple pie you had expressly forbade him to eat.

“I didn’t have tii—-ime” you hyperventilated “to cultivate and curdle bacteria between patrols you big…OOOF!” Joel pushed back gently as the couch creaked under both of your bodies, humming in delight at the baked goodness melting in his mouth.

“Look little missy” he drawled sarcastically “It was a long day, my back is hurtin’ and if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours I’m gonna give you a Texas spankin’!”. You stilled with anticipation, excited at the turn of events that had transpired with your moody attitude. Maybe you would have to start complaining more often.

“Just you t-t-try Big Man!” you tried to retort as a blush crept up your neck and cheeks, attempting to squeeze some sense into your hulk of man. Unable to grasp him fully around the waist, you shifted your hands to the meat of his thighs, gripping just under the knees. Joel lurched forward slightly in ticklish surprise, doubling down on his tactic he sighed contentedly, relaxing into your lap.

Shaking your head in comic disbelief, you decided to opt for a new tactic, and with honeyed dramatics you coo’d, “OOOH…I’m seeing stars! I can—t…can—t breathe!” you giggled, flailing your arms like a small child. “My life…it’s fl-fl-flashing before my eyes! This is it! I’m s-s-o weak….” you trailed off, releasing all the energy from your body and collapsing in mock catatonia. You heard Joel sigh heavily, easing off your body and creaking to the floor gently. The corners of your mouth turned upward as you hazarded a squint out the corner of your eye to find Joel on his knees in front of you with slight annoyance and concern. 

“That’s better darlin’” he swallowed, a glint in his eyes flashing for the smallest millisecond. He reached over for his plated slice of apple pie, grabbing a small piece with his bare hand and dangling it inches from your mouth.

“Now that I got that pretty mouth to shut up, go ahead and open wide darlin’” he teased, licking his lips with more than hunger.

Your mouth parted lustfully as he delicately placed the gooey desert on your tongue, as you sucked the crumbs off of his fingers. Hissing with arousal his lips formed a small “oh” as you licked the tart sweetness off of his thumb which he dragged across your lower lip.

“Now that’s settled, Baby Girl, it seems to me…somebody said something about a bubble bath…”...

*thanks @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the cool dividers

Pike's Place Roll-a-Trope Challenge

I fell hard for these two, in an unexpected way. It wasn't until @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" that I managed to really sink my teeth into this delectable winter treat. Since y'all love them as much as I do, I've completed a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: profanity, car trouble in snow storm, heartbreak, discussions of pandemic, slightly tipsy Pike, mostly fluffernutter...

Episode One: It's a Wonderful Life Episode Two: The Holiday Episode Three: Elf Episode Four: A Christmas Story Episode Five: Nightmare Before Xmas Episode Six: Love Actually Episode Seven: Die Hard Episode Eight; When Harry Met Sally

Shorts

A Christmas Confection Pedge Tweets WIP Poll Pike's Place PIke's Picture

The windshield wipers were beating at the same flurried pace as your heartbeat as you gripped the steering wheel fixedly. Looking out at the swirling flurries of wind and snow your skin began to take on the same pallid white quality as your eyes darted furiously across the pristine landscape. California Girl, you sulked, huffing heavily in frustration.

WHY had you listened to your therapist? This was the most asinine, ridiculous escapade yet, as you watched the fuel gauge dipping lower and lower. It had been the strangest of four years, shifting from the pandemic, to working from home, to becoming more and more isolated every day. Watching your world get increasingly smaller, and feeling helpless to do anything about it. Pre-pandemic you had already felt isolated, and after four years of relative solitude you had almost become accustomed to the depravation. Almost. So, what had your therapist recommended? A change in scenery. Get out more! Feeling depressed about the holidays? Grab a few sweaters, a bottle of Merlot and take your emotional baggage with you! You scoffed with self-deprecation, wondering if a death by blizzard would be quite as cinematic as it sounded in your romance novels. Snagging a last minute Big Bear Airbnb had been easy this week before Christmas, but finding it was proving a bit more challenging. Good Old Bessie the Hyundai had limped along for years, but the heater had long since sputtered into a quick demise. Not a real problem in California, until now, you reasoned, thankful you had dressed in a head to toe snowsuit from your East Coast college days. Quite honestly, you were surprised it still fit, but you were steadily growing more and more aware that your Girl Scout training from childhood did not prepare you for a snow-pocalypse, regardless of how fashionable you were.

Straining to see any signs of civilization you thought you caught a small flickering beam of light, as you groaned upon hearing the tell-tales signs of impending doom. That metallic clicking sound had only intensified and it was just a matter of time before…BOOM!…a small popping sound backfired into the snowy stillness as gears shifted and ground to a halt, bringing Bessie to her final resting place in the glassy tundra.

Welp. So ends the life of J. A small death, for a small person…you rolled your eyes dramatically. Get a grip woman. You didn’t get 56 Scout Badges in Arts and Crafts to merely lie down on the ground singing “Do You Wanna Build a Snowman”. Live! Live goddamit! You smirked, weighing your options. Cell phone coverage was dotty at best. You could wait for a philanthropic passerby, but it was a week before Christmas, and you hadn’t seen one car on the precarious drive here. Wherever here was.  Watching the steady stream of soft snow cascading onto your windshield you re-assessed that flickering beam of light before you. You MUST be hallucinating, but it seemed like a small cabin with puffs of smoke billowing from a chimney of some kind. It was a fuckin’ Norman Rockwell painting for heaven’s sakes. Or “Misery”. You pulled the snowsuit hood up over your head and took a big breath. Only one way to find out.

After trudging the 100 or so feet from Bessie to Norman Rockwell, you were trying to cast a foreboding figure, though this was proving difficult in a hot pink snowsuit from the 90’s. You confidently held a crowbar and cell phone in either hand, delusional that this would be off putting to a potential serial killer. At least you would look fabulous in the Real Life Crimes Documentary, you rationalized, banging on the door with your crowbar and attempting to seem simultaneously friendly and capable. Your teeth were chattering together with anticipation or cold, as you thought you heard a rustling sound behind the wooden door. You plastered a frozen smile on your face, hopeful the occupant wouldn’t ignore Elle Woods in the woods, as the door flung open violently to reveal...

Happy Holidays, Pike. Marcus grumbled to himself, pouring another glass of red wine and swallowing a coal lump of annoyance. Was this really the best idea? he wondered, settling in for the Christmas Movie Marathon on AMC. If he was trying to get over a heartbreak, he wasn’t sure “It’s a Wonderful Life” and a bottle of red was the way to do that, but in a blizzard there were only so many options. Fresh from his disappointment of the moment he bit his lower lip, watching George Bailey drunkenly meander around snowy Bedford Falls, on the hunt for redemption. He looked over at the sorry state of affairs in the kitchen, as piles of Thai Food containers dotted the landscape, thanks to a week of DoorDash and Instacart. How had he arrived at this pathetic excuse of a Christmas? Hoping to clear his mind of women altogether, he had settled on berating himself for constantly falling in love at the drop of a pin. Okay, he was a romantic, he frowned with irritation. And why not? He was on the Art Squad, he wasn’t Rambo. He wriggled his socked feet, thankful for the fire in the fireplace and nodding at George Bailey’s plight. That’s right, Jimmy Stewart, maybe it’s better to just go it alone. Not everyone has a Donna Reed. You can’t just expect love to show up on your doorstep, it’s better to think realistically and recognize your own limitations. George Bailey dangled precariously over the Bedford Falls Bridge, watching the snow fall into the murky depths. Just a couple more steps and….

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pike jumped about a foot, as George Bailey paused to notice Clarence the Angel jump into the waters before him. What was that?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pike sat up, adrenaline coursing through his slightly intoxicated frame, gripping his chest with surprise. Was someone knocking at the door? Who could possibly be wandering around in a blizzard? He took a quick glance at his somewhat disheveled state, stubbling beard, gray sweatpants and thread bare white t-shirt. No time to clean things up, he scoffed, stumbling to his feet and flinging the door open to find…

Hello gorgeous. A pair of saucer shaped brown eyes blinked back at you, as you stood poised between crow bar and cell phone. “Howdy!” you shouted, quite a bit louder than anticipated watching his face register several emotions simultaneously, gulping in surprise.

Howdy? What the fuck? Were you Annie Oakley? Your eyes quickly took in the situation, eyeing his broad frame, gray sweatpants and patchy beard. This was the cutest serial killer you had ever met, you smirked, shaking the sexy thoughts out of your mind as quickly as they entered. “Sorry to bother you this fine holiday season…”

What the fuck was going on? Had you forgotten how to speak to other humans? You sounded like a character from an old film noir. Willing yourself to act normally you continued, “My car is konked out on the side of the road, and I wondered if I could use your…landline, sir?”. Okay. Stop talking. Stop with the words. You held your breath attempting to appear…like anything other than your awkward self. Apparently you had rendered this hunk of a man temporarily speechless. He was probably mortified at your inability to string together a sentence with two hands and a crowbar, but the silence began to stretch in front of you. A reddish tint bronzed his adorable cheeks as his eyes registered surprise, delight, confusion, irritation? There seemed to be a lot happening in this moment of indecision but speaking wasn’t one of them. You shifted with discomfort, licking your chapped lips and chattering loudly.

“Oh my gawd, yes!” he finally bellowed, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into the warming living room and slamming the door behind you. Flakes of snow were dotting your eyelashes but you thought you caught the broadest of smiles immediately hidden by a facade of a frown. 

“Uh, please, make yourself at home…miss” he countered, running to mute the television and tidy up slightly. You took the moment to gather as much information as you could, gazing at Jimmy Stewart’s flickering countenance. Seemed like you had burst onto a cozy, Christmas Hallmark movie for one. Tipping your snowsuit hood off and shaking like a golden retriever you watched the gray sweatpants dart into the kitchen, as he wiped food containers into the trash bin with a long sweep of his forearm. 

Glancing over at the side table you noticed a badge of some kind and a lanyard that read “Agent Pike: Art Squad”, featuring a smiling, clean shaven version of the business lumberjack you saw before you. He grabbed a suit jacket strewn over the kitchen chair and returned to look at you, wide eyed and confused. Cutting quite the figure in gray sweat pants, fuzzy socks and suit jacket, you plastered your lips together to avoid giggling. Alright, this Crime Documentary was progressing just fine, you found yourself with the helpful detective, not the serial killer, after all. He bit his cheek with embarrassment, taking a final helpless look around the living room. “How can I help you?” his voice cracked comedically.

