Pedro Pascal Fan Fiction - Blog Posts

Crime and Punishment Fic-Let

Bookshop: As per your recommendation, Joel is our shop owner. I think there's something appealing in a man who says little, but obviously feels so much. I just finished reading Pedge's rec for "Crime and Punishment" and it's a doozy. Joel has a lot...or very little say about it.

Triggers: profanity, alcohol consumption, no dubcon just drunk Joel seeking solace, spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", "Last of Us" canon, references to injury/violence/murder/prostitution...Psh...@iamasaddie I took this in a totally different direction than I expected! Thank you for the fic-let prompt, this fit in perfectly to the series.

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1k

The whiskey infused fragrance of Joel’s breath fanned across your face seductively, as he balanced precariously behind the back of the sofa. Feeling a surge of arousal, euphoria, concern and fear was a heady mixture, as you glanced upstairs to ensure Ellie was still asleep.

“Joel, I’m so glad you’re back, and that you’re safe” you began, as he shymied out of his winter’s coat, letting it drop clumsily to the floor.

“I ever told you how pretty you are?” he slurred, tipping backward with relaxation, as you gripped his wrists firmly.

“Why don’t you come on over here, Miller, and tell me while you’re sitting down?” you cocked an eyebrow sky high, determined to shield Ellie from this temporary lapse, and equally insistent to protect Joel in his vulnerable state. Dragging him carefully around the couch, you heard the cat utter a plaintive meow of encouragement as Joel’s heavy-laden feet staggered to your side before he collapsed unceremoniously next to you.

“Preeeeetty eyes, pretty little mouth…pretty skin…” he rambled, the full weight of his body sinking into the couch rapturously, as his eyes fluttered half mast. You gulped hungrily, trying to still the yearning within you. Tucking your feet underneath yourself, you leaned forward to place a hand atop his forehead, dragging it down slowly to find his chiseled, and grizzled face.

“What happened to you, Miller?” you pouted, closing the book that was in your lap and sighing with relief as Joel closed his eyes contentedly.

“Pretty thoughts too…” he mumbled, fighting a losing battle against his own inebriation, as you brought your hand down to his chest, feeling the steadiness of his thrumming heart. His eyes shot open abruptly, as he swayed slightly upright, “Ellie here?”.

“She’s fine, just relax soldier…” you coo’d, as Joel collapsed once again, drawing his hand to find yours. 

“Didn’t do my homework” he grinned, nuzzling his face into the side of the couch and stroking your arm affectionately.  You smiled sweetly, looking over at the orange tabby for any encouragement whatsoever, and finding none.

“I think we can make an exception, just this once” you whispered, starting to draw a quilt around Joel’s broad frame in the hopes he would simply drift off to sleep.

“I did it, ya know?” he muttered, shivering slightly with the changing temperature and settling further into the furniture’s embrace. “I’m a Rascal…”. You wrinkled your brow in consternation. This couldn’t just be from the lengthy week’s patrol. What was antagonistically driving Joel to seek solace at the bottom of a bottle? And what did this have to do with “Crime and Punishment”? Or the character, Rascalnikov?

“Rascal is suffering, that’s for sure. But he’s gonna get justice and redemption and Love. He just has to go through a heap of punishment first…” you tried to deflect, soothing Joel as much as possible with feather light strokes through his hair and across his forehead.

“So much sufferin’…” Joel’s face crumpled in anguish before resuming a mask of stoicism. “Tess…Sarah…and Ellie…Sofia…”.

You pursed your lips with appraisal. It sounded like fantasy and reality were starting to collide. Did he mean Sofia, the prostitute? Who were Tess and Sarah? Lovers? Friends? Family? A barrage of questions besieged you as Joel muttered under his breath quietly. “I’m gonna get you some water” you stalled, before Joel’s hand shot out reflexively to grab your wrist. Strong. That was gonna bruise tomorrow, but you didn’t flinch. He needed you right now. Needed something.

“Sofia…” his eyes glossed over with an emotive sheen. Who were these people?

“Joel, who is Tess?” Joel stilled quietly, his breathing evening out steadily. “Who is Sarah?” you mumbled lowly to yourself, biting your lower lip.

“Sarah’s my girl…” Joel surged to life tentatively, looking around the room as though searching for a ghost. “Sarah’s…gone…Sarah’s…my Sarah…” he repetitively intoned, like a mournful mantra. Lover? Sister? This was obviously not the time or place, but maybe you could inquire sensitively with Ellie, if she even knew. “And my Sofia…” his fingers found your face tenderly as you met his eyes with compassion. What had happened to this beautiful man, and how could you possibly help?

“Try to sleep Joel” you shook your head with concern. This was no time for an interrogation, and you didn’t immediately see any injuries or bruises. Like so many scars of life, these wounds seemed altogether invisible to the eye and yet still completely damaging to the heart.

“I know…you know?” he whispered into the couch, as though seducing an unknown lover.

“What honey? What do you know?” you sighed watching his eyes flutter shut in heavier sleep.

“Know you’re not a teach…” he trailed off, finally snoring quietly, his arms dropping to his side uselessly. Your mouth parted slightly in acknowledgement, as the orange tabby stared at you uncannily silhouetted by the flickering firelight.

Shit.

Crime and Punishment The Lecture

Grab a latte! Time for a sweet treat before you head into The Bookshop! Check out "Bookends" by @djarinmuse, it will absolutely hit the spot...

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, discussion of murder/violence, alcohol consumption, MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", spirituality/religion/existentialism

Series Masterlist

Words: 4k

It had been weeks since you had seen Joel, or risked an inopportune meeting in The Bookshop. After your enigmatic encounter over Winter Break, you had oscillated somewhere between embarrassment, irritation, desire and confusion as to whether your presence would be wanted. What had started as a literary deconstruction had quickly turned into a personal one, and you couldn’t be sure how welcome that journey would be. Granted, there was a lot of preparation to restart the school term after the holidays, but truthfully, it was just easier to ignore everything your conversation had unearthed. That is, until class resumed.

Avoiding Joel had been easy; there were always patrols and commune business to aide your self-imposed isolation. You had to admit The Bookshop would have been a valuable resource for your curriculum prep, but you had done without and could do so again. If you were being truly honest with yourself, it wasn’t the books you were really missing. But the renewal of the school term loomed large on the horizon, and here you stood at the doorstep. A cornucopia of ridiculous age gaps-tremendous potential—and Ellie.

Ellie was one of your brightest and most ambitious students to date, but after the mysterious dinner, culminating in unspoken desires and tenuous subtext, you were more concerned than ever. Not only did you want to help Ellie explore her intellect and agency, she wasn’t one to shy away from difficult conversations. You found yourself at a strange crossroads of desperately wanting to offer guidance, but shrinking inward at the possibility of transparency and vulnerability. Some teacher. And yet, here you all were, poised to begin the exciting class term, bright, smiling faces beaming up at you—-and Ellie.

She sat transfixed by the melting, winter’s landscape, watching a solitary red cardinal, flitting colorfully from tree branch to tree branch as you waxed philosophically about the semester’s objectives. Perhaps the door had already been closed, and your friendship was an opportunity that had died an early death. You attempted to plow forward, unfazed, but concerned nonetheless. It was a strange dichotomy to recognize your own inability to survive alone, but still be so paralyzed by the fear of letting anyone in. At least, as a teacher, maybe you could instruct the next generation how to avoid that alienation, short of exampling it yourself. 

The day passed relatively quickly, as, much like the cardinal, you flitted from desk to desk, attempting to help each student with their diverse and varied projects revolving around history, agriculture, science, medicine, home arts and more. You had quite nearly forgotten the conundrum as students bolted out the door in the late afternoon light, hunched over your desk, perusing assignments and projects, until a familiar voice juxtaposed itself.

“Hey teach, got a second?” Ellie’s direct lilt tickled your ears curiously, as your eyes shot up to meet hers.

“Oh! Ellie, I’m so glad you stayed behind” you fibbed ever so slightly, simultaneously intrigued, and terrified at the line of potential conversation. Ellie seemed to breathe a small sigh of relief, gazing behind her conspiratorially, assured she was out of earshot.

“Did uh…did something happen between my…between you and Joel…at dinner, or something?” Ellie whispered in hushed tones, a tinge of concern passing over her countenance at the possible overstep.

“No! I mean…maybe. I…” you sighed heavily, swallowing hard. What DID happen? It was so bizarre to experience a moment of deep meaning, without any true understanding of what the significance was. “Why, what did he say?” you shifted gears, suddenly anxious as to her approaching answer.

“Nothing!” Ellie immediately confessed. “I mean, you know Joel. Just grumbling and silence mostly. He keeps asking about you, and how you’re doing, and moping around the house…even more than usual” Ellie smiled dolefully, picking at the edge of your school desk. “He’s been telling me more about the book…” she quipped, slinging her pack over her shoulder heftily, “…and mentioning that I should ask you about it…”.

“Oh, is that so?” you brightened slightly at the admonition that Joel seemed as unnerved as you, but as yet undeterred. Maybe you hadn’t ruined the entire prospect.

“He says you have a special understandin’…about a woman’s ways. Or…good at holdin’ secrets…I didn’t really ask what he meant…” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders good-naturedly, noticing the reddish tint at the top of your ears.

“Yeah, there are some secrets that should probably stay hidden” Joel’s words echoed in your mind acerbically, as you wondered if the sentiment were true.

“I guess…” Ellie picked at her nails awkwardly, looking around the room for hidden solace.

“Is that what you wanted to ask me about?” you ventured, truly desirous to help Ellie with whatever challenge she might be encountering. 

“Oh! I just remembered who Mr. Marmelade reminded me of!” she chirped, as her demeanor immediately darkened at the confession. Perhaps Ellie was finding herself as conflicted as you were regarding transparency and community.

“I’d love to hear about it, if you want to tell me” you tentatively opened the door of conversation relishing the avenue of opportunity. Maybe you wouldn’t be the one to teach Ellie the art of authenticity, perhaps it was the other way around. A moment of silence stretched before you as Ellie seemed slightly at war with herself, weighing her options. She finally pulled one of the wooden stools forward, hunching over your school desk secretively.

“Alright…when Joel and I were traveling here, we met lots of people on the road to Jackson” she began, a weight noticeably lifting from her shoulders. “I’d never really been much out of the Boston QZ, and everything was…one big adventure!” her eyes lit up momentarily with the remembrance. You smiled in solidarity, reflecting on some of your own adventures and discoveries. There was a lot of life to be lived, even in this apocalyptic atmosphere. You nodded encouragingly. “But…not all of it was good…” she paused, her face shifting with discomfort. “Plenty of challenges, and some friends…but most of them didn’t make it out alive. Not like us.” Ellie stated bluntly, her chest collapsing slightly with the heaviness of the reality. You turned your eyes downward, listening carefully and nodding your head. Most of these kids had seen more tragedy than any young life deserved, and you wished you could ease their suffering, ANY suffering around you.

“There was this one town…” she began, her gaze blurring slightly with the memory “…and we were in the Kansas City QZ. There was a heap of trouble there, and people shooting. And an army, like a bona fide ARMY of infected. But we met these two guys…” Ellie stopped, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. “Uh, we met these two guys Henry, and his younger brother Sam…and they were real great” she finished, her eyes glossing over with an emotive sheen. You pursed you lips thoughtfully, curious as to Ellie’s question, and hesitant to hear the story’s conclusion. Holding the silence tenderly, you cautiously waited, joining Ellie in the palpable feeling of loss.

“And…I couldn’t…” her eyes filled with tears, defiantly willing her emotion to stay hidden “I couldn’t help them” she finally admitted, wiping her tears away quickly as the they cascaded down her cheeks unbidden. “I couldn’t save them” she whimpered slightly before stilling completely in silence. You smiled tenderly in the stillness, nodding again in affirmation. You wondered in that moment if you didn’t have the same feeling of helplessness right now. Each human’s life was so uniquely distinctive. But how can any of us truly help one another, if not by simply living and dying in existence, together? You paused, weighing your words carefully as you proceeded forward.

“That’s a lot like the Marmeladov Family, don’t you think?” you ventured quietly, watching Ellie’s eyes round out plaintively in the silence. She dragged her hand sniffily under her nose, closely returning your gaze. “Rascal wants to help them, but things go from bad to worse until…”.

“They don’t make it, do they?” she rasped, her eyes a darkened hue of anguish.

You tilted your head to the side empathetically. “Some of them do, and some of them don’t. We just can’t save everyone, all the time…”. Ellie breathed heavily, the weight of truth settling around her like a comfort-less blanket. “But that’s part of what it means to be truly human. Acknowledging one another, and our own inability. Feeling helpless, and yet still trying.”

“Do you ever feel that way? Helpless?” Ellie’s voice had nearly disappeared, the boisterous laughter of children echoing from the nearby stoop in contrast.

“Oh my God, when do I not?” you nearly laughed with incredulity. “All of us feel the weight of inability, every single day. You. Me. Joel…”.

Ellie pulled back skeptically, “Joel isn’t helpless! He might be annoying, but he does all kinds of stuff. Taught me to shoot. Knows how to hunt. You think Joel is helpless?”.

“I think…Joel is human, honey” you smiled, his face immediately reflected in your mind’s eye, full of sensitivity, wonder and depth. “I think we’re all HUMAN. Dostoyevsky hit the nail on the head, whether you’re living in the 1800’s or at the tail end of the world…” you surmised, not censoring yourself as one might, in the honesty of the sentiment. “And the unique privilege for us to be alone, together. To try against all odds, to ease one another’s suffering, whether we achieve it or not, is the Divine gifting of every individual. Every human heart”.

Ellie smiled ruefully, sitting a bit taller, and slinging her bag over her shoulder more definitively. “Okay, teach. Thanks for the talk” and with that, she was quickly exiting the room, purposefully headed to…wherever she was headed next. “Oh! And will you visit Joel sometime soon?” her voice surprisingly caught you from the doorway. “If Rascal the Cat is his only companion, I’m gonna have to sit through more of his mumbles and grumbles about you for the rest of my life, and it’s drivin’ me NUTS. Put him out of his misery already?” she smirked, hefting her book bag one last time and leaving you with your own muddled but increasingly optimistic outlook.

Standing outside of The Bookshop, you weren’t rightly sure how you had arrived at Joel’s doorstep once again. Almost hoping he were unavailable you noticed Rascal the Cat currently eyeing you smugly, seated indoors on the cozy quilt. Surveying The Bookshop from the foyer window you saw the familiar crackling fire, pot of coffee and burgeoning selection of books you and Joel had begun to categorize by Dewey Decimal system. The hand-made mahogany chair sat otherwise in solitude, before you hesitantly entered The Bookshop to the characteristic bell.

Your eyes widened at the growing selection of literature Joel had procured. This was turning out to be your own personal Library of Alexandria, assuming that Joel didn’t completely bar you from entry. Ironically enough, his deep throated voice boomed from the back room, “We’re closed!” his broad frame entering the main room confidently before he halted in his steps.

“It’s you” he whispered, his entire countenance momentarily dissolving in a softened visage before stoically snapping back to attention. “You’re okay, teach” he grumbled, shewing the cat out of your chair and headed towards the wood burning stove. “Coffee?” he rhetorically asked, before grabbing your favorite mug and pouring you a cup. You buttoned your lips tightly, anxiety creeping into every fiber of your being. Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up…You sat quietly in the mahogany chair, gathering the quilt around you protectively. Maybe if you just didn’t speak, you could rely upon yourself to be the person the Miller Family deserved.

“Awful quiet over there, teach. We didn’t scare you away, did we?” Joel’s voice melodically intoned, but it was betrayed by an undercurrent of real concern. He handed you the mug of joe as you noticed a slight tremor in his fingertips, before he placed them confidently astride his hips. “Ellie said you had a real nice talk” he shifted awkwardly from side to side, a vision of forced neutrality.

“We did. I was so glad she decided to confide in me. Thanks for the support…” you encouraged, taking a timid sip of the potent beverage. Joel’s face lit up in recognition temporarily, hopeful at your re-established rapport. “S’no trouble. It was a hard journey here and…well, I’m not much for talkin’. At least not always sayin’ what I mean…” he trailed off, rubbing humbly at the back of his neck. “Sorry I ruined…the dinner” he added, almost as an after-thought. 

Your mouth parted slightly in shock. “You didn’t ruin anything. I was just surprised” you confessed. “Maybe too much bramble berry wine. I’ll know better for next time!”

“Next time?” Joel immediately pounced on the inflection, his eyebrows shooting up in delighted anticipation. You stalled, momentarily unsure of yourself.

“Well, we’re only halfway through the book! You didn’t think you were gonna get off that easily, did you?” you teased, hungrily taking in Joel’s playful expression. He breathed a sigh of relief as Rascal the Cat intertwined itself amidst his ankles.

“Sure thing” he sighed. “Still not the best student though, teach…I’ve been a little…distracted” he gazed down at the orange tabby nuzzled against his calf. 

“Worried about Ellie?” you ventured, Joel’s acknowledgement immediately catching yours, as he nodded curtly. “Well, like you said, she’s a good kid. This is what growing up is all about. Questions, doubts. Discovering what it means to be human. Spirituality…”.

Joel shook his head emphatically, “We’re not religious, teach. If you knew the people we met on the road here…”. 

You cut him off gently, “I’m not talking about religion, I’m talking about the human spirit. That’s what Dostoyevsky is talking about; the way we live, the way we die, and all that’s in between. Ellie’s just coming to terms with what it means to just…be”. Joel looked at you pointedly, his gaze once again taking you apart, piece by piece. You felt oddly naked, sitting before him, completely swathed in the comfortable quilt.

“I just want her to be happy” Joel finally whispered, wistfully searching through the window’s haze.

“Me too” you smiled, joining the intentionality of his search. “We just have to remember that there’s a lot more to life than just…happiness”. You shared a long stare with Joel in the quiet of The Bookshop, punctuated by purrs from Rascal the Cat, as unexpected snow began to drift in the outside flurry.

“Who said, that, Dostoyevsky?” Joel smirked, stepping slowly forward and drawing the quilt up around you sweetly.

“Me” you grinned dolefully, pouting with chagrin.

“Birds of a feather” he smiled, drawing your chin between two calloused fingers, with a small but tender pinch.

The winter days continued to pass quickly, though the snowfall didn’t seem to ease up. You continued to meet Joel at The Bookshop, organizing the sections of languages and science. The technology section seemed particularly bare, and currently obsolete, but perhaps someday mankind would be able to have a resurgence of technological growth, and you wanted to ready the next generation as much as you could. Sometimes you stopped by The Bookshop to find it cold and empty, with news of an ongoing patrol reaching your ears, and stoking anxiety in the cavernous depths of your heart. Was Joel okay? Should you check on Ellie? How long would he be gone? But those moments seemed to be few and far between, and you shoved them out of your mindset as much as was possible. Unwilling to upset the tenuous balance of your ongoing friendship, you gave both of them as much distance as the three of you seemed to thrive on. It wasn’t until several weeks later that Ellie approached you again, as the classroom dissipated.

“Got a minute, teach?” she hesitantly asked, drawing your attention to her fidgeting fingers and anxious demeanor.

“Of course, Ellie, you know I’ve always got time for you. How are you and Joel doing?”

“Don’t know. Joel is still out on patrol. Has been, all week…” she mumbled, as you bit your lower lip. You knew about Monday’s patrol, you just hadn’t realized its duration. “Got the whole Miller Mansion to myself…” she almost whimpered, adopting an immediately confident and armored appearance.

“Oh, honey, you can always come to my place if you want. Or I can come to you? Joel wouldn’t want you to be all alone…” you concernedly offered.

“It’s okay. I’m not scared” Ellie unconvincingly added, fidgeting with her pack once again. “Just…real quiet…at night. Rascal the Cat doesn’t say much” she joked. “In that way…just like Joel”.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve got someone” you commiserated, starting to pack up your papers for the evening’s work, secretly worried about the ongoing patrol, but unwilling to telegraph it, for Ellie’s sake. “Did you need help with your homework?”

“No, I just…started reading more of “Crime and Punishment”…Joel left his copy, and I was real bored…and I’m reading more about that Squid-Guy…” she sheepishly recounted, shrugging her shoulders awkwardly.

“Svidrigaylov” you joked with your best Russian accent.

“Yeah, Snake Eyes, Joel calls him. Seems like a real sonnafabitch…” she joked, immediately catching your eye as you both mouthed… “LANGUAGE”. Chuckling with one another easily, Ellie paused considering her next words carefully. “Joel said…you were real good at keepin’ secrets?”

You looked at Ellie cautiously, Joel’s enigmatic words reflected back at you, and wincing slightly at their double meaning. “Your secrets are safe with me” you finally promised, sitting back and awaiting Ellie’s response. Ellie took a deep breath before beginning.

“You know I told you about Henry and Sam, who we met on the road?” she started, her fingers idling spooling a loose thread from her well-worn winter’s sweater. You nodded somberly, the periphery of your mind drifting to Joel’s whereabouts. Ellie needed him. Was he okay? Where was the patrol? What if things somehow took a turn for the worst? 

“Go on” you encouraged, shaking your head of the clouding, fearful cobwebs.

“Well, we met other…people. Some of them not so nice. There was a man…who pretended to be…He called himself a preacher, and he was anything but. Unless he was preaching a gospel of…shit” Ellie pursed her lips, caught between her own indecision and need. “He was a real bastard…and his flock! He lied to them…manipulated them. Used them” Ellie stopped, struggling with the memory of it. Your eyes narrowed in comprehension. No way in hell would Joel let anything happen to Ellie on his watch. What had happened? Is this the secret everyone was so reticent to share? You would never doubt Joel’s intentionality, and whatever he had done, you KNEW it was for a good reason.

“What happened, Ellie? Did Joel hurt him? Did Joel…kill him?” you tried to make the statement neutrally, as though speaking to a wounded animal, as Ellie’s eyes widened to the shape of saucers.

“It was me” she croaked, almost inaudibly. “I did it. I killed him”. Her face took on a strange detachment, eyes clouding over with disassociation. “Everything was on fire. He was gonna……so I did it. I killed him…before he killed me”. Your eyes quickly flitted to the open doorway, ensuring that no one was standing within earshot. 

“Who knows about this?” you whispered, drawing your arms across the desk and taking Ellie’s hands carefully in yours.

“Just Joel” she cried quietly. “He found me after”.

You nodded your head solemnly, still anxious as to where Joel was. No wonder he was so protective of her, and who could blame him? No child should have to endure what Ellie had experienced.

“Joel said it was self defense but…” the pallor of her face immediately paled “but what if it wasn’t?” Ellie’s voice sounded nearly strangled in her throat as a wave of tears threatened to pour forth.

“Honey, if Joel said it was self defense, then that’s what it was. You know you can trust him” you assuredly stated, rubbing Ellie’s hands together and rising from your desk. “Humans will do whatever they must, in order to survive, and it sounds like you did just that” you humbly offered. “Come on, let’s get you home, I’m not letting you spend another night with the memory of that Squid-Guy” you tried to jest, Ellie tiredly grinning. “Maybe we’ll take a little break from ‘Crime and Punishment’ for a while?” you questioned, hugging her around the waist and nodding together. What the hell kind of apocalypse were you living in, that children had to ask these kinds of existential questions instead of basic math? In that moment, you vowed to protect Ellie in the same ways that Joel had. He would come back. He had to. But if someday he didn’t, Ellie would NOT be alone.

Trudging through the never-ending snow you arrived at the Miller Household later than evening, a fresh stack of books procured from The Bookshop, and a fresh pot of stew enjoyed with the fire. Ellie had quickly retired to her bedroom, the result of a string of nightmarish evenings while awaiting Joel’s return. Rascal the Cat sat curled at your feet, as you perused the reading material recently found. It was a strange cornucopia of items; “Jane Eyre” (though it seemed to be missing several pages), a collection of poetry by various authors, “In Cold Blood” by Truman Capote. You had just begun to rifle through the many options when your heart lurched at the lumbering figure leading up to the doorstep. The orange tabby mewled affectionately, as you heard the heavy stomp of boots hit the landing before some mumbled profanities and the sound of keys dropping to the stoop. You sat up curiously, anxious for Joel’s possible arrival as the door flung open in a wintry bluster, Joel tripping slightly over the lip of the frame before he shut the door. You immediately smelled the sweet fragrance of whiskey as Joel stumbled backwards into his own home, shaking the snow off the shoulders of his winter jacket, his head lolling sideways to catch your surprised gaze from the living couch.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Joel slurred, his eyes half mast as he removed his winter jacket halfway, catching his arms at the elbows. “You here to save me, teach?” he hiccuped, stumbling forward slightly and bracing himself heavily at the back of the couch.

Holy hell.

Crime and Punishment The Argument

Grab a latte! What is Frankie doing here? Lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Routine" @endlessthxxghts before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, references to murder/violence/prostitution, argument, alcohol consumption, MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", this chapter got a bit more angsty than I predicted, with just a little bit of passion...

Series Masterlist

Words: 3k

“So are you guys like, boyfriend and girlfriend now?” Ellie bluntly stated, as she peeled carrots at the kitchen sink.

“The hell?” Joel stopped what he was doing to look at Ellie incredulously. “Who told you that?” he huffed, attempting to appear nonchalant as he returned to the stew boiling on the stovetop.

“Nobody. I just was wonderin’…” she mischievously retorted, returning to the task at hand. 

Maybe Joel had rushed things a bit. Looking out the kitchen window, he nervously dragged his hands down the front of his jeans, awaiting your dinner arrival. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn plaid. It was true, the easy friendship that had developed between the two of you was all Joel could think about recently, but maybe including Ellie in the discussion had been premature.

“‘Sides, we need to talk about your school work, or LACK thereof…” Joel deflected quickly, glancing over at the decorated dining room table, nodding in affirmation at the dried lavender placed front and center.

“Jesus, haven’t we talked about ‘Crime and Punishment’ enough this last week?” Ellie scoffed, gathering the carrots clumsily for the stew and shoving them towards Joel abrasively. “I think the school teach has caught your eye in more ways than one…” she muttered sarcastically, skulking out of the kitchen and leaving Joel with a slightly petrified look on his face. 

Yup, too soon.

Joel didn’t have a moment to overthink the situation, because a knock at the door quickly followed.

“I (Don’t) got (get) IT!” their voices collided in the hallway as Ellie raced to the front door, a wintry draft blowing inside quickly.

“Hi Ellie!” you chirped nervously, holding a bottle of bramble berry wine bartered from the Tipsy Bison. “I come bearing gifts!” you shoved the wine enthusiastically in her face and quickly withdrew it. “Wait, are you old enough to be drinking?” you immediately questioned as Joel’s presence loomed large in the background.

“‘Spect she’s old enough for most things, if she took her head outta her ass” Joel mumbled with a pout.

“LANGUAGE!” you both exclaimed, giggling slightly at Joel’s chagrined expression. 

“Come on in, teach, or winter’s comin’ in with ya!” Joel reprimanded, heading over to the fireplace and stoking it happily, now that his back was to you. He could do this. It was just a date. Not even a date. A literary discussion.

“Thanks for invitin’ me on your date, I LOVE three wheelin’ it” Ellie bantered, setting the wine on the table and heading into the kitchen snootily. Joel whirled around with annoyance, proffering the fire iron awkwardly, “Get the NICE glasses from up top, if you can reach ‘em!” he huffed, catching your smirking expression before he softened his tone. “Figure you can have a small glass, if you behave” he muttered, setting the fire iron down and picking up the nearby book.

“Couldn’t put it down, teach” he shrugged sheepishly. “Brought Ellie up to speed, we’ve got LOTS of questions”.

“Glad I can be of service” you grinned, pulling out your own copy of “Crime and Punishment” and waving it brazenly. “Things are starting to get interesting!”

“Can I take your coat?” Joel offered, striding towards you and reaching for your scarf before drawing his hand back tentatively.

Quickly disentangling yourself from the winter wear you handed it to Joel shyly as your hands brushed accidentally in the transfer, but Joel didn’t pull away. The crackle of the fire wasn’t the only electricity in the room, as you were poised magnetically, both holding the coat and scarf in tandem.

“That’s a real pretty color” Joel rasped, admiring the burgundy sweater you had donned in anticipation of your literary date. You swallowed dryly at the ongoing eye contact, desperate to look away, but seemingly incapable. The flickering fire highlighted the sharp outline of his jaw and dark pools of tumult hiding behind those hypnotic brown eyes. 

Damn, Joel was an attractive man. 

