Pedro Pascal - Blog Posts

Lakers Shirt

Oh man, I love it when our boy is in L.A, but something tells me he's gonna be traveling A LOT for the next few years. Loved seeing all the looks at Cannes, whether chic or casual. I just hope he remembered all the travel essentials....including me....

Gawwwwwd....get you a man who can do both. Pretty sure I can fit in that bag if I try....

*thanks @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! *Insta for the add-ons

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

Pedge Tweets PedgesCinema

Just playing a little catch up with Pedge's Cinema! I hope you will check out our upcoming fic for "Thelma and Louise" when Javi and J find themselves on an adventurous road trip across the Italian countryside. In the interim, don't forget to check out the Afterglow Series Javi Edition; Phoenix Rising. Pedge would also like me to remind us all to check out...anything with Nicholas Cage. Duh.

Series Masterlist

Baby's Beats

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 utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your Apple earbuds and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut, substances--RPF vibes but Pedge is just my fictional avatar for the glory that is Pedro Pascal...

Pedge's Jukebox

Baby's Beats (Spotify)

*Baby Pedge, who will not be caught DEAD singing karoake in public...unless he's bored...or lonely...or tipsy.... *Pedge who cannot help himself if the Xanadu Soundtrack starts, and will immediately begin dancing and biting his lower lip *Pedge who MUST have earbuds at all times, not just to eventually secure his Apple gig, but also to listen to tunes on the busy New York streets *Obviously spent a summer in Madrid as a go-go dancer and cannot shake those groovy 70's vibes...who would want to? *Listens to his favorite soundtracks to hype himself up for important auditions *Creates a different playlist for every theatrical and cinematic character he plays, in order to get in the right headspace *Enjoys a night of relaxation with a substance/beverage of choice, whether alone or partnered with the soundtrack of the evening *When dating or friendshipping, enjoys making a playlist for his beloveds, as something to remember him during work absences *Is VERY nostalgic when listening to music that moves him, and sometimes cannot do so in public without bursting into tears *Is happiest when on the dance floor, with friends, drink in hand, pulsing to the music and forgetting his troubles *Would be delighted to learn about his future dancing opportunities with "Happy Socks" and "Apple", but disgruntled to learn that he somewhat missed his musical cue on SNL 50 Special...#heyheyheyman

*thank you @kodaswrld for the cool dividers!

@lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

In Cold Blood; The Road Trip

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Coffee and Crisis" @albertasunrise before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: profanity, murder, smoking, major spoilers for "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote, 1950's cultural misogyny, minimal physical descriptions of reader, small roadside accident, blood, references past problematic relationship, burgeoning workplace romance...

Series Masterlist

Words: 3.5k

A drop of salty perspiration travailed the distance down your curving spine, resting right at the dip of your back and tickling the remaining path lower. You squirmed in your seat against the harsh leather, re-crossing your legs in the opposite direction. Damn nylons. Rockford cleared his raspy throat, extinguishing the most recent of several cigarettes in the nearby overflowing ash tray. A dull headache was starting to creep up the back of your neck, punctuated by the flowery plumes of smoke. 

What had you gotten yourself into?

It certainly was too late to back out now, as you neared the Nevada border, from your whirlwind drive through Los Angeles and out onto Interstate Ten. This was the most unexpected road trip you had ever embarked upon, but here you were nonetheless; newfound secretary to Private Investigator Tim Rockford, and headed towards your uncertain future of mystery and mayhem. You were about to launch into one of the most intriguing and confounding investigations regarding the Clutter Family Murders in Holcomb, Kansas. Even though it sounded like something out of those crime novels you loved to read, this couldn’t have felt more real. More real than the stinging smoke as it lodged at the back of your irritated throat. More real than the rising temperatures, adding to the heat and oppression of your haphazard decision making. More real than the nausea that was curling in the pit of your stomach and forcing you to question your pell-mell life choices. But you were employed, dammit, and eager to learn more about the unknown world of homicide, enigma and investigation.

“Read it again, doll” Rockford complained, shaking his head with infuriation as he gripped the steering wheel tightly beneath his freckled knuckles. You cleared your throat quietly and repeated one of the many newspaper clippings that sat piled in your lap.

“The Kansas City Star reports that the investigators will be faced with a search for a killer or killers whose cunning is apparent if his or their motive is not. For this killer or killers carefully cut the telephone cords of the home’s two telephones. bound and gagged their victims expertly, with no evidence of a struggle with any of them. Left nothing in the house amiss, left no indication they had searched for anything with the possible exception of the Clutter billfold. Subsequently shot four persons in different parts of the house, calmly picking up the expended shotgun shells. Arrived and left the home presumably with the murder weapon, without being seen. Acted without a motive, if you care to discount an abortive robbery attempt, which the investigators are wont to do”.

The repetitive chug of the Ford Falcon puttered reassuringly as Rockford reached up to grab yet another cigarette. 

“Don’t…..please….” you implored, unfastening another blouse button and wiping at your neck with a moistening handkerchief. Already hotter than hell, and the cigarette smoke wasn’t helping.

“Sorry, doll” Rockford acknowledged, returning the carton to his shirt pocket and cranking the window down another inch as the papers rustled in the breeze. “Damned if I can figure out what the motive is” he grumbled, reaching instead for a packet of Wrigley’s Doublemint gum and tentatively offering you a stick, which you declined. “Who in the hell shoots an entire family for a simple billfold?” Tim pondered between bites, crumpling the wrapper and messily throwing it into the backseat. You could see why he needed your secretarial skills.

“Where should we start with a case like this?” you asked curiously, rubbing the bridge of your nose with exasperation. You wanted to be a source of assistance and organization, but had no idea where to begin. Maybe you could be the sounding board for his own investigative process. As much as you wanted to portray an air of confidence and experience, you had neither. Mostly, outside of the uncomfortable car seat, staunch cigarette fumes and stifling heat, you were still keen to provide whatever resources you could, but were already feeling like the weak link. None of the newspaper clippings could make sense of an irrational crime that couldn’t even harken back to a bona fide motive.

“I don’t know what to tell you, doll” Rockford mumbled, reaching for the nearby car lighter and then thinking better of it. You shifted with discomfort at the repeatedly used nickname. Doll. “There are some things you can only sniff out in person. That’s why we’re headed to Holcomb, Kansas. Get a lay of the land. A feel for the town talk. Root out whatever vile and sordid secrets those down-home kinfolk are bound to be hiding” he paused to reflect on his plan of action when arriving. “Don’t know about you, but I never really trusted a sleepy, mid-western, Bible belt town” he mentioned, almost as an afterthought before you grimly retorted;

“I’M from the midwest” you bristled, though not entirely happy about it either. Tim’s gaze uncomfortably shifted sideways as he re-situated himself in the driver’s seat with a loud cough.

“Oh. Sorry doll” he backpedaled as you answered with a curt and abbreviated huff.

“Look, just call me Red, Mr. Rockford, and don’t misunderstand me. There are plenty of busybodies poking into everyone’s business. Gossiping might be the main order of the day, and the best judgements might be waged by any Bible-toting, nearby neighbor in sleepy Finney County. But it’s no better than the seedy and polluted streets of downtown L.A. Maybe our sins are a bit more polished, but I don’t suppose anyone deserves a quadruple murder next to their slice of apple pie, wouldn’t you say?” the puttering sounds of the Ford Falcon punctuated your surprising reprimand as Rockford’s eyebrows shot sky high. You bit your lower lip with a bit of chagrin. Rockford had unknowingly stepped right into a burgeoning emotional wound, but that couldn’t be helped now. You could almost hear the sardonic bit of William’s condescending voice in your ear, but swatted it away with chagrin. If you were going to hold your own in a world of criminals and justice seekers, now wasn’t the time to be a shrinking violet. Any secretary worth their salt was going to offer some insight, and you were determined to earn every iota of this impending adventure. 

“Sorry doll…I mean…Red” the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a humble smile as you felt yourself relaxing a bit in the heat. You took several deep breaths to steady yourself and smooth out the wrinkled newspapers in your lap. 

“That’s alright” you finally admitted, swallowing dryly and tilting your head back against the headrest. “Guess I’m a little more sensitive than I thought” you wondered, reaching up to lazily twist a small curl of hair around your finger pensively. “But, that might be a good place to start when we finally arrive. Plenty of busybodies in a small town like Holcomb, Kansas. I know first hand the mighty power they can wield. An entire neighborhood of amateur investigators” you chuckled bitterly, searching through the newspapers once again for any new nuggets of information.

“Don’t suppose they all have shotguns, do they?” Rockford tried to joke, catching the roll of your eyes with a delighted smirk.

“Let’s hope not” you smiled, picking through the available research. Rockford hazarded a quick glance towards your reddened cheeks, a glistening drop of sweat dripping right down the center of your….EYES ON THE ROAD, he observed, absentmindedly reaching for the cigarette carton before encountering your pleading eyes once again.

“Sorry, sorry…” he repeated, shaking his head with embarrassment. “Read me that other one…the one with the Hefner Slaying…” his brow crinkled with consternation. “I know it was forty years ago, but maybe they’re related somehow…” you nodded with appreciation as you searched. 