Oh I can think of a few ways, you scandalously surmised, wondering if your holidays were starting to improve. Maybe this was going to be a Christmas gift neither one of you would soon forget…

Thank you @unknown-till for the cool winter dividers!

WIP Poll

All right, I think I need a little Tumblr assistance! I've run away with myself regarding Mood Boards but have a number of WIPS on the horizon. Maybe if I get a digital nudge it will push me in the right direction. I'm ALL over the place...

Check us out!

Roll-a-Trope Snowed In Challenge New York, New York Series (RPF)

Moody Silva

I just love these boys so much. I might try writing for them in the future, but also love the desert aesthetic...and the peach. Love the peach.

Moody Dave

LOVE this movie. HATE this character. Pedge says he was in his Rageful Era, but come this Halloween I want all my options available, and this Pedro Boy is one of the scariest. It's a little creepy...but I like it...#murdermedaddy

Afterglow A Different Happy Ending

Hey y'all, this is a part of the "Afterglow Series" that delves into more intimacy than usual. I wanted a safe space to explore our sexy time activities that are unexpected or confusing.

Triggers: mentions of experimental M to F pegging (F receiving) and aftercare, lite profanity, mostly a lot of talk and crying (always crying)...our heroine is intent on expressing her needs and Marcus Pike seemed the most accommodating Pedro Boy to listen...

Series Masterlist

Your eyes shot open in bleary confusion. Something was up. Perhaps a bad choice of words as the evening’s events cascaded into your memory from a blurry, dark reaching corner of your body, as you started to take stock of your immediate situation.

You gently rolled over, hissing with discomfort and swallowing dryly. Marcus lay on his side, placid expression, breathing deeply as you smiled at his peaceful countenance. You rubbed your legs together as a pang of arousal and pressure shot through you like a lightning bolt. A pathetic whimper escaped your lips as Marcus blinked rapidly, joining you in the land of the living. His eyebrows immediately furrowed together as he rasply asked, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” you answered a bit too quickly, shifting away from his transparent expression and attempting to hide your chagrin. It was your birthday, and you had been begging, pleading even for a sexy time adventure slightly different than the straightforward and delectable classic vanilla that Marcus excelled at. Marcus didn’t leave you wanting in any way, but the gals in your Pilates class just couldn’t stop talking about some of their sex-capades, and you wanted to experiment too. I mean, with enough lube, ANYTHING was possible you had reasoned, and brought your birthday request to the man himself.

You weren’t surprised to discover his hesitancy, primarily because of his concern that he would hurt you, but you were determined to bend your body and every orifice as much as your heart would allow. Seems that while your heart was malleable as fuck, your other rose had puckered to tightened heights. The euphoria of the previous evening washed over you, even as you gripped your thighs together, wriggling uncomfortably. Damn. All that talk, and it seems you had enjoyed yourself a bit TOO much. You looked down at your midriff to see bruised fingerprints splayed across your hips and etched into your thighs from his vice of a grip. You smiled at your bodily trophy, but already aware of the deleterious effect it would have on your bedmate. This would not go well if you couldn’t play it off as the momentary speed bump it was. 

“Did you enjoy your birthday present” a seductive hand wrapped around your stomach as Marcus began kissing at the back of your neck, adding more pressure to your…pressure. You cleared your throat with embarrassment, trying to steady your breath.

“Oh yes, it was everything I dreamed and more!” you tried to sound breezy and flippant but you were starting to become concerned. Did this mean he wouldn’t experiment further? You were such an idiot, thinking you could keep up with the twenty somethings at the gym. Marcus paused for a moment, trying to get a read on your tone of voice. Damned if that man wasn’t a mind reader of some kind. Always concerned with YOUR pleasure, YOUR orgasm, YOUR needs. But in this moment you were silently praying Marcus would lose his telepathic abilities.

Resuming a trail of kisses down your back and getting dangerously close to your discomfort of the moment he continued on unawares, “Does the birthday girl get a morning surprise?”. You felt his hardened length bump against your ass as you twitched slightly, willing your body to quiet down.

You gulped loudly, feeling the blush creep up your neck unceremoniously. This swirling vortex of emotion was starting to get out of hand. You couldn’t even pick apart everything happening; embarrassment, arousal, annoyance, concern, fatigue. But maybe there was still hope! That gnawing thought in the back of your mind threaded its way into your consciousness as you definitely wanted to experiment more. New sensations, new abandonment…and total submission. Out of the mind, out of the ass, out of the heart. Cum on. Butttttt….Marcus immediately stopped with your silence, a growing awareness clouding his morning ministrations until you heard his voice drop about an octave.

“Oh my God”.

You rolled your eyes anticipating the emotional wreckage, “Baby, it’s not that big a deal…”. You awkwardly shifted back to meet the roundest, warmest saucer shaped eyes that have ever existed. He looked like he had stopped breathing, and tears were already threatening to spill from those chocolate-colored orbs swimming before you.

“Oh my God” he caught sight of the light purple bruises peppered across your hips, covering his face with both hands. “Baby, gawd! You told me to keep going!” he whined, sitting up quickly and laying a feather light hand across your stomach. “What can I do? Advil? Water? Do we need to go to Urgent Care?”

Your mouth dropped open in comical surprise, taking his face in your hands. “Urgent Care? Honey, they’re bruises! This isn’t that scene from “Twilight”, you haven’t broken anything…”. His face didn’t register any shift at all, and you wondered if your words had even penetrated….nope…another bad choice of words as you winced slightly at the new seated position.

“Oh my God. I’m calling my sister…” Marcus reached over, hands trembling to grab his phone, as you deftly removed it from his hands and dangled it above his head.

“No thank you Romeo, I do not want the entire Pike Family up in my business as much as you were last night…” you heaved a heavy sigh of remembrance, trying to ass-certain how you might convince him for future sexy time experimentation.

“How can you make jokes at a time like this?” he pleaded, drawing his hands around your shoulders as though you were a porcelain doll. “I’m gonna draw you a bath. Can you walk?”

You started to chuckle with incredulity until you wondered if his question wasn’t altogether ridiculous. You bit your lower lip before it started wobbling out of control. You and Marcus had been together for a while, but you still wanted him to find you attractive and exciting. This was hardly a page out of “Sex and the City” if you couldn’t even walk to the bathroom after a birthday celebration YOU had demanded.

“Um. I think so” your voice seemed to disappear as you noticed more plumping bruises across your ass and breasts. This was all your fault. “Gosh, I was just having so much fun, maybe I got a little carried away” you said, almost to yourself.

“Well, I’m glad THAT part of the celebration went as planned” he sighed with a bit of relief, cupping your face with his hand. “You are taking it easy today, young lady. No work. Only movies. Ice packs. Advil…” he rubbed his lower back, getting out of bed and stretching for a moment. “I’m gonna look online for over the counter remedies, and draw you that bath…” he kissed the corner of your mouth with a nearly infinitesimal amount of pressure. “AND WE’RE NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN” he smiled with solidarity and headed into the bathroom.

Everything he had said sounded good to you…except that last part. Your heart shattered into a million pieces as you sucked in a desperate breath. My body, my rules, you thought. It obviously takes two to tango…or however you would describe what you tried last night…and you would never want Marcus to be uncomfortable. But you wanted to make sure he understood your desires. Despite the bruised fingerprints to the contrary, you had offered more than an enthusiastic YES, and it had only peaked your curiosity, not dulled it. But maybe your request was…unreasonable? Marcus wouldn’t hurt you to save his own life. The tears threatened to reappear as you thought of all the ways Marcus took care of you; pancakes, flowers, post-it-notes, hand made lunches. And here you were, the Scarlet Woman, debauched and depraved, hoping your boyfriend would rail you into the mattress until you broke. A lump started to form in your throat as you blinked away the tears. Pull it together, pull it together, pull it together. A small pain throbbed in your nether regions as your breath began to hitch in your chest and tighten. Come on woman, it’s your birthday, you rationalized, but that thought only pushed you closer to the emotional precipice you were already balanced precariously upon. And then you couldn’t help but wonder; what if Marcus never touches you that way again? What if he never touches you at all?

Your face wrenched up in a contortion of immediate distress. This was a bruise completely unseen but burying itself into your imagination. You started to squeak like a small chew toy, perseverating on this most ridiculous thought and hugging yourself around your ribcage. A small sob escaped your lips as you heard the bathtub roar to life and Marcus’ voice drift in echoing, “Okay, do you want lavender or eucalyptus epsom salt?”

You bit down hard on your lower lip, irrationally determined to stop the overflow of emotions, but tasting salty tear after salty tear that annoyingly dripped down your cheeks. 

“I think I found a bath bomb!” he melodiously intoned, but stopped abruptly upon seeing your small nervous breakdown. He rushed forward, kneeling at the bedside and grabbing his phone again, “I’m calling my sister”.

“Stawwwwwp!” you whined, throwing the phone across the bed and starting to hyperventilate. Unfortunately every hiccup radiated through your lower body with unnerving sensitivity as you gulped and winced and laughed at your own predicament.

“Baby, please, how can I help?” Marcus went into full puppy dog mode, lightly rubbing your leg and lower back. “I’m so sorry”.

“No, I’M s-s-orry!” you wailed, growing more distressed as the moments passed. Marcus shook his head, continuing to rub your back. “I was h-h-having so much, f-f-f-fun…and it was such a g-g-good b-b-b-irthday…” Marcus reached up to wipe a trail of snot from your nose as you unraveled. “And n-n-n-ow you’re never gonna t-t-t-ouch me again!!!” you cried, throwing up your hands in despair. There. The Scarlet Woman, debased and unhinged, mockery of society and bedroom sexcapades, humiliated for all to see.

“Take a deep breath for me please, birthday girl. And let’s take that from the top, with feeling” he mused, wiping another tear away and tucking an escaped hair behind your ear tenderly. You took a big breath, holding it in your mouth theatrically as he counted to five, and puffing it in his face surprisingly as you burst into cautious laughter. Wincing slightly at the lamaze-like activity your hiccups started to quiet down as he rubbed large circles across your back, smiling broadly.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that…for some inexplicable reason…you…enjoyed our celebrations last night, and want to make sure I’m not over-reacting?” he tentatively pondered, as your nodded emphatically in the affirmative, hiccuping and wincing some more. “Alright, and maybe in a couple days, AFTER you take your Advil, and AFTER we watch “Casablanca” and AFTER I make us some pancakes you wouldn’t be opposed to…an encore of some kind?” he ventured, nodding in agreement with your bobbing head as your sniffles quieted down. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering your request and dragging a finger slowly down the front of your body and pausing at the top of your clit tentatively. “I have a complimentary request as negotiations proceed” he whispered watching your pupils dilate with lust and watching his finger hover over your heat expectantly. Not hearing a response he continued, “I’m going to need a lot more prep time, giving you the attention you deserve if you expect me to split you in half on every birthday”.