You had certainly noticed it before, but the cascading dip of his lower lip was pulling you into a sensuous warmth, broken only by…

“Are you guys gonna kiss??!!” Ellie’s voice pointedly shot from the hallway, as you both dropped the jacket to the ground.

“Damn it, Ellie what’d I say about interruptin’?” Joel quipped, picking up the jacket and rubbing at his lower back with the effort. “Have a seat, teach” he gestured to the dining room table as Ellie smiled brightly with affirmation.

“Joel’s been catching me up on the book. I like it. There aren’t many puns though” she teased, pulling out a chair for you and grabbing the bowls for dinner.

“Puns?” you questioned, inhaling the soft fragrance of the dried lavender, and fingering the tablecloth lightly.

“If it’s not a dad-bod, what is it?” Ellie’s voice drifted in from the kitchen as Joel paused in the hallway, irritated.

“A FATHER figure! Get it?!” 

Joel rolled his eyes good-naturedly, opening the bramble berry wine for the three of you before sitting at the head of the table. “I think we need some more nicknames if we’re gonna keep ‘em all straight in the book” he offered, grabbing a nearby napkin and draping it across his lap.

“Alright, Luzhin is pretty easy, but the Sridya…Scridya…”

“I jus’ keep callin’ him Squid-guy” Ellie jested, setting two bowls down and returning to the kitchen for more.

“Svidrigaylov…” you pulled out your best Russian accent, as Joel burst into an easy grin.

“The Snake…” he hissed playfully. “Don’t trust either of ‘em one bit” he judged, as Ellie returned with her own dinner plated, sitting between you.

“Rub a dub, dub, thanks for the grub!” Ellie chaffed, digging in to the stew and closing her eyes rapturously.

Joel huffed affirmatively, mirroring her enjoyment as you joined them.

“Alright, do I need to worry about any spoilers? Ellie, this stew is really quite good!” you praised, opening your book casually to remind yourself about the talking points. Joel beamed clandestinely from the side as Ellie chomped away.

“Caught’r up on everything I know so far; the murder, the family, Sonia…” Joel rattled off the list expertly.

“She the prostitute?” Ellie surmised, grabbing for a biscuit at the center of the table.

“Ellie!” Joel snapped, his eyes darkening quickly.

“What?” 

“Yes, she’s the prostitute” you broke in diplomatically. “Without giving too much away, I can see your character analysis is already pretty astute. Joel, I’m still curious, what makes you distrust the other two characters? They both present themselves as legitimate and upstanding citizens…” you reached for a biscuit as well, curious as to Joel’s conclusions.

“Somethin’ about that Luzhin always seemed too good to be true. Ellie knows how I feel about it, but don’t trust anybody who claims to be in the light when their actions are mostly in the dark. Take the Fireflies for example…” he shoveled a few bites of the stew into his mouth wholeheartedly.

“I thought you said Tommy was with the Fireflies…” Ellie retorted, drawing her hands into her lap placatingly. “I know…knew some people who thought they were…okay…” she trailed off, suddenly losing her appetite.

“Well, sometimes it’s hard to tell from the start, what someone’s intentions are; you know that” Joel instructed, taking a sip of bramble berry wine and registering his delight, toasting you ceremoniously. Joel really was a good father figure. You wondered how it came so easily to him, when by all accounts Ellie didn’t seem to actually be his daughter.

“I guess” Ellie pondered darkly. “We ran into all sorts of people on the road” she mumbled, pushing her plate away suddenly. “'Crime and Punishment' seems like a walk in the park, compared to…everything else” Ellie looked out the window vacantly. You often caught her with a similar nebulous expression in class before drawing her back into discussion. Joel and Ellie were really two peas in a pod. You didn’t want to press the matter, and looking over at Joel he gave a quick nod of dissent, beckoning you to move on to another topic.

“That’s true” you began, sipping your own wine hesitantly. “It’s not every literary classic that begins with a murder within the first few chapters. The two sisters, Alvona and Lizaveta are the first in a series of tragedies listed in the book…”.

“That nightmare unsettled me right quick” Joel agreed, still gazing at Ellie concernedly. “Thought she was nearly come back from the dead” he shivered slightly, returning to his stew.

“And there is a big thematic extrapolation about Lazarus when Rascal goes to see Sonia” you concurred, slowly re-engaging as Ellie rejoined the conversation. “Are you familiar with the story of Lazarus?”

“Can’t say we really take to the ‘religious’ types, teach” Joel interjected, taking a large swig of wine as he continued to watch Ellie cautiously. You followed suit, downing the rest of your glass in one gulp, unsure of the subtext in the moment. Maybe “Crime and Punishment” WASN’T a good curriculum option for the spring… “How’s that wine, Ellie? Why don’t you thank the teach for bringin’ it by” he encouraged, pouring himself another glass.

“Yeah, thanks teach” Ellie stated perfunctorily, taking a small polite sip and returning to her stew.

“It’s no trouble” you smiled, breathing a tentative sigh of relief. “Lazarus isn’t really a saint or religious figure, but he’s pretty important in Christian theology as a literal and symbolic representation of resurrection” you poured another glass of wine for yourself, feeling your tongue loosen slightly with the warmth of the beverage.

“What, like the infected?” Ellie’s eyes shot open in surprise. “You’ve seen ‘em, right? Bang! Shoot ‘em dead, they pop right back up!” she ladled another spoonful of stew into her mouth skeptically.

“I’m not sure that’s what Dostoyevsky was referencing, but it’s an interesting analogy” you acquiesced, taking another sip of wine. “In this case, Lazarus acts as a symbol for the potential spiritual and emotional rebirth of Rascalnikov. I mean, Rascal, as we like to call him” you nodded to Joel who was chewing with determination, bobbing his head. “Any other characters you had a question about?” you wiped your forehead slightly with the napkin, feeling the affects of your second glass start to coarse through your veins heatedly. Maybe you should slow down a notch.

“That other family, Joel was telling me about. The drunk guy and the coughing wife with kids…” Ellie finished her stew quickly, turning up her nose repugnantly at the wine in her glass. “Mr. Marmelade?” she quipped, rising to clear her dishes before Joel could reproach her. He poured both of you a third class of wine, polishing off the bottle for the evening, before you could protest.

“Marmeladov and Katerina?” you asked, finishing your own stew in the hopes of balancing that third glass of wine.

“Yeah, they remind me of somebody, I just couldn’t tell ya who” Ellie called from the kitchen, starting to wash the dishes as you looked over at Joel quickly. He shrugged good-naturedly, his cheeks a very light, reddish tinge from the warmth of the fireplace and the wine.

“Well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. We’ll see them again in future chapters, so keep your eye on them!” you called back, the table taking on an ethereal glow with that third glass of wine. Guess it was a little stronger than you had figured. Joel’s eyes sparkled with a contented sheen as you watched his chest rise and fall steadily in the flickering light of the fireplace. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Licking your lips voraciously, you downed the remaining dregs of your wine, searching for a bit of liquid courage. 

Maybe this WAS a date. 

Joel stared back at you, his gaze drifting over the totality of your body seductively. Usually, you might have felt a bit like prey in the sights of a nearby hunter, but there was a softness and a gravity to Joel’s countenance that seemed to hypnotically draw you in, not repulse you. His eyes flicked up to meet yours almost telepathically.

“Why don’t you guys just kiss already and get it over with?” Ellie’s voice broke the spell abruptly as Joel’s head snapped to attention with a searing look of reprimand.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ellie put her hands up in mock surrender, taking the remaining plates and bussing them into the kitchen. Your cheeks reddened slightly with embarrassment, catching a sideways look at Joel who seemed to mirror your awkwardness.

“Ain’t you got some homework to do?” Joel called from the dining room table, the corner of his mouth betraying a thread of humor as you chuckled softly. Joel stood from the table quietly, heading over to your chair and pulling it out for you deftly, taking your hand gently in his. Even the numbing effects of the wine didn’t dull your surprise at the intimate gesture, as you felt the calloused brush of his fingers against your delicate skin. You didn’t have any trouble imagining them elsewhere, feeling your face flush at the unbidden fantasy.

He led you over to the fireplace, picking up his copy of “Crime and Punishment” and settling in for discussion. “You warm enough, teach?” his honeyed voice seemed to melt your resolve one iota further as you shrank under his heated gaze.

“Oh yes. Quite warm” you squeaked, as Ellie attempted to sneak past you both and up the stairs.

“Night, teach, thanks for comin’!” she finally called, at the top of the stairs. “Can’t wait to see what happens next!” before vanishing into her bedroom.

“Damn teenagers” Joel smirked thumbing through the book lazily. “She’s a good kid, and I’m glad she has you for guidance” he observed, setting the book down between you and turning his body towards yours. “She’ll always have me, but a man’s not the same. Needs a good woman in her life to…confide things in” Joel nodded to himself resolutely, his gaze starting to vanish in the hazy effervescence of the glowing fireplace. “I don’t like to push, but…you’d be just the ear for…keeping secrets and stuff” he trailed off, his eyes glazing over tiredly in the flicker of the nearby flame.

“Secrets?” you whispered, finally allowing yourself to fully take in Joel’s distinctive profile. His strong features, peppered beard, aquiline nose…and lips. Plush lips. You dragged a heavy breath through your mouth plaintively, wondering how Joel might respond to the secrets from your own past. Joel turned back to look at you fixedly, his eyes boring a hole in your already fluttering heart.

“We’ve all got secrets” he mumbled, his eyes unabashedly drifting lower to your lips, as you watched his jaw tick nervously with anticipation. “Ellie, me…you” he drawled, somehow moving closer to your body without budging an inch. He paused, his face a soft visage of authenticity, dotted by wisps of skepticism. “Don’t ‘spect you were always a teach” he ventured, his fingers twitching lightly by his side. You swallowed harshly, taking in the familiar fragrance of leather and soap, as his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What do you mean?” you managed to croak forlornly, unable to break the enchantment the night was providing.

“Just seem pretty world-wise for a teach is all” Joel muttered, dangerously close to your ear, sending a light shiver down your back expectantly.

“Are we doing this?” you questioned pointedly, picking up the book defensively, if for no other reason than to provide a small barrier between yourself and your own desire.

“What?’

“Talking about our past?”

Joel froze forebodingly, inching back ever so slightly at the mere suggestion. “Lots of things happened in the time before. Don’t mean we’ve got to talk about it…” he sulked, licking his lips dryly. “Just seems like you know a thing or two about…sufferin’”.

“We’re in the apocalypse Joel, the whole world knows a heap of suffering” you stated, more accusingly than intended. Things felt like they were going off the rails slightly. Was it the wine? Maybe “Crime and Punishment” wasn’t the literary aphrodisiac you had surmised. “Why, is there something you want to tell me about your past?” the words were out of your mouth before you had a chance to weigh them, immediately feeling the tonality of the room shift coldly.

“I just thought…” Joel stared frigidly at your now stolid expression, the recent magnetism receding into the stymied background. “Nevermind…”.

“No Joel, tell me what you meant by that statement? I seem…what? World weary? Dejected? Alone?”

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it” Joel leaned back, grabbing the book from your grasp and holding it tenderly in his lap. “Just seemed like…you understood, that’s all”.

That was the problem, of course. Joel had easily seen through your academic facade and wasn’t too far off the mark. No one in Jackson knew about your questionable background, and they certainly didn’t need to. So long as you kept to yourself and isolated as much as possible, you could keep everyone in the commune at an arm’s length. But it seemed that Joel was impermeable to that forced distance. Maybe he too, understood a bit more personally about the type of alienation that Dostoyevsky’s writing seemed to embody. A cavernous vacuum of longing nipped at your heels tenaciously, as you stood, swaying slightly with the shift.

“Where ya goin’?” Joel sat up quickly, his hand outstretched to steady your frame, as you desperately looked around for your winter coat. 

“Gonna head home now. Lots of…reading to do…” you stuttered, tripping slightly over the hand-made coffee table and grabbing at your coat and scarf.

“Don’t go just yet, let me walk ya…” Joel rose shakily, clearing his throat with concern. He hadn’t intended to offend you. It had been a long time since he’d spoken at length about anything other than patrols, and he felt rusty at best.

“It’s okay, the cold air will do me good!” you clipped, stuffing your arms into your coat and jerking the front door open briskly.

“Will ya wait a goddam second?” Joel spat, grabbing his own coat and slamming the door behind him.

“WHAT Joel? What is it you want to hear me say? What kind of suffering is it you want me to reveal?” you turned on your heel, a new gust of wind biting at your reddening cheeks.

“Now wait a minute! I didn’t mean…”

“I don’t see you stepping into the sainthood anytime soon! Don’t think I haven’t heard the scuttlebutt around town…” you challenged, surprisingly fueled by the evening’s wine and pointing an accusatory finger at Joel’s broad chest.

“Well, whatever you heard, it’s probably true” Joel sneered, immediately biting his tongue with regret. “Some secrets should probably stay hidden” he darkly confessed, the wind whipping the brown curls of his hair across his forehead.

You hoped the tears forming in the corners of your eye went unnoticed, but Joel’s face immediately softened with the acknowledgement. “See you at the Bookshop, Joel” you sniffled, wiping at your eyes with annoyance and turning your back to him quickly. Joel grabbed at your elbow tenderly, but you quickly jerked it out of his grasp. “Don’t follow me”.

If you had glanced behind you, you would have seen Joel’s beleaguered expression, as he watched you go, wondering how the night had dissolved so quickly into an unintended argument. But you didn’t look back. You just put one definitive step in front of the other, your booted feet crunching the snow beneath you, until you arrived at your own home, collapsing in a heap of silent and lonely tears.

Pike's Place When Harry Met Sally Finale

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. I've completed a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent! Hope you enjoy!

Triggers: little profanity, no real smut just kissy time, New Year's celebration and revisitation of the ex...

Word Count: 2k

Series Masterlist

Pike stood joyfully beaming, his cheeks rosy from the cold, and unabashedly in love. Politely jostled from side to side, and standing outside the Lincoln Memorial, he and thousands of his closest friends were awaiting the countdown to New Year’s. Perhaps working for the CIA Art Squad had a few perks. Jamming his hands further still into his winter jacket, he marveled at how many memories seemed to be etched in the snow over the last several weeks.

Meeting you. Surviving the snow-apocalypse. Celebrating Christmas. Falling in love. In some ways, everything had happened so quickly, and yet there was a familiarity, even a nostalgia that added to the sense of destiny. It really is a wonderful life, he mused looking around at the happy families and snuggling couples, feeling a momentary pang of longing, anticipating your impending reunion.

After the cinematic rescue, you had both made it back into town and shared a precious 24 hours together, reaffirming your decision and beginning to make plans. Pike was still gobsmacked you had offered to move to Washington D.C to explore the burgeoning potential of your relationship. There was no doubt in his mind that he was head over heels in love with you, but circumstances had proven him wrong so many times before. The heightened flurry of your relationship added a dull sparkle to the proceedings that Pike almost couldn’t believe. Every kiss. Every hug. Every text. It all seemed too good for someone like him, and this was the final gauntlet. 

Having already shipped his belongings to D.C and tying up any loose, Californian ends, Pike had bidden you an emotional farewell at the airport, safe in the knowledge that you were going to follow in a matter of days. It hadn’t been easy to arrange the travel, but working for the CIA was turning out to be the professional blessing he had always dreamed of. You needed time to explain the situation to your parents, professionally transition into a permanent remote position, put larger items in storage and give your apartment complex 30 days notice. Texting and talking everyday, the bigger countdown had begun, until you could hop on a plane and join Pike for the New Year’s celebration you had only seen in movies. Except it wasn’t a cinematic illusion anymore. This was going to be reality. He hoped.

Shuffling his feet together restlessly, he glanced down at his phone anxiously. You had already boarded the plane in California and were headed towards him, but even the reunion had been difficult to orchestrate. Holidays were rough, and Mother Nature seemed to be following the two of you wherever you went. Pike looked around The Lincoln Memorial imagining it columned by cherry blossoms, walking hand in hand to local food markets. Maybe you’d wear a pink sundress, your heels clicking across the marbled floors of the Smithsonian. Maybe he would take off his suit jacket and place it lovingly around your shoulders when the summer breeze began to turn into autumn caresses. Pike shivered mindlessly in the winter chill as another partygoer apologized profusely for the inconvenience. He finally had everything he needed, but where was the girl? HIS girl. His “Pink”.

Settling in to his D.C apartment, he wasn’t sure the sparse emptiness was dictated by newness alone. There was something missing, and it was YOU. It had been a part of the ongoing discussion, but Pike wanted to take it slow. He knew all too well the ramifications of only leading with his heart and not his head, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he could call you his girlfriend yet, but moving across the country for the sake of love seemed like a pretty good sign. He just prayed he could be worthy of the sacrifices you were already making and that he wanted to return.

Pike checked his phone once again, disappointedly glancing down at his feet, and the pamphlets and candy wrappers littering the landscape. The beauty and community of D.C was absolutely phenomenal, but what he wouldn’t give for a bowl of Thai, a hot toddy and his hot girlfriend cuddled up next to him, watching “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”. Jimmy Stewart understood. Sometimes, all a man needs is his principles, his passions and his person…Pink. Pike nodded his head definitively. If he could just find her.

Desperately scanning the crowd once again, he was just about to offer his own apology of concern before taking a second glance at the nightmarish-like figure that had bumped against him awkwardly.

Lisbon.

Reprimanding himself for a slew of profanity that flashed through his mind, he bit his lower lip painfully. What the hell was his ex doing in D.C? Was he hallucinating? Was this another one of his evening terrors come to life? But, abruptly shoved from side to side and exiting his romantic reverie, he found himself face to face with the life not lived. This moment was all too real, and he initially wanted to escape it as quickly as possible.

“Agent Pike!” Lisbon awkwardly chirped, as Marcus cleared his throat with irritation. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the exchange, it just seemed to drag all of his newly buried insecurities to the surface once again. He had already crossed the United States to start anew, and somehow his past was threatening to derail his promising new future. Good God, what if you decided to show up NOW! Pike looked nervously around him, seeking an escape route, but immediately doubled down on his resolve. Those who did not learn from history were doomed to repeat it, and he couldn’t be more assured of his steps moving forward. This was the moment he could finally put the nail in the coffin that was Christmas Past, and delightedly step into a new year and a new future…with YOU.

“Agent Lisbon” Pike mumbled, jamming a cold hand forward and shaking Lisbon’s hand curtly. “How do you find yourself in D.C this winter?” he attempted the idle small talk, still searching the crowd for your redemptive face. This was not how he planned to start the New Year.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to avoid your offices during my visit here. I know things are…difficult” Lisbon sighed, her eyes squinting skeptically at Pike in the anticipatory crowd. Marcus paused, thinking back on the quick friendship that had developed in the professional time together, and felt his heart melt slightly at the unnecessary awkwardness. What was he doing? This wasn’t necessary. Nobody had done anything wrong. The paths of life had happily taken them in different directions, and without those very same choices, he wouldn’t have found his way to Pike’s Place and more importantly….to YOU. This was a chance to move forward, without hesitancy and step into the optimism of a New Year.

“It’s nice to see you again!” Pike smiled good-naturedly, clocking Lisbon’s immediate skepticism. “I…I’m getting situated into the D.C offices, and if I’m totally honest, that’s thanks to you!” he impishly smirked, shrugging his shoulders transparently. “It’s a wonderful step for me and…my life is really starting to take off here” he confessed, hoping he was communicating  enough of the details to put Lisbon at ease, and not so many intricacies as to confuse the situation. 

“You look good!” Lisbon exclaimed, her cheeks reddening slightly at the possible misinterpretation of the moment, as Pike’s eyes lit up with acknowledgement.

“I’m waiting for my…I’m meeting someone!” Pike beamed like a schoolboy, seizing the opportunity to share in his recent triumph, and hopeful that Lisbon was receptive. 

“Oh?!” Lisbon looked temporarily shocked, and then relieved to see Pike grinning from ear to ear so enthusiastically. 

“YeahImnotreallysureifIcancallhermygirlfriendyetbutwebasicallysavedone anotherslives.YouwouldnotbelievetheChristmaswewereabletosharetogetherandletsbehonestyouandIneverreallyconnectedinthewaythatwouldhavelastedandbythewayIneverapologizedformisreadingthatsituationwithyou.AnywaysIthinkthismightbeitandIamthinkingaboutaskinghertomoveinwithmewhichissoclassicPikebutIknowwebelongtogetherandIknowshefeelsthesameway!”

Pike breathed quickly, a rush of adrenaline surging through his system as his face flushed with the excitement of love’s glow. Pink must be rubbing off on me, he chuckled with slight chagrin, checking his phone once again as the DJ attempted to corral the audience into some last minute celebrations.

Lisbon registered a momentary look of surprise before relaxing into a more peaceful acknowledgment. “That’s wonderful Agent Pike, if anyone deserves it, it’s YOU” she smiled, with tight lips, taking a moment to squeeze Pike’s forearm in friendship and scoot past him quickly.

“I won’t…uh…I won’t be seeing you at the office, will I?” Pike winced at the phrasing, but wanted to be crystal clear about his intentions. Only one woman had his heart, and he was desperately hoping you would arrive in time to save him once again.

“No!” Lisbon nearly shouted, enveloped slightly by the oncoming crowd and gesturing behind her. Just wanted to get a peak at the New Year celebration! Headed to the airport now! Congrats Pike, it couldn’t happen to a better guy!”

Pike beamed with renewed confidence, already distracted by the buzzing phone in his hand. “Gotta go Lisbon! Great to see you!” he plugged his ear tightly, cradling the phone to the side of his face…. “PINK????!!!!”

All that materialized was a garbled static of white noise, as Pike looked furiously around for your familiar face. “PINK???!!!” he shouted a few more times before the call dropped unceremoniously. A few solitary snowflakes flitted before his gaze as the DJ began to organize the countdown. He was running out of time! Were you okay? Where were you? Was your flight delayed? The crowd began to chatter nervously, enjoying the quick snowfall and surge of New Year energy. He knew his expectations always seemed to be running out of his control, but how he longed to hold you in his arms again. Even the past few days had felt interminable, having previously shared such intimacy, he was almost crawling out of his skin to get to you in these last celebratory moments of the year that had finally brought him to YOU. Punching a few buttons quickly, he redialed, waiting for the lilting sound of his reason to celebrate. His reason to love. His…

Pink.

The bright, gregarious shock of your pink snowsuit dotted the otherwise camouflaged landscape as you both made eye contact from about fifty feet away.  “Alright folks, we’ve got about five minutes left before the countdown begins. Start prepping for that New Year’s Eve kiss!” the announcer exclaimed, as your face lit up in a dazzling array of joy. Pike’s eyes widened enthusiastically, as he inched his way closer to you, desperately trying to pace himself, but overwhelmed by his dreams finally coming to fruition. Like two magnets, you were drawn together, giggling and shuffling around the sea of humanity surrounding you.

“Hey stranger!” you shouted before Pike tenderly grasped your face in both hands and planted a deep, passionate kiss between your lips seductively. The entire crowd disappeared quietly as you hummed into Marcus’ mouth contentedly. You were exactly where you wanted to be, here in Pike’s embrace, ready to start the New Year with all the promise and acceptance you both so readily deserved. Pike pulled back slightly, his face flush with the cold and excitement of the moment.

“Sorry, I couldn’t wait…” Pike grinned dopily, running his hands down your arms warmly and intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re here!” he sighed, smiling down at you with tenderness.

“You’ve got me!” you retorted, seeing nothing but Pike. The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity and obligation, but you found yourself on the doorstep of a new life and a new empowerment, and wanted to enjoy every moment of it. “I dropped off my luggage at the hotel before I arrived…I think my phone is all wonky…” you explained, before Pike pulled you in for another kiss.

“Okay folks, grab your loved ones it’s time to start the countdown of one minute!” the DJ  shouted, but it all seemed like meaningless nonsense in the background of your sparkling bubble of love.

“I’ve been thinking about that…” Pike lowly intoned, drawing your forehead to his and swaying back and forth slightly in the cold, winter air. “No pressure, or anything, but if you wanted to stay with me…for a bit…we could…see about keeping each other warm?” Marcus teased, biting at your lower jaw suggestively, and wrapping his arms tightly around your torso. You snuggled up into the crook of his neck, enjoying the bristle of his newly developing winter’s beard, and peppering feather-light kisses across the sensitive skin below it.

“For survival?” you questioned curiously, finally hearing the crowd begin the New Year’s countdown.

“For survival!” Pike teased, kissing you sensitively on the cheek.

“SIX—FIVE…” the crowd began.

“FOUR—THREE…” you and Pike mirrored one another with ebullience.

“TWO—ONE—-HAPPY NEW YEAR!” everyone shouted victoriously, but you were already lost in the next kiss that never really ended. The loudspeakers started to play “Auld Lang Syne” as happy partygoers attempted to sing along.

“What does this song mean? My whole life, I don't know what this song means. 'Should old acquaintance be forgot'. Does that mean that we should forget old acquaintances? Or does it mean that if we happened to forget them, we should remember them, which is not possible because we already forgot ‘em?” Pike recited above the din of the loudspeakers.

“That was impressive!” you yelled back. “How many times have you watched ‘When Harry Met Sally?’” you teased, pinching at Pike’s stomach playfully.

“Not nearly enough, if it hasn’t been with you!” he beamed, hugging you tightly and finally assured that everything would be alright. It was the beginning of your life in D.C, your life with Pike and the life you had always dreamed of, but never fully grasped. And yet here you were; grasping the love of your life firmly and fixedly with both hands, and never letting go. Happy New Year!

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

@morallyinept @littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @wordywarriorwrites

@janaispunk @timelordfreya @schnarfer @devineconjuring 

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

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

@copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @princesspurple75

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @zaniasky @quicax3

@shaunasflannel @anelva @shinyanchorobject @flyingthroughtheave @anoverwhelmingdin 

Pinkie Pie Pedge

There is no justifiable reason why I'm posting this. It COULD be a showcase of my soon to be complete series "Pike's Place" and all things Pink. It MIGHT be an installment of Pedge Tweets, and an excuse to gaze longingly at our beloved. OR it might just be a distraction as I head into a barrage of tests and doctor visits for the New Year (#pinkpoop). MOSTLY it's just cause I think Papi Pascal is hot sh@t.

*thanks zephirahh for the design page!

*sweets from the sweets @inept-the-magnificent + @romanarose

Crime and Punishment The Family

Foyer: There are already so many great AU fics featuring all our favorite Pedro Boys and I'd like to showcase them! In the Coffee Shop Foyer you'll find some great rec's for coffee and books alike. This week, check out Miller's Booknook @whocaresstillthelouvre as your sweet treat!

Bookshop: As per your recommendation, Joel is our shop owner. I think there's something appealing in a man who says little, but obviously feels so much.

Triggers: profanity, sexy descriptions, typical Last of Us canon, discussions of violence, cat allergies, major spoilers for "Crime and Punishment"...

Series Masterlist

Christmas had come and gone. The flurry of snow and holiday activity had begun to recede into the nearby distance, clumping into dirty pockets of slippery ice and sludge as you trudged your way down main street. In this moment you were assured of one thing;

You felt like a complete idiot.

Staggering haphazardly down the main thoroughfare of town, you caught more than a few sidelong glances as you struggled with your carried contents. It wasn’t everyday they saw the town teacher hefting a bona fide picnic basket at the epicenter of winter, and possible tail end of humanity itself. Who had time for a picnic in the apocalypse? Forget the fact that you had about ten lopsided picnic baskets in your living room from last spring’s unit on agriculture and crafts. Smiling awkwardly at your passing students, your embarrassment would have grown larger still if anyone knew the cornucopia of items you were attempting to proffer. Gone were the days of food markets and charcuterie boards. Here, at the end of the world; you had carrots.

Well, not just carrots, you had brought a few treasures, including last year’s canning of apple preserves, but you just hoped Joel wasn’t too picky an eater. You had promised lunch for your next literary discussion, and you aimed to make good on your word. More than a little late, you now found yourself under the microscope of burgeoning Jackson Commune gossip, nearly tripping over Tommy and Maria as you approached the book shop.

“Whoa, where ya going there little lady, with all those goods?” Tommy joked, arm in arm with his wife Maria, who was expecting in the spring.

“Oh, um…just checking out the new bookshop!” you chirped, a bit too enthusiastically. “For the students…my students…our students…” you rambled, peering around Tommy’s broad frame and trying to see if Joel were in the bookshop foyer.

“Watcha got cookin’ in there?” Tommy questioned, propping the basket lid slightly until Maria slapped him alongside the arm.

“Leave them alone, Tommy. What are you, “The Enquirer”?” she jested, wrapping her other protective hand around the underside of her growing belly.