“Okay, says here that ‘senior members of the small community can recall a wild goings-on of the Hefner Slaying. Mrs. Sadie Truitt, the hamlet’s septuagenarian mail messenger, is expert on this fabled affair. ‘August, it was. 1920. Hot as Hades. A fellow called Tunif was working on the Finnup Ranch. He had a car, turned out to be stolen. Turned out he was a soldier AWOL from Fort Bliss, over there in Texas. He was a rascal, sure enough and a lot of people suspected him. So one evening the sheriff rode out to the Finnup Ranch to ask Tunif a few straight forward questions. Third of August. Hot as Hades. Outcome of it was, Tunif shot the sheriff right through the heart. Poor Orlie was gone before he hit the ground. The devil who done it, he lit out of there on a horse and road east along the river. Word spread, and men for miles around made up a posse. Along the next morning, they caught up with him. He didn’t get the chance to say how d’you do? On account of the boys were pretty irate. They just let the buckshot fly”.

Rockford loosened his tie for the umpteenth time, before drawing it up and over his head with annoyance and tossing it in the back with the gum wrappers. He cracked the window down another inch as the newspapers fluttered in the breeze, eliciting a surprised gasp from you. “That sounds like the Finley Murder that happened in Holcomb, 1947” Rockford observed, as you tried to find the corresponding newspaper clipping.

“Mary Kay, stabbed with the jagged end of a beer bottle by that…Polk fella. All the makings of a cut and dry case. But nothing in the reports that suggests any of this foul play is related to the Clutter Family Murders. Just sounds like a town that has their own sense of justice, and won’t take kindly to strangers mucking around their dirty laundry” Tim rightly concluded as you nodded in affirmation.

The humble repetition of the car engine hummed beneath him for a few moments before you broke the relative silence. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier” you grumbled, searching for the next newspaper installment you had in mind.

“That’s okay, doll….RED” Rockford emphasized, smirking dryly. “S’been a long time since I’ve been around a real lady, and a road trip isn’t usually the way I…get to know one…” he sputtered, gripping the steering wheel more tightly, in lieu of holding a cigarette. “M’real grateful for your help and all, without so much as batting a pretty eyelash” he reddened slightly at the confession. “Even better if you have a mid-west mentality. I’m just a city mouse I guess. May not understand all the home-grown, Americana the way I should…” he self-deprecated, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck and wiping the sweat down. Damn hot in here…

You smiled tenderly at his admission. The heat must have gotten to you more than you realized, as you nodded your head with recognition. “I appreciate your taking a chance on me” you sniffled quietly, focused intently on finding the next resource. “I guess we’ll have some time to…get to know each other” you ventured, attempting to narrow your gaze from the broadness of his nearby thigh to the stack of papers sitting in front of you. This was going to be a lot of togetherness.

Rockford pressed his lips tightly together, choosing a forced silence rather than a continued haphazard bumbling. You gasped slightly with the finding of a report from The Wichita Eagle as you quickly read out loud,

“Officers will be investigating the tragic slaying of four members of the Herbert W. Clutter Family and have appealed to the public for any information which might aid in solving this baffling crime. Clutter, his wife and their two teen-age children were found murdered in their farm home near Garden City early last Sunday morning. Each had been bound, gagged and shot through the head with a .12-gauge shotgun”.

You paused in the reading as a wave of nausea passed over you. Taking a steadying breath, you continued, 

“Investigating officials admit they can discover no motive for the crime, termed by Logan Sanford, Director of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation as the most vicious in the history of Kansas….”. 

Rockford sighed heavily, flicking the switches of the car fan repeatedly, trying to get more air cycling through. “Just a matter of time before Finney County is swarming with every looky-loo and governmental official, if not already. M’not sure how much good we can do, other than dirty our noses a bit…” he rationalized, grabbing the carton once again and lighting a cigarette without thinking.

“Rockforrrrrrd!” you whined, attempting to cover your nose with the nearby handkerchief as he rolled the window down abruptly.

“Sorry doll…I mean RED…GODDAMIT!” he yelled as the newspapers fluttered out the window in a stream of literary nuisance as the car pitched dangerously from side to side. Rockford hit the brakes suddenly, checking his rear view mirror, though there hadn’t been a nearby car in hours. The Ford Falcon bumbled to an awkward stop as you jumped out of the car without thinking, running after the scattering newspaper clippings and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Rockford emerged from the car with incredulity, watching you meander around the highway amidst the tumbling tumble weeds and surprised desert life, placing his hands resolutely on his hips. “TAKE IT EASY RED!!!” he yelled good-naturedly, watching your curvaceous figure stooping and bobbing demurely atop your office heels, the desert wind buffeting your once coiffed hairstyle. You were just about to counter with a sassy retort when your heel stuck in the asphalt, pitching you unceremoniously atop the heated highway, a painful burning sensation ripping through your nylons and bruising more than your ego.

“RED!” Rockford’s concerned voice was a bit lost in the din of the desert winds as you winced tenderly, your palms catching most of your weight and absorbing the searing heat of the ground beneath you.

“Jesus Christ” Rockford was almost immediately at your side, the crunch of gravel underneath his foot as he lowered to one knee and cupped your face in his hand. “You okay, Red?” he nearly shouted into your face as you squinted up at him slightly dumbstruck. This wasn’t the most auspicious beginning to your secretarial career, but you were mostly just embarrassed. You began to sit up shakily before noticing the rip of nylon and streak of blood cascading down your leg. Ooops. Rockford’s image swam in front of you for a millisecond before you steadied yourself bracingly. You took several deep breaths, trying to get your bearings and lamenting the lost newspaper clippings. 

“Shit” you mumbled, delicately brushing the asphalt from your legs as Rockford comfortingly shushed you. You felt the flat of his hand rubbing in large circles against your back soothingly as you swayed lightly at the motion.

“Got the pretty little mouth of a sailor I see” he chuckled, placing a hand lightly at your ankle and surveying the blossoming line of red beneath your nylon.

“It’s not that bad” you slurred slightly, clearing your throat and fingering the nylon tentatively.

“I’ll be the judge of that” Tim observed, now touching your knee sweetly and gazing down at you imploringly. “Do you mind?” he wondered, gesturing to your leg. You shook your head mutely, licking your parched lips in confusion. Without another moment of hesitation he deftly ripped the nylon right down the middle, a fresh trickle of blood appearing but quickly pooling in the arid heat. You jumped slightly at the quick motion, surprisingly aroused, albeit concerned. “Can you stand up, doll?” he asked, looping a sure hand around your waist and pulling you towards him. Your eyes widened to doe-like saucers, smelling his nearby musk mixed with an unknown desert flower of some kind. Without waiting for an answer he brought you smoothly to your feet as you hopped tentatively on one shoeless foot, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck for support. “Took a tumble, huh?” he soothed, his face strangely silhouetted by the blinding noonday sun.

“I lost the newspapers” you whispered, pouting slightly with frustration before Rockford swept you up in a cradle hold.

“Pretty sure that was MY fault, Red” Rockford admitted as you pointed furiously at the Cinderella-like shoe behind him. He bended down gruffly as you grabbed it with possession, Rockford carting you back to the idling car. “I think we got the gist of it on the ride here” he placated. “We’re about to join the narrative ourselves, if we play our cards right” Tim professed, setting you down gently at the passengers seat and grabbing the handkerchief strewn across the dashboard. “Now if I stop acting like a damn idiot….” he stuck his thumb roughly in his mouth with a quick lick, bringing it swiftly to your knee to staunch the trickle of blood. An intake of air passed over your lips as he gazed at you concernedly, soon pressing the handkerchief in his stead. “Hold that nice and tight, Red. Think you’ll be okay till we get to the motel in a bit?” he asked, his hand drifting up and down your calf reassuringly as your eyes glazed over with fatigue.

“Mmmhmmm…” you managed to get out, as his forehead crinkled with worry. 

“You just sit back now, I’ll get us there in no time” Rockford offered, shutting the door gently to your side and hopping back in the driver’s seat. “Maybe we can stop at a diner en route, it’s still a bit of a drive till we reach the halfway point. Hoping we can get to Utah by late evening, if you feel up to it?” he quarried, watching you intently as the car rolled to life again.

“I’ll try to be more careful” you shook your head with embarrassment, looking down at the dried blood starting to mat your ripped nylon. Some doll.

“Think it’s ‘sposed to be me in harm’s way” Rockford chuckled dolefully, placing a heavy hand on your upper thigh, but then quickly removing it as you jumped with excitement. “Don’t want you to worry your head about anything on this trip. I’ve a mind to find justice any which way I can, and I’m thankful to not be doing it alone” he responded curtly, fixing his eyes straight ahead and setting his jaw squarely. You hadn’t always been the best judge of character, but after the end of a long and painful relationship with William, the newfound liberation of a fresh start in Los Angeles had emboldened you. Rockford, P.I. was a good man, and if you could be a small part of the hunt for justice, then it would take more than a ripped nylon and bruised ego to dissuade you from your task. The Clutter Family certainly deserved as much. You smiled tiredly under his watchful gaze, drifting into a lazy sleep for the afternoon.

As promised, Rockford had found a diner just outside of the developing Vegas strip. You had gingerly hobbled into the establishment, amidst some concerned looks, and headed to the restroom to smooth out your disheveled hair, and carefully remove the now unnecessary nylons. The abrasion had easily clotted, and you wiped off the excess blood judiciously, emerging to find that Rockford had already ordered lunch for the both of you.  You both fell into easy rapport, relaxing from the day’s early adventure and starting to forge a professional relationship that you hoped would develop into a friendship. Right. A friendship. 