You swallowed loudly, surprised at his uncharacteristically lewd comment, but hopeful that he meant every word of it. You nodded slowly as he tapped your clit VERY lightly eliciting a small jump from you and a giggle of affirmation. “Yes please” you managed to get out as he stood up from the floor, ghosting his lips over yours tantalizingly.

“Ummm…can you carry me to the bathroom please?” your nose wrinkled up with embarrassment, not entirely sure if your legs would carry you themselves.

“Your bath awaits, m’lady” he drolled, hooking an arm softly under your backside and pulling you into an embrace...

*thanks @samspenandsword for the cool dividers!

Moody Max

Am I currently working on the exciting Marcus Pike "Roll the Dice" fic inspired by @burntheedges and @yopossum? No. Am I adding to my "Afterglow" Series with a new Pedro Boy? No. Am I writing the 3rd installment for The New York, New York Series with "Purple Rain"? No. But here's a Mood Board for a potential Halloween Fic for a character that scares me from a movie I haven't yet seen. Cause #PedroPascal...

Oh man, I tried to avoid Marcus Pike, but he's so absolutely adorable, even in heartbreak (the song recommendation was a perfect pairing). Thanks @whocaresstillthelouvre for this fun moodboard inspo, check out my previous Marcus Pike Post for the Charcuterie Challenge...I just posted a new Roll-a-Trope Challenge inspired by @burntheedges, Y'all are going to bring me to literary heights of avarice! Or just deadlines at least...

Oooh! I love the new moodboard request! Could we try Vibe/Marcus Pike/comfort? Like cuddle couch, blankets, candles stuff? Maybe beige or gray? Something easy...

Hi Pedge! Thank you for your support! I went very cozy with dinner and some good music provided by Marcus. 💕

Speaking of music I'm going to go with "Holding On" by War on Drugs. The lyrics are very heartbroken Marcus. Now I'm headed down a different road Can we walk it side by side? Is an old memory just another way of saying goodbye?

****Please do not watch the music video for the song if you don't want to cry.****

Afterglow Phoenix Rising

This series is not for everyone, so please imbibe accordingly. Pedge is not a registered therapist, but enjoys the many nuances of deconstruction and pleasure. This seemed like a fun, varied way to interpret how the Pedro Boys might react to different scenarios and an interesting literary device to unpack the complexities of our great and not so great "O"s!

Triggers: smut, edging, self-denial, use of toys, attempt at Spanish, crying (there's always crying, let's be honest)...

Series Masterlist

If your eyes had been open you would have seen the thin sheen on Javi’s forehead, as he bit down on his lower lip with tumult. You would have seen his doe eyes blown wide with lust and wonder, watching you unravel for the last hour+.

You would have clocked his trembling hand as he alternated between fingers and vibrator, licking his digits clean, pausing just long enough to let you catch your breath in exhaustion.

But your eyes weren’t open. You were so far embedded within your own labyrinth, you had ceased to register time, movement or anything other than pleasure. Pleasure. And pleasure. You were wound so tight, you were the seed of the Universe itself. Drawing in on itself, smaller and smaller and smaller until everything ceased to exist.

“Pobrecita….” he pleaded raspily. “Don’t you want to come? It’s time to cum…” he begged, cupping the back of your neck as you writhed beneath his ministrations. 

“Can’t…cum…no…no…” you stuck your tongue out languidly, eyes rolling back in your head. You had babbled, pleaded, begged, squeaked…unraveling like a beautiful gift for yourself, leaving Javi a mess of nerves and hyperventilation.

“Hermosa, it’s….so much…you can’t do this again” he swallowed hard, watching you buck beneath him as he turned the vibrator up yet again.

Your eyes shot open in newfound delight as he hit THE SPOT. Over and over and over. Your face burst into a cheshire grin as you crested, and crested, and crested…and….

Body breaking in half you seized in a tight full body muscle spasm, finally crying out in delighted anguish as your body split into a million molecules of light. Working you through your pleasure, Javi coo’d encouragingly as he finally dropped the toy and passionately grasped you around the waist, stroking your back as you cried.

“Que hermosa mi amor, ¿Por qué te torturas? No puedo respirar…” he sighed, delicately massaging the back of your head and laying you down on the bed gently.

Lost to your euphoric oblivion, you barely registered his absence until he returned with some water and a warm wash cloth. You smiled dopily, enjoying the salty remnants of your well-earned release and stretching, cat-like. You gently blinked out of existence for a while, moaning into your re-emergence and finding Javi watching you dolefully with red-rimmed, chocolate-colored eyes.

“Oh” you sulked, cupping his face with one hand, surprised that your extremities still worked. “What's wrong my love?” you sniffled, bringing your body to alignment with his as your eyes threatened to close with every blink.

“Are you okay?” he asked in hushed tones, bringing his hand to your lower back and pulling you closer still.

“Oh yeeeees my love” you moaned, kissing into the stubble of his beard and humming contentedly, willing your liquid like arms around his neck with abandon. You felt Javi shudder and gasp as he began to cry in your arms. Surprised at his emotion, you gripped him tightly, wrapping your legs around his torso and wriggling your fingers up through his curly, chestnut hair.

“I don’t understand!” he cried, shaking like a small child and nearly cutting off your breathing with the force of his embrace.

“My love!” you squeaked. “What’s happening?” you blearily asked, cupping his face with both hands and kissing salty tear after salty tear.

“Why would you torture yourself like this? I could make you cum so much faster! Mi corazon esta partido en dos…” he lamented, drawing you up in his arms placatingly.

“Darling” you pouted, stroking his face sweetly. “I wish you had told me, we don’t have to do this anymore if it bothers you…” you began, as he shook his head profusely.

“I’m hurting you!” he cried, lower lip wobbling in anguish.

“You are NOT hurting me!” you exclaimed, sitting up precariously, emphatic with your intentions. “No man has EVER been so patient with my desires!” placing your hand over his heart comfortingly.

“Are you sure?” he begged, gazing imploringly into your eyes, looking for any sign of wavering or hidden meaning.

“Absolutely!” you sank back into his arms as he held you for a long time, relaxing a bit with relief. After several minutes he whispered tentatively, “If you could help me understand, maybe I could…enjoy…what you are enjoying…” he ventured.

“Of course” you ruminated, wondering if you could articulate your experience. “When I was younger, sex was so easy, so quick, so…utilitarian” you licked your lips, trying to formulate the complexity of your passions. Javi hummed in response. 

“The passions of youth are feverish and fiery” he mused, nodding his head in agreement.

“Yes, excitingly simple” you continued. “But…with maturity…” you chuckled self-deprecatingly. “With…some seasoning…”…

“Very spicy” Javi rocked you from side to side a bit as you giggled.

“With some seasoning…I’ve been re-introduced to….the complexities of myself”. Javi stilled in sacred listening, barely breathing. “I…burst into flame…like a phoenix rising…And the power. It’s like when iron sharpens iron, but the sword is…myself?” you snorted with temporary chagrin. “With you…she’s beautiful, and powerful, and worth the wait” you pondered, struggling to articulate the enjoyment of the moment. “She takes so much longer to unravel, it’s like a beautiful negotiation of self” you settled on that description, unsure how to convey the nuances.

Javi hummed in approval, resting his chin on the crown of your head and gathering you closer still in his embrace. “So…you are the phoenix who bursts into flame?” he sighed, smiling with newfound understanding.

“Aflame for you, my love” you grinned, looking up at him with adoration. Though, your mouth went immediately slack as you heard the tell tale vibrations of the toy buzz to life again.

“And you like this negotiation of self?” he teased, massaging the toy in languid circles as a sinful moan escaped your lips.

If your eyes had been open you would have seen the smirk transversing his sultry countenance. But they weren’t. Your lids had fluttered shut into the happy, pleasured existence of your own oblivion....

*thanks @samspenandsword for the cool dividers!

Moody Frankie

Ohhh I needed this. I've never written for Frankie, but I can see the Pedro Boys are going to need more of my attention if they are going to be so...attentive to us.

Triggers: smut, friends to lovers trope, fingering (f receiving), quick exit (friends with benefits?), slight profanity...

There weren’t words for description, but you were quite the sight for sore eyes. Ponytail hidden beneath his oversized hoodie, sweat pants, smeared mascara and finger poised, hovering just above the doorbell. You and Frankie had a standing date every Friday night to watch wrestling. Well, it wasn’t a date. You were friends. Good friends. But tonight was different. You sniffled awkwardly, a ball of emotions, cinematic masterpiece, standing in the rain. The rain for f@cks sake. Jesus Christ. What are you even doing? Your hand trembled slightly as you considered your options: quietly run back to your car, text Frankie that you had a searing headache, claim that…

“You’re late, chica!” The door swung open abruptly catching you wide eyed and unprepared, as Frankie stared at the flickering television screen, beer in hand. Swallowing dryly you quickly stepped inside, relieved that he hadn’t made eye contact with you. One look and the jig was up. Frankie was the friend you had always wanted. Somehow he didn’t treat you like one of the boys, but also never made you feel uncomfortable for being one of the girls. Of course, there was that one time at the bar, playing pool, when his hand had grazed your ass “accidentally” after a few too many beers. But that was just fun and games. Tonight was anything but. Tonight, you were unhinged, but Frankie was unaware. As usual. You wondered how long you could keep up the facade.

“That was TOTALLY illegal!” Frankie bellowed from the doorway, slamming it shut and jamming a beer into your hands. “Sorry it’s lukewarm” he stated matter-a-factly, eyes trained on the television and shoving magazines and pillows off of the couch for your convenience. “How was work?”

Here you had encountered a problem. Words. Frankie was expecting words. And you were all worded out. The day had gone colossally wrong. You HAD been plagued by a searing headache, yelled at by your boss, attempted to circumnavigate the Friday existential crisis, and found yourself red-rimmed and hiccuping at Frankie’s doorway. Frankie. His oversized hoodie draped over your hands as you fidgeted nervously with the beer bottle. Maybe if you just kept quiet the wrestling match would keep him occupied long enough to pass out on the couch. Just a little longer…the silence seemingly stretched into eternity.