“No harm in lookin’!” Tommy protested, passing by on the side and calling over his shoulder. “Tell Joel I said to be on his best behavior!” Maria chuckled quietly under her breath as your cheeks reddened slightly with chagrin. Making eye contact with Rascal the orange tabby through the bookshop window, you smirked with self-deprecation. Guess the cat’s outta the bag.

Maybe the picnic basket was a little much, but you had every right to be there. Rascal the Cat seemed non-plussed by your thought process as you shoved the bookshop door open to the tell-tale ringing of the bell. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, you set the basket down on the lobby chair, already welcomed by the crackling wood-burning stove, inviting coffee’d fragrance and…

Ellie?

Ellie rounded the corner with a stack of books piled nearly to her head, pausing in the aisles to register her apparent surprise.

“Miss J?” she questioned, as Rascal leapt on top of the nearby picnic basket with curiosity. You nearly turned on your heel with embarrassment, but stubbornly stood rooted to the floor.

“Oh! Hi Ellie! Is your dad…” you winced “is your Joel…I mean…Is Joel here by chance?” you bumbled incoherently, watching Rascal shove an aggressive paw under the basket lid, searching for more catnip.

“Ask him yourself, he’s right behind ya…” she retorted, setting the books on the floor before she dropped them completely, as Joel bulldozed in through the door, slightly out of breath.

You had clearly caught one another unawares, as Joel stood panting quickly, a dried bunch of lavender clasped firmly in his gloved hands. His mouth dropped open surprisingly, as he took in the sight of Rascal, Ellie, you, the picnic basket and his own insecurities, shoving the door shut behind him roughly with a booted foot.

“From the ‘pothecary” he grumbled, shoving the dried lavender into your shocked grasp and making a bee-line for the back room, quickly removing his winter coat and rubbing at the back of his neck humbly.

“Jesus, Joel don’t be an asshole!” Ellie yelled, ignoring your delighted expression as Joel exclaimed from the back, “LANGUAGE!”. Ellie giggled good-naturedly eyeing the picnic basket with admiration. “Would ya like some coffee?” she rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly at Joel’s adolescent attitude. Before you could answer, Joel’s booming voice cascaded from the back, “COFFEE’S ON THE STOVE!”. You both smiled ironically as Rascal shoved his furry head into the basket’s contents.

“Joel said you might be droppin’ by….for research?” Ellie’s eyes brightened conspiratorially, as though enlightened by a secret she alone was privy to.

“Uh…sure…it’s not everyday you trip over the new town library!” you busied yourself grabbing a cup of coffee, unsure of how to wrangle your way out of a premature conversation. “Started your homework yet for post-holidays?” you deflected, eyeing Ellie mischievously from behind your steaming mug of joe.

"You bet…” Ellie sardonically chided. “You know how much I like homework” she smiled, setting the books haphazardly on the shelves, without looking.

“Bullshit” Joel mumbled under his breath, sporting a new plaid shirt and nearly bumping into the nearby bookshelf when he caught sight of your pensive expression.

“Language” Ellie whispered sarcastically, as you attempted to hide a growing smile behind the grasped ceramic.

“Don’t you got somewhere to be?” Joel snapped quickly, shoving the sleeves of his shirt up his sinewy forearms and huffing with annoyance. “Told Tommy you were gonna muck the stables this winter…” he pointedly asked, grabbing his ice cold coffee and downing it in one swallow.

“Jesus, don’t gotta be all mean about it…” she scoffed, standing to her feet spryly and grabbing her own coat from the nearby counter. Her voice lilted as she shew’d Rascal away from the picnic basket to take a peek. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she called, grabbing a biscuit and heading for the door. “I’ll start that homework tonight, I promise!” her voice echoed after the shop bell rang, turning impishly to make a funny face at Joel and quickly stalking away.

“Goddam teenagers…” Joel grumbled, though the soft sheen of his eyes betrayed his own sentimentality, as he shifted awkwardly under your penetrating gaze. “Gonna ask me about MY homework, teach?” he jested shyly, placing his hands on his hips and stifling a small chuckle.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full with plenty of responsibilities!” you confessed, opening the nearby quilt with a flourish and setting the picnic basket atop it. “Hungry?”

“Starvin’” Joel admitted, striding forward and wincing slightly at his crackling knees. “Not a spring chicken…” he acknowledged, grabbing the dried lavender from your grasp and fiddling with it sweetly.

“Well, that’s why we’ve got the next generation, so they can keep us on our toes” you teased, removing your odd assortment of treats to Joel’s wondering eyes.

“Not quite sure I understand much of it…” he revealed, drawing the lavender to his nose and inhaling deeply.

“What, teenagers or life?”

“Both” Joel stated matter-a-factly as you both chuckled softly.

“And here I thought you were confused about the homework…” you pried, removing your copy of “Crime and Punishment” as the last in a series of unexpected items.

“Got plenty of questions for all three” he began, accepting a plate and looking ravenously at the quirky feast spread before him.

“Where shall we start?” you gestured at the picnic, as Joel hungrily shoved a biscuit into his mouth before it even reached the plate.

“The family” he mumbled, a few crumbs already dotting his broad chest, as you began to open the jar’d preserves and pickled vegetables.

“Yeah, I had to look them up…Alexandrovna the mom. And Dunya, the sister…” you recited, from last night’s academic notes.

“They all talk too much” Joel complained, shoving another biscuit into his mouth and grabbing for the preserves.

You laughed heartily, starting to dish up the nearest items at your fingertips, smiling at Joel’s immediate engagement. “Never had a sister, but Tommy’s fixin’ to turn into that Raz-a-whatzits here in Jackson…” Joel mocked, dipping his forefinger sloppily into the preserves and bringing it fixedly to his mouth. You gulped slightly, fixated on Joel’s puckered lower lip.

“Razumikhin?” you rasped, suddenly much warmer than you had been in the town square.

“Believing’ the best, and ignoring the rest. Don’t tell Tommy I said that…” Joel nodded approvingly at the preserves, sighing contentedly and leaning back against the bookstore counter.

“I ran into them on the way in” you observed, barring Rascal from setting up shop in the now emptied picnic basket.

“Jackson’s real good for him, only…” Joel paused, suddenly steeped in self doubt.

“Only what?” you asked, unsure of his directionality.

“Don’t think Maria likes me” he mumbled, shifting his body weight uncomfortably on the hard wooden floor.

“Maria is shrewd. A real investigator if you ask me. Just wants what’s best for her family and the town…” you offered, finally allowing Rascal to overtake the picnic basket as he purred victoriously.

Joel nodded, picking at the rogue crumbs strewn across his plaid shirt. “She sees a lot” he agreed, picking up the lavender once again. “She wouldn’t believe that Luzhin for one damn second…” he noted, picking at the dried flower absentmindedly.

“Reallllly? What makes you say that?”

“Man’s gotta rely on his instincts if he wants to survive” Joel stated matter-a-factly. “Luzhin is no good, I’ll tell you that right now. Plenty of people in this world that will take advantage of people like Tommy, Ellie…YOU. Gotta be careful” once again Joel seemed to vanish into a world entirely his own, as you paused, wondering if he were still talking about “Crime and Punishment”.

“Well, a big thematic component Dostoyevsky likes to explore is intentionality and motivation…” you continued hesitantly, lost somewhat in the stormy countenance of Joel’s faraway gaze. “Rascalnikhov oscillates between his own self-inflicted punishment and a desire to transcend the boundaries of natural law with impunity. He constantly questions the limitations of situational morality and utilitarian ethics. He can’t even bring himself to acknowledge the murder, rationalizing that he didn’t kill a person, he just killed a concept, but that reasoning only lasts so long. At the end of the day, we ALL ask the question—who do we answer to? Particularly in a society that inflicts such pain upon itself…” you let your words hang silently in the air, concerned at Joel’s disappearing visage. What inner world was he retreating into? You took a moment to absorb the lines and wrinkles painting his face, as his jaw worked needlessly against some clandestine challenge. The sudden unbidden desire to drag your fingers across the rough stubble of his beard flashed through your mind, as Joel heaved a heavy sigh of unknown conflict.

“More coffee?” his eyes suddenly found yours with a dazzling light, as he emerged from whatever tumult had surrounded him.

“Sure!” you chirped, having only drunk half of the cooling beverage. Joel noisily staggered to his feet, already uncomfortable in the seated position for such a burly guy. Rubbing at his lower back his other hand grazed yours, taking the coffee mug wordlessly and heading over to the wood burning stove.

“How’s Ellie doing in school?” he muttered, with his back to you amidst the growing library of treasured books. Surprised at his shift in topic, you immediately jumped at the chance to learn anything about their mutual, mysterious background.

“Ellie’s a sharp student. Quick witted with a swift tongue…” you smiled at the diplomatic appraisal, but it was true. Ellie was one of those rare students who didn’t speak much, but when they did, their words whistled clean and true, like a penetrating arrow. Joel must know as much.

“Yeah, that girl’s got a mouth on her” he chuckled, returning with your refreshed coffee and towering above you. “Doubt I’m much of a damn good influence” he reasoned, reaching across your body, and coming dangerously close to your lips as he grabbed one final biscuit. You indulgently caught a quick fragrance of leather, soap and pine that overwhelmed your entire being for that millisecond. Unsure if Joel somehow noticed, you thought you saw the smallest twinkle graze the corner of his eye as he headed to the back room definitively.

Speaking almost to yourself you continued, “I DO wish I knew more about the students in my classroom, it would make it easier to connect with them on the things that really matter…” you trailed off, beginning to ponder aloud. “I wonder if Dostoyevsky would be a good read for the spring…”.

“You’re the expert, teach” Joel reappeared with a stack of new books, including a beleaguered yellow pages from the outlying territories. “Just seems like a lot of death for new, young lives” he questioned, hefting the stack of books on the front counter and heading back for more. You began to clear some of the picnic away as Rascal the orange tabby protested vociferously.

“It’s true, but some of it is unavoidable” you vented, thinking on the cornucopia of ages and backgrounds represented in your small classroom of maybe 25 children and teenagers. “Some of these kids have seen enough brutality to last a lifetime, and others have been completely insulated from the outside world for their entire existence”. You shook your head, incapable of comprehending how to provide for all of their educational needs. “What about the two of you? Did you see much violence on the road to Jackson?” the words were out of your mouth before you considered them, immediately arrested by the stoic silence of the backroom. Several moments passed before Joel reappeared with a smaller stack of books to join the first.

“Yeah” Joel huffed, unwilling or unable to go into more detail at the present moment, and you didn’t want to push it. “Ellie is tough. She can stand it. But not all my…not all girls are alike” Joel enigmatically offered, gesturing at you broadly. “What about you teach? You seem tough as nails, ‘specially for a bookish sort” he probed, tossing the yellow pages at your feet as Rascal scampered out of the way. Your eyes flashed with acknowledgement, thinking back on your first, surprising bookshop meeting. You were no shrinking violet, but you weren’t sure how much of that information would be beneficial for your educational duties. Setting the picnic basket to one side, and picking up the yellow pages for future organization, you avoided.

“You’re probably right. Not all girls are the same. And Ellie can take care of herself” you reticently observed, looking Joel dead in the eyes as you grabbed a nearby stack of reading material. “I’m pretty sure the 300’s are science or social science”.

“Don’t know much about that, teach. I’m not really a man of science” he scoffed, heading to the backroom darkly.

“I think Dostoyevsky would agree with you!” you yelled to the back, beginning a new section of literary options and returning to the main topic of discussion. “He hates the high brow aristocracy, and scientific knowledge to the exclusion of all else. But make no mistake, D is a writer of tremendous emotion…and BELIEF!”

“Bullshit!” Joel emerged from the backroom one last time, nearly dropping the towering array of books balanced precariously in his hold. “Don’t quote me some Firefly, ‘lost in the darkness, look for the light shit’” he complained, punctuating his opinion by dumping the book stack unceremoniously atop the front counter.

“Language!” you sarcastically teased, as Joel’s face tinged with the sweetest shade of red imaginable. “I don’t want to get too far ahead of you, so you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. But think about Rascal’s slipshod theory about the inhuman”.

“What, like the infected?” Joel debated, searching for any books on the sciences. “If you tell me Dostoyevsky was a fortune teller, Rascal’ll kick you out before I can…” Joel toted the appropriate books over to your aisle, shoving them into the side of your shoulder mockingly. Attempting to avoid the distraction of his intoxicating fragrance you plowed onward, however unsuccessfully.

“RASCALNIKOV” you enunciated mischievously, turning into the pile of books “starts to wax philosophical about a master human race. A division of inferiors and superiors, Napoleons and what-nots, but it’s all one big fallacy for his own self-aggrandized delusions”.

“Them’s a lot of big words, teach” Joel pursed his lips defiantly, scanning the whole of your body skeptically, and not without a tinge of arousal.

“It’s all a big show! Rascal can’t escape his own self-judgement or admit his actual motivations for the crime itself! He’s completely mired in his own delusional alienation and desperately grasping at anything he can find to avoid the acknowledgement of human pride and base inferiority. He’s just as infected as everybody else!” you finally exclaimed, noticing how closely Joel was watching your passionate expression, as his eyes hovered precariously over your now trembling lips. You tried to still the flutter of your shivered breathing, unwilling to break eye contact as Joel was magnetically drawn closer.

“You’re comin’ to dinner” he broke the spell abruptly, returning to the backroom nonsensically, and avoiding the incredulity of your followed gaze.

“WHAT?” you called after him, looking around the room haphazardly to find Rascal the orange tabby sitting smugly atop the repacked picnic basket.

“YOU HEARD ME!” Joel’s voice echoed from the back room, as you threw your hands up placatingly, imploring Rascal the Cat to offer any assistance whatsoever, and finding a lack of feline solace.

“I suppose I’m bringing another picnic basket?!” you remarked, huffing with feigned annoyance and grouping the books sloppily on the shelf.

“Not this time, teach. Gonna put Ellie and me to work and have you over tomorrow night at the house” Joel’s voice crescendoed until his broad frame was nearly on top of yours. “Ask anyone around town, you’ll find us. Seven sharp” his eyes squinted skeptically, almost challenging you to refuse.

“Fine”.

“Fine” his low voice rumbled forebodingly in his chest as you stared back.

“Fine”.

Rascal the Cat meowed curiously, as though joining the conversation. A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, watching Joel’s jaw tick playfully. “Now, scram, I gotta work and you’re distractin’ me from my homework” he chaffed, turning on his heel and smiling to himself with delight. It was a date.

“I’m distractin’….?” you queried to no avail, as Joel’s thick frame had already exited the foyer and returned to the bowels of the backroom bookshop. Rascal blinked sleepily in your direction with self-satisfaction. Hidden from sight, you beamed triumphantly. Grabbing your winter wear and hoisting the significantly lighter picnic basket, you confiscated the dried lavender from the floor, tucking it into your shirt pocket. “I’LL BRING THE COFFEE, MILLER!” you giddily reprimanded, nodding at Rascal and making a quick exit to the sound of the bookshop bell.

Things were starting to get interesting.

@morallyinept @littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges

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

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

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

@copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @princesspurple75

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin

My Darling Muse, My Darling Dieter...

*featuring AI art and Jackson Pollock background

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out. Love this post @for-a-longlongtime, and inspired by the Trope-Off (Dieter Bravo/Pen Pals)

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

*references Ginsburg's "Howl" + Rimbaud's "A Season In Hell"

My Darling Muse,

“I am with you…where you will split the heavens and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb…” “My guts are on fire. The power of the poison twists my arms and legs…I die of thirst, I suffocate, I cannot cry” “Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in this world! May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!” “I am with you…when you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal. It should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse…"

*written in margins; Ten daily sponge baths unhealthy? What is a trash panda and are they bi? MDMA in Kit-Kats? Addicted to baby goats?

*Andre Masson

My Darling Dieter,

Oh my honey I am so glad to hear about all the friends you are making in rehab. and how much you enjoy your sponge baths! I'm not sure if Kit-Kats have addictive properties or not, but I'm certain they are healthier than your other alternatives. And yes, I was being serious when I said you could buy a baby goat for New Year's, J.

"Glass of Absinthe" by Van Gogh

My Darling Dieter,

I see your therapist suggested other outlets for your yearnings, thought I'm not sure absinthe is produced in gummy form. What a creative idea! Van Gogh would have thoroughly approved. Perhaps I can think of some personal ways to satiate your other desires--within the context of my nebulous professional role. Love, J

*Halman

My Darling Dieter,

I am so proud of you for returning to rehab during the holiday season. I know things were becoming stressful. I DID inquire as to whether the poet Coleridge has an IG account, but since he lived in the late 1700's that seems unlikely. Yes, I do think Kubla Khan could be set to an inspiring tap dance, but only by you. Sincerely, J.

*Warhol-Basquiat

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter’s PA. D is a little embarrassed since he checked himself back into rehab for the holidays, but he wanted his fans to know that he is doing well and enjoying the beach resort. He is still working on his one man show “Dieter Deconstructed” and is determined to include a musical portion. His good friend and fellow actor Pedro Pascal recommended the book “The Urge; Our History of Addiction”. D was excited, but the material is VERY heady. After falling asleep to the soothing sounds of the audiobook, I have taken to reading D excerpts over the phone…so he can fall asleep to my voice instead. D says he is very relieved to have escaped the holidays and the many temptations, while he focuses on his own betterment and the nebulous relationship between artistic passion and the sometimes uncontrollable desires of addiction. Finally, he wants me to remind you all about his upcoming holiday special, “Cliff Beast 6 1/2; Hannukah Hijinks”, which will be appearing on all major platforms.

*thanks @kodaswrld for the cool dividers

Pike's Place Die Hard

This is it! The culmination of the last few months and we've finally arrived at this Christmas reveal. It wasn't until @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" that I managed to really sink my teeth into this delectable treat. What a delightful slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: finally, the smut we all deserve, profanity, emergency survival situation, sexy time confusion, reference to hysterectomy/pandemic, safe P in V, angsty angst and so much crying, you won't be disappointed...

Word Count: 12k (I don't know what happened...)

Series Masterlist

Hearing your feet crunch amidst the steadily falling snow, you squinted cautiously as Pike teetered precariously on a ladder against the cabin. Willing a Christmas Miracle of the grandest proportions you prayed that this was not the end, but only the beginning. Turning back to face the roaring ember which was once the woodshed, you were momentarily grateful for the heated repose. But it was only a matter of time before the blaze died down, and you and Pike found yourselves back in the apocalyptic blizzard that threatened more than your holiday plans. 

Shifting uncomfortably in the icy winds, you rubbed your hands together, blowing into them for warmth and taking stock of the last 24 hours. The electricity was out. The generator had gone up in flames. Lacking reception and facing the quandary of downed telephone lines and crippled power cables you gazed dejectedly at Bessie the Hyundai who anthropomorphically sighed fifty feet down the road. The final straw had been the carbon monoxide poisoning. Your eyes shot back to Pike who was helplessly attempting to clear a large oak which had unceremoniously teetered into the side of the cabin, effectively covering the chimney and your final source of heat.

Well, maybe not the final source. 

Pike shook his head in defeat, returning the ladder to its resting place and joining you aside the flickering flame, which had steadily diminished. The blizzard was determined to extinguish your dwindling sense of hope, if not your lives in the process. Anticipating his return, you marveled at his MacGyver-like repair of the shattered foyer window. You couldn’t be more grateful that your travels had brought you to Pike’s Place. You just wondered if the journey were ending so much sooner than either of you had intended.

Pike strode up beside you, bumping into your shoulder good naturedly and shouting above the din of the conflagration and freezing gales. “IT’S NO USE!” he shouted into your ear, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder and swaying slightly against the icy, buffeting winds. “I CAN’T CLEAR ENOUGH OF THE LIMBS FOR US TO USE THE CHIMNEY! WE NEED ELECTRICITY IF WE’RE GOING TO SURVIVE!” You nodded in affirmation, already feeling the stinging affect of the frigidity against your cheeks and lips as the fire died down. “LET’S GET YOU INSIDE!” he exclaimed, taking your hand in his and trudging back to the stilled cabin. It might be cold, but at least it could shelter you from what was about to come. Pike kicked the door open with a flurry of wind and snow as you stooped down to light the remaining emergency candles that had blown out in the preceding minutes. Although immediately grateful for the cessation of the squall, an empty chill began to permeate your bones as Pike gathered the water, rations, pillows and blankets beside the now obsolete fireplace. Gazing over at the once happy Christmas Tree you both paused to catch your breath and assess the situation. Looking around you at the shattered window and Pike’s steely expression you felt a maelstrom of grief wash over you. Hugging yourself tightly you began to cry quietly as Pike’s face crumpled in empathy.

“Pink” he began, rushing to your side as you buried your face in his chest, your body quivering with emotion. “Sh…sh…it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get out of this. I’m going to get us out of this” he promised, swaying from side to side and stroking your hair gently. “I thought you told me excessive crying was off limits…for hydration sake” he managed to eek out, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“O-only g-gingers are a-allowed to c-cryyyy…” you began to wail helplessly, as Pike chuckled into the crown of your head. “W-we exc-cel at d-dramatic bursts of energy…” you hiccuped, feeling your body relax in Pike’s embrace.

“That’s perfect. That’s just what we need to get this electricity going again” Pike hummed, pulling back to lift your chin with two, frosted fingers. “Take a deep breath for me, please?” he encouraged, rubbing warming circles into your back soothingly.

“O-one, I can h-hear the sounds of the wind outside…” you started, taking in Pike’s puzzled expression. “F-five s-senses…” you sniffled as Pike nodded in affirmation. “T-two…I can…s-see our b-beautiful C-Christmas Treeeeeeeee…” at this a fresh bout of sobs threatened your precarious self-control as Pike hugged you tightly, heading back to the fireplace as your legs dangled against his body loosely.

“And what can you smell?” he offered, carefully setting you down on the pile of pillows and blankets and reaching for a water bottle beside you. 

“I c-can smell…” you paused, your face reddening slightly with the admission. “I can s-smell your…aftershave…and cologne…” you hiccuped again, biting back a small giggle of relief as Pike smiled humorously. 

“Water, please” he unscrewed the top, tilting it towards your mouth and coaxing you to drink some carefully. Heaving a heavy sigh of concern he let you drink your fill, and then brought the water bottle to his own lips intimately. You reached out to touch his face, drawing your fingers over the stubble of his chin, and upwards to caress the wisps of hair framing his features. You sat together, slowly lowering your foreheads to one another, your breaths punctuated in the cold by plumes of warmth. 

“What can you taste?” Pike finally rasped, eyes still closed in quiet contentment. Without thinking you feverishly pressed your lips to his, a new heat burgeoning in your core. You felt your lips melt into his, the sharp tingle of cold dissipating against the soft yearning of his kiss. His chiseled jaw worked against yours, parting your lips languidly for his tongue to enter. Merry fucking Christmas. This was the best blizzard you had ever endured. Lazy thoughts entered your mind for a millisecond before slowly drifting out as you enjoyed the warmth and affection of one another for what felt like hours. Breaking apart to catch your breath, you noticed a small bead of sweat condense at the corner of Pike’s forehead, reaching up to catch the single salty droplet you seductively brought it to your mouth, swallowing with intensity.

“And what can be touched?” you whispered, looking deeply into the swirling vortex of Pike’s sentimental eyes, which were slowly darkening in hue and desire. His Adam’s apple bobbed hungrily in his throat as he placed a hand across your sternum, feeling the thrumming flutter of your excited heart.

“I’m thinking of a way we can stay warm” he began, fingering the dangling zipper of your pink snowsuit.. “For survival?” he smiled self-deprecatingly, hoping this suggestion fell under the heading of Emergency Techniques 101.

You felt your cheeks blush under the steady lust of his gaze, lowering yourself down to the floor and beckoning him to lay beside you. “Have negotiations begun?” you grinned forlornly, wishing you found yourselves at a quiet, candle-lit dinner instead of fighting for your very lives.

“Does it help to say that I’ve been tested?” Pike blurted out, furrowing his brows in consternation. This was not his usual art of seduction, and he winced at the transactional directionality of the conversation.

“You watch your dirty mouth” you pouted, pinching Marcus at the stomach and enjoying his beleaguered expression.

“I’m sorry, I just want you to be comfortable…” he confessed, tilting his face to the side and watching your face for micro-expressions. “It seems to me body heat can be JUST that. It doesn’t have to be anything more…I think I can…control myself…” Pike admitted, biting his lower lip in supplication. This was a bizarre situation, to say the least.

“Well I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t…curious about the possibilities” you pondered. “It wasn’t a few hours ago I was flinging myself at you on the couch”. Pike grinned knowingly, teasing the zipper down an inch. “And in all honesty…I don’t kiss just ANYONE on the Art Squad”.

Pike nodded his head with feigned sobriety, lowering your zipper down to your navel, his pupils dilating with passion. “We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want…” his eyes shot up to yours questioningly, as you squinted back.

“Oh I want this” you cajoled, beginning to strip Pike of his winter jacket and pawing at the buttons on his sweater. You both raised yourself up on your knees, quickly peeling the layers back in the steadily dropping temperature of the cabin, and pausing to note the huffs of pluming passion contrasted in the night air.

“Are we doing this?” Pike questioned, unsure where to look or where to put his hands in this bizarre circumstance.

“I’m n-not…s-sure, but let’s do something before hypothermia sets in” your teeth chattered comically as a wave of shivers passed over your body.

Pike quickly pulled his sweater up and over his head revealing his honeyed and immediately prickling skin, as you brought your hands up to his broad shoulders. “What first?” he implored, desperation dotting his tone. You couldn’t be sure if it was the fire of passion or the frigidity of the cold, but either would do. Taking a millisecond to admire the warmth of his skin and his plush lower lip, you stalled in overwhelm.

“I don’t k-know I’ve never had sex in an apocalypse b-before!” you admitted self-deprecatingly. “Gawd, it’s been forever since I just had regular sex too!” you giggled, drawing your torso closer to his.

“This is maybe the worst seduction in human history, but I’m pretty sure we want to start with skin to skin contact…” Pike surmised, his eyes widening as he took in your curving frame. “C-can I…uh…touch you?”.

“I’m about to turn into a p-popsicle if you don’t!” you shuddered, smiling affectionately.

“Okay…here I come?” Pike questioned rapidly, lightly drawing his fingers around your waist and neck and drawing your body close to his, as tenderly as urgency would allow. You laughed in surprise as Pike’s tingling, cold fingers melted into your skin cautiously, immediately warming to the touch.

“C-cumming already? That was fast!” you joked, trying to quiet the small convulsions of your body soaking in the heat of Pike’s torso, accidentally knocking your hips against his awkwardly.

“I’m nothing if not enthusiastic” Pike disclosed, a crooked smile turning up the corners of this mouth. Pike started rubbing your back heatedly, attempting to draw more circulation, and you mirrored his pursuits. You rubbed up against his stubbled cheek, turning into his neck.

“You smell n-nice” you encouraged, moving your hands lower down to Pike’s waist and beginning to notice his semi-hard length bumping against your hip.

“Oh gawd, you smell amazing…” Pike moaned into your hair, trying to pace himself for whatever you preferred. “Is this better?” he asked, his movements slowing and broadening as the temperature began to increase incrementally.

“I think s-so?” you pondered, feeling your core warming with the sensation of human contact. It had been so long. You quite nearly forgot what it was like to enjoy someone’s body, or even your own, but you felt yourself starting to detach with the emotional over-stimulation. “C-can we just…maybe…hold each other for a while?” you winced, embarrassed at the seemingly infantile tone of voice, as Pike pulled back to look into your eyes and cup your face in his warming hands.

“We can do whatever you want…This moment is all about you…and any ‘us’ that you want”. The sincerity in Pike’s look was immediately disarming and grounding you to the moment, however bizarre it seemed. “Come here…” Pike pulled a blanket from beside you, up and over your heads, cocooning you in a soft tent. Wrapping your legs around his and intertwining as much as possible, Marcus drew his arms under the snowsuit against your bare back as you cradled your face into his neck. “We can just stay like this…” Pike suggested, trying to focus on the hardness of the cabin’s floor and not the burgeoning hardness of his length, as your lace covered, plush breasts were pressed against his chest. He took several stilling breaths as your bodies melted together softly, the warmth of your togetherness already exponentially expanding.

You attempted to mirror his breathing to quiet your own and soon found a contentedness in the humanity of the moment. The circumstances might have been odd, but the validity of your emotion was very real. You wanted this. You wanted him. And you wanted to survive. After a few minutes Pike’s voice cut through the silence, “Is this the part where I make a joke about how the cold might affect a hypothetical individual’s…um…girth?” his body tittered humorously, desperately trying to put you and himself at ease.