Watching Rockford tuck into a B.L.T you swallowed your glass of milk, watching him pensively. Rockford was an attractive man. You had certainly noticed in your quick morning interview, but…you gulped defensively. Slow down, Red, you chastised yourself silently, watching Rockford drag the back of his hand hungrily across his steadily chewing mouth. You just got out of a long term relationship, the last thing you need is jumping into bed with your boss. Your cheeks blushed at the unbidden thought as you both sat comfortably, prepping for the second half of the day’s journey.

It was nearly nightfall when the Ford Falcon jittered into the Kanab Roadside Motel parking lot, as Rockford secured your adjoining rooms and carried your small suitcase next to his own. Pausing at the doorway, he unlocked your room shyly, handing you the valise and turning back to his own. 

“You gonna be okay there, Red?” he shrugged, chewing the bottom of his lip with concern. It was only the first leg of the journey, and somehow he already felt like a bit of a failure. You smiled tiredly with encouragement, nodding in silence. 

“Good night, Tim” you yawned, waving your hand before closing the door behind you and plopping down with exhaustion on the squeaky mattress. Your first day as a professional secretary to Rockford, P.I.

A dull knock resonated through the wall as you heard Tim’s muffled voice, “I’ll be right here if you need anything….”. You giggled quietly, already feeling the tendrils of sleep tugging at the corners of your consciousness. You reasoned that taking off your high heels was a good place to start, before slowly drifting into a happy evening oblivion, and dreaming about what adventures might await the heroic tales of Red and Rockford, P.I.

You will never believe it, but I am headed back your way with an exciting new job opportunity! I know you had some reservations about my moving to L.A after...But I have been hired by Rockford Investigative Services to research the Clutter Family Murder in Holcomb, Kansas. I feel really lucky to be on this adventures, though it is not without its bumps and bruises. I hope you will be proud of me. I am definitely in good hands. Don't know if I'll have time to stop by on this trip, but will still see you for Thanksgiving... Your Loving Daughter

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

Baby Pedge

Oh man, Baby Pedge is the cutest. I've been thinking a lot about the start of any artistic journey and the many roads our dreams can lead us to. Delighted to see his recent appearance at Cannes with the beautiful Lux, and relishing the fruition of so many aspirations, finally realized. A reminder to all of us burgeoning artists that the moment of success is not always the moment most apparent to the crowd. But it's nice when we get to enjoy both...

Preview; RPF

You turned in his embrace, desperately trying to locate the chocolate depths of his eyes in the darkened room. “You didn’t ruin a thing, Pedge” you began. “As artists, we get to experience all of this together, wherever we find ourselves. Our victories. Our defeats. It’s one big tapestry, and it’s nice to find ourselves knitted together.” Even in the dark, you could feel the intensity of his gaze pouring into you. “Was tonight okay? I mean…do you need more?” you stuttered, eager to show your support in whatever way you could. The silence stretched out before you as your heart fluttered nervously in your chest. Perhaps you had said too much…Had the intimacy of the day somehow threatened your easy friendship? You heard a single tear patter to the pillowcase as Pedge caught you in an unexpected and passionate kiss. You held each other, attempting to hold time further still. “Today was everything I needed, and more” Pedge whispered. “Thank you for being my friend. I’m proud of you” he smiled, and your heart exploded in your chest with joy. “I’m proud of you, P” you whispered back, slowly starting to drift into a happy haze, feeling the hairs of his beard bristling at your neck and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist in comfort. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, just rest” his voice echoed in the recesses of your mind before you fell asleep.

For anyone that enjoys RPF I hope you will check out my New York, New York Series and pair it with Pedge's Jukebox for the full immersive experience! I know RPF isn't for everyone, but Pedge is my avatar for para-social feelings, and I've been neglecting them for too long. Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

Thank you @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book!

@lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

God Said No...

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I've so enjoyed the recent foray into poetry and was reminded of Pedro's voice note via Omar Apollo's album, "God Said No...". Here's an excerpt for your enjoyment...

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

In Cold Blood; The Exposition

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Happy to Help" @itwasntimethatdidit40, before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: mentions of alcohol/smoking, huge spoilers for the Truman Capote classic "In Cold Blood" which is referenced A LOT, profanity, romance, common themes from 1959, slight misogyny, murder and mayhem! Enjoy....

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

A seedy and polluted haze drifted over the din of the L.A. basin as Tim Rockford inhaled a slow drag from another satisfying smoke. Just another day in the life of investigation, as the gears of inspection ground down to a wearied lull. Another night for Chinese Take out, thought the P.I as he loosened the strap of his gun holster and downed the first of several whiskeys. Rockford didn’t mind being a private investigator. If pressed, he’d go so far as to say, he absolutely loved it; the adventure, the intrigue, the search for truth amidst a grimy haze of innuendo and misdirection. 

But on tired nights, such as these, he also wondered if a soft, feminine body wouldn’t cushion the loneliness. Begrudgingly extinguishing the cigarette and flicking the light switch, he grabbed his coat, poised to enter the bustling Los Angeles night life before….

A phone rang. 

HIS phone rang, in the echoing and empty office building he populated with so many others. Who would be calling at this hour? He paused but a millisecond to lift the phone receiver, anticipating the tinny crackle of an undisclosed voice.

“Tim Rockford; Private Investigator for hire”. An eerie silence permeated the landline, as Rockford sucked through his teeth with annoyance. “Look Mack, I’m on my way out, so make it quick…”. The line immediately bristled to life as a tentative, high-pitched nasal voice cut through the auditory ether.

“Tim Rockford?” the voice nonsensically repeated, as though caught in an unexpected moment. Rockford cocked his head to the side with curiosity. He wasn't often contacted by a woman, particularly this late at night.

“In the flesh” Tim answered, with softening annoyance. What was this? Rockford had some Moo Shu Pork to order before this whiskey threatened his already cranky stomach lining. Maybe egg rolls were a good idea as a chaser, he pondered, waiting for the caller to get up their gumption. “What can I do you for?” he probed, shifting his weight impatiently. 

“Tim Rockford….in Los Angeles…Tim Rockford, Private Investigator?” the voice gained a little anonymous momentum, as Tim tried to wrangle his increasing disdain.

“Look doll, I don’t care if you’ve got the zorros, but make it quick will ya? I’ve got a plate of stir fry with my name on it….” Rockford admonished, wondering if he should take his raincoat off or not.

“Yes! Yes, Mr. Rockford, forgive my hesitancy. Um….are you familiar with Holcomb? Holcomb, Kansas?” 

Rockford froze with intensity, looking around the quiet, darkened room. Of course, he’d heard of Holcomb, Kansas. The recent catastrophic four person, Clutter Family murder had painted the newspapers over the last couple weeks, and the entire investigative community was alight. Who would do such a thing in a sleepy, unassuming town? It had all the markings of a robbery gone wrong, but what could have led to such unmitigated violence? Tim’s inquisition and sense of justice was immediately heightened, but he tried to play it off as the cool cat he was.

“Plastered all over the news, paper shaker. What’s it to me?” his stomach gurgled audibly as he waited with rapt anticipation. He wanted in. This was maybe the biggest crime of the decade, and chance had potentially dropped a prime opportunity in the palm of his hand.

Another dramatic pause of introspection gripped the receiver before the voice admitted, “We need help Mr. Rockford. This case is much bigger than anyone here in Finney County can muster. It’s only a matter of time before the Kansas Bureau of Investigations comes snooping into all our business, and we want someone we can trust. You know, a man of the people…” the voice confessed.

Score.

“Alright doll, how many smackers are we talkin’?” Rockford chewed his lip with anticipation. He had just finished a recent case and there were no prospects on the horizon. Well, unless you counted the secretarial search, but a hook as large as this one would necessitate two…no…four weeks of investigation, travel and per diem. Maybe even justicial glory for the taking.

“Well….we took up a little charity offering at the town hall yesterday. Managed to dig up about one hundred dollars…” Rockford rolled his eyes before draping a weary hand over his furrowed brow. One hundred dollars? That would barely cover two weeks salary, to say nothing of the cost of food and travel. He stalled momentarily, unsure of his footing as the caller placated.

“Please Mr. Rockford, I think you might be our only hope”.

Rockford held his breath, weighing the options. The pay wasn’t as enticing as he’d hoped, but the rewards would far outweigh any monetary reparations. If his moniker was attached to solving the crime of the decade, it was only a matter of time before Rockford P.I. was a household name.

“I can be there in about two days” Rockford’s gravelly voice betrayed a hint of child-like enthusiasm as the anonymous caller rattled off the important details.

“Oh thank you Mr. Rockford, P.I., sir. I can’t tell you what a boon this is for Holcomb, Kansas. We are just beside ourselves with worry” the voice pleaded as Rockford nodded with encouragement.

“Damndest thing I’ve heard of in a while” Rockford admitted. “I’ll get to work straight away. See you in a few days, Mrs.….?”….but the line went dead at the potential inquiry.

Hmmm. Not a good sign. But Rockford was already planning his next move. Grab every piece of newspaper clippings, roadmaps and literature he could get his hands on. Pack a suitcase for a few weeks in Holcomb, Kansas, hop in his trusty Ford Falcon tomorrow morning and start the arduous task of uncovering the truth in the “Clutter Family Murders”.

Now, all he needed was an egg roll, some Moo Shu Pork and a good night’s sleep. Finney County, Holcomb, Kansas….here I come.

The mellifluous voice of Frankie Avalon drifted from your record player singing the dulcet tones of “Why” as you teased your bouffant just a bit higher.