“Helloooo?” he chattered, slapping your knee good heartedly and turning down the volume slightly. “I haven’t ordered pizza yet, but we never seem to go wrong with pepperoni” he reached up to tug at the hoodie and froze mid sentence as he took in your disheveled appearance. “Dude. Are you…?” he caught you mid hyperventilation as you stilled, attempting to blend into the couch like camouflage.

“J?” he muted the tv and leaned into your personal space, splaying his hand across your abdomen. You bit your lip painfully, twisting your head to the side in discomfort. Don’t make a sound, you thought ruefully, your hand twitching at your side. Wouldn’t know what to say anyways, you chastised, somehow delusional that you could keep up this act for much longer.

He grabbed the collar drawstrings with a gentle tug, turning your head back to center. “What the…?” he paused taking in your smeared mascara and wobbling lower lip. “Talk to me” he intoned, grabbing your knees with one hand and pulling them towards himself.

You opened your mouth but only produced a small, pathetic whimper as no words materialized. Paralyzed with indecision. What were you even doing here? 

Frankie’s countenance immediately softened, his brown eyes somehow growing warmer still as you looked around the room for escape. You sobbed, mouth closed, trying to appear less unraveled than you already were, but the day had completely bulldozed your resolve. You grasped the edges of the hoodie sleeves, hanging on for dear life. 

“Have you been drinking?” he asked lowly, gently taking the beer from your hands and setting it on the coffee table.

You shook your head from side to side profusely. Wouldn’t that be nice for an excuse. Nope. This was all you. Deranged. Disheveled. Unraveling at your Friday date. That wasn’t a date. Sobbing during wrestling.

“Okay” he acquiesced, leaning back slightly and taking in your full deregulated vibe. “It’s like a guessing game” he mused, trying to lift your spirits slightly. You tilted your head onto the couch  drawing your knees to your chest in exhaustion, willing him to telepathically interpret.

"Work was a shit show” he smiled dolefully as you nodded with placation. “Your boss continued to be an asshole” he nearly chuckled as a small smile tinged at the corner of your mouth “and you had another migraine” he guessed, drawing one finger across your forehead compassionately.

Your smile shattered into a thousand pieces as he guessed EVERY SINGLE DISASTER OF THE DAY, burying your head into the sleeves of his hoodie and drinking in the fragrance of cologne and beer.

His eyes widened in concern seeing the distress of the day in real time, gathering you up into his arms and placing you neatly on his lap as you dissolved into fits and sobs.

“Okay, okay, okay” he nurtured, rocking you back and forth slowly, bringing his hand up under your knees in a basket hold. “This was NOT what I was expecting for Friday Night Fights..” he joked, bringing a hand to the back of your neck and shushing you quietly.

You were too embarrassed to say a word, but tried to steady your breathing. NONE of the guys could know about this. What a f@cking mess. You couldn’t believe how out of line you were, but you felt yourself melting into his embrace, incapable of offering excuses of any kind. The two of you must have stayed that way for 5 or 10 minutes, in complete silence as you tried to reason your way out of this predicament. You needed him. Right now. This was about more than the day’s disasters, this was an accident waiting to happen, and you needed it to happen NOW.

You tilted your head up, locking eyes with him imploringly, wondering how far his telepathy extended. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob hungrily in his throat as his eyes darkened with lust. He chewed his lower lip in a moment’s hesitation. “Do you need more?” he rasped, wrapping his hand dangerously around your upper thigh, fingers dangling precariously close to your need. A primal grunt throbbed in the back of your throat as you nodded quiveringly. Frankie licked his lips, pausing to consider the ramifications of his next actions as your eyes widened to doe-like saucers, pleading, pleading, pleading.

Without another hesitation, he aggressively reached up past the elastic waistband, digging his fingers into the arousal soaked lining of your sweatpants. Groaning with desire, he notched his fingers at your entrance, touching his forehead to yours. “You sure?” he questioned one last time, feathering his fingers around your folds and teasing your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as it lolled to one side against his shoulder. “K” he decided, a near military precision to his actions, sinking two fingers quickly into your heat.

Something between a moan and sob escaped your lips as he scissored and circled your heat in practiced strokes. Your body seized up in immediate pleasure, writhing and crying with need as he grasped you underneath your legs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you” he repeated over and over again as you lost yourself in the repetition. “You’ve got me, you’ve got me” you silently mouthed the words over and over again as wave after wave crested over you with a powerful comfort. You couldn’t believe how quickly you were coming in his arms, weak from the day’s exhaustion, mascara’d tears dripping sloppily down your face. “There you are…” he croaked, circling his hand to a better position as you clenched and throbbed around his fingers, dripping down his wrist. “Feel that?” he pointedly asked as your eyes shot open in surprise. Oh yes, you most definitely felt that. A hot pressure cascading through your body that was quickly overtaking any stresses you had brought with you until 3…2….1…

You cried out in euphoric anguish, gushing over his fingers and hand, not able to register any embarrassment in the shadow of the overwhelming warmth and ecstasy flooding through your body. 

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie…The thought swirled in your mind, keeping time with the circular ministrations of his fingers, over and over and over again. He continued rocking you in a basket hold as the television lightly flickered in the darkening room. You drifted into a contented haze, safe in his arms and humming contentedly into his neck. At some point you felt yourself floating onto the couch, draped with a blanket and kissed lightly on the forehead. You tried to respond in gratitude but words continued to elude you. 

Hours later your eyes sleepily drifted open to see empty beer bottles, magazines, a half finished pizza and…post it note? You cleared your throat, sitting up sloppily and gazing around the room. Frankie’s tell-tale hat was missing as you blinked rapidly, trying to make out his haphazard writing:

Work emergency. Gone for a week. Drink water. Talk soon.

You sniffled messily, rubbing your eyes with irritation and clocking the small water bottle sitting at your feet. You chuckled with chagrin, astonished at the night’s developments.

Talk soon, you thought, jamming a cold piece of pizza in your mouth for breakfast and nibbling at the corners. Talk soon.

Happy Birthday!

Ah, our beloved Joel just had a little birthday on the 26th and Tumblr is alight with his beautiful gifties! Pedge wants to give something back, does anyone need a little special attention from Joel Miller?

Pick your color scheme and occasion and Pedge and I are going to craft you a special greeting card! As always, Pedge is a self made man (if you count Bitmoji...). I'm going to keep this request open for the rest of the year for anyone who needs it!

Don't forget to include your color scheme and what occasion we are recognizing. It doesn't have to be one of celebration if you are experiencing a loss, or a bad day or just want a quickie (#ahem encouragement). Pedge is not opposed to sexy exhortations either. Ope, Pedge has already dusted off the crayons and scissors I better get back! PM me for a little pick me up!

Moody Javi

Awwww....Paddington Bear Javi is the moodiest of them all, in the best way possible. Look at those big brown eyes! Putting together some mood boards for the Pedro Boys for an upcoming project...Frankie is on the horizon next...

Pedro Posts, Polls and Prompts...

Let's rock the vote y'all! I am so inspired by my fellow Tumblr writers, and y'all come up with some GREAT prompts. Please feel free to make a specific request, and jump on the bandwagon!

Pinterest Mood Board Bingo Card Dieter's Sky High Brownie Delights Pedro Party! Charcuterie Challenge WIP Poll Roll-a-Trope Challenge Married Joel Sits On You 2024 Hallo-Weenie Pedge PP Fandom Bingo Trope-Off WIP WIP Poll Pike's Place Trope-Off 2024 Pedge, Painter, Poet...Writer? Pedge Tease Boxed or Unboxed? Sexiest Man Alive Treasure Hunt The Boopage Wars Vote for Pedro! Moody Moreno + WIP Poll WIP Friday; What's With the Tags? Dead Dove December WIP Wednesday: Pedge's Bookshop Pedge's Fave 2024 Things A Year of 1sts Pedro's Holiday Feast Pedge's Tree and Christmas Card Pedro Stories Secret Santa Pining In Progress Get to Know Your Moots WIP; Pedge's Plays

Afterglow Series

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

Phoenix Rising (Javi Edition) A Different Happy Ending (Marcus Pike Edition) Workplace Benefits (Javier Pena Edition)

Moody Joel

A huge thank you to @yopossum and congrats on the 100+ followers! It was so fun to put your mood board at the epicenter of mine. It not only inspired my first mood-lit, the cherry has been popped with my first fic for Joel! As always, Pedge is a self-made man (if you count Bitmoji...)

Triggers: descriptors are mostly emotional, lots of heroine self-confusion, Jackson-era, raised voices, lite smut, pretty easy stuff, a little profanity. Of course, with Joel it's everything he DOESN'T say...

You sat, curled up on the couch, book in hand, your favorite mug of tea steaming on the nearby side table. The season had started to shift and a blustery wind was drifting through Jackson, not entirely devoid of warning, but still laced with the enigmatic mysteries of autumn. A rare opportunity to enjoy a day without patrols, harvesting or other communal activities, you had busied yourself in the garden, small living room library and the kitchen, waiting for Joel to come home. A quick intake of air as you reminded yourself that this was HIS home, not yours. Pausing in your reading you took a quick glance around the room, finding a few conspicuous items that were starting to dot HIS landscape. 

YOUR favorite mug, the one book you owned, a too small quilt that had taken all year to scrap together. You rubbed your feet together with discomfort, wondering if your presence was starting to become oppressive. Looking over you saw the mismatched boots, messily piled next to each other, seemingly disparate in this moment. Were the seasons changing in more ways than one? Were you starting to get a little TOO comfortable in a world that constantly threatened to unravel itself?

Like a bull in a china shop, you heard Joel crashing through the kitchen assembling the dinner you had prepared. You smiled, wondering if he seemed as noisy to himself, resonating in only one ear. Saying so little, but meaning so much, with a presence that seemed to dominate every space he was in. Maybe there wasn’t room for somebody as small as you.

Joel tiredly lumbered into the living room across creaking floorboards and plopped down on the couch beside you, dinner plated. You cast a sideways glance, unsurprised at his immediate delight, as he shoveled the green beans, chicken and mashed potatoes unceremoniously into his mustached mouth. Salivating slightly at his enjoyment you took a rare moment to gaze at his countenance, watching the muscles in his jaw tick, eyes closed, swallowing steadily and licking his lips. He leaned back, sighing heavily, trying to release the tension of the day.