You shifted your head to admire his side profile and cinnamon skin, as your eyebrows shot up to your forehead. Reaching down, very carefully, your fingers ghosted over his hardening length, as it twitched under your grasp. You gulped loudly, suddenly concerned, “Uh, Pike…I haven’t done this in a while, but given our current circumstances, I’m not sure that’s the main challenge…” your eyes widened in comprehension. Pike buried his face into your chest, sighing heavily. 

“Oh boy…I really like the color pink…” he mumbled into your breasts, as you rolled your eyes jovially at the admission.

“Well that’s good, so long as I don’t start turning blue…” you smirked, delighted that Pike seemed as eager as you were.

“I mean…I don’t wanna get ahead of myself…I don’t even have any condoms…” Pike groaned with forced chastity, swallowing hard against your sternum as he peppered kisses up to your neck. Your body froze, with more than the cold, as Pike pulled back to appraise your reaction.

“I’m sorry, was that a ridiculous assumption on my part?” he questioned, looking into your eyes for clarity. You bit your lower lip awkwardly, desperate to confide in him, but hesitant to broach the topic at this juncture. “Hey…It’s just me. It’s just us…” he stopped all of his ministrations, his breath fanning across your face soothingly. God, his lips were gorgeous. You couldn’t hardly concentrate on anything else. The explosion, the storm, the carbon monoxide poisoning…and all you could think about were this man’s lips. 

“You won’t need a condom” your voice started to disappear, hoping you could convey the logistics of the moment, and still maintain the intimacy that teetered so precariously.

“Copy that” Pike tried to hide his disappointment, his eyes lowering to the ground respectfully and loosening his grasp with delicacy.

“No, no…I just mean…um…I had a…before the pandemic I needed…” you sighed with frustration and a modicum of defeat. “I had a hysterectomy” you pouted, embarrassed at the blunt revelation. Pike’s eyes registered a new softness as he tilted his head to look at your more closely.

“Are you…okay, now?” he sensitively probed. “Does that mean you don’t want to…?”

“OH I WANT” you clasped your hand over your mouth with chagrin as your cheeks reddened with self-consciousness. Pike chuckled, drawing his fingers up to your hand and taking it in his. 

“There’s that pink…” he brushed his finger against your cheek, beaming affectionately. “Do you…want to show me?” he asked quizzically, unsure of his footing, but determined to provide whatever support he could, amidst the peculiar circumstances.

“Yes please…” you whispered, taking his hand and drawing it down the front of your body. Pike’s breath froze in the moment as you drew his fingers between your breasts rapturously, down your abdomen and lowering them just above your pubic bone. “Feel that?…” you asked, dragging his fingers across the feather-link pinkened scar, watching Pike’s mouth drop open with yearning. A small whimper left his lips as you drew his fingers lower still towards your heat. “Feel this?…” you probed, moving his digits over the wet patch of your underwear, as Pike’s fingers twitched involuntarily, eliciting an intake of air from you both.

“Is that for me?” Pike groaned, lowering his head into your neck and cupping your groin with his palm.

“Ohhhhhh shit….” you sighed. “Based on your…bearing…I think it might be primarily for ME, so you don’t split me in half” silently wondering how worried you should be.

“I can go slow” Pike gulped, relatively certain he spoke the truth. His enthusiasm had always seemed his downfall, but this moment was all about you. Your body. Your pleasure. Your survival. Your hips bucked up into his hand as his fingers ghosted over your clit, the fabric of your underwear creating a delicious friction. 

“Oh gawd!” you squeaked, immediately self-conscious, but starting to focus on the burning hunger pulsing within you, and not the dire circumstances swirling outside.

“Oh God, good? Or oh God, bad?” Pike questioned, feathering his fingers over your heat in exploration.

“Ohhhhhhhh” you managed to get out before your eyelids fluttered closed in submission. Jesus Christ you should get snowed in more often. Oh. So much of the last four years felt like an emotional wasteland of desperation. Oh. All of it was crashing down with each healing pulse of Pike’s fingers. Oh. Over. And over. And over. Your mind was completely blank with pleasure, whitewashed as the pristine snow outside. Oh. Oh. Oh. You grabbed at whatever purchase you could find, the loop of his sweatpants, the heated forearm that slipped from your grasp…finally moving your hands upward to your own temples and dragging your fingers across your scalp. You thought you might shatter underneath the immediate intimacy of the moment, listening to Pike’s heavy breathing and trying to keep your eyes open in awareness.

“Honey, you’ve gotta talk to me, I’m flying blind here…” Pike pleaded, grinding his hips painfully into the side of yours and swallowing back his desperation. 

It was all so much. You hadn’t been with anyone in years, and the sensations were so heightened in this surreal landscape, you felt like your body was euphorically careening out of control. If this was how you entered immortality, you could definitely think of worse ways to go. But there was a smaller, indulgent part of you that somehow wanted more. You didn’t know how you could want more than eternity, but you wanted to enjoy him. This was about so much more than survival. You wanted to enjoy your own humanity, and somehow, it was all slipping away from you. You wanted to give yourself, mind, soul and personhood to the beautiful man wrapped pliantly around your quivering form, but how could you give something that was spiraling out of your own consciousness?

“Pleeeeease…” you whined, arching your back off the ground and into Pike’s undulating body.

“Please what, honey? Tell me what you need…” Pike groaned into your ear, splaying a hand across your back.

The devastating reality crashed around you and before you could think, you heard your own faltering voice utter the word, “Stop”. You were eons away from your own self, but desperate to stay fully present in Pike’s passionate grasp. Marcus froze, pulling his hand away and looking deeply into your countenance with a confused expression. 

“Stop? Did you say stop?” Pike whispered, drawing both hands up to your face and jolting you out of your disorienting reverie. With a gasp of stark realization, your eyes shot open in surprise, as you felt the unyielding support of the hard wooden floor beneath you. Every sense came rushing back in a myriad of confusing palettes. The cold, tingling ice hovering just outside your cozy cocoon. The heat of Pike’s breath, shuddering against your own. The sharp musk of your own arousal, buttering Pike’s fingers. And the salty release of your own tumult, bubbling to the surface in wracking sobs.

“I’m soooooorrry!” you wailed quietly, your mouth falling open in a silent cry, utilizing the entire force of your body to smash Marcus towards you abruptly. Gripping Pike aggressively with your legs you squeezed his torso towards you, pressing his hardened length into your hip, as he winced with sensitivity. You grabbed the back of his neck, digging your fingers into his hair and pulling tautly, feeling his entire body stiffen with confusion and slowly melt back into you with supplication.

“Wt’s h’ppng?” Pike mumbled awkwardly into your chest as your hiccups slowly morphed into clumsy laughter, shaking your head in disbelief. What were you doing? What kind of Hallmark movie special was this? You suddenly laughed out loud thinking of the incredulity of a National Geographic episode documenting this fumbling attempt at survival.

“Okay, we’re laughing, that’s good…I think? I feel like there are some…conflicting messages here…” Pike hesitantly started smiling with you, as his body relaxed fully into yours. “That wasn’t…” Pike squeezed himself out of your vice like grip just far enough to look into your face impishly. “Was that good for you?” he teased, contorting his face in a ridiculous expression.

‘Oh, my love!” you exclaimed, immediately clapping your hand over your mouth and dissolving into another fit of giggles. Pike’s face exploded into the light of a thousand stars with the possibility of your unheeded admission, collapsing his body weight back into you with relief and continued incredulity.

“I don’t understand what’s happening here, but I’m here for it” Pike confessed, shaking his head confusedly and stroking your hair with tenderness. “I seem to have a confusing affect on women…” he self-deprecatingly offered, struggling to understand the nuances of your unspoken reaction, and beginning to wipe the tears from your face.

“I’m…sorry…let me…see if I can explain” your laughter calmed down a bit as Pike patiently waited for your next move. In the interim, his gaze longingly drifted over your exposed form as he shut his eyes tightly, his body immediately reacting against you.

“Grandma Pike, Grandma Pike, Grandma Pike…” he started repeating, laughing to himself ashamedly, as you erupted into another fit of tittering. You both took a moment to breath, a thin sheen of perspiration already cooling against your goose-bumped skin.

“Why are you so amazing?” you finally asked, drawing your hands around his back and pressing your lips lightly to his. Humming into his mouth, you abandoned yourself to the contented sensations as your body regulated itself back to normalcy. After a few minutes, Pike paused to catch his breath, stretching out his arm for you to cradle your head against.

“Are we feeling warmer?” he sighed, turning his head towards you and smiling dopily.

“Oh yes, I’m definitely aglow with the Christmas spirit” you observed, turning a new idea around in your mind seductively. “Ummm…you know, turns out even during an apocalyptic blizzard, I seem to move slow as molasses”. 

Pike interrupted with an exhortation of support. “It’s really fine” he drawled “ You know, sometimes I still feel so adolescent. Having you here, in my arms. I’m the luckiest guy in the world…” he grinned, the dimples in his cheeks cutting a devastating profile in the cabin’s candlelight. You sighed contentedly in his embrace, wrapping yourself in the cozy safety of one another. Listening to the bickering winds outside, you thought you could almost hear the strong pulse of Pike’s heartbeat beside you. Grounding you. Magnetically pulling you. Centering you.

“What if you got lucky in more ways than one?” you asked, drawing a finger lazily across Pike’s honeyed chest. Marcus paused, unsure of your meaning. “What if we just did YOU, tonight?” you bluntly offered, a devilish grin beginning to grace the corners of your mouth. Pike seemed to stall in confusion, finally sitting bolt upright and taking the blanket’s warmth with him in a tent of surprise. “PIKE!” you shouted, grabbing at his blanketed form and beckoning him back to the soft chrysalis of your own body. Pike wrapped you up in a tight embrace as you both snickered together.

“I can’t do that, Pink” he chuckled bashfully. The lady always cums first” he cast his eyes downward shyly, but nodding definitively.

“But what if…I asked? What if that’s what I wanted?” you timidly bit your lower lip, unsure if your request would resonate with him at all. Pike swallowed hard, his eyes widening to large saucers as he inquisitively stroked the sides of your face. “It might take me a minute to figure out what I want, but when I do…” you let the statement hang in the air openly.

“We’ll go slow?” Pike finally rasped, drawing a forefinger across your lower lip tentatively.

“Mmmm…slow” you repeated, dragging your hands down the front of his body and reaching his hips.

“I don’t wanna hurt you” he moaned into your chest, desperately trying to slow the yearnings of his body, but being unsuccessful.

“I think you’ve primed me MORE than enough, Art Squad” you agreed, feeling the sticky arousal of your own passions. Pulling Pike’s face into both hands you gulped sardonically, “FOR SURVIVAL”.

Pike returned the smile, “FOR SURVIVAL”. Moving his hands between your tangled bodies, he felt the slick of your heat between his fingers, groaning softly to himself with appreciation. Shifting his body to meet yours he removed his length from his pants, pumping himself a few times with your arousal. “Ready?” he winced, steeling himself for the entry.

“Ready or not, here we cum?” you tried to joke, breathing deeply in anticipation. Pike’s eyes were trained on you fixedly as he notched himself at your entrance. Your mouth fell open in awareness as he inched himself into you, achingly slowly. A whine caught in his throat as he gave himself over to the nestled feeling of your core pulsing around him. You realized you were holding your breath and tried to relax in his embrace, as you opened your eyes, taking in the euphoric expression painted across his face. 

“Are you okay?” Pike hissed in through his mouth pointedly as you shifted your hips beneath him. Pausing in acceptance, you drew his shivering body towards you, erotically pulling your nails across his broad back.

“I’m here” you whispered into his ear, indulging in the connection of the moment, the world finally stilling around you. At peace. Calm. And alive. Oh so very alive.

“I’m not going to last long…” Pike gritted his teeth stubbornly, his brow furrowed in concentration one second, and relaxation the next.

“You’ve got me” you inhaled, the heat of your bodies sticking to one another with newfound perspiration, melting like two icicles in the warmth. Pike pulled out at least half way before slowly re-entering your body as tenderly as he could. You both moaned synergistically. 

“Again” you pleaded, drinking in the indulgent expression on Pike’s countenance. He repeated his movements, gaining a rhythm in pulsing clarity.

“More” you encouraged, feeling his biceps taut beneath your fingertips, salty sweat dotting his forehead. Focusing completely on his reactions, his groans of pleasure and the beauty of his body, you felt yourself swept away in intimacy. Here, together, at the end of the world. There was no place you would rather be.

“Oh…please…” Pike whined, his gyrations powerful and languid, starting to falter with the effort of restraint. “Where do you want me?” he managed to ask through bouts of delight.

“I want everything” you growled, your focus a pinpoint of realization, heightened awareness to the pout of his lips, the crinkle in the corners of his eyes. “In me. Inside” you grasped at a hidden assertion you’d never previously articulated. “Cum for me” you begged, grasping his backside with both of your hands and drawing his hips towards you further. 

Pike groaned loudly, finally giving in to the powerful urges, pulsing and stuttering within you as you fluttered around him. Feeling his entire body convulse against you was like a beam of light penetrating the darkness of the night. There was no storm. No cabin. No Pike. No you. Just Love. Enveloped in the warmth of love, you felt your heart blossom and expand within you. Love. Love. Love. It was a strange death of self, offering an almost immediate and illumined rebirth. Somehow, everything was going to be alright. You didn’t understand the details, and in this moment, you didn’t care. You were together, and that was all that mattered.

Pike finally stilled, collapsing his weight gently atop you as you gripped him with your knees. Drawing your fingers up and through his hair you felt his heartbeat pounding wildly against your chest, calmed by his deep breathing and smiling contentedly to yourself. Marcus moaned happily into your sternum, swallowing dryly as you wiped a small bead of sweat from the corner of his hairline.

He suddenly sat up, bleary eyed and swaying, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he gulped, blinking quickly and trying to focus on your dazed expression underneath the pile of blankets you were swathed beneath.

“Honey, if this is how you treat ALL the visitors at Pike’s Place, you’ve got a gold star establishment on your hands…” you teased, gripping his backside and squeezing tightly, feeling him twitch within you. Marcus hissed inward, eyelids half mast in euphoria, easing himself back atop you tenderly.

“On my hands and in my arms…” he mumbled, burying his face into your bosom and peppering feather-light kisses across your breasts affectionately. You chuckled with delight, listening to the swirling winds outside, and feeling PIke’s broad shoulders caging you in. Forming sweeping circles against his back, you relished in the incremental nuances of his relaxation, finally seeing his forehead devoid of worry and concern, as his breathing slowed to a steady, soothing rhythm. You kissed him tenderly at the crown of his head, surprised at how warm it had actually become. Survival 101 indeed. 

Fairly certain that Pike was drifting off to sleep, you didn’t want to move a muscle. Housed in the contented cocoon of your sweetly entangled bodies, within the eye of the storm, you felt as though your emotions, your very soul had expanded beyond the cozy confines of the moment. Feeling the juxtaposition of Pike’s relaxed body, anchoring you to the floor, you mirrored his deep breathing, grounding yourself in the beautiful intimacy that two individuals can experience together, for so much more than survival. Keeping your body perfectly still your eyes tried to take in Marcus’ profile, serenely placid amidst the outside, buffeting winds, protected securely against your supple form. In your tender embrace you promised to care for this man the way he had cared for you. Whatever the future held, the experience of Love was transformational, allowing for so much more than just humanity’s survival. It was infinite. It was eternal. And you somehow felt as though you sacredly held it, in the palm of your hand. 

Shaking your head slightly with chagrin, you watched Pike’s eyelids flutter in sleep, magnetically drawn into your own dreamscape. Silly thoughts for a silly girl, you mused. Talk about afterglow. And why not? In the place of a cheery hearth, the fire of your heart had ignited into a flame of more than just passion. You were basking in the very flame of Love; alight with the depth of Light itself.

You sighed contentedly with the re-discovery. It really is a wonderful life…

5-4-3-2-1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! The crowd was shouting euphorically around you as the familiar refrain of “Auld Lang Syne” played in the background, but you and Pike might as well have still been in the cozy cabin. Locked in one another’s embrace for the last hour on the dance floor, you couldn’t immediately pinpoint the difference between kissing and not kissing, the entire affair felt like a beautiful bubble of effervescence. You and Marcus kept swaying from side to side, looking deeply into one another’s eyes and not saying a word. You couldn’t believe how quickly the time had gone, here, in Washington D.C. With him. Seeing the massive building of the CIA Art Squad Division. Dropping into the Smithsonian every lunch break during your short visit to the East Coast. Ordering in Thai Food and watching old movies every evening, before making out or making love. It was like something from a Hallmark Movie, and it turned out, it wasn’t just limited to apocalyptic circumstances, or the cozy cocoon of Pike’s Place. It all felt like a dream, and a dream that was going to be ending far too soon.

“What are you thinking about” Pike mouthed, amidst the din of surrounding humanity.

“You” you whispered into his ear, feeling a slight shiver travel down his back and through his fingertips at your explorative touch. You kitten licked into his ear as he crumpled against you, burying his face in your shoulder and chuckling. You grasped him around the waist to help hide the burgeoning tent in his dress pants, though doubtful anyone would have paid it much mind. It was the start of a New Year, and the possibilities were endless. You felt a pang of regret, remembering the brevity of your stay, and wondering what the future might hold for the start of such a promising relationship. Couples were heading out to the balcony for a champagne toast, as the band started to wrap up the evening’s events, leaving you and Pike a bit more space on the dance floor.

“I know what I’m thinking about” Pike jested, drawing two fingers up to your chin and brushing a light kiss against your awaiting lips.

“Let me guess” you drawled, teasing your tongue at the underside of Pike’s top lip, as he happily obliged. “When Harry Met Sally” you joked, pulling back abruptly and touching your nose tenderly to his.

“How very dare you” Marcus smiled, pulling a strand of hair gently from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone” he began…

“…you want the rest of your life to start as SOON as possible” you finished, nibbling at his neck and enjoying the friction of his winter beard chaffing slightly at your reddened cheeks.

“Ohhh gawd…move in with me” Pike sighed, freezing slightly at the unbidden yearning in his tone, as you cocked your eyebrows sky high and ceased the characteristic couple’s sway.

“Excuuuse me?” you questioned, not entirely shocked at the enthusiastic show of romance, but immediately pondering the logistics of your answer. Pike winced with embarrassment, furrowing his brow in immediate consternation. 

Biting his lower lip he immediately back-pedaled, “God, I’ve done it again” Pike shook his head forlornly, stepping back from you about a foot, and bringing his hand awkwardly to the back of his neck, as you felt the immediate loss of his body contact. “PLEASE…forget I said anything. DUMB OLD MARCUS STRIKES AGAIN!” Pike wouldn’t even meet your eyes as he attempted to downplay the very sweet and courageous offer, given his past relationship. “Did I not learn ANYTHING from Lisbon?” his voice cracked a bit as you noticed a soft sheen tinge his eyes, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…hang on Art Squad” you tiptoed forward, grasping him around the waist once again, as though approaching a wounded animal. Pike stood stiffly, his hand at his sides, but you felt an infinitesimal relaxation in his shoulders as you nuzzled up against his chest, attempting to avoid placing lipstick all over the starched armor. “I just need a second, you kind of surprised me…” you exhaled, casting a sideways glance to the couples and groups shuffling out of the dance hall with tittering laughter. “These last few days have been AMAZING…” you began, feeling Marcus pull against you with a large intake of air, and standing to his full height.

“Too soon. It was too soon. It was too much. I did it again…” he started rambling haphazardly as you clamped his lips shut with two fingers abruptly.

“Shut up” you rolled your eyes, attempting to diffuse, but inwardly oscillating between heightened sensitivity for Pike’s admission, and your own ebullience at the possibility. Could you permanently move to the East Coast? The pandemic had so isolated your friendships, adventures and possibilities, but were you finally looking into the silver lining? Almost ALL of your work was now remote. That’s the main reason you had unknowingly ventured to Pike’s Place to begin with. Was this a dream that could possibly come to fruition, not just in spite of your recent turmoil, but somehow BECAUSE of it? You thought back to your East Coast college days, and how much you had enjoyed the changing of seasons, the arts and culture…And pausing to look at the doe-eyed countenance of your boyfriend, whose mouth was still softly muffled by your small hand, you were looking at reason #1 for the next great adventure standing directly in front of you.

“Wht I MNT t sy wzzz…” Pike mumbled comedically into your hand as you started swaying from side to side in an acapella dance. Pike pouted dramatically, taking your hand away from his mouth and grasping it firmly in his own clasp.

“I love you” you whispered, as Pike halted completely in his tracks, grasping your face with both hands imploringly. “I. Love. You” you enunciated for effect, watching the pool of emotions swim in Pike’s longing eyes. 

“Pink?” Pike’s voice echoed from outside your mind, juxtaposed by his unmoving mouth. You hummed happily in your sleep, sighing sweetly, “I love you, Pike”. Your eyelids fluttered quickly as Marcus drew a finger across your forehead, moving his thumb sensually to your mouth. Squinting into the dull sunlight, you blinked at Pike’s near angelic expression, as his eyes crinkled with acknowledgement and enjoyment in the cabin’s atmosphere.

“Oh!” you laughed, rubbing your eyes tiredly and immediately marveling at Pike’s smooth skinned torso. “Good morning!” you yawned, gathering the blankets up around you and stretching like a cat in the noonday. “Have we survived the apocalypse?” you asked, one eye closed in beleaguered submission.

“I don’t think I ever saw those techniques highlighted in ‘Doctor Zhivago’, but National Geographic should really be consulting US for the future…” Pike sighed, licking his thumb and rubbing the sleep from the corner of your eye.

You gasped in surprise at the continued intimacy, crumpling shyly against his penetrative gaze. This didn’t feel like a one night stand, even if Pike had no where to escape to…Well, except Washington D.C. Shit. Your face immediately crinkled with pain, reflecting on your recent dream.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Pike stilled momentarily, wrapping a tentative hand around your waist. “I hate to remind you that we’re still stuck in the tundra, so you’re not gonna be able to escape me that easily…” he teased, pinching your lower lip between two fingers pensively. “Any regrets?” he winced, closing his hand in a fist quickly and holding his breath. “I know I always get ahead of myself, but you might have one of the BEST reasons on the planet for no strings attached. I….” Pike rubbed at the back of his neck with a moment’s hesitation before plowing forward. “Ah hell, who am I kidding? I’ve spent the last 30 minutes watching you sleep and trying to pick out puppy names if we got a golden retriever…” he admitted with embarrassment. “Geez, maybe it should be a Siberian Husky…” he chuckled, before you unabashedly wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling and peppering kisses all over his face.

“This is REALLY forward of you” Pike teased, closing his eyes in submission and smiling with delight. “Here at Pike’s Place, we generally don’t fraternize with the clientele…” he couldn’t finish the ridiculous statement as your lips were passionately placed against his, moving against his mouth with supplication. Marcus sighed into your mouth, pulling back to tuck those pesky strands of hair behind your ears once again. “Do you want your Christmas present now?” he whispered. You held back a squeal of delight, clapping your hands together quickly. 

“Yes please!” you begged, sitting up halfway and squinting at the unlit Christmas Tree and the lonely manilla envelope that had kept you both company all night. The cabin was still chilly, but you noticed the winds had significantly died down, the sun was shining brightly and the snowfall seemed to have at least paused. Perhaps you and Pike had rounded the corner of survival and were going to make it after all. Marcus pulled his nearby sweatpants on, shivering slightly without the warmth of your body pressed to him and tiptoed carefully to the tree, running back into your grabbing embrace, hugging the manila folder between the two of your bodies awkwardly. Already pouting at his more clothed form, you taunted, “Woooo! Take it off! Snowpacolypse be damned!"

Relishing the abrasive scratch of his developing beard against your neck, he tucked in further to the cloud of blankets and renewed warmth. “My life flashed before my eyes just now, I barely made it back to you…” he joked, licking a tickling trail up your neck before pausing retrospectively. “I’ve turned into George Bailey!” he brightened, taking in your beaming countenance. 

“Okay, Mr. Cinema, you’ve got your audience right where you want them. What is this clandestine gift you’ve planned, without the benefit of a Macy’s or Santa himself? I doubt he could get in through the chimney last night…” you smirked, nose to nose with your holiday benefactor.

“Eh, it’s nothing much…” he immediately back-pedaled, unsure of your reaction. “You know how much I’m always doodling in my notebook…and…well, it’s no Picasso. And thank heavens, because I’m not sure how much you know about art history…” he began rambling before you placed the folder tenderly over his mouth. “Pike?” his doe eyes peeked mischievously over the rim of the manilla. “Hmph” he mumbled against it. “Shut up”. “Hmph” he acquiesced with twinkling eyes. Unable to wait a moment longer you opened the manilla folder as a single sheet of paper fluttered between the space of your bodies. Breathing inward, you marveled at the instantaneous recognition. It was you. Pike had sketched a portrait…of you. Your fingers traveled delicately over the surface of the paper, marveling at the detail and the care that had been invested in the unexpected gift.

“You told me the best gift you ever received was a re-appreciation of…yourself. And I couldn’t agree more!” he shrugged, crinkling his nose with self-deprecation. “But next year I’ll get you a bracelet or something, if this isn’t…” you interrupted him again with a barrage of kisses, before chastising, “you are the most ridiculous man I have ever met in my life”. He smiled affectionately, pecking you on the lips, “I love you too, Pink”.

Before you had a moment to react, several things transpired at once. The cabin abruptly blazed to life in a surprising spike of energy as the heater hesitantly clicked back to life, and the television renewed its fuzzy depiction of Bedford Falls. You and Pike gawked at one another effervescently, and before shouting in exclamation, the phone rang.

The phone rang? 

You and Pike fumbled with the blankets, the folder and one another, jumping to your feet in a tangle of arms and legs, Marcus grabbing at his nearby sweater and you stuffing your legs haphazardly into the nearby snow suit. Giggling and chasing one another into the study, Pike nearly yanked the phone out of its socket, laughing uproariously, “Pike’s Place! We have no room at the inn right now, how may I direct your call?” he clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle more laughter at your incredulous expression, waiting for his report. 

“Absolutely” he agreed, nodding his head enthusiastically, “that sounds perfect. We’ll be waiting! Thanks again!” he hung up the phone peering at you enthusiastically.

“WELL?” you shouted gleefully, waiting for Pike’s explanation.

“Telemarketer” he pouted, blocking the onslaught of punches and tickles directed at his midriff. “Surrender! I surrender” he chuckled, grabbing you easily around the waist and pulling you into his frame. “That was the mechanic down the road” he mumbled into your ear, eliciting a tingling shiver down the length of your body. “He’s been calling everyone in the neighborhood now that the phone lines are back in operation. He just wanted to let us know the power is back on, and they’ve started making the rounds to check on everyone” Marcus ironically explained, turning you around in his grasp and kissing you on the nose. “Assuming the pipes have thawed, I’m thinking…pancakes?” he grinned broadly.

“Coffee” you whined, collapsing your hips against his and indulging in a tentative exploration of his morning…excitement. 

“Coming up m’lady” he mumbled into your mouth, dragging you into the kitchen for breakfast.

Everything started to happen so quickly at that point. Pike began making the morning pancakes as you tidied up the warming cabin. Placing your portrait on the hearth you beamed excitedly at the relit Christmas Tree, and smiled with acknowledgement as George Bailey once against learnt the true meaning of the holidays. You were desperately trying to balance the bubbling excitement of your new lease on life, the promising declarations of Pike earlier that morning and your own burgeoning feelings of optimism. But what if you were wrong? What if the intensity of the last few days was all an illusion, and you were destined to return to the loneliness of your previous life? There was only one way to find out, you finally decided, watching Pike dance around the kitchen casually, sporting his cooking apron that said, “Who needs a hug?”

“Is it hot in here, or is that just me?” Pike twirled with pancakes plated, flashing a dazzling smile to your incredulous laughter. 

“That’s definitely you, Art Squad, though it IS markedly warmer since…” your voice trailed off as flashes of the evening flickered in an unbidden montage across your mindscape. Your cheeks reddened with more than the newfound heat, as Pike deftly brought the pancakes and a cup of steaming joe to the table.