I'll never let you go Why? Because I love you I'll always love you so Why? Because you love me

You bit your lower lip, already smudging the dark red lipstick you had freshly applied. Who did you think you were, Marilyn Monroe? You were reaching for the stars, not trying to ascend to heaven with the height of your questionable hairstyle. Opting for a more humble approach, you shifted your pantyhose awkwardly as they began to ride up your ass. So much for new fashions. 

No broken hearts for us 'Cause we love each other And with our faith and trust There could be no other

You had already been to more interviews than you could count, and opportunities were starting to become scarce. For most employers money was tight, and you didn’t have an official secretarial certificate to fall back on. But you were talented, skilled, full of moxie, and today on this potentially mediocre Tuesday, that was all you needed. 

I think you're awfully sweet Why? Because I love you You say I'm your special treat Why? Because you love me

You nodded curtly at your beleaguered expression in the mirror, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.  You were determined to land this next employment, come hell or high-water, and were willing to do whatever it took. Well, ALMOST whatever it took, you noted, grabbing your thermos of coffee and heading for the bus stop. This Mr. Rockford P.I wouldn’t know what hit him, you mused, locking the door securely behind you and strutting forward confidently. At least you would try to look damn good...while you, once again, fell flat on your coifed face...

We found the perfect love Yes, a love that's yours and mine I love you and you love me I love you and you love me We'll love each other dear forever

Rockford had spent most of a sleepless night pouring over the many newspaper clippings he had accumulated about the Clutter Family Murders. Somehow the Moo Shu Pork remained relatively untouched. The trades could always be sensational, but the distinction of these reports was indicated by everything they DIDN’T say. This was a veritable bloodbath, which had done quite enough to set Tim off his much anticipated dinner. The main point of contention seemed to be the cause for such a grandiose and seemingly incomprehensible atrocity. The Clutter Family did not seem to possess extravagant monetary means. They were well-loved and admired by the town of Holcomb, Kansas; couldn’t have been more quintessentially traditional than apple pie.

What had gone wrong?

One newspaper clipping had stood out. Such was the descriptive narrative by a reporter named…Capote something…Rockford had all but obsessed on its picturesque description. 

“Until one morning in mid-November of 1959, few Americans-in fact, few Kansans had ever heard of Holcomb. Like the water of the river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow trains streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there. The inhabitants of the village, numbering two hundred and seventy, were satisfied that this should be so, quite content to exist inside ordinary life-to work, to hunt, to watch television, to attend school socials, choir practice, meetings of the 4-H Club. But then, in the early hours of that morning in November, a Sunday morning, certain foreign sounds impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive whistles. At the time, not a soul in sleeping Holcomb heard them-four shotgun blasts that, all told, ended four human lives. But afterward the townspeople, therefore sufficiently unfearful of each other to seldom trouble to lock their doors, found fantasy recreating them over and again-those somber explosions that stimulated fires of mistrust in the glare of which many old neighbors viewed each other strangely, and as strangers.”

Rockford issued a heavy sigh, dragging himself to his feet, pouring himself into the Ford Falcon and making a quick trip to the office. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with irritation and fatigue. Maybe a breakfast of whiskey and aspirin wasn’t TOTALLY out of order. He had started packing a small suitcase for the approaching trip, before realizing that most of his formative research and notes still remained at the office. Pulling into the parking lot of the building, his reliable Ford puttered to a smoky stop before Tim achingly lumbered up the stairs to his own office. Just ONE whiskey before the road. How many aspirin could you take on an empty stomach, he wondered before opening the door to find….

….the silkiest legs he had beholden in more time than he would care to admit.

The sounds of an imaginary saxophone seemed to permeate his now idling brain, as his eyes lugubriously dragged from the curving ankle up to the ironed skirt, and finally resting on the mischievous expression of an unknown female.

“Mr. Rockford, I presume?” you stood, outstretching a well-manicured hand into the dumbly, overstimulated countenance of a somewhat befuddled and handsomely disheveled private investigator.

“Ummmmm….” he stalled, simultaneously looking around the office to make sure nothing untoward lay in a public place. 

“I’m here for the secretarial interview” you immediately offered, as he kicked the door shut behind him, holding your hand tentatively in his surprisingly tender grasp.

A spark of acknowledgement flitted through his mind scape as he reconsidered the logic of a whisky chaser with breakfast. Damn. What a doll. Shame that I can’t investigate further, he lamented, dropping your hand with immediate chagrin and bustling about the office haphazardly.

“Look sweetheart, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m just on my way out with an important case. I’m sorry the agency wasted your time, but I’ve got little to no time for a person of your….skill” Rockford seemed to be bumbling with his words as he gathered the important documents and research loosely in his grasp. Your expression immediately fell with disappointment before morphing into a confident transformation.

“I’m not with an agency!” you piped up, starting to organize his desk, such as it were, and placing a smelly, used cigar in the nearby wastebasket. “I’m a go-getter, and a single gal of wit and resource. Looks like you could use all the help you can get!” you blurted out enthusiastically, grabbing the pile of papers from Rockford’s surprised hold and smoothing them into an organized pile. “Now if you’ll just show me where the typewriter is, I can get to work on notating this important case of yours” you insisted, nearly shoving him to the side and plopping down in the main office chair as it squeaked with impetulance.

Tim smiled ruefully to himself, opening the side drawer that revealed assorted contents of handcuffs, pencils, paperclips and aspirin. Well weren’t you a fire starter? Typical redhead. He winced with regret, massaging the back of his neck with discomfort. Get ahold of yourself, fella; no time for night time fantasies in the day. Just let her down easy and head towards the next steps of your future. “Look Miss….?”

“You can call me Red” you offered definitively, beginning to rifle through Rockford’s drawers in order to appear decisive, but gasping ever so slightly upon discovering what appeared to be a spare revolver in the lower chest. Clearing your throat immediately you sallied forth, brushing past his broad shoulders and beginning to organize the disastrously unkempt file cabinets in desperation. 

You could NOT lose this job opportunity. You would do whatever it took…and this Mr. Rockford could just get on board sooner rather than later. Rockford stood smiling behind you, with a knowing agitation. Maybe he could employ your services after the case, but it wasn’t going to be easy to throw you off of his scent. Maybe intimidation was the key...

“Familiar with the Clutter Family Murders?” he all but interrogated, reaching over to slam the file cabinet shut, a puff of air displacing your auburn locks and eliciting a fast flourish of your feather-like eyelashes.

“Of course” you lied. It’s possible you had read something fleeting in the local newspapers, but most of your attention had been focused on securing a new job as fast as was humanly possible. It had been a long trek to L.A. and you weren’t enthusiastic about returning to your mid-western roots, with your tail between your legs. Determined to make something of yourself in the City of Angels, you stared back at Rockford with what you hoped was a steely gaze of determination. Rockford’s glance lowered ever so quickly to the plump, reddish hue of your lipsticked mouth. 

Damn. “Look doll…I mean…Red…I don’t know the intricacies of this case, I’ve only just started. But based on the trades, the scene is about as colorful as that perky nickname of yours. Not easy fixin’s for the eyes of a lady, to say nothing of a doll….” Rockford bluntly stated, as a thin shade of embarrassment crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

Damn. “Mr. Rockford, I don’t know how many ‘dolls’ you’ve employed in the past, but I am no shrinking violet” you tried to quell the slight tremor that laced your voice. Probably just…the excitement of a new job opportunity. “I am more than capable of fulfilling any secretarial duties, whether the crime is polite or not” you nodded curtly, perhaps in an attempt to convince even yourself. Rockford gazed at you appraisingly with a degree of skepticism.

“I can’t pay you…much” Tim muttered, hesitantly considering the options before him. This was quite possibly the biggest case he had ever been invited to solve, and it didn’t escape him that he might need all the help he could get—even from a distracting broad like you. Your visage shifted ever so slightly with the changing balance of power.

“I’m very interested in gaining more experience” you blurted out a bit too quickly before confidently placing your hands on your hips. “I can type 60 words per minute and make a darn good cup of joe”. Almost as an afterthought you raced around the desk, grabbing your purse for the plaid thermos, unscrewing the top and hefting it under Rockford’s nose. Tim tilted his head to the side with cynicism.

“Travel per diem might be in order….” he considered, taking the thermos tentatively and sniffing with curiosity. This was better than whiskey. Or….better WITH whiskey, he sipped slowly at first, eventually draining the entire draught. Your mouth dropped with surprise at this new information.

“Travel?” you dumbly repeated, dropping the purse on the nearby chair and attempting not to sink down on top of it. What the hell? You had barely been in L.A one month and had yet to fully understand the transit system. Was your first job in this new life, already tearing you away from it? “Travel to where??” you doubled down, stubbornly unwilling to let go of this tantalizing opportunity just within your grasp.

“Holcomb, Kansas of course!” Rockford wiped his mouth with the back of a speckled hand, returning the thermos and now rifling through the drawers once again. Aspirin. Revolver. Binoculars….He begrudgingly thought better of actually retrieving the “breakfast whiskey”.

“KANSAS?!” the word escaped from your mouth like an accusation, trying to pin him down with incredulity and meeting his gaze with unadulterated surprise. “When?”

“That’d be now, sweets” Rockford offered, nodding curtly and lumbering out the door with a handful of files and assorted necessities as you looked around the office helplessly.  “Either way, thanks for the coffee, you’re a real doll. Meet you back here in an hour if you’re game. Otherwise, I’ll be seein’ ya…” his voice drifted down the hall as you stood with mouth agape.

He must be joking. Within thirty minutes of meeting Rockford P.I. you had a possible job, the promise of adventure and intrigue, and a questionable road trip with a man you hardly knew. What could possibly go wrong?