“Long day?” you ventured, closing your book and nudging your feet under his jean clad thigh.

Joel set the plate down in his lap for a moment, tilting his head back on the couch with exhaustion. It’s possible he hadn’t even heard you as you barely caught his grunt of acknowledgement. So much of life was centered around survival, any luxury seemed nearly ridiculous in comparison. There was nothing about your arrangement that felt manipulative, but maybe it was one sided. Maybe just another utilitarian coping mechanism to survive the next atrocity.

You pulled your feet back under you, surprised at the cascading emotions and thoughts brought on by the autumnal brooding. You looked at the crackling fire, listening for the whistling wind outdoors. Your small house was just across the way, lonely, silent and cold and you wondered if things were starting to become a bit too entwined. Closing your book, you reached over tenderly to swipe a dot of gravy from the corner of his mouth, curious if he had somehow fallen asleep mid-bite. But hearing him hum in appreciation as your fingers drifted up to massage the back of his neck and scratch over his scalp. His chest rumbled with recognition, but you felt a slight pang of regret, curious if you amounted to a hired hand. Somehow a day of comparative solitude had threaded itself through your insecurities and you were suddenly vulnerable to its attack. Your face crumpled in defeat, unable to process so many feelings at once, unwilling to invite Joel into this swirling confusion.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, teetering precariously as you stood up. “I think I’ll take off, you good for the night?”. The clunky words fell out of your mouth, laced with subtitles you couldn’t interpret, as Joel’s eyes shot open confusedly.

“S’wrong?” he grumbled, perhaps more pointedly than intended.

“Nothing’s wrong” you lied, gripping the quilt protectively in front of your body and swaying slightly. “I’m just…tired, I guess…” the fib began to wrap its tendrils around your waist, cutting off the breath at the source.

“Well that’s no reason to leave, I’m just sittin’ down” he complained, furrowing his brow in confusion and wincing slightly as he sat further forward to discern your meaning.

“I know, I just…don’t want to bother you.”

Joel sat unmoving, metaphorical steam starting to emanate off his body in waves. Words didn’t come easily to him, but his survival acumen was unmatched. Something was up.

“Dinner’s real good” he stated, matter-a-factly, as though that communicated intricacies beyond your understanding. Unfortunately, it only solidified your hesitancy, as you were starting to feel like a glorified short order cook. Feeling emotionally naked you gripped the quilt desperately, inching backwards and forgetting the new side table Joel had crafted for your mugs of tea. You were just about to sputter some excuse about the seasons shifting when your heel caught on the table leg, propelling you backwards. Joel’s hand snapped out, grabbing you and the quilt you were holding and knocking his dinner to the ground with a crash.

“Goddamit, will you be more careful?!” he exclaimed, gripping you around the waist and pulling your body between his knees abruptly.

Something about the sudden adrenaline and self-indecision, disoriented your emotions even more than your body and you felt yourself well up with tears, lip wobbling in confusion.

Joel’s expression softened, as did his iron grip, as his fingers moved down your waist and lightly gripped your backside. “What’s gotten into you?’ he questioned, looking around the room as though trying to identify the shift in tonality.

“Don’t know” you lied again, unable to disentangle yourself from the growing self-loathing.

“You wanna leave?” he raised his voice, trying desperately to grasp at the threads of understanding.

“No” you pouted, finally assured of one truth. You didn’t want to leave. You just wanted to stay forever.

He huffed an exasperated puff of air into your face, squinting skeptically into your guilty expression. “Door’s right there, honey…just…” he shot back defensively, noticing the pools of emotion swimming in your eyes…”…just…”. He swallowed hard, as time started to drip more slowly, blurring his perception. He looped a finger through one of your belt buckles, tugging your hips jerkily.

“Just…is cold out, s’all” he managed to mutter, looking down at your lips disappointedly. “Gotta be careful” he grumbled, drawing his thumb across the small snippet of skin peeking from underneath your threadbare sweater. You melted a little bit at his touch, drawing yourself down onto his lap tentatively. You placed your hands on his chest, breathing together in sync, trying to take in the moment. “Gotta stick together” he rationalized, feeling a small pulse of emotion in his chest threaten to crest. The wind howled louder still, almost in agreement.“ You should stay” he suggested, placing his hands on your thighs and moving his thumb in small circles. “Dinner was REAL good” he repeated “until you made me drop it” he smirked, lightening the mood.

You felt your chest expand in a contented breath, settling down further onto his lap and relaxing slightly. “There’s more where that came from” you sulked, a little unsure of yourself.

Joel waited patiently as you sat atop him, moving his hands to your back and watching you intently.

“It IS starting to get colder” you reasoned, feeling some of your insecurity melting away with the day’s troubles.

Joel nodded his head gruffly in agreement, latching a finger at the collar of your sweater and slowly pulling you towards him. “Gotta stick together” he repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, when you kissed him with newfound abandon.

The Audition:

This is Part Two of the New York, New York Series where I thought it would be fun to explore a realistic jaunt into the past. It's mostly self indulgent fluff, although just to be safe...

Triggers: fluff, lite smut at the end, saccharin sweet hand holding, alcohol consumption, descriptions of athletic (f) body, slight profanity, description of cigarettes, RPF re: Narcos audition

Lazily, you stretched your body like a cat, noticing your bedmate sprawled out next to you. Their pink button nose twitched with sensitivity as the morning light streamed in from the crusty window. You twisted your feet against the multi-colored quilt, blinking sleepily into the daylight. New York, New York. What a wonderful town.

Giving one final stretch you nuzzled your furry bedmate to happy purrs and biscuits and placed your feet on the cold wooden floor, padding down the hallway of your Airbnb. Standing at the kitchen counter you prepared the small metal espresso pot, cracking your joints noisily. Rehearsals had been a dream, but the wear and tear of New York foot traffic was nothing to scoff at. You’d met your creative team, perused the show sketches, started choreography, fell in love with your cast mates and moved into Ripley Grier. You’d even memorized the sketchy subway patterns and Thai Food take out locations, but you hadn’t done one thing.

Bumped into Mr. New York.

You licked your lips in anticipation as the espresso pot boiled in front of you. Pedro.

Pedge.

He seemed like more of a Pedge. Your guardian angel. That bumpy landing followed by a whirlwind arrival had almost completely derailed you in a New York minute, but something about those swirling orbs of chocolate-eyed concern had stuck with you. In a city that never sleeps it seemed almost ludicrous that you’d bump into him again. The cat delicately wrangled itself through your poised ankles as you poured a steaming cup of liquid energy into a chipped cup. But in the Big Apple, you smirked, anything can happen.

After two weeks of rehearsals things were going well, but they’d sent you further downtown for your final costume fitting and you had NO idea where you were going. The bustling underbelly of the New York subway system still had a certain romanticized grime, but WHY were you always lost? You nearly tripped over a discarded scarf and elbowed your way to the approaching train as your hair blew back in surprise at its gust of wind. Allowing the sea of humanity to exit you merged with the entering crowd and took your place, eyeing the suspiciously sticky puddle to the left of your feet. Assume the position; wide stance. Gripping the pole with one hand you took a deep breath and…there he was.

Face contorted in focused concentration and holding a nearly empty Venti Iced Starbucks Cup, along with loose leaflet pages, an iPod, phone and wallet. You smiled nervously, attempting to hone your skills of telepathy. If New York had taught you one thing it was to immediately seize every opportunity that presented itself, because the Big Apple waits for no one. You slid your way through a barrage of annoyed faces till your belly button was positioned nearly in front of his nose. You cleared your throat, but he remained buried in his concentration amidst the metallic, humming atmosphere. A busker began singing “Falling Slowly” and for one horrifying moment you considered disappearing into the masses, but noticing the large print on his cup, your curiosity got the better of you.

“Brown Eyes???!!!!” you exclaimed as his eyes darted up to your face with surprise. Dropping his pages on the subway floor, you nearly bumped heads trying to pick them up as a headphone now dangled unceremoniously, twisting in the air.

“J!” he smiled, brightening up the entire car as it slowed to a halt with a grinding crash. Having forgotten your wide stance, you nearly fell over backwards as he grabbed you by the front of your shirt and awkwardly pulled you onto his lap.

“Oops!” he blushed, pulling the other headphone out and beaming. “I wondered when I would see you again, how are rehearsals?”

Having temporarily forgotten your name and all manner of information you took quick note of the stubble dotting his chin and scent of something woodsy. Clearing your throat you stood up shakily, attempting to press your shirt down unsuccessfully. “It’s going great Pedge!”

…oops…

“Er…can I call you Pedge?” New York City: One, J: Zero.

“Of course!” he shouted patting the open seat next to him. Plopping down, your eyes took in the sides he was holding in his hand.

“Narcos” you nodded “intriguing”.

“Oh” he deflated a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I got a callback for tomorrow, but I can’t even get arrested, even after the…thing..” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, whispering into your ear, eliciting a small shiver.

“Well good, Narcos are supposed to arrest people, not the other way around” you joked. “Unless you’re playing a bad guy? What’s the scene?”

He chuckled light-heartedly handing over the pages, “It’s not the dialogue I’m worried about.”

Your eyes widened like saucers reading the lurid description:

Javier Pena and Helena are fucking on the living room couch. Liquor bottles and cigarettes sit in the foreground as the camera pans to their naked bodies. Javier finishes quickly, and eventually lays back on the couch to light a cigarette.

YOU nearly dropped the pages this time, reddening in embarrassment. “Are you playing Helena?” you coughed, watching his eyes sparkle before you.

“No, they said my tits were too small” he pouted, taking the pages back and smirking mischievously. You pursed your lips, attempting to hold back a laugh. Saucy devil.

“I mean, this is probably nothing compared to..the thing…” you repeated, referencing his recent GOT gig.

“It’s true, we had lots of nudity in that one” he agreed. “I’m pretty okay with it as long as I check with my scene partner, but this feels different somehow…” he trailed off.

“It feels more intimate” you surmised.

He winked, rolling the pages into a funnel and chewing his lip.

“They really should have somebody on-site to consult for intimacy scenes” you pondered. “I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but it’s about a lot more than just stripping and calling ‘action’! I’m never quite sure how to handle those auditions myself…”.

He nodded, bumping your knee with his and sipping down the final dregs of his espresso.

“Particularly with coffee…no wonder you’re so wired!” you pinched his knee sardonically as he crumpled with embarrassment.