“M’lady” he gestured an extra flourish, dipping his thumb into his mouth as he caught a stray droplet of coffee, soon grabbing the defrosting syrup from the fridge. His kitchen waltz faltered for a millisecond as he flashed on the realization that you weren’t “his” at all. The intimacy of the night and intoxication of survival had only fueled his characteristic enthusiasm, but small cracks of reality were starting to dot the periphery of his thinking. You were both alive. You had survived the winter storm together, but had Pike unthinkingly placed both of you in another inescapable conundrum? There was nothing conventional or planned about the quick courtship of your emergency encounter, but the familiar stab of uncertainty cut at Pike like the butter knife he was retrieving from the utensils drawer. He painstakingly thought back to every word, every decision on the bumpy road of your mutual survival. You had fallen like a Christmas gift, into his very lap, but it all seemed too good to be true. Somehow, he had fucked up AGAIN. He had learned nothing from the relationship with Lisbon, and was once again planning a beautiful life with a woman who owed him absolutely nothing. The force of his own emotion was hanging like an anchor around his neck, but he couldn’t ask you to make still more sacrifices. You had already opened yourself up to him in so many tender and loving ways, he wasn’t going to entitle himself to something he could never deserve. He was heading to Washington D.C. and you were here in not-so-sunny California. Nothing had changed. An insurmountable stack of rationalities descended on Pike as he somberly sat down at the table, his mood noticeably dampened.

“Uh…here take the last of the syrup” he deflated, shoving it forward to your surprised expression as you noticed the tonal shift.

“Aw, what happened to Danny Kaye?” you pondered, “I thought I was gonna get a re-enactment of ‘White Christmas’ with my side of pancakes!” you chirped, buzzing tentatively with the excitement of the morning’s possibilities.

“Well, after last night, we don’t need any more snow to set the mood. That’s enough of a white Christmas for me…” Pike chuckled forlornly, clasping his hands defeatedly in his lap and pensively pursing his lips. He sighed with relief watching you practically inhale the fragrant beverage, your eyelids fluttering shut with enjoyment. 

“Gawd, I’m gonna miss Pike’s Place…” you moaned rapturously, still oblivious to Marcus’ inner monologue and digging in to your pancakes with a child-like voracity. With your eyes shut to the world and all its obligations, you had missed the flicker of pain that shot across Pike’s face, as he picked at his own breakfast, suddenly without appetite.

“I’m not sure why…” Marcus mumbled, atypically depressed and shoving the food around his plate with a pout. “All I ever do is…fail” the words fell from his lips unintentionally as your eyes shot open with incredulity.

“WHT?” you nearly yelled, with a mouthful of food threatening to spew in his face. “R U insne?” you chomped quickly, trying not to choke and finally taking in Pike’s hunched shoulders and crumpled expression. You swallowed carefully, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m sorry, did the hypothermia just set in retroactively, or am I hallucinating?” you joked, your forehead pinching upwards with disbelief. “Is there ANY scenario where I’m still alive WITHOUT Agent Pike?” you offered, still confused at his glaring lack of self-confidence. “I don’t wanna give you a big head or anything, but last night was…beneficial for many, many reasons…” you smirked, trying to get a read on Pike’s unknown meaning.

Enigmatically, your words seemed to have the unintentionally opposite effect, as Pike sank further still into dejection, his circumstantial oppression growing by the minute. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Under no circumstances could he return to the offices that Lisbon haunted, and his entire life had already been boxed and shipped to Washington D.C. He was more assured than ever of his professional passions, but how did that support you or the love that was starting to blossom in this epicenter of winter? How could he fix what he was accidentally breaking?

“I….” Pike’s voice cracked with the weighted heaviness of emotion. “I’m going to miss you too” he heaved a sigh of regret, casting a quick glance at the portrait displayed on the hearth. He couldn’t even take that with him, shaking his head helplessly. At least he could end this before breaking your heart as well.

“Don’t you want to know what your Christmas gift is?” you teased, until Pike pushed his uneaten plate harshly away.

“I need to end this now…” Pike bluntly stated, his face adopting a stoic, nearly unrecognizable mask of frigidity. 

“What, breakfast?” you stalled, your heart lurching forward unexpectedly, catapulted faster than your brain could rally.

“This. Us….I need to end…us…”. The tree leaning against the cabin creaked sinisterly, Pike’s confession dousing the entire cabin in an ethereal, emotional cold.

“What?” you whispered, not believing your ears. Marcus had JUST been talking about plans and puppies…and pancakes. What had transpired in the last few minutes unbeknownst to you? This was so unlike the romantic persona you had come to know and…love…you started laughing awkwardly in disbelief. “Okay, very funny, Art Squad…” you ignored the heavy-laden pounding creeping up the back of your neck as the blood rushed to your ears uncomfortably.

“I’m serious, Pink, I can’t fail you again. If I had lost you…” Pike pressed his lips together harshly, stifling a sob. “I can’t ask you to…I don’t deserve…” he started rambling almost incoherently to himself, rubbing at his forehead desperately. “If I can’t keep you safe here at Pike’s Place, you have no business being with me anywhere else…” he mumbled under his breath, no longer making eye contact, his knee jerking sporadically under the table with anxiety.

What was happening? You felt your stomach drop sickeningly in your stomach, willing yourself not to retch, as a tight ball formed in the back of your throat. This was it. This was the exact nightmare you had been dreading since you arrived at Pike’s Place, but with every incremental step into Marcus’ optimism you had timidly left the sparse, armored existence of the pandemic. The feelings of betrayal, the isolation, the helplessness had all begun to vanish, but you felt your renewed self-confidence and resolve start to dissipate like the melting snow.

“You don’t….want this?” you rasped, tears annoyingly brimming at the edges of your eyes. You didn’t dare move for fear every sorrow would come tumbling out of your mouth and heart with no censorship whatsoever. Pike dragged his eyes up to meet yours, his soul shattering into a thousand penetrative shards. 

What had he done? HOW was he always making the wrong decision, and hurting the people he cared about the most? He wanted to rush over to your side of the table and bury his face in your lap, begging forgiveness, but his hands held him decisively to his dining room chair.  He wanted so much more for you. It was time to stop thinking so selfishly and grow up. Christmas miracles were for Pike’s Place and Bedford Falls…but not for him. 

Your mouth was so dry, you weren’t sure you could articulate any sound but you managed to croak, “I need to hear you say it”, tumultuously wringing your hands together.

Pike looked at you incredulously as though you had just asked him to murder his best friend. Pausing heavily and taking a deep breath, he finally uttered “I…can’t…” clearing his throat painfully, “I…don’t…want this”, a crushing weight descended on his chest as though the cabin had collapsed on top of every hope and dream, suffocating the very life he had so desperately prayed for. 

You stood shakily, your hands wrapped protectively around your body in case it decided to shatter on the spot. “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll pack…” you mumbled, floating somewhere between searing disbelief and emotional disassociation. Pike stood, his hand extending towards you as you stumbled up the stairs amidst a flurry of sobs and sniffles. Unable to tear his gaze away from you, the door shut softly, leaving Pike alone in the living room as George Bailey’s countenance flickered cinematically at the bridge’s edge. Marcus collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, barring your exit, and hanging his head in both his hands despairingly. What had he done?

Walking into the upstairs bedroom for the last time, you looked around at your meager belongings, your entire stay at Pike’s Place a confusing barrage of unbidden images. Marcus’ swaying, tipsy form, rooting you to your own emotional indecision. His angelic appearance with a plate of pancakes. Your ridiculous pink snowsuit. 

Giving yourself the task of packing, you expected the tears to start flowing haphazardly, but nothing immediately came. Just memory after memory of Pike’s Place. Making snow angels in the front yard, eating far too many chocolate chip cookies, wriggling your toes against Pike’s warm body as you watched holiday movies together. What had gone wrong? The isolation of the pandemic had completely gaslighted your resource for human connection and intuition. But the time spent at Pike’s Place had begun to solidify who you were and what you wanted. Were you still so disconnected from society and self that you couldn’t see clearly into the future of your very own desires? You flashed on decorating the tree, intimate conversations and your hapless attempts at dinner that Pike had endlessly encouraged. Swallowing the lump of emotion threatening to overwhelm, you reached out in your mind to touch Marcus’ face tenderly. Just hours ago, his smile had been yours. His lips had been yours. His body had been yours. Was all of that an illusion of survival? You gripped your lips tightly together with a renewed resolve. 

Main. Character. Energy.

A clarity of realization started to descend on you as you laced up your snow boots definitively. You had the sneaking suspicion Marcus was holding back, hesitant to repeat any past mistakes with Lisbon, and ultimately trying to protect you in the shifting landscape of his transition to Washington D.C.. But none of that mattered, because you finally knew what you wanted. The pandemic had liberated your life in more ways than one, and you were ready to step into your own self-actualization and speak up. If Pike decided to remove his light from your life, that would be his choice, but it wasn’t going to happen without your protestations. You journey may have felt like helpless wandering, but maybe you were no longer as lost as you previously thought. For better or worse THIS Donna Reed wasn’t running away from George Bailey, she was running straight towards him. You just weren’t entirely sure if he would be waiting with arms outstretched, or determined to question his life choices, and unwilling to embrace the love that stood right before him.

Pike couldn’t stop pacing around the cabin, weighing his options. He felt as though his heart were going to come racing out of his chest, following you to whatever corners of the earth you decided to inhabit. He’d always been an impulsive person, but this felt like something very different. All of these moments spent together, and somehow he was still running out of time. The clocks in the cabin were all bizarrely wrong since the power outage, but his internal compass was finally starting to align. It just seemed as though the current moment were slipping through his fingers like melting snow. 

He hadn’t lied. He didn’t want this. More specifically…

He didn’t want…JUST…this.

He didn’t want to break your heart. He didn’t want to ask for more. He didn’t want to see you go, and he wanted so much more than just Pike’s Place. He wanted his very own “It’s a Wonderful Life”, and he wanted it all…WITH YOU. Nearly giddy from the rush of adrenaline and euphoria, this was more than simple affection or even primal survival. This was Love. He’d recognize it anywhere. He looked down at the delicate portrait of you, he held sacredly in his hands. 

He’d rush up the stairs and proclaim his undying love! 

Stupid Marcus, that’s how you ended up at Pike’s Place to begin with, he reasoned.

He’d lock you up in the cabin, until you changed your mind! Pike rolled his eyes sardonically. This wasn’t “Misery”.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Love wasn’t about captivity, entitlement, or possession. Love had everything to do with freedom. He took a deep breath, stilling his mind and heart in the process. He’d have to let you go. A lifetime of chasing, both professionally and personally, and his most important decision he ever made…was to finally surrender. And if Love came back to him, knocking on his doorstep once again…

Pike was jolted from his reverie by a knock at the door. He nearly dropped the portrait, startling, as he caught the skeptical face of the town’s mechanic peering at him from the repaired window. “Hell of a bang up job, Pike!” the mechanic’s muffled voice resonated. “Who’s car is that, down the road?”

Holding your suitcase valiantly in one hand, and your trusty crowbar in the other, you were determined to express your thoughts as quickly as possible before chickening out. You would just explain you feelings to Pike, blizzard be damned, and whatever his response, at least you had finally followed your heart. Yanking the door open courageously, you charged down the stairs with as much confidence as you could muster.

“Iheardeverywordthatyousaidanditdoesnotmatteroneiota.IknowthewayIfeelaboutyouandafterlastnightIthinkIknowhowyoufeelaboutmeyouarejustafraidtotrustyourselforanyoneelsebutyoudeserveeverythingPike.Youdeserveloveandsacrificeandromanceandme!AndbeforeyousayanotherwordIamgoingtogiveyouyourChristmaspresent…”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs you were met by an unexpected sight, as Pike stood despondently, your portrait cradled tenderly in his hands. Standing next to him was a complete stranger, clad in head to toe winter wear, awkwardly grasping his hat between his oil stained hands.

“Well hey there, little lady, you must be the passenger Pike was just telling me about…” he began, extending a greasy hand toward you and taking the suitcase from your surprised grasp.“The cavalry is here! We’ll just tow you back to town lickety split and have you on your way before you can say ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. Pike was just telling me about your travel troubles. He hasn’t been giving you any problems, has he?” the mechanic joked, elbowing Pike in the side.

Marcus looked completely dejected as he hugged the portrait to his chest, a wan smile  of defeat pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Pretty sure you saved my life, Pink” he mumbled, willing you to somehow telepathically understand his meaning before you exited his life permanently.

You opened your mouth several times to start speaking, but nothing materialized in the oddity of the moment. This wasn’t part of the plan. You couldn’t bare your soul to Pike with…a crowbar.

“Don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore” the mechanic questioningly deprived you of the tool, tucking it under his arm securely. “Already got the Hyundai jacked up to the tow. Let’s get you back to town before that blizzard kicks up again, missy” he tried to encourage, accidentally bumping Pike’s shoulder on the way to the door. Lugging your possessions heftily he flung the door open to the steely ice of winter, yelling back at Marcus on the exit, “Hell of a bang up job, Pike. Didn’t think city folk had any business being in the country. Glad to see you didn’t get the little lady killed!” he joked, hiking the snowy length of a football field to the awaiting tow truck. Watching him recede in the distance, Pike swallowed hard, hesitantly reaching out with quivering hands.

“Merry Christmas” his voice cracked, as the portrait fluttered helplessly in the wind. “Thanks for coming to Pike’s Place” he nearly whispered, blinking back the tears, unable to meet your eyes directly.

A wash of emotion overwhelmed, as you bypassed his outstretched hand and flung yourself into his embrace. Pike stood stoically fixed in place, ensuring he didn’t grasp you tightly and never let go. He closed his eyes painfully, breathing in your soft fragrance and melting slightly into your desperate hold.

“I’ll never forget you, Pike” you cried quietly, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him passionately on the mouth. You felt his stance falter in the winter wind, as he kissed you back fervently. Breaking the kiss quickly, you cut a quick path to the doorway, not looking back, and closing the door behind you.

Bracing yourself against the icy tundra you hefted one heavy step after another, listening to the crunch of snow beneath your booted feet. Your tears began to chill against the steely wind, punctuated by the rhythm of your begrudging dirge. Just keep walking. One step after another. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Don’t act. Pike is better off without you, and some things are just too good to be true. The words bit at your heels, spurring you onward, as your heart twisted within your chest. Peering down the road you saw Bessie the Hyundai hitched up to the tow and the mechanic piling your belongings into the back of his truck. You stopped dead in your tracks, casting a longing glance back at the cabin. It no longer had the telltale, cheery plume of smoke drifting from the tree-covered chimney. It wasn’t the Normal Rockwell painting you remembered from a week earlier, but it held so much more poignancy and meaning than any flat landscape. Now small and lonely, silhouetted against the pristine winter backdrop, it was a receding memory of love and companionship highlighted against the harsh challenges of reality. A true home. Pike had been your safe haven. Your port in a storm. And here you were, running away from it.

“Well, what are you waiting for, little lady?!” the mechanic’s voice cut through the increasing winds, as he sat in the coach of his awaiting truck.

What WERE you waiting for?

Marcus stood alone in the warming living room, decidedly colder since your exit. Still holding the portrait in his shaking hands, he didn’t dare look at your smiling face in this moment. He gulped back the tears, numbly sitting on the couch and looking at the stilled fireplace. The Christmas Tree seemed to wink from the corner as he stared at the flickering television. Watching George Bailey run through the streets of Bedford Falls, he couldn’t take anymore. Reaching for the remote he defiantly shut off the Christmas flick, peering down at the floor where your passionate bodies had previously been locked in a survival embrace, now empty and solitary, showcased by the wintry sunshine. 

Finally hazarding a peek at the precious portrait in his hands, a single tear fell onto the notepaper, blurring his eyes and clarifying his longing. Another tear. Another tear. He set the page delicately on the couch beside him and finally let the emotion wash over him. Covering his face with his hands, his entire chest throbbed with a pulsing yearning that seemed to encapsulate life itself. You were gone. And he was the one who had let you go.

He tried to think ahead to his new life in Washington D.C, but every imagined location was peppered with images of you; touring the new CIA offices, visiting the Smithsonian, walking down the cherry blossom lined streets, and being in love. Being together.  Being with you. His heart lurched violently in his chest as he blearily smiled at the home made ornaments dotting the relit Christmas Tree. 

Pike’s Place had been an escape from the reality of all of his insecurity, all of his loss and all of his self doubt. Your unexpected emergence had jolted him from the isolation of his solitude and reminded him of the true meaning of Christmas. Giving. The gift of your presence and your love had not only saved his very life, but had given him a new hope for the future. A hope for the possibility of love. Not one that was based in flippant enthusiasm, but a grounding passion of intimacy and togetherness. Looking down at your sketched likeness, he plaintively smiled to himself, tracing his fingers over the contours of your freckled face. It didn’t make any sense, but somehow he knew his love had finally manifested itself in the best way he knew how; Love was in the gift. And in the surrendering of love with the hopeful promise of its someday return.

Marcus sniffled slightly, twisting his head as he heard the soft knocking at the door. He wasn’t looking forward to another awkward conversation with the mechanic, particularly through tear stained snuffles, but perhaps you had forgotten something. Hefting himself heavily off the couch and hugging the portrait to his chest he begrudgingly trudged to the door, opening it to find…you.

A vision in pink, not only from the ubiquitous, and ever-present snowsuit but from the glowing crimson of your frost-bitten cheeks and the rose-hued rim of your equally tear stained face. Seeing your figure standing before him was like an immediate breath of fresh air, counterpointed by the frosty breeze and sterling hope of possibility.

“Pink! I….I missed you…” he chuckled self-deprecatingly, not even attempting to hide the portrait cradled in his shuddering hands. With quivering lips he confusedly asked, “Did you…forget something?”

You hiccuped shakily, your smile broadening into a Cheshire-like grin. “I never gave you my Christmas present” you offered, shifting your weight from side to side in the cold. Pike stood dumbly in the doorway, his heart a pounding throb of bewilderment.

“M-my…Christmas present?” he mumbled, gazing at your face meticulously, as though memorizing it freckle for freckle.

“I…I don’t want to go back to my life in California” you finally breathed a sigh of relief with the admission you’d been preparing for the last 24 hours. Pike’s breath halted in his throat with tentative disbelief. “Something about my life stopped with the pandemic. The hysterectomy, the isolation, the disconnect…it was all tied to….me! Somehow I lost…ME. Wandering through the desolation of the last four years has finally brought me home. Home to myself. Home to my dreams. And home….to you Marcus. I want my home to be…with you”. The unyielding realization of your time at Pike’s Place came tumbling forward in a stream of passion as Pike’s eyes widened to the shape of saucers. “I want to move to Washington D.C…with YOU. If you’ll have me?” you finally offered, throwing up your hands in placation. Maybe you were being impulsive. Maybe you were being emotional. Maybe you were being characteristically “Pike” you observed internally, giggling with abandon. But you were finally stepping into your heart’s desire, as the main character, and it felt fucking amazing. “Merry Christmas?” you smirked, shrugging your shoulders and awaiting Pike’s response.

A momentary hesitation ensued as Pike remained frozen in the doorframe, gripping the portrait in a vice like embrace, his mouth parted slightly in surprise. As though watching a snowman melt on the spot, a beam of light began to flicker in Pike’s distant gaze, springing into a broad smile that enfolded his entire being. The portrait fluttered noiselessly to the ground, escaping his outstretched hands as he reached for you longingly.

“Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed, gripping you firmly around the waist and gently pulling you towards him.

“We can take it slow…” you began, until your lips were buried with his, tasting the salty sweetness of your shared tears and smiling mouths. A million thoughts cascaded through your mind considering your new life of possibilities, but only one thing really mattered. You were finally home. Home to yourself. Home to love. And home…with Pike.

“Merry Christmas, Pink” Pike mumbled into your mouth, laughing and crying with relief. Love had returned to him, on the very doorstep of Pike’s Place. And you were both reaching for it, with arms outstretched, never letting it go again.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

Pedge's Bookshop The Murder

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@morallyinept @littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges

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

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

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

@copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @princesspurple75

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @zaniasky @quicax3

@shaunasflannel @anelva @shinyanchorobject @flyingthroughtheave @anoverwhelmingdin 

NewYorkNewYork

Okay Broadway Babies, Tumblr may have finished this trend, but Pedge and I are going strong! If RPF is for you, check out my most personal work yet, and first series. It's a fantastical journey through my professional time in NY, and what better way to celebrate than with Pedge at our side!

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...

New York, New York Series Moody Thespian Pedge Tweets Masterlist Moody Theater J's Jams

hello, dear ❤️

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you 🧚🏼‍♀️

xoxo

ps. you’ve asked for something unconventional hope this is good enough to challenge you

This was so fun to incorporate in an ongoing series, and to do so in an unexpected way. Check out Pedge's Bookshop if you want the final result...

Pedge's Bookshop Prologue

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Coffee Shop Date" @mermaidgirl30 before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, implied PTSD/anxiety attack, accidental surprise attack, this series will feature MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment" so start readin' now!

Series Masterlist

Words: 3k

The cold winter breeze stung the bitter rosebud of your cheeks as you folded your arms tightly against the bracing barrage. Another Christmas at the compound. It had been several years since your acceptance into the sterling community, and every initial interaction had been one of desperation and gratitude. You had enjoyed setting up the small school for teenagers and children, embracing the tenuous comfort and security of a fledgling society fighting for its life and every day had seemed like a small miracle. But with the passage of time and cessation of minute to minute survival risks, you paled at your recent discovery; life had become repetitive, and even dull.

Watching the happy children circling around the main street tree, couples laughing contentedly and home made gifts being passed from household to household, you were immensely thankful for every miraculous circumstance. But you couldn’t help but reflect on the adage that mankind was made for more than survival. The nuances of your solitary life had begun to weigh heavily upon you, and you wondered if anyone in the commune could understand the gaping hole that solitude brought, in a world that was already so isolated. Trudging down the epicenter of town you smiled politely as families passed you, waving at some of your students and finally stopping at the new storefront at the end of the thoroughfare. 

The shop had remained unoccupied for years, until you noticed a lone individual carrying boxes of lumber and tools every week for a month. It wasn’t someone you immediately recognized, but scuttlebutt around town said that Tommy’s brother had arrived with a passenger in tow. That wayfarer had turned out to be Ellie, one of your most artistic and insightful learners in the cornucopia of students that you advised once or twice a week, when patrols and other duties allowed. The only thing you knew about her apparent guardian, Joel, was that he wasn’t available for conference, and largely kept to himself in the eating area. No one had said much, but you weren’t oblivious to the sideway glances and general foreboding that seemed to emanate from his demeanor. This was a man not to be trifled with, and he couldn’t seem to care less about any of the things that mattered so much to you. His whole being seemed to scream, “stay away”, so you did. Ellie was more than capable of handling herself, and truthfully you couldn’t blame him. In a world that was collapsing in on itself, survival was the only truly connective tissue. Everything else seemed like a luxury.

Stopping in front of the wide-paned windows, your jaw dropped slightly at the unexpected sight; books. Scores and scores of BOOKS! With the inaccessibility of technology, tablets were a thing of the past, and it had been countless years since you had set foot in a library of any kind. WHERE did all these books come from? Tentatively pausing at the door stop, you shook the smattering of snow from your head and shoulders and entered the warmth of the bookshop, accompanied by the small chime of a bell.

Letting the door shut behind you, you gazed wondrously at the craftsmanship of the front desk which was littered with empty mugs and assorted papers. There were shelves full of mismatched books, magazines and papers and a beautiful staircase leading up to a sparse upper level that held chairs, pillows and quilts. Breathing deeply you smelled the telltale fragrance of the written word, your eyes welling up with emotion. The Barnes and Nobles of the post-apocalyptic world had come to fruition here in the Jackson Commune, and you apparently had Joel Miller to thank for it. As if that weren’t idyllic enough, a small, beleaguered looking orange tabby lazily trotted towards you encircling your ankles and rubbing up against your calves with affection. Another solo journeyman. “Well hello there!” you whispered, immediately enchanted with the fantastical sight that greeted you unexpectedly. Maybe you’d read Joel Miller wrong. Was this really a literary utopia of his making? 

Wandering down the center aisle you were immediately intrigued by the myriad of material available. As the town instructor, you could make good use of this new resource, but not in the current state of affairs. There was apparently no rhyme or reason to the organization of texts, as you thumbed through the selection haphazardly. Noticing a nearly ancient copy of Playboy propped up against “War and Peace” you smirked sardonically. Perfect for the sex education and history curriculum combo? Perhaps Joel could use some assistance…

Having a treasure trove like this at your disposal was going to be a tremendous asset, but it was definitely a diamond in the rough. Beggars can’t be choosers, and many of the books available were limping through their own existence, much like the residence of the Jackson Commune. Water damage, fire, moths…Some of the books seemed to be missing their covers, and entire sections of material were potentially lost for the ages. You pouted with dismay, reminiscing about the hours spent devouring the classics, poetry, and scientific discoveries—hoping to bring even a snippet of that educational power house to the children and teenagers in your care. 

Rounding the corner your breath hitched hesitantly in your throat as you noticed the back of the broad shouldered individual before you. Clad in a comfortable plaid shirt that hugged his body snugly you recognized the peppered locks of hair framing the back of his head. My literary benefactor, you pondered, approaching quietly with the tabby prancing by your feet. You cleared your throat timidly, reaching up to touch his shoulder delicately. 

Before a single word left your mouth the tall figure before you turned on their heel, dropping the book to the floor as the tabby skittered away in fright. A muscled forearm shoved you up against the bookshelf, pinning you down as a broad thigh locked between your legs in dominance. The breath completely left your body as sharp eyes seemed to penetrate your very soul—questioning your identity, your intentions, your presence…all furrowed under the passionate brows of the fire-like gaze that split the air like a knife. As though transformed by an unknown motivation, the dark eyes immediately softened, pulling back quickly as you dropped slightly forward to your knees, coughing with irritation.

“What’dya want?” Joel’s eyes were a penetrative mask of skepticism, but his tone was laced with the smallest tinge of penitence.

“Jesus, Joel!” you sputtered, rubbing at your neck tenderly and attempting to calm your pounding, adrenaline fueled heartbeat. “What the hell?” you choked, sliding down the bookshelf and plopping yourself down on the floor unceremoniously.

“Don’t hear so good anymore” Joel mumbled, dropping cautiously down on one knee and wincing with the effort. His expression was already shifting as he looked over your body with assessment, and….something else. “You hurt?” he questioned, scooping up the book with a large paw and placing his other heavy hand on your outstretched leg.

Shooing his hand away with annoyance you noticed the orange tabby peak its head out from behind the bookshelf inquisitively. “Is this how you greet all your customers, Miller?’ you spat out vehemently, pulling your knees up to your body defensively, more embarrassed at yourself than actually wounded.

“Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that” Joel offered, as though explaining his over-reaction to a satisfactory degree. “Look, uh…you’ll have to come back. We’re not quite ready for guests yet” he decided, as the cat lazily returned, bumping its head against Joel’s knee good naturedly.

“Goddam, will ya let me get up off the floor first?!” you retorted, swallowing dryly as your heartbeat settled into a more steady rhythm. Joel paused, swallowing hard and rubbing at the back of his neck dolefully.

“Srry, I shoulda put up the sign. Just gettin’ started…” he begrudgingly apologized, reaching out for your hand as he tiredly stood, now towering above you. “Let me help ya up”. You squinted skeptically at his hand as though waiting for a bomb to explode, as Joel stood resolutely, waiting for your acquiescence. “I’m Joel, by the way”.

“I know who you are Miller” you grunted, heaving yourself up and swatting his outstretched hand to the side. “Can you say the same about me?” Joel placed his hand defiantly on his hip, hiding the book slightly behind his back and looking at your appraisingly.

“School-teach” he gruffly answered sizing you up for the pocket change you were, compared to his lumbering figure. “Ellie likes you a lot” he proffered, potentially as a peace offering. The orange tabby slinked between you, unenthusiastically, in search of its next distraction. You bit your lower lip with reticence, surprised that Joel even knew who you were. Maybe you weren’t quite as isolated as you thought. 

“Missed you at parent…I mean, uh…teacher conference this last Fall. Too busy?” you tentatively accused, ignoring your growing curiosity of the book Joel was surreptitiously hiding behind his back.

Joel cleared his throat awkwardly, “Patrol has me pretty occupied. Well, that and procurin’ these books. Ellie’s got a thing for certain books…” he mused, starting to relax a bit in your presence now that the imagined danger was abating.

“Well thanks…uh…for your service. Ellie is a remarkable student, you must be doing something right there” you stated, matter-a-factly, suddenly becoming more awkward by the minute.