“Does that mean I’ve got the job?” you questioned, receiving no answer whatsoever and hearing a car puttering to life outside.

Well not if you just stand there, Red, you mused, gathering your things and taking one final glance around the office. “Catch you on the flip side!” you muttered to no one in particular, racing down the hallway and running towards the nearest bus stop. If you hurried, you could just make it.

Exactly one hour later, you felt ridiculous. Standing on the corner, with a small, humble suitcase, you felt like Little Orphan Annie. You bit your lower lip in frustration. If William could see you now, he would be laughing his ass off. You brushed the self-deprecating thought aside. Well, William isn’t here now, and it’s up to you. You heard the sound of the sputtering Ford Falcon before seeing it, as a smoky plume drifted into your peripheral view and Rockford P.I. loomed large before parking the car just beside you, the engine idling loudly.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come, Red” he smiled, opening the passenger door, and gesturing to the back. “Glad you packed light! Hoist it in the back will ya?” It seemed you had passed the point of no return, as you hefted your small suitcase atop boxes of newspapers, a small typewriter, baseball bat and other assorted mysteries. You hesitated just a moment before wiping down the dusted passengers seat and noting the myriad of cigarettes populating the nearby ash tray.

“How ‘bout it doll? Ready for an adventure?” Rockford asked rhetorically, before the engine roared to life in response. Your answer died quickly on your lips before settling in your stomach with a heaviness that betrayed the fluttering curiosity in your chest. Only one way to find out…

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

Mustafa's New Anthology

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Pedge and I think we have rounded the corner with our health challenges, but are unsure. Thinking about cancelling my upcoming round of specialists, if my body has found a happy homeostasis. Looking forward to reading the anthology this evening and have included PP's contribution below....Absolutely enthralled...

I see you late bloomer smoking just after sunrise for the first time. Wearing pants and buying pillows dropping cash then leaving them lonely in a stranger's closet. Mushroom lamp says, "What the fuck? Lemme outta here". I explain to her that first I have to go back and back and back again until I understand that I will always be in love with those footprints "Fine". People smoke here because they like me. See me sitting near the bird shit making things up that never happened. But they're cool with it. Someone tells me she was kidnapped by a man who held a knife to her neck because her sister always picks the wrong men. I tell her I was a very late bed wetter. All the other talk happens alone, never into a mirror and never to you. But to objects caught off guard by my hostility, by the shape of this grief. Eleven months and only this: I am struck by the lightning of your presence now that you are gone.

*original GQ shoot

*the Arabic references the section about wearing pants and purchasing piillows

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

WIP: Pedge's Plays

Pedge and I have been having a lot of fun deconstructing books, movies and music as per the recommendations of Pedro Pascal. BUT we didn't set up a spot for THEATER! Pedge and I would love to deconstruct plays like "Angels in America", "I, My Ruination" and "Orphans". But I'm conflicted...

I'd definitely accept write-ins as well, but I'm staying away from Joel, Javi, Din and Cliff as I want to write for them in different genres...

WIP: Thelma + Louise Trailer

I've started work on our new "In Cold Blood" Series for Pedge's Bookshop. It's gonna be a ten part series so we're feeling a little overwhelmed. Lol. Progress with my health journey, but lots of big feels over here. Pedge has finally come out of hiding after....THE EPISODE...but we realized that it's so comforting to join a television audience and fictional characters in our mutual mourning this Sunday at LOU. Feeling a little fragile over here, so I'm gonna get my "Thelma and Louise" on for Pedge's Cinema. Probably just a little 5k when Javi and J go on a road trip around the Amalfi Coast on a hunt for professional adventure. Gonna need something light after all this dark....

*thanks @dornish-queen for the UWOMT footage

Hold You Me

Awww...these cute patoots. Pedge and I managed to get sick, but I think it's a good sign that my immune system is rebooting. I've been having so much fun with our coloring book, it's very meditative. Also working on a new Tim Rockford fic that parallels "In Cold Blood" for Pedge's Bookshop.

*the original post from IG @elviralind

I know there's a lot of discord regarding the positive and negative use of AI, so I just want to transparently share. After rendering as a photoshop sketch I trace and then detail colorize by hand on my i-pad. The whole process takes about 24-48 hours. I ABSOLUTELY do not have the ability to free hand this beauty, it's just a hobby and a way to relax...

What Happened to Belen? Part Two

Grab a Latte! Don't forget to check out Ana's Archive! The largest open library in human history, with millions of books and papers preserved forever!

Triggers: profanity, pornography, smoking, attempts at Spanish, contemporary canon for "Narcos" character, fainting, discussions of the book "What Happened to Belen" which involve topics of abortion, miscarriage, homicide, women's rights, medical malpractice, judicial injustice, menstruation, harassment etc...

Series Masterlist

Words: 5k

“Take it outside” you muttered, standing quickly….too quickly, and nearly tripping over the base of the counter at your feet. Everything was so blindingly bright. Stars were beginning to enter your periphery once again, if you could just get some more Advil….Your thoughts started to slog slowly forward, as though on a malfunctioning assembly line, with your feet dragging haphazardly behind them.

“Maybe you should sit back down, hermosa…” Pena began, circling the counter to meet you. “Just get that out of my face!” you pushed your hand against Pena’s perspiration dotted chest, as a high pitched ringing sound drifted into your mind scape. What was happening? You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see straight. “Hermosa, you’re white as a sheet” but Pena’s voice was nearly inaudible as you focused tightly on the mustache decorating his plump lips. They were moving slowly, SO slowly before the power went out, leaving everything pitch black and sedate....

“Hot as hell out there, hermosa” he huffed, coughing slightly and rushing to help you with the stack of books. “So perhaps you can now tell me, what DID happen to Belen?”…he jested, the smell of nicotine tickling your nose pungently. Your stomach lurched slightly at the fragrance sensitivity. This Advil didn’t seem to be doing much, and your hormones were still raging out of control. You swallowed hard to down the rising bile in your throat, wondering if you wanted to slap Pena across the face or the ass first. “Perhaps I have overstayed my welcome, hermosa?” a concerned look crossed his face as he gauged your unknowable expression. 

“No, not at all!” you rallied, wiping the sweat from your brow and attempting to regroup. Pena had been nothing but conciliatory; it was your body you seemed to be at war with. 

“Let’s put you to work, agent…” you teased, motioning to the display case and putting your apron back on. “One of my favorite parts of the book is the description of the many women and organizations that rallied for Belen’s aid” you encouraged, returning with your book to the display counter and starting to judiciously display your books of choice.

“Excellent” Pena quipped, taking a step back to admire your burgeoning handiwork.

“At first, the word ‘abortion’ wasn’t even used in legal contexts. It couldn’t be written. What isn’t written does not exist. When in doubt, they used the word ‘homicide’. This didn’t happen all that long ago. In 2016 when Belen’s case first came to light, omitting the existence of abortions was part of the lexicon. But with the inclusion of women’s rights groups like the National Campaign for Abortion, representatives from Pan y Rosas, CLADEM and empathetic journalists, Belen’s story started to gain a voice”.

Pena picked up the book and read from the back cover, “Freedom for Belen! Sex ed so we can decide! Contraceptives avoid abortions! Legalize abortion! Save lives!”. 

You gingerly kneeled down, stacking the books aesthetically, hopeful it might grab some attention. “You know, in Argentina, as in many places the world over, you have to make noise outside the country so that people at home will hear about it. A woman’s failure to choose motherhood, whatever the reason, instantly makes her a criminal. Women must reassert the right to say no to something unwanted, whether it’s a partner, a pregnancy, sex or a traditional way of life. They must reassert the right to say no to the social mandates of submission and obedience. And saying no to these things means saying yes to our bodies, our emotional lives, our sexuality, to our participation in society, work, politics and everywhere else” you wiped your hands on your apron admiring your work.

“Well done, hermosa” Pena observed, reading the rest of the book cover, “Belen, you’re not alone. Chin up, Belen we’re with you. We’re fighting for you and for women who’ve been unjustly incarcerated all over the world.” Pena paused to reflect momentarily. “I’m…embarrassed I didn’t know more…” he massaged the back of his neck awkwardly. “This isn’t just about women’s rights. It’s about justice, and I know a thing or two about that…” he placated.

You stood quickly and immediately realized your mistake as bright orbs of crackling energy drifted into your periphery and the smell of iron tickled your nose. Pena was at your side in an instant, hand lightly fixed at your waist, as you swayed unsteadily.  “Hermosa?” his voice seemed to be coming from quite a distance away, as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath through your nose. “S-sorry, s-stood up too fast!” you deflected, leaning against him securely for a millisecond before returning to the counter, shaking your head from side to side. It WAS hot in here, and you were more embarrassed then ever at your momentary lapse. Menstruation was SUCH a drag, but you didn’t want to let on about your recent diagnosis. As if womanhood didn’t feel debilitating enough, you had already experienced years of struggle with endometriosis and were newly considering a hysterectomy. You didn’t find yourself in Belen’s position, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the helplessness she might have felt, judged by the medical community, government, society at large…and maybe even…herself. This was a piece of information you were determined to keep clandestine. Javier Pena’s eyes swam before you as his image coalesced into focus. “Did you hear me?” he gently asked again.

“Uh…sure….yes!” you piped up, immediately unsure of your response. He nodded curtly bringing you a stool and placing it behind the counter for your respite. “Perhaps my endless questions have needlessly exhausted you”. Your cheeks reddened with the heat AND embarrassment as you chastised yourself for existing. “I’m fine…just overheated is all” you huffed as Pena cleared his throat and sat back down across from you. 