“A man’s gotta eat” he huffed, pausing to think. “Wanna grab lunch?”

You’d never played hooky in NY, but your costume fitting wasn’t for another hour and Pedro pulled you through the epicenter of Times Square as you dodged a mostly Naked Cowboy and a dubious looking…Elmo? You tilted your head upwards, taking in the large marquis signs and towering hotels. “God, I hate Times Square” he muttered under his breath, weaving precariously through the tourists and tchotchke shops featuring every manner of “I Heart NY”.

“Shake Shack okay?” he nearly shouted into your face, gripping your hand tightly and moving forward at a breakneck pace.

“Sure!” you exclaimed, unsure of its significance, but excited to feel the vibe of the city. You could feel the pulse of his hand gripping yours, noticing a small tattoo in the crook by his thumb.

“It’s like “In and Out!” he retorted, “but even better! I know….sacrilege. You’ll thank me later, I promise…” whisking the door open and nearly shoving you inside. The rest of the day was a blur as one hour became two and two became four. You both raced into the costume fitting, still holding hands and giggling like kids. The repetition of the sewing machines and office talk immediately silenced you, as you made bee line for the fabulous individual wrapped in measuring tape and bright pink feathers.

“Darling, you’re 30 minutes late” they dead panned, eyeing you up and down suspiciously.

“I know I’m so sorry! I get lost everywhere I go! Is there still time for the fitting?” you panted, biting your lip apologetically.

“Come with me to the dressing room” they breezed past you with newfound amibition. “Your boyfriend can sit in the waiting area…”.

You gulped loudly, dropping Pedge’s hand with embarrassment. You looked over at him as he made a funny face. “Looks like I got the part” he chided, bopping you on the head with the Narcos sides and placing his hand on your lower back.

You felt your body temperature raise slightly as you headed into the backroom. Stepping into the curtained area you gawked at the gorgeous, red sequined dress hanging in front of you. Running your hands over the material you quickly ascertained its functionality. Breathable. Moveable. Wait, a minute. This plunging neckline was a bit too…plunging, as in, all the way downtown. Hmmm…Unable to reach the zipper in the back your eyes widened in concern.

“Move it or lose it honey!” the seamstress yelled, drawing the curtains back theatrically. “Let’s see what God gave ya!”. They pulled you into the center of the room as Pedge’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

Your black laced bra was fully visible through the non-existent front panel, and that one freckle on your butt cheek peeked out from the unzipped back portion.

“Sold” Pedge whispered with a graveled undertone, as the the seamstress arched a well manicured eyebrow to high heaven.

“Well that’s one way to sell tickets” they joked, yanking the zipper closed in the back as Pedge’s eyes darkened seductively. He cleared his throat, shifting with discomfort in the seat, and readjusting his pants with one hand.

“Looks good to me” he piped up, giving you a wink and twisting his mouth comedically.

“Thanks, boyfriend” you smirked, hoping your tits weren’t pointing directly through the fabric.

You floated through the rest of the afternoon in a dreamy hazy. They had released you from the day of rehearsal and Pedge convinced you to take a stroll in Central Park. Cyclists and kids dotted the hillside, and you couldn’t help but notice your hands seemed to brush together a lot in passing. Grabbing some ice cream from a nearby cart you found yourself uptown near the Metropolitan Museum of Art. About to step foot into the crosswalk a horse drawn carriage nearly bulldozed over you, as Pedge grabbed you around the waist protectively.

“We’re walking here!” he shouted, flipping the man off, and holding on to you a bit longer than was necessary. “You okay?” he asked, reaching up to wipe the ice cream remnants from the corner of your mouth.

“Never better” you smiled, lifting one foot slightly off the ground.

Meg Ryan, eat your heart out.

Pedge grabbed your hand as you walked into the massive, echoing chambers of the Met, grabbing your audio guide and museum map. “I prefer the Guggenheim, but the Met is unreal” Pedge beamed, ushering you into the Egyptian room with pride.

“I have decided…dat for the rest of the day…we are going to talk like dis” he whispered to you in front of the ceiling high paneled windows. “Waiter…”

“Waiter…” you smiled with acknowledgement.

“There is too much pepper on my paprikash…”.

You started giggling with delight until you both blurted out:

“But I would proud to partake of your pecan piiiiiiie!!!!”

Dissolving into fits of laughter you noticed a security guard clear their throat noisily in response.

“What, are we going to Katz's next?” you whispered clandestinely.

“I’ll have what she’s having” his voice dropped about an octave, grabbing you by the jean pocket and pulling every so slightly. Your breath hitched in your throat, noticing your close proximity. He didn’t break eye contact for so long you thought he might kiss you, but then he sighed heavily, dragging his hand across your abdomen. “Told you it was beautiful” he grinned, grabbing one of your fingers lightly and leading you through the open hall.

Sharing an audio guide, you were joined at the head, giggling in hushed overtones and pondering some of the classic art pieces. Walking into a room filled with ornate insignia and full bodied armor, Pedro twirled impressively, lunging forward with athleticism.

You took an embarrassed look around to make sure you weren’t catching unnecessary attention.

“I haven’t even told you anything about Croatia for GOT!” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly as you shushed him clandestinely. “There’s this scene for this MAJOR character that drives everyone nuts, and there’s an assassination attempt…” you covered his mouth with mouth hands smiling up into his face.

“Stawp!” I don’t even know the characters and you’re probably not allowed to talk about those details ya big goof!” you whispered, as he kept speaking in muffled tones into your hand. Darting his tongue across your palm you yelped with surprise. “Stawp!”

He grabbed your hand back and blew a stream of air over your fingers. “Do you want me to do a palm reading?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“Um, sure? Can you do that sort of thing?”

“Verrrrrry convincingly…” he joked, rubbing one finger down the epicenter of your hand. You shifted your weight tensely.

“I see an…interesting stranger in your future” he cocked one eyebrow up, bemused.

You rolled your eyes, poking him in the sternum as he chuckled. “What about money?” you pointedly asked, placing your other hand on your hip.

He closed his eyes dramatically, humming under his breath. You waited with anticipation, moving slightly closer, feeling the heat emanating off of his body. He brought your hand up to his forehead with bravado, “Zoltarrrr sayssss….actors never make…moneeeeeey” he chanted, opening his eyes to find you mere inches from his face. “Hi” he whispered, pressing his thumb into your palm and bringing it down to your side.

“I suppose there are things worth more than money” you mused, completely transfixed by his pouty lower lip. Watching his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat hungrily, you reached up and placed a hand to his neck feeling his feathery pulse intensify with the closeness.

“Nah” he broke the tension with a wide smile, giving you a quick peck at the corner of your mouth and running away like a kid in a candy store.

You stood with your mouth agape, beaming from ear to ear. Ah, the culture of art.

“Sick of me yet?” he questioned, caging you in against the vibrating subway door.

“Hardly” you yelled, covering your mouth in immediate embarrassment. “But what about your callback?”

His face registered slight shock for a millisecond, remembering the day’s events, and then shrugging his shoulders. “Eh, I’ll probably call my agent and bail. I don’t think I’ve got a shot in hell…” he reasoned.

“Nonsense!” you retorted. “I’m putting you to work immediately! You’re still in Brooklyn, right? We can grab some Thai and run your lines.” you tipped forward slightly with an unexpected bump, nearly brushing lips.

Pedge’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “You’re not gonna give me a line-reading are you?” he teased, pinching your chin lightly.

“Only if you suck” you wrapped your fingers around his wrist playfully. “I generally ask for compensation via foot massages”. Pedge glanced down at your feet with curiosity. “I think that can be arranged.”

“I haven’t…laughed this hard in years…” you wheezed, attempting to balance the Thai Food, wine and Pedge up four flights of stairs. Pedro dropped the keys in front of his apartment as you finally doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down your face.

“Stawp, stawp!” you pleaded, holding your stomach. “You’re gonna make me peeeee….”.

“Absolutely not!” he bellowed. “My landlord will fine me for that!” he burst into the apartment, trying to drag you over the threshold amidst your gasps for air.

“We haven’t even started drinking yet…” you barely managed to get out, crawling down the hallway to what seemed like the bathroom. Returning to the kitchen a few moments later, Pedge had grabbed some paper plates and opened the two buck chuck.

“Bon appetite!” he smiled gesturing broadly to the delightful spread as you took in the meager New York residence.

“Very bachelor pad” you teased, poking him in the ribs and gazing at the futon, clothes rack and piled books. “Okay Mr. Bibliophile” you observed, catching the titles of “The Color Purple”, “Meisner On Acting” and an art book on Rousseau.

“It’s no Versailles, but it’s home” he grinned, taking a large bite out of the crab rangoon.

Inhaling your Thai Food, you were already two glasses of red wine in, and had to remind yourself to slow down. You were just having so much fun, talking about character development and fighting over the last spring roll.

“Do I have to goooo tomorrow?” he whined, plopping down on the couch with faux theatrics. “Couldn’t we just…go to another museum? Oooh, have you ever been to Lincoln Center? Or Sardis?”

“No, no, no” you laughed, sitting opposite him on the couch and gazing intently into his eyes. “Do you think you have it memorized yet?”.

He turned his body to face yours, returning the intensity of your focus. “It’s not like there was a lot of dialogue” he reminded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear tenderly. You swallowed dryly, feeling the happy effects of the wine buzzing around in your head. Curling your legs underneath you and resting your hands definitively on his quads you lectured.

“As you know, film and television has a much more intimate intensity than the performative styles of the theater…”

His eyes widened with acknowledgement “Thank you Professor J…”.

“Shuddup!” you giggled, continuing. “The most important thing you can do to maintain emotional intimacy for the camera is body language, communication and eye contact…” you informed, licking your lips and concentrating on his.

“Is that so?” he leaned in, returning your gaze and starting the scene.

“We get better every time we practice” he placed his arms on either side of your legs, moving in closer.

“You’re amazing Javier” you drolled, smirking sardonically.

“Well, don’t go overboard” his eyes darted down to your wine stained lips as you tipped backwards onto the couch.

“What you’re missing in this apartment is a woman” you teased, pulling him gently forward and straddling his torso with your knees.

“It’s fine the way it is” he rasped moving his head down to your sternum and placing a small chaste kiss across your midriff.

“Good…blocking” you managed to whisper. “Improvisation is…essential” you ran your fingers through his hair gently.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he intoned into your chest, now nibbling at your solar plexus.