“S’no problem. I like reading’ too, when I have the time” a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth in a drawl and you nearly melted on the spot. You hadn’t seen THAT before. This man might be dangerous in more ways than one. The silence hung in the air like a steely icicle beginning to melt. He’s not so scary, you silently mused, watching Joel scan your face for micro expressions, as though encountering a wounded animal. Your defenses were lowering a bit as you quickly grabbed for the book he was hiding, finally gaining a temporary upper hand. 

Walking down the aisle with Joel trotting after you like the orange tabby, you observed, “Looks like you could use some help, Miller. Doesn’t seem like you know anything about the Dewey Decimal system” plopping yourself down on the pillowed, ornate wooden chair near the storefront window you continued to feign confidence. “Did you make this?” you suddenly blurted out, fingering the deep, polished mahogany wood and marveling at the craftsmanship. 

“S’no trouble” Joel grunted, a light reddish tinge gracing his cheeks and neck. Oh this man was going to be a problem, you realized, finally gazing down at the “secret” book Joel had been perusing.

“Crime and Punishment??” you balked, mouth agape in surprise, “THIS is what you’ve selected for some light reading?” you scoffed, fingering the pages delicately and gazing at Joel anew. Who WAS Joel Miller?

“Uh…I’m only into the first few chapters” Joel deflected, stuffing his hands tightly in his jean pockets as the tabby reappeared, jumping into your lap cozily. “There’s more important things than readin’ I guess” he cleared his throat, somewhat juxtaposed by his month-long labor of love. You scoffed inwardly, basking in the steadily purring rhythm of the cat’s hum and sitting back in the sturdy chair. 

“I don’t know, it seems like the real moments of survival make you more appreciative of what it means to be alive” you introspected. “What it means to be human…”. Joel guiltily looked around the room as though caught somehow in a hidden indulgence, but relaxed his posture watching you stroke the cat affectionately.

“Nice to have some quiet” Joel finally agreed, jaunting over to the front desk and clearing the space haphazardly. You leafed through the worn pages and frayed edges of the cover, harkening back in your memory to your first reading of the classic. 

“The names are a doozy” you joked, peaking over at Joel’s curious expression hovering behind the counter. “Svidrigailove, Raskolnifkov?…”.

“Don’t know that first fella” Joel confessed. “I just call the other guy “Rascal” and try to keep everybody straight in my head. Guess the world wasn’t so easy before the infected, anyways” he reflected, leaning against the empty bookshelf behind him. “Lots of poverty, hurtin’ people, questions. Governments that don’t know what they’re doing. People’ll do just about anything to get what they need” he nodded, as though convincing himself.

You cocked one eyebrow, skimming through the book and arriving at chapter six. “Have you…already experienced the…crime part of crime and punishment?” hesitant to give away important details but secretly desperate to enjoy a conversation with another adult.

“Yeah, just reached…uh, just reached the murder when you walked in. Mighta had me a little jumpy” he admitted, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing at his sternum, as he shifted in place. You pursed your lips thoughtfully, trying to judge his conflicted expression. Nothing about this world seemed very easy when fighting for your very survival.

“Maybe that Playboy is a little more up your alley?” you jested, attempting to change the subject, but Joel seemed lost in his own train of thought.

“Rascal’s got me hooked. I didn’t really think he’d do it. I mean…I know he was desperate, but it doesn’t make much sense.” Joel paused with a weightiness, his body sagging under the reality, “I guess dyin’ never does” he finished quickly, still lost in a world unknown to you, but steadily and magnetically pulling you in. Joel wasn’t bombastic, but his words held an enigmatic depth of feeling. You took an indulgent moment to really look at his bearing, studying his labrythine expression and admiring his broad stature. This man was built for survival, and just the type of individual the commune needed. You just hadn’t realized there was a beating heart and an inquisitive mind underneath all that…plaid. Resting your elbow on the armchair and propping your head against the palm of your hand you began to feel more optimistically purposeful than you had in a long time.

“I’m going to help you” you declared, rising to your feet as the tabby scampered away huffily.

“Don’t need any help” Joel observed, placing his hands definitively on the front desk, his lips a tight line of resistance.

“Okay, ‘Rascal’ I think we both know that’s not true” you tossed the book jovially in the air as Joel caught it anxiously, and drawing it to his chest like the rarity it was. “Do you usually place your copies of Playboy alongside ‘War and Peace’?” you joked, broadly gesturing with your hand to the developing book shop.

“Huh?” Joel quirked, suddenly turning a brighter shade of red and pulling the book behind him conspiratorially. “I don’t read that stuff…” he murmured, placing the book hurriedly under the counter as though afraid you might snatch it from his grasp once again.

“Oh maybe you should, Miller, I hear they have really good ‘articles’” you chided, as Joel froze in place before huffing out a relieved breath.

“Yeah, I’ll do that” he rolled his eyes adolescently, suddenly unsure of where to place his hands and finally settling on returning them to his hips. “What kind of help? You’re not expecting…uh…payment of some kind?’ he immediately interrogated, a thread of incredulity lacing his tone.

“Trust me, being around…here…is payment enough. It’s been ages since I talked about anything besides arithmetic and agriculture” you moped, silently wondering what other discoveries awaited your probing eyes, and you weren’t just curious about the literature. Maybe you can’t judge a book by its cover, you surmised, steadily becoming more and more intrigued with the plaid-snuggled figure before you. Call it good teacher research. Yeah, research, you reasoned, already planning your next curriculum expansion with the help of Joel’s library. A world of possibilities was stretching out before you, if Joel were amenable to the newfound friendship.

“I can’t pay you” Joel repeated stubbornly as the cat leapt onto the front desk, stretching itself languidly. 

“Do I look like I need a W-2 form, Miller? Hanging out with you is payment enough…” you let slip before biting down on your lower lip with embarrassment. Whoops. Cats out of the bag. Joel’s expression brightened for just a millisecond before shifting back to its original mask of stoicism. Sauntering around the front desk with purpose he poised in front of you, arms folded securely across his broad chest, before extending a decisive hand.

“You’ve got a deal” he waited, before you excitedly grasped his hand in agreement, your small fingers completely enveloped in his vice-like grip. Shaking one another’s hands for an extended period of time, the tabby meowed non-plussed as you nearly lost yourself in Joel’s steely stare. Breaking the silence you both took a step back, looking down at the ground awkwardly.

“What’s the c-cat’s name?” you stuttered, unsure of how to proceed next, as Joel turned around, poking the cat teasingly.  The orange tabby swatted a small paw at Joel’s larger one, wrapping itself around his wrist and biting at the flannel edges.

“Don’t know. Just call him ‘cat’ for now.” Joel grunted, tilting his head to the side. You didn’t really believe in love at first sight, but then again the books might be warping your perception of reality.

“Well, I’m thinking ‘Rascal’ is a good option if you’re taking votes” you suggested, stuffing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Noted” Joel smirked, holding your gaze pointedly until you felt your cheeks redden with the unexpected attention. 

“Alright, I’ll just go, but I’ll be back tomorrow to collect your homework assignment” you teased, stifling the desire to kick his foot playfully, and opting to turn on your heel to make a quick exit.

“Homework?” Joel’s voice echoed after you as you flung the door open to the bitter cold.

“Yeah, tell that ‘Rascal’ to get to work! I want to hear all about the murder and Dostoyevsky’s thematic approach to crime, self-punishment and the purpose of suffering!” you melodically announced as the sounds of mainstream wafted in to the otherwise silent bookstore. The orange tabby pranced towards the back room, seemingly offended by the winter bluster.

“Not sure cats know much about Dostoyevsky” Joel answered, leaning on the front desk and taking a quick glance at your receding figure.

“No worries. He might not know much about Dostoyevsky, but even a cat knows something about suffering” you chided, watching a flicker of darkness shade Joel’s countenance before it immediately disappeared. “Catch you tomorrow, Miller!” you bantered, closing the door behind you, and accompanied by the characteristic shop bell upon exit.

Bracing yourself against the onslaught of frigidity, you somehow felt inwardly warmed by the unexpected friendship, and curiosity of a new project. Perhaps this holiday season held more than just obligation or solitude. Against your better judgement you turned back to gaze at the storefront, seeing Joel’s silhouette, unchanged, leaning against the mahogany counter and looking fixedly in your direction. Damn. So much for nonchalance, you scoffed, secretly counting the minutes until your literary reunion and enjoying the satisfying crunch of collected snowfall beneath your booted feet.

PedgesJukebox

I think we're done with this trend, but Pedge and I still like it, and invite you to check out Pedge's Jukebox when you you get a chance!

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy! I also am secretly hoping writers might utilize this playlists for inspiration. I can't write with music in the background, but some people can. Every Spotify list comes with it's own triggers and literary short for our favorite characters interaction with the arts...

Series Masterlist

PedgesBookshop

We're open for business! Joel doesn't seem to know that yet, but stop in the foyer to grab an iced latte before sitting in the spacious chairs and cozying up to our local orange tabby, Rascal. Highly recommend reading "Crime and Punishment" to start, as recommended by PP himself. Pedge is excited for the ongoing literary discord...and possible smooching at Pedge's Bookshop!

Series Masterlist

*featuring art from Franz Marc

Pedge Tweets Afterglow

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...

Series Masterlist

*art by Vivek Gupta + Klimt

Pedge's Bookshop Series Masterlist

Foyer: There are already so many great AU fics featuring all our favorite Pedro Boys and I'd like to showcase them! In the Coffee Shop Foyer you'll find some great rec's for coffee and books alike. Bring your library card--this if one of my favorite tropes!

Bookshop: We started this series with Joel as our bookshop owner. Reading several of Pedro Pascal's book recommendations, the bookshop continues to get more material; join in on the fun!

Crime and Punishment (with Joel Miller)

Crime and Punishment; Prologue Crime and Punishment; The Murder Crime and Punishment; The Family Crime and Punishment; The Argument Crime and Punishment; The Lecture Crime and Punishment; The Visitor Crime and Punishment; The Dinner Crime and Punishment; The Calm Crime and Punishments; Before Crime and Punishment; The Storm Crime and Punishment; The Patrol Crime and Punishment; The Wound Crime and Punishment; The Confession Crime and Punishment; The Epilogue

Novellas:

Crime and Punishment Fic-Let Crime and Punishment; The Dream Crime and Punishment; The Talk Bookstore IG

What Happened to Belen? (with Javier Pena)

Part One Part Two

In Cold Blood (with Tim Rockford)

In Cold Blood: The Exposition In Cold Blood; The Road Trip In Cold Blood; The Funeral

WIP Book Nook: There are so many amazing rec's from Pedro that I'd love to unpack! Here are some possibilities on the horizon. What fics do you want to see?

The Urge; Our History of Addiction w/ Dieter Bravo Franny and Zooey w/ Mr. Ben The Gender of Sound w/ Pedge Drive Your Plow...w/ Tim Rockford

Audible Original; The Reservoir

Ghost Radio

Unmasked A Christmas Prompt

*featuring @shuploc @southparkpedro @thethunderstormsgirl @immarocketman

Thanks to @beefrobeefcal for the fun Christmas Prompt; What Could Go Wrong? I was initially hesitant to write my first Din fic, until I pressed into my teenage Star Wars obsession. I also had planned on a wacky, galactic romp but it turned into a soft exploration of the asexuality spectrum and religious denominations? Giving you the Christmas content NOBODY asked for. At the very least, it's my pleasure to feature the amazing artists above, particularly as it relates to the fic itself. I hope you enjoy, and if not, take some fruitcake for the road!

Triggers: Star Wars canon (don't come for me, I blurred the lines a bit), M masturbation, discussion of religious concepts, naked-ness, bounty hunter stuff, fantasy smut...pretty innocuous and sweet...

Din lumbered up the ramp of the Razor Crest, immediately sealing the outer bolts to prevent entry by anyone else. Depositing his jet pack in the corner he engaged the outer shield, covering the ports and windows appropriately before ensuring he was alone. Heaving a heavy sigh of exhaustion he began to peel off the bulky gloves and armor, before hesitantly removing his mask and unceremoniously collapsing onto the metallic floor. He allowed himself a small tantrum, hefting the mask across the room, a dull clanking sound echoing off the walls, yet feeling immediately chagrined at his show of insolence. There was just one question that remained; what MORE could have possibly gone wrong?

He felt lucky that Grogu was off pursuing his training in the outer reaches with Skywalker and Ahsoka. Rubbing the back of his neck tiredly he wrinkled his brow in consternation. He was constantly worried, but hopeful that the youngling was finding a place and a purpose that suited his unique talents. Din had to admit his life had been forever changed with the introduction of this small wonder, and he could only wish their paths would cross in the future for a hopeful reunion.

Din closed his eyes, resting his head against the hull, feeling the mechanical, humming heartbeat of the ship. With trepidation he finally gazed over at the heavy mask looking back at him from the shadowed corner. The small strip of permeable material that allowed for vision had all but shattered and buckled under the force of the explosion, forcing his immediate return to the Razor Crest. One of the few components of his all but impermeable Beskar Armor was now beyond repair, leaving him somewhat stranded until he could garner the necessary replacement parts. He kicked his foot sulkily, annoyed that his quarry had escaped capture and that he found himself somewhat stranded in his otherwise preferred solitary status. Normally, that would have amounted to an inconvenience at best if it weren’t for….you.

You both had planned an impromptu meeting in the next few days to celebrate Life Day on Kashyyyk. It was a time of song, drink, gifting and rejoicing, and Din had nearly admitted to himself the truth; he was excited. Living life in this solitary manner had always suited him until…it didn’t. Mandalorian culture was steeped in its own tradition and folklore, but with the dissolution of their home world, connection had become such an insular and rarified commodity, Din had all but given up hope. Grogu had changed all that, and much like his current armor, Din found small cracks of affection and friendship beginning to melt the stolid steel of his lonely solitude. He never felt it more poignantly than when he spent time with you.

Yours was initially a friendship of convenience, facilitated by trade routes, parts and labor, precious resources, consumerism….and similarity. Another Mandarlorian. There were so few left. But that’s where the similarities ended. Din could never forget the day you had completed a run to the spaceport on Tatooine for necessary maintenance. Grogu was eager to visit Peli Motto and kept steering the ship in that direction until Din acquiesced. Leaving Grogu in Motto’s care you had returned with Din to the Razor Crest to discuss bounty requests and supply inquiries when you nonchalantly removed your helmet to admire the impressive display panel.

Din’s breath hitched in his throat quietly as you hugged your own mask to the side, reaching for the controls in admiration. He nearly closed his eyes in supplication before he realized you were unabashedly chattering away. Who was this Mandalorian and why were they unapologetically disavowing themselves from the oath in his presence? As though telepathically linked you chuckled wryly under your breath, blushing slightly at Din’s silence.

“I’m sorry, would you prefer I remain masked in your presence?” you inquired, tucking a stray hair behind your ear adorably.

“You do not observe The Way?” Din’s mechanized voice cut through the intensity, perplexed at your show of vulnerability.

“I belong to a smaller, outer sect of Mandalorians who have embraced their independence and honor the Way by other means” you smirked, grasping Din’s wrist lightly and moving back into the main cabin, leaving him relatively speechless. As a Child of the Watch, Din was well aware of the more extremist philosophies of his upbringing, but found himself immediately intrigued by your seeming contradictions. 

From that moment on, your friendship had only intensified, as Din even began to seek out your recommendations and eventual comradry. He had a tremendous amount of respect for your acumen and was completely enraptured with the dichotomy of your personhood. Armored and war-worthy one moment, soft and friendly the next. Spending time together on long hunts, or chatting around the camp fire, Din couldn’t help but steal forbidden glances behind the safety of his own mask. The light wisps of hair tickling your cheeks, the knowing crinkle in your eyes. Moments when you would reach up to massage a sore muscle, and Din found himself longing to aid your ministrations. What would it be like to touch you, he wondered. Or…to be touched?

Din shifted with discomfort against the hardened floor feeling his body react to the fleeting fantasy of your supple and pliable form beneath him. Atop him. Beside him. Stroking his face. The feather light touch of your fingertips ghosting over his chest, his lips, his…He heaved a sigh of frustration, clamoring to his feet in helplessness. He could put in a request to Tattoine to send a messenger with a replacement part, but how would he explain this holiday absence to you?

He trudged toward the sonic shower, happily peeling off the under layers of his armor and folding them neatly at his bedside. A rare opportunity to exist freely in the cocoon of the Razor Crest, Din took quick inventory of his accumulated scars, newly formed wrinkles and salty lines of grimy dirt before stepping into the soothing pulse of the shower. Breathing deeply, he activated the water function, as a fine mist of fragranced heat emanated from the shower head. Dank farrik. He shuffled his feet with annoyance, realizing the compounded problem of the moment; no holiday gift. Rubbing his face with chagrin he thought on the clandestine fantasy of the two of you wandering the street market, listening to children laugh and watching the Black Spire entertainers. Perhaps your fingers would accidentally touch as you pointed to a trinket or bauble you liked, which Din would “begrudgingly” purchase on your behalf. His face was already flush with the warm water, but would have blushed more crimson still, realizing how much time he had invested in this now unsurmountable dream.

Perhaps you wouldn’t have worn your armor at all. There might have been a chance, however small, that you would have arrived in a soft, flowy dress of silken fabric, your hair braided into an intricate pattern. Din imagined the dress, clinging to your curving body as his length twitched with anticipation. Stupid mask. He reached up to massage a tired muscle, imagining your smaller, soft hands kneading his skin underneath the now scalding liquid. He hissed with discomfort, reaching down to massage a different part of his body, which now glistened and plumped under the burgeoning heat of his own body. What would you smell like? He was absentmindedly, pumping himself languidly, breathing deeply through his nose. He thought he caught the faintest fragrance of Vormur, but it had been so long since the days of his youth, he couldn’t be sure. Everything was filtered through the armor that supported his existence and simultaneously seemed to stifle it.

Din’s head tilted back against the metallic tile as his body sagged under the weight of his desire. What would you taste like? He licked his lips with seductive thirst, biting down hard on his lower lip. Always so close, yet so far. A tendril of light pulsed at the base of his torso, expanding further and further, wrapping itself around his navel. Closer. Closer. Din was breathing heavily, his mouth slack with pleasure as he imagined more…and more…and more. Closer, closer…until….

A ship alarm pinged annoyingly, as Din’s release seemingly evaporated with the steam of the shower. His eyes flew open in frustration and anxiety, wondering what else could have possibly gone wrong. He grabbed a nearby towel, skin immediately prickling in the cooler temperatures, as he headed down the secluded corridor to his simple living quarters. A red light blared loudly indicating an incoming message, which he quickly answered without thinking.

“What?” Din quipped, immediately clamping his mouth shut as he realized the ambient, non-mechanized undertones of his natural voice. There was a dramatic silence on the other end, until a familiar and lilting voice responded…

“Din?”

Din sighed with relief, swallowing dryly at the recognition of your melodious cadence. “It’s me” he acquiesced, simultaneously thankful and embarrassed at the unintended opportunity to cancel the upcoming plans.

“I almost didn’t recognize your voice without….uh….without the mask!” you teased slightly, curious at the unexpected turn of events.

“This is my voice” Din stalled, looking around the bare components of his living space, and wondering why you weren’t there with him. 

“Sounds nice” you stated matter-a-factly, pausing again as the silence weighed heavily between you.

“How can I help?” Din countered, feeling more exposed than ever, dripping on the alloyed floor and holding the towel tightly against his waist.

“I think that’s MY question” you parried, a minute edge of concern in your tone. “I thought you were bringing in that scum from the Pyke Syndicate, and then somebody at Mos Eisley said there was some kind of explosion?” your words hung in the air with a hint of…what? Care? Curiosity? Affection?

“Don’t think I can handle myself?” Din joked, sinking down on the bed and shuffling his feet like a teenager. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a conversation without the limitations of his armor obstructing the connection.

“I can barely handle you” your ebullient voice bubbled over the intercom as Din smiled with acknowledgement. Wouldn’t he like to give you permission to try.

“Still in one piece, but it turns out my mask, is not…” Din began haltingly, loathe to relinquish his holiday dreams of celebration.

“But you’re okay?” you interrupted. “You take too many risks, you know” your voice began to lull Din into a tentative submission as he laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.

“Hmph…” Din huffed, feigning annoyance, but inwardly recognizing the apparent truth. His entire existence was a risky one, so what was so difficult about revealing himself to another person? “I’ll survive. It just means…we can’t…”…he couldn’t even bring himself to utter the deplorable words.

“You’re cancelling on me?!” you whined “I’ve been planning this for a month! I gave up that quarry from the Kessel Mines JUST so we could go to the Day of Life!”. There was a tone of mocking in your voice, but it couldn’t immediately hide the thread of disappointment, causing Din to wince with displeasure. “You know, your mask isn’t actually required for the celebration” you chastised with a slight pout.

“Listen, if I could…I would” Din countered, sincerity lacing his voice. “I…it would have been fun…” he finally admitted.

“Couldn’t we just get you a celebration veil and call it a day?” you laughed, imagining the stark contrast of Din’s stolid armor juxtaposed with a malla mask. “Maybe you could go as a Storm Trooper?”.

“Are you THAT determined to avoid my ugly mug?” Din joked, beads of water dripping down his bare legs onto the hull floor.

“I’ll bet you’re pretty handsome under all that Bezkar” you retorted, without missing a beat.

Din’s breath stilled, wondering if your supposition were true. He never thought of himself that way. But any moment spent with you, seemed to bolster his self confidence and expand the horizon of possibility. Maybe there was a world where he could let someone in. A world that included you.

“Din?” your voice echoed loudly from the ship’s intercom, as the silence of the room sealed his resolve like a cavernous mausoleum.

He cleared his throat with lamentation, willing his voice to remain steady and undaunted, “I’m…sorry” he apologized, swallowing back his own defeat. The intercom stilled, laden with the immovable weight of limitation. Din paused to assess the light breathing on the other end, shaking his head in dismay and grasping for words.

“Stay put” you reprimanded, ending the call abruptly.

“What?” Din sat bolt upright, checking the connectivity, but the line was already dead. Stay put? He was immediately suspicious of your intentionality, but perhaps that was the end of the argument. A final reprimand he was totally deserving of. Dank farrik. Another holiday alone. Din braced himself for the emotional onslaught and grabbed the nearest bodysuit for his evening’s repose. THIS is the everything else that could have gone wrong.

Skulking into the small kitchen chamber, Din prepared a nutritional ration pack, plopping unceremoniously onto the dingy floor and poking at it unenthusiastically. Some holiday. Setting the food down he subconsciously balked at his profile reflected in the steel surface of the Razor Crest. Handsome, huh? He took an uncharacteristic moment to squint at his features, dragging a finger across the stubbled hair dotting his jutting chin. He shrugged his broad shoulders appraisingly. You don’t even know what I look like…Din lamented the woebegone complaint of his recent existence as a curious thought entered his mind. But what if you did? What if there was a way I could show myself to you, and not betray everything that I believe in? Din pursed his lips with determination. No harm in trying, he reasoned. Grabbing his small, unsavory dinner, he returned to the living quarters, steeling himself across from the reflective surface of the wall. He heaved a sigh of exhaustion, beginning to study his features, reaching for the nearby data pad and writing instrument. Shaking his head with incredulity he settled in for a more acute observance. Was this sacrilige? Mandalorians weren’t supposed to reveal their countenance to members outside of their clan, but was there no personal interpretation of “The Way”? YOU had found your own unique distinction, while maintaining the inner truths of honor, respect, love and so much more. Perhaps he could do the same.

Rifling through his previous data files of sketches, he smiled at his renderings of Grogu, captured quarry, desert flora and fauna. He doubted that drawing was a necessary trait of successful bounty hunters, but had always enjoyed a small, indulgent artistic thread for his own moments of reflection. He just had never intended on drawing his own visage, until now. He paused, anticipating the enthusiasm of your response, contradicted by the recent turn of events. He had to find a way of apology. I way to express his desire for more connection. A way to show you what you truly meant to him. This was the Way. 

Settling in with a newfound focus, he studied his features with determination, ladling one decisive stroke after another, and beginning to admire the distinction in his profile, strong aquiline nose, and world-weary wrinkles. He certainly didn’t consider himself a beauty, by any extent of the imagination, but perhaps he had character. He smiled ruefully, reflecting more-so on the delicate beauty of YOUR face as he hummed quietly and contentedly. The time passed quickly before he finally pulled back to hesitatingly admire his creative work. He was certainly no Sabine Wren, but the self resemblance he’d drawn was striking. At least you would know what he looked like, underneath all that armor. And maybe someday, he could perhaps show you more. He nodded his head with approval. Maybe THIS could serve as the apology you so readily deserved. 

Another ship alarm jolted him out of his reverie, as his eyes shot up to the peripheral indicators, noticing a fast approaching figure outside the hull of the Razor Crest. Din’s body tensed with defensiveness. Had the quarry from the Pyke Syndicate somehow found his location? Running down the corridor hurriedly, Din grabbed a small blaster and poised himself at the entrance leading to the lowered ramp. He held his breath as a decisive, repeated thud sliced through the hum of the ship’s heartbeat.

“I don’t abide trespassers” Din’s voice stabbed the darkness as he punched at the intercom.

A small pause before a familiar voice punctuated the hull, “‘Happy Life Day’ to you too, idiot”.

Din inhaled quickly, whirling around helplessly and looking down at the splintered mask at his feet. You. It was you! You were here. Was he going to let you in?

“Are you going to let me in?” your voice ironically echoed, as Din clumsily dropped the blaster to the side and jammed the mask unceremoniously over his hurried countenance. He took a deep breath before making his final decision. Punching a set of buttons quickly, the whoosh of the entryway opened, revealing your own masked appearance and a nearly unrecognizable plate of….

“Is that Varos Cake?” his voice cracked with surprise, identifying the fruity confection of Mandalore, and immediately salivating at its fragrance.

“I come bearing gifts!” you teased, holding up an unwrapped package of plastiod and jamming it against the flat of Din’s fabric-suited chest. He crumpled inward, embarrassed and unaccustomed to even the indirect touch of human contact. “Room for two?” you asked, breezing past Din’s clandestinely surprised expression and closing the door behind you. Din gulped with shock, looking down at the parts replacement necessary for his splintered vision plate.

“Where did you find this?’ Din held an edge of incredulity in his voice as you sat yourself down on the ONLY chair available in the main corridor, removing your own mask with a flourish. He stifled a gasp EVERY time you unmasked in his presence, but this evening your eyes were shining with a greater mischief and celebration that literally took his breath away.

“Despite evidence to the contrary, I happen to be a Mandalorian as well, nerf-herder. You don’t think I have replacement parts for my own mask?” you drolled, propping your feet up on the nearby table with joviality. “Love the bodysuit, by the way…”

Din placed a hand on his hip, chuckling to himself with acknowledgement. “And the Varos Cake?” he pointed inquisitively at the holiday delicacy.

“SOME of us were prepared for the “Day of Life” celebration” you chided, squinting skeptically at the splintered remains of his visor plate. “Bet you didn’t even get me a gift” you reprimanded, holding out the cake with reproach. 

“I got you a gift” Din shot back, moving forward to take your outstretched hand, and realizing one second too late that his was ungloved. Din hissed with sensitivity, as your fingers brushed in the quick contact. Nearly dropping the cake to the floor you both paused in an awkward silence, holding the plate between you. An electricity hung in the atmosphere as the dull din of the ship hummed around you. It was as though a hypnotic womb of security engulfed the moment, hugging you both and soothing any anxieties.

“Close your eyes” Din lowly intoned, slowly setting the cake down on the table next to you, his mask devastatingly close to your curious expression. You swallowed dryly, mere inches from the mechanized breath of his mask, finally closing your eyes in amenability. Din took a moment to admire the color in your cheeks, and the fluttering beauty of your eyelashes, attempting to take in every detail for his next sketch. He quietly removed his mask with trepidation, finally breathing the night air and enjoying the fragrance of your perfume. Vorum. He sighed heavily with relief, mere inches from your budding lips, and feeling the magnetic pull of your humanity. He tentatively reached up with a feather-light finger poised just above your jawline. Perhaps there WAS a world that included more than just the solo journey.

Several moments passed as you sat silently, awaiting whatever moment was about to transpire, but nothing materialized. With rapt anticipation you finally whispered, “Din?”.

“Open your eyes”.

You hesitantly cocked one eye-lid open, greeted by the repaired visage of Din’s masked countenance, as he held out a data pad for your perusal.

“A data pad?” you quipped “….really you shouldn’t have” you jested, before Din interrupted.

“Look” he slanted his head sideways, imploring you to observe more closely.