“So, what happened to Belen? How did she find redemption in such a storm of injustice?” he asked.

You sighed heavily, retrieving your book and flipping through the pages. “Well, at first she had to survive in the prison system. Family visits, challenging circumstances, holidays…This was an environment she had never been in before…”. You read, 

“I kept walking around the prison and talking to women who were there for reasons unknown to me. I realized some are doing time for murder and others for stealing, and that many are inside because they covered for a partner or family member. Soledad told Belen about a young woman called Maria Magdalena. The doctors who treated her at the hospital accused her of having an abortion. And that’s not right. medical staff have a duty of care”.

Pena dragged his thumb across his bottom lip pensively, starting to bite at the cuticles. “Seems like it all happened so fast. One minute she was living her life, the next…” his voice trailed off reflexively.

“There was no DNA evidence. The report mentioned more than one fetus, and none of them were preserved. There were no records showing Belen’s admission even. There is no evidence, there is simply none. The doctors who accused her were still living their lives. The men who convicted her continued like nothing happened.”

“And I’m still in here” Belen says. All I’m asking is for them to reevaluate the case. They don’t know what it’s like waking up in the same place every day, being away from your family ever day. They’re in their homes. They don’t know what it’s like to have to file a request just to see a friend. The judges are in their chambers, smoking, drinking coffee. And they have to live with the fact that they sentenced me to this place. What happened to me happened because I couldn’t get 20,000 pesos in less than forty eight hours. If I’d had the money, I could’ve defended myself. But I thought, why should I have to pay money when I did nothing wrong? Worse still, they tried to pass off a miscarriage as a murder, seemingly for political gain. ”

Pena had run out of words, reaching into his back pocket for another cigarette and rolling it between his fingers.

“In our society, when people wan to hide something, they find someone to blame. They point their fingers at those who can’t defend themselves, and they accuse them. They don’t listen to them. These people become guilty because of their faces, their clothes, because they’re poor or because they’re women.”

“Luckily, Soledad began to identify the discrepancies at Belen’s first trial, 

“The doctor has a legal obligation to maintain confidentiality unless expressly told otherwise by the patient. The patent’s silence can in no way be seen to provide a valid ad rational motive to breach the physician’s duty to professional confidentiality. All the evidence adduced in Belen’s case should have been inadmissible. The physician’s and midwives’ testimonies were in themselves a crime. She was convicted without valid evidence. In addition, no one can be compelled to testify against himself. It is a cruel, latent and ignoble violation of this precept to use the distress of a women who had an abortion to report her crime, whether wrenched via exploited confession or duress through a state of physical and spiritual helplessness. Moreover, public interest cannot justify so inhuman a dilemma; prison or death.”

“Finally, some common sense!” Pena exclaimed, dangling the cigarette in his mouth and immediately removing it under your scolding stare. “Lo siento, hermosa, continue por favor…” he returned to delicately fingering the unused smoke.

“At the time, Belen did not know she was pregnant, nor did she look pregnant. She never stopped menstruating and felt no movement in her belly, her body was normal and her breasts hadn’t grown. She and her mother went to the emergency room for the abdominal pain. A person who wants to commit homicide—a person who knows they’re going to have a baby and is determined to cause their death simply doesn’t go to a hospital”

“Obviously!” Pena retorted, grabbing for his lighter and subsequently tossing it on the counter impotently. 

You shook your head reprimandingly, “It was nearly two years of waiting and resolving before Belen had her second day in court, facing her original sentence, this time with Soledad at her side. Belen recounts, 

“First of all, I’d like to say I didn’t know I was pregnant, so you can’t tell me that I committed the atrocity that I’m being accused of. How can you say I cut the umbilical cord? Where is the DNA evidence that proves the discovered fetus of 36 weeks was mine? They gave me an intravenous sedative and when I awoke, I was covered in blood and police officers were examining my private parts. No one looked after me, before treating me like I was a murderer…”

These trials end up being more moral than legal, ironically enough as God is said to serve in the capital. The morning in court when the judges read her the grounds for her conviction, Belen cries again. Unlike the day her verdict was read the courthouse i packed because now people in Tucuman know what is happening. “Calm down, no one can see you anymore” a prison guard encourages. Now raise your head and look outside. All these people are here for you”. Belen sits up, at first fearfully. Finally, Belen relaxes. she cries, but this it’s different”. 

“Some of us can raise our voices and have the privilege of health care access. Others can afford to become mothers. Others experience the same troubles Belen did but are less formatted because their cases aren’t talked about, and so they are still in prison. Then there are others who aren’t here to tell their stories today, because they died trying, during miscarriage. This issue moves me. A great deal. I still don’t understand how it is that in the 21st century we women still have to relinquish our independence and our freedom to a society that imposes its way of life on us. Why do we have to be the talk of the town? Why do we have to air our most private decisions?”.

Pena gulped in silence, possibly reflecting on his own private decisions, playing with the lighter in front of him. You grabbed a tissue from your apron and wiped your brow profusely. The AC had been broken all week, but it was supposed to be getting cooler, not hotter. The words of the book began to blur and dance in front of you, as you put a wearied hand over your eyes.  “What time does your shift end?” Pena asked, already aware of how propositional his question sounded, but your countenance was pale and blanched as compared to the start of the day. Something was obviously wrong, but he didn’t want to leave you alone in whatever plight you found yourself. 

Unhearing, you sallied forth. “Where was I?” you blinked, squinting at the book with determination. “Eventually she has her day in court, and things start to change slowly but surely.

“Belen starts to receive support from everyone around her at the correctional facility, online and even abroad, The organizations put together an online campaign to denounce the press’ persecution of Belen and call for people to leave her alone. The campaign consisted of people taking selfies with a sign that says are you looking for Belen? I’m Belen. Men and women of all ages, some angry, others amused, some bearded, others very young, hold the same sign and post it online with a caption—‘They’re trying to infringe on her privacy, to see her face. But what they don’t realize is that Belen isn’t just one person. She thousands! Belen is all of us!’”

Pena leaned back against the stool beaming momentarily, before absentmindedly lighting the cigarette in front of him and taking a deep drag. “Victory” he puffed before viewing your incredulous face. His expression immediately fell with chagrin, considering how to snub out the cigarette, whilst desperately inhaling. “Lo siento, hermosa” he mumbled into the cigarette, possibly trying to inhale it in one draft. He looked towards the front door, considering an ill-timed exit before taking in your pained look. The fragrant aroma of the cigarette usually would have been fine, but your head was pounding and your abdomen was irritatingly alight with menstrual cramps and distress.

“Take it outside” you muttered, standing quickly….too quickly, and nearly tripping over the base of the counter at your feet. Everything was so blindingly bright. Stars were beginning to enter your periphery once again, if you could just get some more Advil….Your thoughts started to slog slowly forward, as though on a malfunctioning assembly line, with your feet dragging haphazardly behind them.

“Maybe you should sit back down, hermosa…” Pena began, circling the counter to meet you.

“Just get that out of my face!” you pushed your hand against Pena’s perspiration dotted chest, as a high pitched ringing sound drifted into your mind scape. Oh shit, what was happening? You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see straight.

“Hermosa, you’re white as a sheet” but Pena’s voice was nearly inaudible as you focused tightly on the mustache decorating his plump lips. They were moving slowly, SO slowly before the power went out, leaving everything pitch black and sedate.

This was the WORST mattress you had ever been on, including the taut pillows. It felt hard as a rock. To say nothing of the nicotine infused fragrance of whatever hotel room you found yourself in. Your eyes blinked open hazily, taking in your surroundings. Why did this hotel room look exactly like a Barnes and Nobles?

“There she is” Pena’s voice was amplified to that of a megaphone as the tingling sensation in your arms and legs started to dissipate. You squinted up into the bright lights of the ceiling as Pena’s concerned expression drifted into your line of sight. You licked your lips to say something, but your mouth was as dry as cotton. Were you on the floor?

“Power outage?” you heard your voice rasp quietly, attempting to take stock of the situation.

“I guess you could say that” Pena chuckled softly, running a hand across your forehead. Oh my God, did you have your head on his thigh? You tried to sit up, but felt as heavy as an anvil, as he placed a hand behind your neck. “You sort of had a personal power outage, before fainting into my arms, hermosa” he smiled. “Had me worried, I nearly called the police”. You sank back down against his lap for a second, waiting for the disorientation to pass. “I’m a total ass, no more cigarettes this time, I promise” he apologized, placing a heavy hand on your forehead appraisingly before shrugging with helplessness. “This seemed preferable to books for pillows” he chuckled, the tinge of worry in his voice evident.

“Well this is embarrassing” you finally smirked, focused on breathing deeply and bringing your knees up slightly underneath you.

“Mierda…” he encouraged, leaning against the wall and finally relaxing. “It is your time of the month, no?”. You froze with apprehension at the intimacy of his observation, but quickly relaxed against his thigh once again.

“Guilty as charged” your cheeks blushed with a crimson hue. This had to be the strangest work day in the history of employment. You found yourself surprisingly grateful that you weren’t alone.