Your breath came in shallow bursts, as you tried to remember your lines. “Uh….work or play?” you muttered, as the lines between lines blurred hazily.

“Ven aqui” he looked up, drawing his hands up the sides of your body slowly and pausing to cup the back of your neck.

“What?”

“Dame un beso” he drew one finger across your lower lip seductively, resting his body weight carefully atop you.

“I think that’s my line” you sighed.

Time seemed to stand still as you both held the moment, intently.

“I think tomorrow…you have a very good chance…” you smiled.

Moody Pena

I've been having so much fun with mood boards, I hope writers can utilize them for inspiration! Appropriately titled, one of my favorite authors is @jolapeno and I've saved a billion of their fics for late night sexy literature. I hope you will check some of them out and stay tuned for our next installment of New York, New York. Pedge finds himself auditioning for "Narcos" in the Big Apple and needs YOUR help...

Make Me Like the Holidays Soft Joel The Day Frankie Came Home Can You Ever Really Know? I Like the Way You... It's the Sniffles Late Night Texts Do Me Yourself Unwrap Me Now Don't Move Honey Just Thinking... Fifteen Hundred and One There's Nothing Blue About You

Moody Rainy Day

Good Lord, did you see the new TLOU trailer? Pedge and I are already wrecked. This has been one of the most personally difficult weeks of my life, but one artistic outlet sustaining me is the Tumblr community! I had an awesome time creating this mood board for the beauty @beefrobeefcal, and they encouraged me to share with everyone! It's going to be 106° tomorrow, but I've definitely got Fall on the brain. Anyone who wants to use as inspiration please feel free and tag away! As per last week's poll results, I'm going to continue Monday Mood Boards starting with Pedro characters like Javier Pena...Pedge approves.

Blossom Beauty, Blossom!

Pedge and I have been speaking at length about come of the recent Tumblr tiffs. While I am resolutely holding my own (#cough-lies), Pedge is an open book and has spent many an evening requiring copious cuddle time, chocolate chip cookies and sniffles. Luckily, we are up for the task! But I wanted to send a quick thanks to @millersflowermarket and @positivelypedro for their stellar work in focusing on the positive. Pedge might not be a registered therapist, but he ALWAYS provides me with some interesting insights...

In our PB + J sessions, Pedge feels it is very important to stick together ala "The One With Pedge and Jett" and "The One with Pedge and Queen Beef". I had come across some peripheral postulations, but Pedge was feeling a bit more curious and we went in search of (dun, dun, dun...)...the confessions blog (blog, blog, blog) [insert dramatic echo]. I had some hesitancy, but Pedge said to keep an open mind so we decided to give it a glance.

Oh my heavens! Pedge! Excuse me a moment this might require an emergency batch of chocolate chip cookies and face kisses. Hmmm...Pedge, if necessary, please reconnect with your somatic center by placing your hand across your chest and practicing some deep breathing (Pedge has some anxiety and who would blame him?)

I'm not 100% sure what the man himself would say, but Pedge is flumoxed. This is a complete mis-representation of his stance on self expression, positivity and...cookies.

I suppose confessions have an element of personal truth that can be appropriately considered. But as an amateur therapist (yes Pedge, I will include your sexy time proclivities...)...as an amateur therapist Pedge would like me to remind us all that truth must be viewed personally, intimately and within an appropriate context. And unfortunately, this blog is none of those things.

After reminding us both that we successfully survived Jr. High, Pedge and I signed off, blocking yet another negativity...

So that took care of that, and we are obviously on the continued hunt for any additional examples of plagarism or bullying that might occur. I reminded Pedge that loving discussion can provide some insights about difficult topics. Thank you to @gasolinerainbowpuddles for a nuanced discussion of NC and the therapeutic benefits of expression and the importance of Trigger Warnings. Pedge and I similarly speak about SH, ideation, mortality and other darker subjects in pieces like "Knitting Back Together".

Life can be very painful. Sexy time can be very confusing. The exploration of Love can be so lonely, isn't that right, Pedge? But I am confident as we continue to pursue Truth, Beauty and Love in the ways that make sense for us, we will find how much we share in common, rather than the many ways we might be divided.

In closing, (as Pedge continues his deep breathing practice) he would like me to remind us all to "be good to yourself and be good to others". It's always a good time for things like flowers, Love and, of course...chocolate chip cookies.

Yes Chef! Dieter's Sky High Brownies

Ingredients

1 cup cannabis-infused coconut oil 1 1/2 cups sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 eggs 1 cup flour 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 1/2 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt 1 cup chocolate chips

Turn on the oven to… “a hawt vibe”, and then mix the ingredients in…no, Dieter that’s a vase. Alright, most peeps should probs use a mixer, Dieter is using his hands. Yes D, I will be happy to lick your fingers when I have a moment. I suggested adding the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, but Dieter started giggling as soon as I said the word “wet”. D, I don’t think we’re supposed to sample the cannabis before we…okay I’ll finish up here. Dieter has retired to his room to “watch the pretty rainbows form in his mind” and has requested we bring the brownies and our “bangin’ body” to his room when ready. #staybakedyall

Triggers: While we were "baking" Dieter the Chef taught me a naughty limerick and I thought I'd pass it on. Thanks to @punkshort for the fun prompt and congrats on the one year anniversary! D has cooked up the above mood board, poem and song to celebrate your artistry! Please imbibe at your own saucy risk...

Amongst all the chefs that you see His messy vibe fits to a tee He’s painter and poet He’s hawt and he knows it, “Would you like to have sex with me?” His question, though somewhat surprising Gives rise to your temperature rising Your lips form a YES! One needn’t have guessed Your morals he’ll have compromising. Starting the night with that look Your appetite clearly was hooked You went to your pad To bed the fine lad And learn how a chef like to “cook”. When sampling some of the fun He’s baking in more ways than one His favorite glaze is more Purple Haze And slapping your cinnamon buns. This Bubble Boy likes a cool kit-kat When edging his mistress or sweet brat. While giving a wank, Your tush-y he’d spank And pleasure your naughty pussy-cat? For boys or the girls he’s a bi And won’t say no to cherry pie. When adding some cream Your name he would scream Then ask if you want to get high. This evening, your sexy time cleft Was lonely and feeling bereft Your legs you did spread For his tousled head And found yourself chanting, “YES CHEF!” So let’s give a cheer for Chef Dieter Who mostly can cook with his “peeter” When adding the sauce Your lips he will gloss and say “Bon a Petite!” while he eats her....Mmmmmm....

If anyone is looking for more "saucy eats" please check out the recent @pedroscouts Ice Cream Social, we had a blast!

Childless Cat Lady...

GIF by @iamasaddie

Oh man, let it be me. Me next.

#man biscuits #a girl can dream #meow #childless cat lady much #insert pussy joke

Make Your Own Kind of Music

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

Pedge Polls + Prompts

Oooh! Pedge and I are such a sucker for these cute games! Thanks @burntheedges for a great idea, anyone want to join in? The only one tenuous is the last because this year I was finally published! Not sure you can tell from my non-beta'd writing lol...Looks like I need to start drinking those 6 shots of espresso...

Moody Dieter

Trying for a Mood Board Monday and I had so much fun creating this for @morallyinept. One of my top five favorite series is "Self-Help w/ Dieter and Jett", and Pedge agrees! I've felt inspired in more ways than one, and might try writing for Dieter in the future! Last week's poll was pretty clear, but maybe we tighten it up? Also, extra credit if you can find the flying Pterodactyl....

This is the most personal series I've attempted so far, but Mark Twain says to write about what you know. I've been really fortunate to work in NY and LA with some of the same peeps as Peepaw and often wondered how often we found ourselves in the same buildings, the same subways and the same cities as we pounded the pavement. I feel so inspired by the artists around me and wanted to celebrate our continued journey. RPF series...

Triggers: Set in 2014, it might progress to some lite smut, but this first episode only includes a slightly tipsy trip and mild profanity. NYC is rough enough--save the drama for your llama...

Episode One: The Big Apple Episode Two: The Audition Episode Three: Purple Rain Episode Four: The Big Goodbye (Finale)

Shorts:

Pedge Tweets Baby's Beats Moody Thespian

You twiddled your thumbs in nervous anticipation. There wasn’t anything to worry about. You had waited your whole life for THIS moment. You were as prepared as anyone could be. You’d packed a winter coat, hand sanitizer galore and zip lock bags for heaven’s sakes. The Big Apple wasn’t ready for YOU. You tightened your seat belt and looked out the plane window, marveling at the puffy clouds dotting the horizon. How did you arrive at the epicenter of your dream? A decade’s worth of auditioning and you were finally headed to New York City and were about to start your first Broadway National Tour. Maybe dreams do come true, you smiled, intent on ordering a celebratory champagne. It was all smooth sailing from here.

Ironically enough it was NOT smooth sailing from here, and it wasn’t until the plane started to level out that you noticed the heat emanating from your seat partner’s forearm, which you had locked in a death grip.

“You okay, there?” a low, honeyed voice dipped into your ear and your eyes tilted up to see brown pools of orbed concern above you.

Hello gorgeous.

You unlocked your hand from his arm, attempting to smooth over the finger markings starting to redden underneath.

“Sorry about that…” you mumbled, smoothing out your hair, brushing the dangling oxygen masks out of your face and rethinking that champagne order.

“Well that was unexpected!” he smiled broadly, twinkling with a charm that immediately shouted "actor". You swallowed dryly, watching people around you laughing with surprise and clapping in belated relief. “I’m Pedro” he reached over to pull a strand of hair out of your face with an intimacy that forced the breath out of your lungs. “And you are?”

“Uh…I’m J” you stammered, nervously attempting to roll the oxygen mask back into its compartment, but unable to quiet your shaking fingers.

“Here let me get that…” he reached up with a broad stroke that deftly closed the above compartment as he smiled with a sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

You covered your mouth, giggling quietly into your third champagne. “And the phone number was a NY area code, so I joked, "oh that must be Broadway calling"…..AND IT WAS!” you snorted uproariously as Pedro brought a jovial finger to his mouth to quiet you.

“Have you had anything to eat today?” he quarried, swallowing his own champagne. You hungrily watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. Hiccuping slightly, your cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry…I’m so nervous, and excited…” you burped quietly and started giggling again. “I should eat something, huh?”

“Let’s get some food in you, stat” he pushed the button for the flight attendant and took your glass before you accidentally dropped it.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t even…” you hiccuped suddenly… “…haven’t even asked very much about you…How do you find yourself in New York?” you swayed a little, unsure if the plane was moving sideways or you were.