“Who’s this handsome demon?” you joked, before inhaling quickly with realization. “Is this you?” you finally whispered, as Din sat achingly close, your shoulders now touching.

“Tis the season?” he offered, nudging his shoulder against your side and awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him. He admired your slender fingers as you dragged them across the data pad idly, the warmth of your bodies heating one another in the winter solstice. You eventually rested your chin on his shoulder, gazing adoringly into the reflective surface of his now repaired mask.

“Thank you for showing this to me” you softly stated, tilting your head against his and breathing quietly.

“Maybe someday I can show you more” Din finally uttered, feeling a sense of relief and affection wash over him contentedly.

You paused, a smile curling the corners of your delicate mouth, “I’d like that, Din” you promised. “Happy Life Day…”

“Happy Life Day, cyare” Din sighed with enjoyment. Happy Life Day, indeed. 

Maybe not EVERYTHING had gone wrong…

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

WIP Wednesday Pedge's Bookshop

We are going to begin "Pedge's Book Shop" which features Bookstore AU and a discussion of all things....literary. Looks like Joel is our grumpy shopkeeper!

Dead Dove December: The Deepest Cut

Thanks @romana-after-dark for the cool event! Pedge is feeling dark this December and wants to join in on the fun! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, or DDDNE has its origins from a meme referencing "Arrested Development". The character Michael Bluth opens a paper bag labeled "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" and, upon discovering that there is a dead dove inside the bag, says, deadpan, "I don't know what I expected." - fanlore.org

Triggers: Ideation, SH, little smut, spiritual concepts, profanity, PTSD, reference to scars/violence/gun/death, post-apocalyptic world with Joel, implied domme, nakedness, anxiety attack, hurt/care trope...truthfully, we just gotta get through some sh@t before we get to the light...

@toomanystoriessolittletime has a great prompt, "He lifted your chin with two fingers brushing the tears from your cheek asking, 'Who did this to you?' trembling with a nearly feral rage". I wanted to turn it on its head a bit...

The end of the world was filled with so much more Love than you were anticipating. Not the frilly, inconsequential or meandering love of your youth. A darker, deeper, more translucent death than you had ever imagined. And with it, so many other endings had begun to rebirth themselves into a new hesitant light. Joel was the prism through which you had started viewing yourself, and with that blurry and enigmatic nuance your personhood had begun to focus. Within those shadows a burning ember of your own light had re-emerged, not in contrast, but in intimate synergy. You just didn’t understand any of it.  

Gazing down at your body in the sudsy film of a long awaited bath, your fingertips feathered over the many scars covering your body. Pre-apocalypse had afforded you the luxury of only interacting with your body as an instrument. As circumstances plodded along in repetitious doldrum, your emotional life cascaded in opposition. In the internal landscape of emotional chaos, self harm was the treasure that afforded the illusion of control. A sort of subterranean analgesic. You never really understood it, but sacredly knew it by name. It was dark, lush and seductive and it was yours. A way to announce, if to no one other than yourself; this body is mine. MINE. I hurt her as I please. You will not break me, if I constantly break and rebuild myself.

And then…the end. In one searing moment your life had been plunged into an apocalyptic quest for survival. All of sudden, you weren’t the only one bent on your self-destruction, and within you something had begun to solidify. A raging desire. A longing. A yearning…for life. It was like a molten lava, primal and ancient and even more delightedly terrifying than whatever small deaths you had previously endured. And it was all yours. 

Until Joel. He was the flame that seemed to replenish the oxygen within you. Within Joel seethed a depth of suffering and even depravity that graced the periphery of his existence, seemingly holding hands with yours. There was an animalistic magnetism that transcended words, and it crackled in the atmosphere the more you experienced him. That had been five years ago, and since that time, Joel had tenderly invaded every territory you had previously partitioned off, even to yourself. Circumstances might now rage out of control, but your inner demons had begun to quiet in relative submission. Because of Joel.

You couldn’t remember the last time the word relaxation had permeated your consciousness. But it had incrementally, and in sloth-like fashion begun to wrap its lazy tentacles around your pulsing heart. A home (beat). A bathtub (beat). A book (beat). A community of support (beat) And Joel (beat). But could you accept what had so long eluded you in the past? Could light and dark exist in the same space? Could you somehow let it wash over you, rather than attempting to contain it? 

Joel had never pushed the conversation. Already a man of few words, both of you were covered in enough physical and emotional scars to last a lifetime. But you had caught more than a few concerned glances, as his hands delicately fingered the unique patterned scars littering your forearms and quads. Different, but the same. And now, after so many years of evolution, you wondered if this new end was on the horizon. A way to finally say goodbye, not to life, but to death. Your eyes flickered to the small pocket knife you had laid on the bathtub rim. Your pupils were blown wide with anticipation and lust, biting at your lower lip in frenzied tumult. The darkest part of your self that you wanted to submerge into oblivion, trembled on the brink of acknowledgement. If death had been your former lover, couldn’t you impale it on itself? Couldn’t you once again, ask death to die?

You flicked the pocket knife open lazily, feigning nonchalance and gazing at your forearms appraisingly. You felt like an alcoholic, considering that final drink. Not much new territory to explore, you chastised yourself, remembering routines of long ago. Not too low, don’t nick a vein. Not too deep, to avoid suspicion. Symmetrical for the aesthetic. Your breath hitched in your throat momentarily, paralyzed with years of abstinence. Were you really going to do this again, after so many years of control? Self harm was never really about punishment or death at all, but even control had its limits. You needed to know if you had finally stepped into an existence that could include someone else; with intimacy and freedom. A darkness that understood your own, and cancelled one another out. You had given your body to Joel more times than you could count, but could you really give something you un-assuredly possessed? Biting down on your lip you made a quick, skilled cut to your upper arm, feather light and barely pricking the surface.

You held your breath awaiting the numbing relief or the conflicted tears of release, but found a joyful, humming laughter emanating from your sternum instead. Nothing. You dropped the pocket knife to the floor, gazing at the lone bead of blood dripping slowly down your forearm and licking it away tenderly. No. You didn’t want this anymore. You didn’t need it. It hurt. It actually hurt, you smiled. You could experience the scars you already had, without generating new ones. They were ALL yours. Your own story carved into the recesses of your heart, and sharing them with Joel had been the best decision you ever made. You reached over for a washcloth, pressing it firmly to your arm, the flow of blood already stopping. No more. A death to death itself. Only life remained, and it blazed in bright red as a testament to your new covenant of self. A life that included Joel. Holding your arm aloft you dropped the washcloth to the ground, content with your small victory and submerging your face and body in the warm water. Never again. Only life.

Joel tiredly crossed the threshold of your shared home, kicking his boots to the side. No point in dragging mud into the house. It had been an uneventful patrol, and he had spent the entirety of the day thinking about you. Smelling your sweet fragrance. Kneading your plush skin. Basking in the glow of your loving gaze. I’m gettin’ soft in my old age, he reasoned, somehow happy for the unexpected transition.

“Darlin’?” his deep voice bounced off the cavernous living room which was strangely quiet. You usually had already prepared dinner and Joel licked his lips with anticipation. No matter. He WAS home early. He lumbered up the stairs, achingly slowly and rubbing at his lower back. He could use a bath. He caught sight of the sliver of light piercing the upstairs darkness from the bathroom. Caught ya. Joel knocked tentatively on the door, nudging it open hesitantly.

Joel’s stomach dropped with a sickening fervor, quickly taking in the myriad of sights. Knife. Blood. Washcloth. You. You. You. He nearly wretched, dropping to his knees, immediately ignoring every ache in his body, grasping you around the waist and neck and pulling you abruptly from the languid womb of sudsy water. Your eyes flew open in surprise, splashing water and soap sloppily over the rim of the bathtub and dousing Joel’s flannel and jeans.

“J-Joel!…” you sputtered helplessly, looking into his face that was stained with pain, betrayal and confusion.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YA DOIN’????!!!!” Joel nearly screamed, his eyes a dark black of terror and misunderstanding, roughly running his hands over the totality of your body looking for bruises and lacerations and finding none.

“Oh God, honey I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you sobbed immediately, grasping at the forearms of his flannel and wiping the soap suds out of your eyes. “This….this is NOT what it looks like…” you hiccuped, eyes darting wildly to his face, taking any purchase of him you could find. You were gripping fiercely at his neck, his face, his arms, his chest. If you could explain, if you just had a moment to explain…

Joel paused as a feverish cry escaped his lips unbidden, smashing your body roughly against his chest and collapsing on the floor in a heap beside the tub. He was rocking you silently like a small child, so you let your body hang loosely over the tub, against him for what felt like an eternity. Your skin began to prune and goose-bump, but you held your breath timidly, willing Joel to understand. You would MAKE him understand. You bit back your own sobs thinking on Sarah….Ellie….the gun. You had NEVER intended him to see you like this. Things finally quieted down as the water sloshed coldly against your knees. Feeling your light shivers, Joel pulled back slightly gazing into your eyes fixedly and drawing his fingers across your forehead. Circling his thumbs at your whitened complexion, he lifted your chin with two fingers brushing the tears from your cheek.

“Who did this to you?” Joel asked, trembling with a nearly feral rage, willing the answer to be different than his expectation.

“M-me” you whispered, furrowing your brow with intensity, terrified at Joel’s next reaction. You felt like you were negotiating with a wounded animal. Watching Joel’s body sag with exhaustion he released you slightly to drag his hand over his face in confusion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe slowly, his thumb grazing the light pinkish mark on your upper arm.

“How m’I gonna protect you from yourself?” his voice cracked in defeat, turning his head away from you in pent up anger. Anger at his helplessness. Anger at you, FOR you, WITH you…he couldn’t steel himself against the barrage.

“You don’t have to” you sat up on your knees, cooling water now cascading over the lip of the bathtub and taking his face in your hands, scratching at his patchy beard. “Let me explain…”

“Do you wanna die?” Joel pleaded, absentmindedly scratching at the scar on his own temple and feeling that familiar tightening sensation in his chest. No. Not another panic attack. Not now. He desperately needed to understand. He needed an enemy to fight.

“Joel…” you took his hand in your own drawing it to your chest and gripping the back of his neck with the other. “I’m. NOT. Going. Anywhere…” you pressed your forehead to his, breathing intently and fixedly slowing his. Joel took a deep shuddering breath, grateful for a chance. A second chance. A chance to catch his breath and LIVE, with you, even just for one more moment.

A few minutes passed before Joel tentatively asked, “Is it me?”

You pulled back, your eyes widening in distress. HOW could you possibly answer that question? Was it him? Well, of course it was him. HE was your continued reason for life, you just desperately wanted to add yourself to the equation. Seeing Joel’s love for you, had only inspired your own. Not to live just for the purpose of someone else but for YOU. For Love itself.

“It’s ME, honey. I’m the reason. I’m saving myself…” you swallowed dryly, unsure how to articulate the answer that had eluded you for so long, and desperately hoping that Joel could somehow divine what you meant. You needed him, even more than before. And now you felt you could bring your whole self to the relationship. Everything dark would draw out the light, and Joel might be the only person who could truly understand that.

He looked at you intently, searching for any hesitancy, and finding none. “You’re not trying to kill yourself?” his eyes hovered about your face appraisingly.

“No” you smiled tenderly, feeling the emotional tides begin to shift.

“Are you going to…do this again?” he asked, a pained expression flashing across his face darkly.

“Absolutely not. Never again” your whole self finally answering back. Joel waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He knew he could trust you, but his heart was still thumping dully in his chest. “I swear” you nodded, lacing your fingers through the graying tendrils of his hair. Joel finally closed his eyes in relief, slumping against the bathroom wall. You sighed heavily, shaking your head in amazement. This wasn’t the triumphant moment of victory you had planned, but the end of the world had been so much more unexpected than you predicted. Now Joel knew everything, and you were still in one piece. Love had prevailed. Bumpily. Messily. Painfully. But prevailing nonetheless. You stood up shakily, happy to emerge from the cooling soap suds, a new version of yourself. Towering precariously and dripping on the wooden floor, you kicked Joel’s foot good-naturedly.

Joel squinted up at you, finally relaxing into a tender smile, admiring your dripping form. “Help me up, darlin’” he almost teased, hooking his hand around the back of your knee and beginning to prop himself against the wall. You smirked, attempting to hoist Joel’s broad figure without slipping and sliding as he rested his hands loosely on the curvature of your backside, drawing you to him securely. “You’re all wet…” he intoned, swaying from side to side and reaching behind him for a towel, drawing it comfortingly around you. “Tell me more…” he whispered quietly, stroking your cheek. How could you articulate what you were only beginning to understand yourself?

“I didn’t really…accept myself before…” you haltingly began, looking into Joel’s penetrative eyes and shivering. He gripped you tightly, tucking you further still into the warmth of the towel and his body heat. “But after…the fall…it helped me to regain the sense of balance I needed.  Losing control helped me to find my own. It’s like my survival instinct finally kicked into gear…”.

He held your gaze, nodding his head once in determination. He trusted you, the way you trusted him, and nothing was going to break that. You rested your head on his chest delicately, mumbling into his sternum. “What do you want for dinner?” you sighed, planting feather-light kisses between flannel buttons and drawing away timidly.

“You know what I want” Joel smirked, the oft repeated joke tantalizing his lips, which he hungrily licked. You blushed with immediate acknowledgement, happy to be enjoying your easy rapport once again. “What do YOU want?” he countered, pinching your lower lip between two calloused fingers. You furrowed your brow in consternation, perplexed at his meaning. You didn't want for ANYTHING. You finally had it. You had each other.

“What if I could give it to you?” he ventured, pursing his lips mischievously. 

“Give me what?” you questioned, curiosity peaked.

“Control”. 

A gasp quivered in your throat as arousal pulsed between your legs heatedly. “What?”

“You heard me. I can give you control…” he swallowed dryly starting to walk you backwards to the bedroom.

“Joel…” you didn’t get out any more words before he smashed his lips to yours roughly, kicking the door shut behind him.

*Resources for Anyone Struggling

Pedge Tweets My Darling Muse

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA :) He wanted to let you know that his sobriety is going well, but sometimes it's "a bit of a bummer". I told him, his current literary goal of researching "Crime and Punishment" might be contributing to that. He's trying to regain his artistic muse, but he needs to find new consistent ways of doing so! He's got his favorite tunes and Kit Kats, but has been moping around the house a bit. I decided to put together a quick TikTok to let his fans know he is bumbling along....

Series Masterlist

*edited with CapCut

The One With Thanksgiving

Wow. We made it y'all. We have survived the Thanksgiving. Barely. Sometimes the holidays feel like an obstacle course of delights and disasters and Pedge and I had a few. We're conflicted about the holiday, politics, health issues, YOLO pressure, parentals. It was a cornucopia...a feast if you will, in more ways than one.

Also, Pedge you have been FEEDING us lately. I can barely keep up! One minute I see you coifed and collected in interviews and premiers, the next you're baring your soul and your soft little tummy for our ogling eyes and I just gotta say...."thank you". Ooops, I think I embarrassed him, he's burying his head into his blanket and demanding chocolate chip cookies. I almost feel lucky "The Uninvited" is stuck in transit, I'm not sure how much more I can take!

Also, his arms are apparently always falling off, so we need to take very tender care of our guy, as only Tumblr knows how. I know you can put your literary imagination to the task.

I'm headed back to the doctors this week with chronic health stuff. Pedge says he has anxiety sometimes, so he'll go with me. And I gave my parentals the heads up that I wanted to discuss some difficult topics this Thanksgiving, so we had a side of sobbing with our punkin' pie. Par on course for a complex holiday which exceeded expectation on all counts!

I'm trying to pace myself, but Pedge and I get excited! We've got EIGHT Advent Calendars this year! EIGHT. I said it was too many, but Pedge is a naughty boy and convinced me otherwise :) He's always right. I've almost finished my gratitude journal and we were stoked for a Gift Exchange, Sunday Party and Parental Festivities...

But things started to go sideways. I fumbled some of the parental discussion, my body had other plans, and the doctor's appointment has been hard to schedule.

Love Means Never Having to Say...Anything (w/ Pedro Pascal)

I'm making progress, but my body ground to a standstill. Needless to say, this morning involved a bunch of cancellations, foam rollers, vitamins, medicine, copious crying and a bubble bath...

Honey, I think it's okay if we don't always look like we're going to a movie premier. Our friends will understand, and we can get some better medicine. And maybe we can even have chocolate chip cookies later! Oh good, Pedge is snuggling in for a little nap! Okay, just some final thoughts before cuddle time...

However your holidays are progressing, Pedge and I just want you to know that we see you. If you spent some time alone, or avoided some toxicity-- you still get to celebrate YOU! If you have all the privilege in the world but experience survivor's guilt or feel unappreciative, WE GET IT. You don't have to be anything other than your amazing self, seeking out the best version of YOU.

Whatever challenges you are experiencing, Pedge and I are right there with you, and that's something we can all be grateful for. Alright, Pedge and I are going to go back to making love to our foam roller, and considering a small piece of pumpkin pie leftover from Thursday...

Pedge would like me to remind us all to be good to yourself and be good to others. AND the medicinal value of chocolate chip cookies. Yes, Pedge, I'm typing it right now, scoot over! You're hogging all the pillows. Many gratitudes to the Tumblr peeps for the plentiful smut and silly memes. It does a body good :) And Happy Thanksgiving!

WIP Friday?

So...now I'm just following my own chaotic rules...but that's how Tumblr do. I'm working on some fun projects, ramping up Pike's Place, starting Pedge Tweets and finishing up Pedro's Holiday Feast!

I've got a dark submission for "Dead Dove December 2024" and am "pessimistically" excited about Queen Beef's Festive Failures. I mean, really, what could possibly go wrong? This has been a fun year of Tumblr, and as I near my first little milestone, I couldn't help but wonder...

Pedge Tweets PikesPlace

I fell hard for these two, in an unexpected way. Since y'all love them as much as I do, I've started a Slow Burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent! Here's a little Christmas Confection before our next reveal December 15th! Fictionally, this takes place somewhere between Episodes 3 and 4...

Series Masterlist

*produced with i-fake app

Pedge Tweets PedgeIsPunk

Pedge says he's a little embarrassed, posting on social media for the first time, and doesn't want anyone to think he is....Pedro Pascal. He's just an enthusiast, who has spent an inordinate amount of time...researching this beautiful boy. I told him that we can keep all our innermost thoughts to ourselves, but it's okay to enjoy the beauty of imagination at a distance. He couldn't agree more. Check out the Cuddle Couch if you like RPF...

Series Masterlist

*thanks LittlsMsMorales Art Shop!

Pedge Tweets!

Thanks @inept-the-magnificent for the tag, I've been wanting to do some Instagram worthy characters for a while! I might occasionally incorporate real tweets or photos, but it's mostly just me....and Pedge...

PedgeIsPunk PikesPlace MyDarlingMuse AfterglowSeries PedgesBookshop PedgesJukebox NewYorkNewYork PinkiePiePedge PedgesCinema

Here's the template to try yourself!

Pike's Place; Love Actually

I fell hard for these two, but 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 started a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: profanity, talking lots of talking, a little smut, emergency situation/survival...

Series Masterlist

The firelight danced across Pike’s smiling face as he mischievously hid behind his third cup of hot chocolate, listening to you with delight. “And THEN, I opened the final gift and she had found it. She had found the entire original set that included the author’s notes!” Your face beamed enthusiastically, flush from the nostalgic excitement of another Christmas story.

“I never thought I’d meet someone who loves the holidays as much as I do” Pike stared in wonderment, gently kicking you with a socked foot.

“I mean, as a kid you don’t recognize the nuances at all. All you see is chocolate and games and…MORE GIFTS!” you laughed maniacally, plunging your fingers into Pike’s soft stomach and tickling him viciously as he struggled to grasp you around the waist in protestation without spilling his nearly finished hot chocolate.

“Watch out little girl, I’ve got you right where I want you” Pike laughed through gritted teeth, clamping your body between his knees and setting the cup down on the nearby coffee table.

“Is that so?”you drolled, slowing your tickle attack and gently moving your fingers up his chest and into his hair. Pike swayed his body from side to side, holding you tightly as your lips brushed against his serenely. “Merry Christmas” you mumbled into his mouth, kitten licking for more access as he willingly obliged.

A low moan escaped him as you felt him harden beneath you with longing. “You’re the gift that keeps on giving” he nestled into your neck, kissing at your sternum and jawline slowly. You smiled with happiness running your fingers back down his body and stuffing them into his sweatpants’ pockets. “What do we have here?” you questioned curiously, letting your fingers gently explore over the fabric, finding bristling hair and his hardening length. You paused mischievously, “Christmas ornaments?” dipping your hands lower still as Pike’s eyelids fluttered contentedly.

“Is this the part where I make joke about your Christmas box?” Pike whined, keening beneath you and tilting his hips up to meet you. You shifted your body to the side, pulling his sweat pants down slightly and massaging him languidly. “Only if I get to make a joke about your yuletide log…” you giggled, watching Pike’s face with delight. He bit his lower lip with yearning as you entangled your feet with his.

Pike twitched with surprise, furrowing his brow in consternation. “Okay, Abominable Snowgal…where are your Christmas slippers, your toes are FREEZING” he joked, gripping your chin between his icy fingers. You blushed with embarrassment looking down at your legs which were now bare and bristling with goose bumps. Pulling your nightgown down to cover them, it disappeared, leaving you totally naked atop Pike’s body and shivering violently. A blast of cold air whispered against Pike’s hair, washing over you both like a steely wave of winter as the cabin immediately flickered and darkened bizarrely.

“Can you hear me?” Pike’s voice echoed as he now lay atop you, image blearily coalescing before your eyes. A pounding headache jolted you from your cozy dreamscape as you felt the comparative hardness of the cabin floor beneath you. Your mouth was so dry, no words were forming, just a low moan vibrating in your chest as Pike sighed with relief. You closed your eyes for a moment attempting to return to the cheery warmth of your dream, but Pike protested.

“No, no, no, stay with me” Pike gripped your chin between his icy fingers and rubbed his palm in hard circles against your snow suited sternum. With slight annoyance you blinked rapidly, trying to follow his directions. The dull headache returned with blinding force, clarifying you back into a blurry existence as you wriggled your fingers aside your body. Your lips were numb as you tried to swallow and bring Pike’s concerned countenance into focus. Turning your head to the side the fire was no longer a cheery comfort as it whimpered unceremoniously in a blue haze, the final dregs of smoke curling into small wisps.

“Can you sit up? I’d like to get some water in you…” Pike gently advised, gripping the back of your neck and coaxing you into a sitting position as the room rotated around you.You shut your eyes fixedly as a wave of nausea passed over you, willing the cabin to stop moving like a boat atop the ocean. “Open up” Pike brought a water bottle lightly to your lips as you hungrily sipped, cool water dripping down the front of your chin messily. “Slow, slow…” Pike encouraged, massaging the back of your neck and eventually setting the water down beside you both. You opened one eye hesitantly as the cabin solidified into reality, a cornucopia of images vying for attention. You took a shaky breath, observing the myriad of blankets and pillows piled around you like a fort, shivering slightly in the cooling temperature and immediately noticing the rather large tree limb cascading through the living room window.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Pike joked, bringing both hands to the sides of your face and rubbing small circles into your cheeks. Smiling dolefully you acquainted yourself with your new cataclysmic surroundings.

“What happened?” you rasped, swaying slightly and closing your eyes with the effort.

“Well, how far back do we need to go?” Pike closed his eyes tiredly, finally taking a resolute breath in suspended relief. “My name is Agent Pike and I work for the Art Squad…” he countered as your eyes shot open with incredulity.

“Marcus…” you whined, gripping the hair at the top of his head and pulling his forehead to yours. “Jesus Christ…”

Pike’s body sagged against yours with exhaustion, smiling with reassurance. “What, is He in the room with us now? Apropos for Christmas, but don’t go towards the light…” Pike’s voice cracked a little as he attempted to lighten the tension of the last twelve hours.

“What’s going on? I think I missed a few steps. Are you okay? Are WE okay?” you winced, attempting to shake the burgeoning pulsation between your temples and trying to will your body into cooperation.

“Well, after you collapsed I want to Macy’s and got our Christmas gifts, Santa dropped by. Rudolf is a total diva…”

You tugged at Pike’s hair, pulling his face back to meet his gaze. “Agent Pike, if it weren’t for this splitting headache, you would be the main pain in my ass” you breathed heavily, cooling temperatures nursing you back to consciousness. “Talk to me. Are you okay?” you implored bringing your hand to cup the side of Pike’s face.

Pike stilled silently, tears springing to his eyes as he swallowed hard. “You really scared me” he sniffled, averting his eyes and gesturing to the tree limb punctuating the living room. “This didn’t help…” he shifted with discomfort, attempting to quell the many emotions he was holding at bay. You took a moment to admire his handiwork, as a large blanket had been stuffed through the protrusion, and haphazardly layered with gray duct tape. It was a marked benefit, but without the fire the temperature seemed to be plummeting by the minute.

“How long was I out?” you blinked, doing a quick body check and noticing the pitch black void outside, dotted by peppery clumps of snowfall.

“God, it felt like forever…” Pike laid down next to you, gazing up at the ceiling. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?” He closed his eyes breathing deeply and rubbing his hand over his forehead confusedly. He paused in the overwhelming silence as you took stock of your current circumstances. While you were unconscious Pike had lit several emergency candles that flickered lightheartedly in the otherwise dark cabin. A small amount of wind tickled the flames as your eyes flicked to the nearby wall heater that was chugging and sputtering weakly. You saw several bottles of water and emergency rations piled by the now defunct fire place. Did the winter winds knock out the fire so abruptly? Your mind was still moving at half speed as the headache dulled into the background, but a growing awareness was permeating your discovery. There must have been more to your apparent intoxication and disorientation. The headaches, the nausea, the vertigo…What could have disrupted both of you to such an extent? Your breath caught abruptly in your throat. You clamped your hand over your mouth, looking down at Pike’s resting figure.

“PIKE?” you nearly shouted into his face as his eyes blazed open with surprise.

“Yes?!” Pike sat up suddenly, grasping his chest nervously. “Are you cold? Hungry? What do you need?” he started piling blankets on top of you and breathing heavily.

“Sorry, I just…monoxide poisoning? Right? That’s why the fire is out? Did you pass out too?”

Pike huffed dramatically, nodding his head and grimacing with soreness. “It was touch and go there for a minute” he draped his arm over your legs trying to catch his breath. “I couldn’t figure out what the problem was until Mother Willow snapped me back into reality” he gestured again to the forlorn looking foyer. “I think that actually might have saved our lives. There must be more limbs or branches covering the chimney and neither of us noticed. If that blast of fresh air hadn’t disrupted our evening, I’m not sure either one of us would be here right now.”

You paused with the sober realization that things were worsening. Though the fire wasn’t available the wall heater was limping along, but not for long. If you had learned anything from your outside venture it was that Bessie the Hyundai was about to be joined by…Genny the Generator in the land of defunct machines. It’s a wonder it had lasted THIS long. Pike must be trying to get as much bang for his buck before the situation derailed completely. You swallowed dryly reflecting on your previous isolation. You would most assuredly be dead if not for this man sitting before you. You bit your lip with thanks, poised to articulate your gratitude when Pike interrupted, his face crumpling in defeat.

“This is totally my fault…” he chastised, laying back down and staring up at the ceiling numbly.

“Hey, hey…that doesn’t sound like Agent Pike from the Art Squad” you bantered, your fingertips drifting over his stomach, and resting assuredly on his chest. He took your hand in his as his lower lip wobbled insecurely.

“If I’m not careful I’m gonna get us both killed AND ruin Christmas…I’m not sure which is worse” he jested, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Look at me, Agent Pike” you drew your fingertips lightly over his cheeks, drawing his face towards yours. “Marcus…” you whispered, wiping a single tear that was trickling, unbidden down his scratchy cheek, “You saved us. You saved me…” you leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips which apparently did him in. He covered his eyes with the back of his forearm, shaking slightly and finally starting to decompress.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for YOU” you began peppering kisses over his face haphazardly and resting your hands on his chest for support. “This (kiss) is (kiss) not (kiss) your (kiss) fault…” you drew back studying his features appraisingly as he pursed his lips tightly in response.

“I’m so sorry” he apologized, turning his body slightly away from you with embarrassment and hugging his arms around his abdomen tightly. You laid down, your chest to his back, drawing a blanket up and over your both and wrapping your arms over his.