“You’re not the first woman I’ve made faint” Pena tried to tease as you scoffed good-naturedly. You took a look around at the smattering of books littering the floor. “You managed to bring down half the display case with you however” he noted, straining to reach for the copy of “What Happened to Belen” before settling back against the wall. You both sat in silence for a minute or two, thankful that no customers were entering the bookshop, as Pena thumbed through the book introspectively. You were surprised at the tenderness in his voice as he started to read Belen’s words to her supporters, 

“Greetings to all the women, to the warriors, and to everyone who’s stood by me until now. I want to thank you for making my fight your own. Thank you for standing up for me, for making sure my voice and truth were heard. I was silent for two years. I couldn’t bring myself to talk. I was scared. They told me I would get life. They convicted me on hearsay alone, for being poor, for going to a public hospital, for not having the money to to a private clinic and hire a good lawyer. I haven’t been home or seen my family March 21st, 2014. They robbed me of so much. All I wanted was help and instead I was detained, surrounded by police officers and accusatory fingers. Two years and three months away form home. They took away my life! Did any of them wonder how I felt that night? They accused me and asked if I’d induced an abortion. My mother was mistreated, too. No one cared about me. She’s ignorant, she doesn’t know anything, they probably told themselves. Even though I said I hadn’t done anything, that I hadn’t killed anyone. I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I cry because of the injustice I’m experiencing. But I’m also calm, because I know I will get justice. I am stronger now, calmer. I never hurt anyone, never stole, never killed, I don’ know drugs. I’ve worked my whole life. I always did everything I was supposed to. I will forever be grateful to every who’s helped my voice be heard. I’m sending you all my love. It makes me so happy not be alone. Thank you and thank you again to all you women. Let us all fight and be heard so that no woman is imprisoned for abortion again. ow your struggle is my struggle, too”.

Pena’s soft baritone voice hummed quietly as you heard the dull traffic sounds outside. Dusk was starting to descend as you looked up into his face. You could have sworn you saw the smallest of tears glistening at the corner of his eye before he brushed it away, clearing his throat.

“Can you stand, hermosa?” he asked, sitting upright, your head still atop his lap.

“Let’s find out” you parried, his solid hand easing you forward and massaging the back of your neck deftly. A small moan escaped your lips as you tucked your legs beneath you.

“Long day” Pena observed, allowing his hand to drift to your back in slow, methodical circles. “Is this okay, hermosa?” 

“More than okay” you realized, scratching at scalp and smiling tiredly. This work day had proven unexpectedly enjoyable, amidst an obstacle course of challenge. You leaned back towards him with a slightly dopey expression. “Thanks for your help, Pena”.

“We aim to please” the corner of Pena’s mouth drifted upwards, as he carefully stood to his feet, offering his hand once again in support. You felt a bit like Bambi at first, getting your legs beneath you and holding on to Pena’s steely grasp. Closing your eyes for clarity, you breathed in his warm fragrance of nicotine, cologne and sweat as Pena watched you intently.

“Nearly done with our story” you whispered, locking eyes with him and finally noticing his hand at your waist, moving in soothing circles.

“I almost don’t want it to end” he replied, licking his lips attentively. You looked towards the clock once again. What had started as a day of doldrums had nearly evaporated before you. One more hour before your shift was over. “Sit back down while I clear things up” he offered, setting you back on the stool definitively and collecting the books at your feet.

“I guess I can be grateful today that we didn’t defund the police” you tried to joke, but caught Pena’s apologetic visage.

“This story is a travesty” he grumbled, collecting the books and handing you the literature of the hour. “I’m as imperfect as the next man, but I joined the DEA to make a difference. Belen’s story is…an embarrassment. I wish I knew how to help”. He set the last of the books on the counter and leaned against it with dejection.

“It’s not all bad” you sighed, uncharacteristically reaching up to cup his face in the palm of your hand, and running a thumb against his five o’clock shadow. Pena’s eyes took on a new sheen of redemption as he took your hand in his. “Tell me” he agreed as you referenced the book once again.

“Finally after nearly three years, Belen is released from prison. She can now begin the long process of championing her government to make the necessary changes, 

“The warden insists before her release, ‘You need to understand that you’re not a criminal. You have no reason to hide.” In the evening the cellblock breaks into song and applause. The sounds travel over the wall and infect the women who have been waiting outside since morning. The activists from the  organizations form two lines to shield Belen from the cameras. They wear masks of white and green, but their expressions are the same; rigid, stern faces and masks featuring the words, “We are Belen”. Belen steps onto the street watching balloons float high in the sky. “This must be a dream” she wonders, but after two years, four months and twenty three days in prison, Belen gets back some of her freedom”.

Pena smiled, placing his hands on his hips defiantly, “Todo va bien”. He was looking resolutely at the ground and nodding definitively. 

“Justice for all” you agreed, feeling tears spring to your eyes at the end of a long day. Stupid hormones. “Thanks to events like ‘Green Action Day’ and the printing of this book, Belen’s government begins the arduous process of lawmaking, and she remains timidly at the forefront.

“It is difficult to conceive of a sphere more ‘private’ than an individual’s own body. The right of individuals to prevent others from invading or interfering with that body is an essential component of a private life, where personal autonomy is paramount…as listed in the Constitution.” The prospects might seem tenuous, but Belen’s case was gaining more and more steam. The majority of women were in favor of legalizing abortion, while a majority of men were against it. Belen says, 

“It’s been three years since I was released, and I feel enormously happy and grateful to everyone who helped me through the most difficult time of my life. Today, I am firm in my decision. I’m not the weak woman I was bak then, broken by a patriarchy that, 6 years ago, sentence me to 8 years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. Now I am a strong woman pumping her arms in the air and calling for an end to the unjust imprisonment of women for abortions. It’s been three years since I was released and I am here, yelling at the top of my lungs; we can do it girls, the patriarch will fall!”

“Freedom fighter indeed” Pena observed, slamming a soft fist against the counter definitively. “It can’t be easy though…reclaiming her life after….everything….”

The fatigue was starting to catch up with you as you searched the book for your notes. “You’re right, the road to redemption is rarely an easy one” you acquiesced.

“She’s been having panic attacks. Then second she walks out of the house, she start shaking and feeling faint. Her heart races. She has regular fits of crying and rage. “It was like my body was still in prison, like it couldn’t get used to me being free. They told me to try therapy, but I could’t make it to the offices, because I got dizzy every time i tried to leave the house. My family helped me with that. And when I got frustrated they would be there to tell me everything was going to be alright. ‘You got out of prison, there’s no way you can’t get out of the house. Sometimes I wake up at night screaming “No, don’t take me! I didn’t do anything wrong!” When the Supreme Court finally issued the decision to exonerate she looks in the mirror and utters the words she would like to say to the whole world. Didn’t I tell you I was innocent?

Belen hasn’t been to a hospital in three years. She still has nightmares of physicians and police officers storming into the operating room. She still feels scared because of how she was treated that night, long ago. Yet she isn’t a fearful person. “One day I’ll probably have to tell people who I am, but I’m taking it slow for now”.

You took a deep breath, smiling at Pena in repose. “Belen has done so much to change the landscape of this discussion, not just in Argentina, but internationally as well. To know that there are other women, facing great struggle, but using their voices to take a stand…” you felt the emotion of the moment swirling within you, but decided to press on… “I know I already live such a privileged life, but you wouldn’t believe…”. Your voice cracked as it bent under the weight of recent challenge and a lump crept into your throat tightly. Pena grabbed your elbow firmly in solidarity.

“Steady, hermosa” he cautioned, stroking higher up to your shoulder with encouragement.

“It’s okay, I mean you’ve already seen me at my worst…Or my most unconscious!” a sound escaped from your lips somewhere between a cry and laugh as your body trembled in place. “The author even talks about the liberation of the women’s rights movement as it relates to women in the workplace. We’re no longer required to hide our sobs in the company bathroom” a big, fat tear rolled down your cheek as Pena lightly brushed it away. 

“Fine by me” he whispered. “We all must bear the weight of our burdens, but this isn’t something you have to carry alone”. Your eyes widened with realization at his beautifully articulated point. He was right. In as much as it is our responsibility to articulate the challenge, it is our continued privilege to accept the support. You sniffled quietly as Pena gazed up at the clock knowingly.

“Looks like I’m your only customer for today” he observed softly, turning towards you and pulling you in for a tentative hug. You were about to protest before reconciling to the desire, wrapping your arms lightly around his waist, and trembling in his grasp.

“I wouldn’t have thought you so eloquent when we first met” you mumbled into his shirt, relaxing against his solid frame. Pena rested his head quietly atop yours, swaying a bit from side to side.

“I keep telling everyone that I read Playboy primarily for the articles…” he teased, pulling back to gaze at you pensively. “Time to close up shop” he brushed a few stray tears from your face once again before kissing you lightly on the forehead. The surprise that registered on your face seemed to delight him as he headed to the front door. Turning the sign to the the “CLOSED” position he caught a straggler that was approaching from the sidewalk. “I’m sorry we’re closed for the night!” he shouted through the window as they dejectedly shrugged their shoulders and walked away. He turned back to you gesturing apologetically as you giggled from the counter.

Pena helped you tidy up a bit before you headed back to the locker room to discard your apron and grab your things. Holding the book lovingly in your hands you met him in the foyer before exiting. “I don’t know how to ask this without sounding somewhat brazen…” Pena actually looked embarrassed, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck awkwardly. “But…could I see you home?” he finally confessed, his eyes a deep brown of sincerity. “Just…to make sure you’re okay…or…” he tripped haltingly over his words. It was a strange dichotomy to see such a confident man, momentarily unravelling.

“I’d like that” you smiled tiredly, taking his hand in yours and locking up the bookshop. His hand swung easily in your grasp as you headed to his car.