Pedro brought a light hand up to steady your shoulder, smiling easily. “I’m an actor” he responded dolefully “…but I might be the only one that knows it” he shrugged, motioning for the flight attendant to bring 2 box lunches.

“Oh my gosh, do you sing?!” you practically shouted, unaware of the volume of your voice in these close quarters.

“Absolutely not!” he whispered. “Though, if pressed, I confess I did appear in ONE musical at OSCA, it was "Gypsy".

“Oh my god, did you go to OSCA? I almost taught there last year…” you whispered clandestinely, as though plotting a bank heist.

“Well that’s why YOU are appearing in a Broadway Musical and NOT ME” he argued, taking your box lunches from the flight attendant and gesturing to your bag of potato chips.

“I’m actually just coming from a gig in Croatia and it was like…a DREAM. I got to meet these incredible artists, and I had this amazing costume. They did a cast of my head! Geez, I always say too much, but I get so excited. Have you ever heard of "Game of Thrones’?”

Your mouth dropped open as you dangled a potato chip before your poised tongue. “Ummmm, I’m sorry, Game of Thrones? That’s a frickin’ big deal!” you crunched loudly on your disappearing snack. “Are you shitting me right now?”. You hadn’t seen any episodes since you couldn’t afford cable, but hordes of your friends were obsessed with the show, and given the chance, you thought you would be too.

“I know right?!” his eyes lit up like a little kid’s, sharing his secret treasure trove of discovery. “But it doesn’t air for like…FOREVER, and now I’ve just gotta go back to my survival job and start hitting the pavement again. And I can’t even talk about…anything. I’ve got an audition coming up and my resume isn’t even current…” he rubbed the back of his neck as you took a massive bite out of your turkey sandwich.

“Dude, I’m SO impressed” you mumbled, smacking your lips together whole-heartedly as he reached over to swipe a dollop of mustard from the corner of your mouth.

“Thanks, it really feels like I pushed through a wall or something. Nothing has changed on the outside, but everything is different on the inside, you know?” his eyes sparkled with intensity, meeting your gaze magnetically, as he brought his thumb to his mouth enticingly.

“I do” you hiccuped, wrapping your fingers around his wrist encouragingly, and then squeezing with affection, “I really do”.

You sighed contentedly burying your face further still into your pillow. This was a weird pillow. It was curved. And slender. And warm. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your flight has landed” it said softly, cupping your face with one large hand.

You licked your lips as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking blearily at the blurry face that coalesced in front of you. “Do you need some water?” he squinted with concern, undoing your seatbelt and dragging a hand across your back.

“Ohhhhh” you sighed a bit too loudly, biting your lip with chagrin until you noticed that the plane was mostly empty. “Oh my gawd, have we landed?” the adrenaline pumped into your system as you bolted upright, nearly knocking your head into the above compartment.

“Careful!” Pedro cautioned, popping upward and doing the same. You both rubbed your heads with embarrassment, laughing slightly at the gaff. “Looks like we’ve arrived” he observed, gripping your hand and grinning with anticipation. “Welcome to the Big Apple!”

Standing nervously in the epicenter of Port Authority you felt like Little Orphan Annie. “Three bucks, two bags, one me” you muttered, under your breath, standing in the swirling vortex of humanity bustling around you.

“Do you know where you’re headed?” Pedro hefted his backpack over his shoulder, gripping a larger bag underneath his arm easily.

“I’ve got some friends in Brooklyn, they said to grab the Q?”

“Get outta town, that’s where I’m headed too!” he jerked his head towards the escalators as you trundled your pretty pink suitcase behind him.

“THANK YOU!” you shouted “I get lost EVERYWHERE I go!” you marveled at the buskers, fighting for attention in the echoing hallways. He beamed with pride at the city that never sleeps.

“I gotchu!” he nodded, grabbing your other bag and hoisting it over the turnpike, once you had purchased your subway pass. You fought the urge to clap your hands together excitedly as a subway loudly whooshed past you on the exit. A barrage of people purposefully stormed towards you as Pedro dodged out of their way with alacrity. You both made your way to the center of the pathway, nearly plopping down on one of the open seats before Pedro lifted you up by the elbow.

“Maayyyybe don’t sit there” he cautioned, eyeing the seat suspiciously and clocking the approaching Q train. You gulped with excitement seeing the rats scurry away from the vibrating rails and trash. 

“This is soooo cool…” you glittered, taking a deep fragrant inhale of mint, beer, urine and garbage.

“I know” Pedro concurred, drawing closer to the approaching train. “Now, it’s common curtesy when you board a subway to stand off to the side so people can exit first”. You nodded your head solemnly, intent to blend into the East Coast atmosphere. “And once you get onboard, most seats will be taken so stand close to the handrails and dig in with a really wide stance so you don’t fall over backwards with the momentum.”

“This is a lot different than L.A. traffic” you ventured, rolling your suitcase awkwardly to the front.

“Yeah, you’re not in the O.C. anymore” he chided, the train doors sucking open with piles of people pouring out.

“Let’s go!” he piped up, dragging you, your suitcase and your dreams right along with him into the overcrowded train, gently elbowing a path to the nearest open spot and hooking his arm around a handrail. “Hang on!” he reminded you, as the train lurched forward, nearly tipping you over your suitcase headfirst. A strong forearm gripped you around the waist and pulled you back to center before you bumped into the baby stroller next to you. “Surprise!” he tittered, nearly touching your forehead with his and scrunching his nose up playfully. “Gotta expect the unexpected…” he whispered into your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

A guardian angel, you thought. I’m living the dream. Three bucks, two bags and one me.

“I really can’t thank you enough for all your help!” you shouted into his ear as your stop approached.

“Oh my gosh, congratulations on your tour, it’s gonna be amazing!” he smiled, growing a little regretful at the end of your encounter.

“I can’t wait!” you reasoned, biting your lip hesitantly. Do you ask for his number? I mean, you kind of have your hands full with rehearsals starting and trying to navigate an entire city. That’s stupid, right? “And congrats on your upcoming episode, it’s gonna be EPIC!…I’ll have to get cable!” you joked as the train began to grind to a halt.

“So maybe I’ll see you around Brooklyn this week? Or Ripley Grier? Where are you guys rehearsing?”

“I’m not sure!” you shouted, gripping your suitcase excitedly as the mass of people pushed you out of the subway onto the platform. “See you around, Brown Eyes!” you called as the doors unceremoniously whooshed shut.

“Bye…” he mouthed holding up a hand placatingly, and miming a theatrical sob at your departure. You locked eyes joyfully as the train pulled out of the station, taking your newfound friend with it.

You sighed regretfully, hoping your paths would somehow cross again. You’d made it this far. And tomorrow, you had to learn how to hail a taxi.

The One With Pedge + J

I'm the new kid in class. You know the one. I’m wearing glasses, sitting in the corner, freckled face; academic nerd. I’ve arrived in my “freshman year” and am watching the seniors show me how it’s done. I’m not sure what graduation involves, but Pedge and I are excited about that consummation.

Recently I’ve noticed an influx of bullies and thieves who seem to be on the literary prowl. Pedge and I are blocking accounts right and left, and covering all our bases for the 5 people who read my Tumblr page and I’ve been particularly impressed with several writers of note. Another writer has taken the time to invest in an evolution, and decided to focus on their expressions of creativity in new and exciting ways. While enthusiastically supporting any artistic shift a writer wants to make, Pedge and I are disgruntled that anyone would feel bullied or exploited.

Pedge and I enjoy our sexy time therapy, and a lot of that involves a healthy self image and celebration of bodies in all forms. Pedge tells me he is currently filming his upcoming Marvel Spectacular “The Fantastic Four” and is excited to play a character that can assume any shape that they want! I see many sexy time benefits in our future. I’ve told him that some writers have been bullied for their celebration of bodies in ALL forms. It seems to me that they call them “love handles” for a reason. Yes Pedge, we can do that thing with your belly button again this evening, though we are starting to run out of edible wax.

Pedge reminds me that he has spent a great deal of time enjoying the complexities of the human form. Whether delightfully squishy, muscular, soft, hard, pliant, normative, skilled or inexperienced, there truly is something for everyone. Pedge reminds me that one of his favorite songs is by Princess Nokia who similarly celebrates their form in ALL of its splendor.

So, to wrap up….excuse me…yes, Pedge, even though we did not go to the gym today we are allowed to have chocolate chip cookies. We’re just going to have to find some other physical means of burning calories later tonight, if we so desire. Sorry about that…What was I saying? Oh yes. Pedge and I will be holding on to our love handles, and not letting go anytime soon. We remind everyone to be good to yourself and be good to others. There are so many things in this life that are temporary, let’s make sure that love isn’t one of them.

PB + J

After about a year I can see I have a lot to learn when it comes to the Tumblr landscape. I wanted a spot to shout out fics and writers who consistently catch my attention. Pedge ALWAYS says what's on his mind, but J is a little more reticent. Either way, PB + J feel it's very important to stick together...

The One With Pedge

The One With Pedge and J

Pedge the Therapist

Blossom Beauty, Blossom

A Very Special Episode of PB + J

Bi-Awareness + Visibility Month

PB + J Interview

The One With Election Day

The One With Thanksgiving

The One That Almost...

The One That's Personal

The One With Racism

The One That's Parasocial

Moody Pedge

Mood Boards are something new I'm trying for those literary moments I want to do a shout out or a quick vibe of Pedro Fun! Pedge is obviously a self-made man but I haven't had the heart to tell him that Bitmoji is also involved. He might be moody, but chocolate chip cookies always seem to regulate him...

Rainy Day Moody Dieter Moody Pena Moody Joel Moody Javi Moody Frankie Moody Marcus Moody Max Moody Dave Moody Silva Moody Acacius Moody Moreno Moody Mom Moody Oberyn Moody Maxwell Moody Dio Moody Lucien Moody Bi Moody Whiskey Moody SNL Moody Met Moody Rockford Moody Thespian Moody SAG Awards Moody Fall Moody Witch Moody Ricky Moody Gladiator Moody Nathan Moody Zodiac (Dieter style) Moody Pirate Pedge (Halloween short) Moody Thanksgiving Moody Fink Moody Theater Moody Superbowl

Writers, please feel free to use any of these mood boards for inspiration! Just give me a tag so I can read your AMAZING fics! Let's get writing!