“I think, this is a very lovely, if not unconventional winter picnic you’ve planned for us” you rested your forehead against his back, breathing in his deodorant and hints of aftershave. “The candlelight is an especially nice touch…” you teased, hearing small sniffles vibrating through his chest. “It’s very important that we don’t dehydrate so crying is…only permitted for…gingers in pink snowsuits” Pike shifted with awkwardness, chuckling slightly at your feeble attempts. “Besides, I should be the one crying if this knight in shining armor is leaving for Washington D.C”. The room somehow became even more quiet as you wondered if your jest had overstepped. You didn’t want a repeat of last night’s debacle, but if you were going to meet the Grim Reaper, it was time to lay all your cards on the table. You felt Pike’s body collapse inward in defeat as he slowly turned to face you.

“I don’t know what to say” he began, nearly nose to nose with you under the blankets, breathing softly. “At this point an apology feels so inadequate, I just…didn’t think I…I didn’t think it mattered…” he finally ventured, placing his hand lightly to the side of your neck and feeling the feathering pulse underneath. You nodded your head with understanding, attempting to process the unexpected events leading you to this very moment. There was nothing about this Christmas that had been planned. If you knew anything, you knew Pike was a good man, and there wasn’t a deceitful bone in his body. Maybe the situation with his ex had so derailed his optimism and self-confidence that he couldn’t easily see the opportunities stretching out before him; including you.

“What really happened with you and…Lisbon?” you whispered, wanting desperately to understand how anyone could choose a life that didn’t involve Marcus. Pike sighed heavily, thinking back with nostalgia and hurt to the road not traveled.

“Lisbon was…IS…an amazing woman. We met on the job and formed a quick connection when the job in Washington D.C materialized. I knew it was the right professional step for me, but I…my enthusiasm just overreached. I tried to make us into something we weren’t. She was already deeply invested in…someone else, and we just needed time to realize the difference between a fantasy and a reality.” He swallowed hard, moving his thumb to the notch at your sternum, his eyes fixed on yours hesitantly. “I wanted too much, too soon and it all blew up in my face…” he stated matter-a-factly, as a light breeze ghosted over you both.

You shivered slightly whether from cold or emotion, but thankful for Pike’s immediate transparency. Relationships were so complicated, and it often seemed like a person’s greatest strengths somehow could misalign into their greatest weaknesses. “It was too big an ask, for me to deserve” he rationalized, turning his eyes downward and resting his head on the floor in acquiescence.

You tilted your head to the side in curiosity. Well, that wasn’t true, you mused, furrowing your brow in consternation. No wonder you hadn’t immediately arrived on the same page, and your own silence had complicated the situation. Not one to make the same mistake twice you decided to meet Pike’s transparency with your own. “I don’t think Love can be measured like that” you started, attempting to proceed sensitively. “It’s unconventional, hard to grab hold of…and impossible to predict. But, I mean…if anyone DESERVES it, it’s you, Pike. You deserve love, actually.”

Pike held his breath with anticipation, considering your meaning thoughtfully. He knew the truth of your words, but how could he believe them for himself? Just because you desperately want something doesn’t bring it to fruition. He WANTED to believe this whole nightmare had a happy ending, but how many times could one heart be broken? He held your gaze intently, willing you to feel the intensity of his desire. Somehow he was going to get you both out of this nightmare and try to find the answer to that question.

“I don’t think anyone would argue that we’ve had more than enough reality this holiday season” you forlornly admitted, gripping his hands tightly in yours, and attempting to warm them. The heater sputtered timidly in the corner, hiccuping quietly, on its last legs. “I never thought my life would become so isolated and alone” you pondered, reflecting back on the last few years. “My life felt vibrant and connected and exciting until the pandemic crashed into me and everyone around me. It was then that I realized that people couldn’t prioritize friendships in a world where family was just fighting to survive. It’s not that they didn’t care…people just couldn’t extend themselves further than distance would allow” you reasoned. “And rather than taking the risk to keep reaching out, I just receded further and further in”.

“And that’s how you found yourself on my lucky doorstep” Pike chided, his eyelids drooping slightly with exhaustion. “In pink” he chuckled, closing his eyes for just a second. So tired. He relished the tension leaving his body as he sunk down into the blankets contentedly. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, but he hadn’t felt this safe in a while. He really felt seen. Like you understood who he was and what he was about. The trip to Washington D.C was everything he wanted, but how could he just leave, knowing that you remained? Would he even get the chance to enjoy the adventure of life, with you at his side? And what if things continued to spiral out of control? Spiral. Why was the room moving in a circle? He sighed sleepily, being lulled into submission. Spinning, spinning, spinning…

“PIKE!” your voice jarred him out of his temporary reverie, as he shook his head, blinking rapidly. “You still with me?” you were rubbing his face aggressively, inches from his lips, a look of concern dotting your expression.

“I’m here” he mumbled tiredly, sitting up precariously on one elbow and clearing his throat with determination. “Not going anywhere” he yawned, chuckling to himself. “One good thing about being snowed-in is that you can’t escape me that easily” he teased leaning over to grab a sip of water and trying to engage his emergency training. “Gotta stay awake” he sighed, sitting up against the hearth shakily and motioning for you to join him. You gathered up more blankets and propped yourself up next to him, nestling into his side for warmth. “This is the survival component of our celebration, when our holiday heroes reminisce on the true meaning of Christmas”. The heater coughed dramatically as Pike pouted in opposition. “How do you suppose Christmas will be in Washington D.C?’ he wondered, trying to shift his focus to the future, rather than the current dire circumstances. “What if we were there right now, instead of here. What would be doing?” he pondered, trying to coerce you both into a proactive, optimistic mindset.

“Well, no ice skating” you chattered next to him, laying your head down slightly on his shoulder. “I’m a complete klutz, as you know, and would only be cajoled into winter activities if hot chocolate is included” you chuckled as Pike nodded into your head.

“Obviously” he smiled, looking over at the Christmas Tree which somehow cheerily smiled back.

“I went to school on the East Coast, you know?” you offered “Hence the pink snowsuit for this bumbling California girl…” you giggled tentatively, reflecting on the many adventurous seasons of your life. “Made it to Washington D.C a few times; you’re gonna love it there” you encouraged.

“Why?’ Pike stifled a yawn, attempting to focus on the flickering candlelight dancing before him. “What could D.C possibly have that WE don’t at Pike’s Place?” he grinned ruefully, hearing the winds pick up slightly outside the whistling window pane.

“It’s true, Pike’s Place has excellent coffee, pancakes….and the STAFF” you rested your chin atop Pike’s shoulder gazing at his profile. “Sooooooo cute. I’m thinking of giving the manager my number” Pike gripped you tightly around the waist smiling to himself. “But D.C is pretty cool too. The food is amazing, and the history around every corner…”. You stopped to lock eyes with Pike conspiratorially.

“THE SMITHSONIAN!” you both intoned playfully, pulling the blankets around you a bit tighter.

“Oh my gosh we’ll LIVE there” you agreed dreamily. “I mean, YOU’LL live there, Art Squad” your eyes drifted down to the small manilla folder propped happily against the unknowing Christmas Tree. “What did you get me for Christmas?” you elbowed Pike in the side jovially as Marcus laughed to himself clandestinely.

“You’re just gonna have to wait for Christmas morning” Pike protested, shaking his head emphatically.

“If we make it that far” you whispered, gripping Pike more fervently as the wind howled menacingly above you. Pike gulped back his anxiety, determined to provide a stolid demeanor.

“What else would we do in D.C?” he blinked lazily, setting his head atop yours in an attempt to ground himself to the moment.

“Let’s see…We would tour the capital”…

“Check” he agreed.

“Enjoying the cherry blossoms by spring and the farmer’s markets by summer”…

“Check” he concurred.

“I’m partial to Thai Food so you’d need to bring that home at least once a week…”

“But how will I enjoy your…unconventional cooking?” he joked as you scoffed in mock offense.

“Because I’ll be sending you to work with the most indulgent peanut butter and jelly sandwiches anyone has ever tasted” you promised, linking your fingers with his and shivering in the cooling cabin. For one terrifying moment the heater completely stilled, its exhausted fans clicking slowly to a silence as the blizzard batted against the punctured windowpane. Pike held his breath momentarily as the heater shook hesitantly back to life, pumping a few steady breaths of warmth over your tingling bodies.

The cabin was silent as you and Pike held one another tentatively.

“What do you think is the meaning of life?” Pike whispered, closing his eyes and burying himself in the shampooed vanilla fragrances of your hair.

You chuckled in bittersweet acknowledgement, shrugging your shoulders with curiosity. “Is hypothermia starting to set in, Agent Pike?” you halfheartedly questioned, acknowledging the looming possibility in the recesses of your mind.

Marcus beamed, thankful to be battling the given circumstances, whilst still enjoying your acerbic sense of humor. “We’re not quite there yet…” he mused, wriggling his toes determinedly and reflecting on the many art pieces he had admired over the years. “I just…love what I do…I love appreciating beauty and art, and humanity. Sorry I’m getting all existential on you…”.

“Apocalyptic blizzards will do that, you know?” you pulled back slightly, gazing intently into his eyes pointedly. “What do YOU think the meaning of life is?” you felt yourself melting into the moment, fixated on the beautiful features of his face, the candlelight beginning to blur everything around you in a hypnotic haze.

“I don’t know” he stated lowly, licking his lips dryly and admiring the cinnamon freckles dotting the bridge of your nose…and perhaps elsewhere. “None of the artists I work to protect are even alive anymore. But their beauty…” he paused to touch your face delicately, watching your eyelids flutter shut. “…their beauty lives on and on. The things we love. The purpose we give ourselves…Some of it kind of goes on forever and ever, I think. So I guess it’s…love. The meaning of life is love, actually”…

And then you were kissing. You couldn’t immediately place when you had begun, but much like Pike’s existential pondering, it seemed to have an element of infinity to it. No beginning and no end. Just breath after breath of one another, in a cyclical loop of forever. A comforting, nurturing, beautiful rose of infinitude. Maybe even, of love.

You enjoyed one another for quite some time, unaware of the heater flickering in and out of existence, as you found other means to warm yourselves by the now extinguished fireplace. Finally pausing to catch your breath, Pike pulled you into his arms, lowering you both to the floor, cushioned by the pillows and blankets surrounding you. “This is a Christmas I will never forget” Pike reflected, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, watching your head rise and fall atop his chest with his breath.

“It’s definitely one for the books” you grinned, wrapping your fingers around his firmly, a new batch of tears threatening to spill forward. “Since we are setting up our last will and testaments, I just want you to know how much the last week has meant to me, Marcus”.

Pike hummed contentedly, his hold on you relaxing ever so slightly.

“I was determined to keep a cold exterior, but even a blizzard couldn’t keep my heart frozen forever. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness and warmth through this whole adventure, and I couldn’t be more grateful to you…for everything” you admitted.

“That’s the magic of Pike’s Place” he slurred, breathing steadily as his head lolled against yours.

“When we get out of this nightmare, you should really think about starting a Bed and Breakfast. Your pancakes are to DIE for, though something about your fireplace leaves something to be desired…” you paused, anticipating Pike’s retort, but nothing arrived.

“Pike?”

You gazed down at Pike’s hand which felt heavy in yours. Shifting your body quickly you looked up at Marcus’ face which had gone slack, his mouth slightly ajar, but chest still moving steadily.

“PIKE?!!” you yelled into the abyss, but his arms dropped loosely from your grasp to the floor with a dull thud. You snapped to attention, gaping around the room wildly for inspiration. “Don’t do this to me, Agent! Don’t leave me alone on Christmas Eve!” you yelled, willing a miracle to occur. You straddled his waist awkwardly, pounding on his chest animalistically as the tears began to flow freely. “Don’t you dare!” you cried through gritted teeth, rubbing your hands aggressively over his arms and neck helplessly, unsure of what to do next. The heater seemed to give one final exhausted cough of existence before grinding to a halt as Pike’s breaths similarly shallowed. “I just found you! I just found you!” you whimpered, gripping him tightly between your thighs and hugging your body to him with desperation. You grabbed the nearby water bottle slopping a few tentative drops across his face as he stirred once again. More. You needed more. Flinging yourself towards the door you crawled army style over the blankets and around the flickering candlelight for the last desperate option you could think of. Hauling yourself to your feet you flung the door open to in an icy barrage of wind and snow, which all but blew out the remaining candles. Nearly tripping over the doorstep you gathered a handful of ice and stumbled back into the freezing cabin hovering just a moment over Pike’s unconscious frame with indecision. More. You needed more. Adrenaline.

Wincing slightly in anticipatory empathy you smashed the powdery ice alongside Marcus’ now pallid countenance, sliding your fingers down the sides of his neck and shoulders, plunging him into a snowy alarm. Pike’s eyes flew open in surprised distress, grabbing at your hands solidly and sitting up abruptly. Biting back a cry of shock, he breathed in the cold night air which whipped cinematically through your hair, stinging your cheeks, but bringing Pike back to life and back to reality. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” he mumbled, blearily grasping at your tear stained face and looking around the darkened room haphazardly. The temperature immediately plummeted as the heater shrank into stolid stone and a vacuum of cold drenched the cabin in clarifying oxygen and steely darkness. You may have averted the immediate disaster, but had just literally opened the door on the next impending crisis. “How long was I out?” Pike shouted over the howling winds as you sat atop him crying and shivering.

“M-maybe a minute? T-two m-minutes?” you shouted back as your teeth chattered together violently.

“God, it’s a breath of fresh air!” he grinned, but immediately sobering to the new circumstances. “I’ve gotta keep you warm! If the carbon monoxide didn’t kill us, the cold will!” he observed, lifting you up by your elbows and holding you tightly. “At least nothing else can go wrong at this point!” he exclaimed, until it did.

A deafening boom shattered the relative stillness and a flash of light exploded into the atmosphere, rattling the nearby windows and sending a fresh cascade of wind and snow into the icy cabin. Whether from shock or impact your body splayed over Marcus’ figure as the vibrational blast flattened you against him suddenly. Shaking with cold and anxiety, you held one another for a time, until Marcus pulled back to look into your surprised face. “You okay, Pink?” he apparently shouted, though it seemed to be slightly muffled in the chaos.

“I think so!” you retorted, feeling equally dulled. Rolling to the side you did a quick body scan of one another as Pike pulled you to your feet shakily, heading towards the open doorway. Squinting into the snow flurry the woodshed burned brightly, silhouetted against the night sky. You flashed on the theatrical snapshot of “Gone With the Wind” as Pike draped his arm around your waist, magnetically pulled towards the residual heat.

“Well, there goes the generator” Pike’s now alert expression flickered ominously against the backdrop of billowing smoke and flickering flames. “I’d be thankful for the warmth if it didn’t promise to extinguish so quickly” he surmised, already bracing against the frigid winds.

You both stood in the doorway, thankful to be with one another, but desperate to be anywhere else, as it seemed Christmas, and your very survival was immediately going up in flames. “What do we do now?” you questioned, looking into Pike’s determined face and hoping upon hopes he would manage to offer yet another solution.

“I don’t know” he acquiesced. “We’re just gonna have to find some other way of keeping warm”.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

Pedro, Painter, Poet

Gosh, I don't know what happened. With all "The Uninvited" and "Gladiator 2" buzz, I wanted some special alone time with Marcus Moreno. Check out my recent fic, and I hope everyone has a glorious Thanksgiving! This boy gives us so much to be grateful for!

Ode to Gratitude by Pablo Neruda

Thanks to the word that gives thanks. Thanks to the gratitude for how excellently the word melts snow or iron. The planet seemed full of threats until soft as a translucent feather, or sweet as a sugary petal, from lip to lip, it passed, thank you, magnificent, filling the mouth, or whispered, hardly voiced, and the soul became human again, not a window, some clear shine penetrated the forest: it was possible again to sing beneath the leaves. Gratitude, you are medicine opposing scorn’s bitter oxides, light melting the cruel altar. Perhaps you are also the carpet uniting the most distant men, passengers spread out through nature and the jungle of unknown men, merci, as the delirious train penetrates a new country, eradicating frontiers, spasibo, joined with the sharp-cusped volcanoes, frost and fire, thanks, yes, gracias, and the earth turns into a table, a single word swept it clean, plates and cups glisten, forks jingle, and the flatlands seem like tablecloths. Thanks, gracias, you travel and return, you rise and descend. It is understood, you don’t permeate everything, but where the word of thanksgiving appears like a tiny petal, proud fists hide and a penny’s worth of a smile appears.

*transcribed for background in English/Spanish

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

Final Family Dinner!

This has been a glorious Thanksgiving Season, punctuated by "The Uninvited", "Gladiator 2" and PEDRO PASCAL! We have MUCH to be grateful for! Enjoy your snacks for our final Pedro's Holiday Feast, and don't forget to drop by our past dinners if you want seconds! Smut abounds, so minors, stay at the kids table please....

Appetizer

@dornish-queen has done it again!

Entree

"Thanksgiving Delights" @pedges-world

Charcuterie Board

"Pedro Lisa and the Turkey" @dornish-queen

Dessert

"Peach and Apple Pie" @pedges-world

Amuse Bouche

@pedges-world

Thanks to everyone who participated this season! I hope, whatever you are doing for the holidays, it involves as much gratitude and smut as possible. Pedge loves you! And so do I :)

*thanks @bernardsbendystraws for the cool dividers!

Thanksgiving Delights

This is part of our Pedro's Holiday Feast Celebration! Join us for a final Family Dinner this Sunday and stay tuned for the Thanksgiving Day Reveal of "Pike's Place; Love Actually"!

Triggers: I wanted to explore the praise kink for Thanksgiving, midst a Moreno marriage, post tryptophane haze. Smut, praise kink, marital bliss, hiding from the kiddos, oral f receiving, P in V committed relationship, profanity...food? I think that covers it...May we all continue to be grateful...

Closing your eyes in exhaustion you sank down on the mattress of the master bedroom, dangling your feet over the edge. Thank God. Thanksgiving was DONE. You sighed with relief, hearing the echoing shouts of your small family, starting the annual video game marathon tradition and allowing you a small respite.

You smiled with acknowledgement, assured that Marcus would have already put away the leftovers and begun the unenviable task of dishwashing, as you had doubled down on the Thanksgiving festivities. There was turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberry sauce, a charcuterie board, apple cider, date nut bread…and a cooling pumpkin pie as an encore. But, rubbing your sore muscles you had to acquiesce, the preparations were getting harder. You loved providing for your small family, and had no extenuating responsibilities, but your mid-life awakening came with an additional set of aches and pains.

Your eyes were still closed, but you heard the familiar baritone of your loving husband echoing down the hallway, “Everybody start without me, your mom and I need a nap….and don’t eat that pumpkin pie till you clear level five, AT LEAST!” he shouted good naturedly, nosing his way into the bedroom you had shared for more than ten years. “Any casualties of war?” he softly intoned, closing the door gently. If your eyes had been opened you might have noticed him surreptitiously locking it, but currently you were floating in a fatigue fueled haze of drowsiness.

“Hmmm…?” you muttered, hopeful that a cuddle session was about to ensue…or at least that the dishes were already done. The mattress dipped under his weight, as he collapsed next to you, his feet nudging yours.

“I’m fullllll” he groaned, resting a hand on your thigh languidly as you rubbed at your eyes tiredly.

“It was good, right?” you knowingly smirked, turning your head to the side and finding him already staring at you. You gazed into his eyes that were crinkling with joy and tryptophane, drawing a finger across his forehead and admiring the wrinkles that had developed over the last several years. If you squinted (as you often needed to now, in your 40’s) you could see a hint of the salt and pepper dotting his beard and fringes of hair. What a fox. How had you gotten so lucky?

“Honey, you outdid yourself this year” he stifled a yawn, moving his hand up your thigh and resting it on your softened tummy, which gurgled in response. You giggled, surprised, curling up into a ball and turning your body towards his.

“What did you like best?” you sparkled, noticing the small hole in the armpit of his gray shirt. You made a mental note to purchase some new undershirts at your next store run.

“I like the chef the best” he teased, his scruffy beard scratching at the crook of your neck as you hummed contentedly.

“Happy Thanksgiving” you whispered, expecting to drift into a happy nap before joining the kiddos in their evening games.

“You know…” Marcus began, interrupting your reverie, “I’ve been feeling particularly….thankful for my wife this holiday season…”. Your eyes flew open in curiosity.

“Oh honey, I’m so grateful for everything you do for me and the kids…and well, everyone. That’s one of the many reasons why I married you…” you drifted off a bit, returning to your sleepy, disjointed mindset.

Marcus cleared his throat tentatively, slowly moving his hand across your midriff and cupping your backside with one hand. Your eyebrows crinkled, unexpectedly aroused, but still tired and now moving your own hand in lazy circles across his back.

“I was…kind of hoping we had time for…dessert…” he sounded a bit bashful with his request, as you responded, “You can’t possible want that pumpkin pie NOW…” you joked, eyes still closed. Marcus swallowed so loudly, you finally understood his intention, cocking one eyebrow quizzically.

“Honeyyyyyy…” you moaned, “I’ve been up since 6am, I’m not sure I have a shred of energy left…even for THAT” you jested, poking him in the stomach with one finger.

“What if…I did all the work?” his eyes were a sea of warmth and love, and you felt yourself getting lost in the magnetism of his pining.

“Is this gonna involve whipped cream, because I’m pretty sure I forgot that on my grocery list this year” you smiled.

“Only if you want it to” he sank down to his knees on the carpet, tugging lightly at the sweat pants you were wearing.

“Baby, you can’t be serious” you sat up on your forearms looking at his puppy dog face that was now resting on your knee, and pouting adorably. “How are you still hungry?”

He shrugged boyishly, a wide grin spreading across his face and tapping at your hips excitedly. You heaved a sigh of happy resignation as he shimmied your sweatpants off seductively, his eyes glistening a deeper shade of black. “Did you lock the door Casanova?” you questioned, enjoying the glazed look sinking into his countenance as he peppered kisses across your knees and up your thighs.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, sweet pea” he mumbled into your upper thigh as your knees unexpectedly clamped around his head.

His hands shot up in the air placatingly, “I surrender!” he muttered, practically encased in your womanhood, as you released your grip immediately.

“Oh my God, we’ve been so busy lately, and the holidays…she’s not…She’s not…manicured. Just come up here and make out with me already. You don’t even have to brush your teeth…” you attempted to deflect, but your husband wasn’t easily dissuaded.

“Don’t care about that” he moaned into your clothed pussy, a thin layer of lace acting as the only barrier between his desires and you.

“Ohhhhh” a sinful moan escaped your lips as you fell back onto the bed. Good God. How long had it been? You were extremely happy in your marriage, but circumstances never really slowed down. Sometimes you worried you weren’t performing your marital duties enough, but Marcus never complained. It was often the last thing on your mind, but not in this moment. In this moment, Marcus was invading EVERY fatigued crack and recess of your mind and body. His tongue flattened and lapped against the material of your underwear creating a mind numbing electricity of friction.

You gasped heatedly, parting your legs for better access and gripping at his hair greedily. “Ohhhhh gawwwwwd” you sighed, every thought fluttering out of your head in relaxed euphoria, as Marcus paused in his ministrations.

You gulped with slight embarrassment, your eyes shooting over to the locked door and hearing your children yelping with excitement and frivolity. Your hand flew up over your head grabbing a pillow and stuffing it to your face. No going back now. This was going to be a Thanksgiving to remember. Marcus dove back in, his hands easily moving your underwear to one side and circling the pointed spear of his tongue around your clit, pulsing forward after every circumference. He was everywhere. He kept shifting directions and then flattening his tongue, licking a devastating stripe from the base of your fourchette up to the tip of your heat until you couldn’t think straight. You were writhing and moaning and began clawing at the pillow, biting into it to dull your sighs of pleasure, but Marcus knew your body like the back of his hand. You really had no chance whatsoever. A primal swirling sensation was whipping you into submission, already tired from the day’s festivities, you could have come on his tongue in a matter of minutes. But then he was pausing and breathing heavily, a welcome respite from the onslaught of passion, somehow leaving you simultaneously relieved and wanting.

“Is it time for the whipped cream?” you asked, a lazy smirk dotting your face, as you tried to get your bearings.

Marcus smiled, the glisten of your arousal coating his lips and beard like a sugar glaze as he hungrily crawled up your body, looking into your eyes.

“Want to see my girl” he rasped, wiping his face on your stomach and biting at your breasts over the comfy t-shirt you were wearing.

“Is that so?” you drawled, his hand cupping the back of your neck and holding the weight of your head against it.

“Want to show how thankful I am, to the mother of my children” he graveled, unzipping his jeans in one motion as you helped pull them down to his knees. “Can’t wait another second…” he pulled his length out, notching it at the tip of your entrance. A shock of electricity bolted through your body as you struggled to keep your hips level. “Want to give you everything you give me” he nearly croaked, sheathing himself in you slowly as your hand flew up to your mouth in restraint. At this rate, the neighbors were going to hear, if you couldn’t control….

“Made for me…pretty girl” he started to unravel, looking into your face and beginning to pump in and out rhythmically. You bit down on the top of your hand, now moving your hips in synchronicity with his.

“I love watching you come apart for me…all mine…just for me” he stated absentmindedly, watching your eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Good girl, good girl…” he repeated his mantra with every thrust, drawing you closer and closer to your release. Wow, wow, wow. Thank God for Thanksgiving. You searched for any thread of control you could find, now gripping at the sheets desperately, and finding none. Good girl. Good girl.

“You’re (I’m) close” you muttered nearly at the same time, your body pulsing and fluttering around him in ecstasy. He grabbed at your backside, drawing your hips up into him and moving faster.

“Are you going to cum for me, now? Are you my good girl?” he growled, your eyes shooting open with surprise. You were. You were going to come for him. The tendrils of your orgasm were already wrapping themselves around your abdomen, and bubbling to the surface. You couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop. You wanted more. More. More. More.

Your body lurched a couple times in agonizing climax as your eyes glazed over in enjoyment. Watching Marcus bite at his lower lip, a thin sheen of sweat dotting his forehead as you cascaded in one, two….THREE. The world exploded in a ball of light and love, your mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. You tried to wriggle out of his steely grasp, but he pumped into you voraciously, not letting up. Blearily wondering how much more ecstasy you could take, you felt his hips stutter and still, as his own release filled you with warmth and contentment. After a few more moments of delight, he collapsed next to you, breathing heavily and wiping at his forehead. You whined happily, somehow satiated AND hungry, turning your body towards his.

“Wowwwwww, baby” you nuzzled into his side, nipping at his earlobe with your mouth, completely blissed out. “That was…wow” you couldn’t articulate anything, just happily buzzing next to your husband and hearing the echoing pandemonium of the living room drift back into your awareness.

“Happy Thanksgiving” he mumbled into your breastbone, a contented and sleepy expression dotting his face as you smiled back.

“Thaaaaaaank youuuuuu” you giggled, pulling his face to yours in a sloppy kiss and sighing into his mouth happily.

“Mmmmm….” he moaned, stroking your back with the tips of his fingers and relaxing against your body. You held each other contentedly for several minutes, flickering between consciousness and a hazy warmth. Finally opening your eyes in gratitude, you found him staring at you fixedly once again.

“This is the life I dreamed of” he whispered, his eyes glistening with tears, drawing a thumb to your mouth in supplication.

“Me too” you smiled softly, pecking gently at his lips and lying back on the bed.

“Time for seconds?” he grinned, placing a hand across your sternum and inching closer.

“Seconds? We haven’t even had the pumpkin pie yet!” you teased, latching a finger at the base of his hole-y undershirt.

“Wasn’t talking about pumpkin pie…” he laughed, burying his face in your stomach as you wrapped your legs around him tightly.

*thanks @bernardsbendystraws for the cool dividers!

Pedro's Holiday Feast Family Dinner #2

Hey folks! Welcome to our second Family Dinner! I can't believe Thanksgiving is next week, but don't forget to keep tagging @pedges-world and #pedrosholidayfeast for all of your yummy treats! Let the feasting continue!

Appetizer

This is my first Thanksgiving on Tumblr, but shoutout to @dornish-queen for this fun Fall Artwork. I personally will forever envision the traditional holiday with this new vibe...

Entree

Check out this fun Fall Mini-Series with a special Thanksgiving Episode by @corazondebeskar-reads!

Dessert

I couldn't help myself, and assembled a special Thanksgiving Mood Board :)

Amuse-Bouche

@dornish-queen Has done it again! Pedge...I think...they're behind you...A little something for the road...

*thanks @bernardsbendystraws for the cool dividers!

In case anyone is still hungry, double back for seconds at our First Family Dinner, and join us next week for a special Thanksgiving Reveal! Happy Feasting!