“So, what finally happened to Belen? Did she get the freedom she so richly deserved?” Pena asked, opening the car door for you and seating you inside. 

“See for yourself”. You opened the book to the final chapter, referencing your favorite part;

“I woke up to a message that the Chamber of Deputies had approved the bill, legalizing abortion. I think it’ll become law because women’s suffering is finally out in the open. I learned to fight, little by little and from the bottom. Even though things weren’t easy for me when I moved to Buenos Aires, I began rebuilding my life from scratch, she told the journalist who interviewed her. I never imaged I’d be unjustly imprisoned for there years, for doing nothing, But wounds heal.”

“Two days from now will be the first anniversary of the date I effectively regained my freedom. How will I ever forget the day I set foot on the street again, with my angels! How will I ever forget how much they helped me! How will I ever forget all the women who spent hours waiting to welcome me outside! How will I forget my fellow inmates and the prison guards and the night we said goodbye! How will I ever forget my family, who was anxiously waiting for me! How will I ever forget that day! Everyone awaited my return after two and half years of unjust imprisonment. How will I ever forget that was the day…I WAS REBORN! How will I ever forget the day one of my angels put a pencil to paper and wrote down the words I couldn’t speak! A year after my release I can only give thanks to God and my angels. Who is it that said we don’t have angels? I can testify today that they exist. How will I ever forget that amidst all the anxiety and distress my angels were there with me, holding my hand and listening. I am eternally grateful. Thank you! Thanks to every woman and every organization, to the women’s movements and to all the people who did their part to help me, who put on their “Freedom For Belen” T-shirts and went into the street to fight for my freedom.”

“Excelente” Pena observed, starting the car and turning towards you. “Alright, hermosa, show me the way home” he smiled, tucking a stray hair behind your ear tenderly.

As the author states at the beginning of the book, “There are many people hiding stories we aren’t always prepared to hear.” But after spending the afternoon with Agent Pena and remembering the value of your own unique narrative, you at least were sure this was a story you wouldn’t soon forget.

What Happened to Belen? Part One

Grab a Latte! thanks @timelordfreya for this fun game to "Read Your Color". Enjoy a treat before heading into the Bookshop...

Triggers: profanity, pornography, smoking, attempts at Spanish, contemporary canon for "Narcos" character, Catholicism, discussions of the book "What Happened to Belen" which involve topics of abortion, miscarriage, homicide, women's rights, medical malpractice, judicial injustice, menstruation, harassment etc...

Series Masterlist

Words: 5k

This workday was taking forever.

You looked up at the clock for the umpteenth time on this lazy Wednesday. After several hours, the second hand had moved…5 minutes forward. You rolled your eyes with irritation. It didn’t help that you were on your period. You shifted behind the counter awkwardly, the summer heat already starting to drag across your perspiring skin. If it was already this hot at 11am, you could only imagine what the rest of today would hold. At least you had a good book to keep you company. Taking another perfunctory glance around the bookstore, you floated somewhere between annoyance and gratitude, thankful that more customers weren’t gracing your local Barnes and Nobles. You couldn’t complain. The pay was decent, and you had wanted to be close to your first love; books. Here you were, getting paid to read, drink coffee and mind the bookstore, even on this deplorably hot Wednesday….

The front bell rang abruptly as a customer entered the bookshop, just out of your peripheral sight. Shit. You chastised yourself for your bristling attitude. Were you here to work or not? You smiled with self-deprecation, setting down the book of the hour “What Happened to Belen”, by Ana Elea Correa. You were just PMSing, and already anxious to get back to your re-read of the thought provoking piece about the Women’s Rights Movement. Tucking the book behind the counter, you tightened the strings on your Barnes and Nobles apron and sauntered towards the front with curiosity. 

The newfound customer had already disappeared in the annals of the bookshop, so you took a precursory lap around the store, looking for dust mites and books out of place when you spotted the bright pink, silky top stretched across the broadest shoulders you had ever seen. He had his back to you, a pert ass nearly screaming to be pinched, a thin line of perspiration dotting through the flimsy fabric in a straight line down his spine. Hello hormones. Sometimes you really hated being a girl. You noticed the wallet sized protrusion in his back pocket, wondering if his front seam demonstrated a similar bulge. Not wanting to add the description of “lasciviously horny” to your resume, you cleared your throat tentatively to indicate your presence. The statuesque stranger remained undeterred, much like his jeans which were fitted tightly to his tall and lanky stature. Jerk. You neared his stoic posture, raising your eyebrows in judgement at the Playboy Magazine that was held delicately between his fingers. Good hands. Jesus. Get a grip, woman. You noticed a small twitch in his Burt Lancaster like mustache, as he shifted his weight with irritation.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” the sarcasm seemed to drip off of your tongue unintentionally, as you caught a wry smile flash across his countenance before returning to an icy cold demeanor.  The stranger grunted in acknowledgment, without removing his fixed stare from the centerfold, his tongue darting out surreptitiously, tinged with lust.

“We have a new section that favors Pulitzer Prize winners” your tone had all the syrup of a honeyed practice, but you were inwardly shocked at your bravado. What the hell were you doing? You didn’t know this guy from Adam, and here you were alone in a bookstore, baiting a complete stranger? The already stolid man seemed to momentarily freeze before casting a sideways glance in your direction as his pupils widened and re-focused. He turned his body towards yours, almost defiantly.

“What do you think, hermosa?” he seemed to taunt, turning the pages of the Playboy towards you as a buxom blonde nearly slapped you across the face with her breasts. “Do you think she reads Nobel Laureates?”. Your face reddened with embarrassment, though stubbornly refusing to back down. 

“Maybe…” you whispered, his face softening ever so slightly in response. The shift was incremental, but noted nonetheless. “You can’t always judge a book by its cover”, the words fell out of your mouth sloppily, but with sincerity nonetheless. He stood up slightly taller, considering your words and looking at the magazine centerfold once again. “Too true, hermosa, too true” he seemed to acquiesce. closing the magazine definitively and looking at you with a new appraisal. “What are YOU reading?” he pointedly asked, allowing his eyes to meander over the totality of your body, as though still looking at the magazine contents. You shifted with an annoying arousal that you couldn’t quite shake, noticing the buttons of his shirt dangling precariously open revealing a sun-kissed, tanned torso. Stupid PMS.

“Uh…” your brain stalled like a sputtering car as he smiled sweetly at your unravelling manner.

“Pena” he held his hand out, wiping it deftly across the backside of his jeans and extending it forwards into your halting grasp. “Javier Pena” he matter-a-factly stated, his Adam’s apple bobbing strongly in his throat as a small trickle of sweat cascaded down his sternum. Holy hell. It must be hotter in here than you realized.

“Oh you wouldn’t like me” your eyes widened with horror as he ticked his head to the side curiously. “The BOOK, you wouldn’t like the book…” you rallied, stepping back and nearly falling over, but for his steely grasp that was not releasing.

“Easy now” he teased, reaching into his back pocket and soon displaying a shiny metallic badge with the large letters of DEA printed across the front. “Your secret is safe with me” he lowly intoned, dangerously winking in your direction as you felt a new bout of crimson feather across your face. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your…reading…uh, officer?” you blurted out, apparently unable to string two sentences together with a flashlight as he kept shaking your hand slowly and maintaining eye contact.

“S’okay” he offered, gently releasing your hand and placing his on his hips mischievously. Who was this guy? “M’not on patrol or anything, just looking for a good read and a quick lunch. What’dya recommend, hermosa?” his tongue dragged across his lips seductively as he looked you up and down once again. 

Were you hallucinating? Geez, hormones were a drag. “Uhhhh…” your mind seemed to short circuit once again, as though on auto-pilot. “What Happened to Belen?” your voice floated out of your body and hovered above you both tentatively.

“I don’t know, what DID happen to Belen?” he quirked, one eyebrow skyrocketing upwards. “Is this a joke I should know?” he scoffed, straightening the magazine on the rack as you nearly scurried back to the front counter.

“Oh it’s just a book I’m reading about Women’s Rights!” you called over your shoulder, desperate to regain some composure, and hastening back to your isolated perch by the cash register. Safe. His intimidating stature came tentatively lumbering around the corner, as though placating a frightened animal. “I like women” he smiled drolly, nodding at the book in your hands as you looked around the shop haphazardly. I mean, he seemed to be an officer of the law. Other than your own adolescent insecurities, what were you so jittery about?

“I recognize the name from the news, but I don’t know much about this woman, Belen. What was she, some sort of freedom fighter?” he questioned, leaning broadly against the counter and sinking his weight against it. You somehow felt protected and caged in, whilst not entirely disgruntled about it.

“Maybe an accidental one?” you observed, leafing through your copy thoughtfully. “She found herself at the epicenter of the Argentinian discussion of abortion rights, after she was unjustly jailed following a miscarriage. Huh. Miscarriage of justice indeed” you muttered under your breath, watching Pena’s eyebrows furrow in consternation.

“Bullshit” he muttered, his eyes squinting into skeptical lines of incredulity.

Your breath hitched in your throat hesitantly. It sounded nearly implausible on the surface, as you back-pedaled quickly, “Well, like I said, it’s probably not for everyone, and we have some other books along the same themes. There’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’ by Virginia Woolf. Or even ‘Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls’” you started to slide the book behind the counter before Pena’s heavy hand layered on top of yours cautiously, locking eyes with you fixedly.

“More” he stated bluntly, holding your gaze determinedly with his. “Tell me more”.

You swallowed dryly re-opening the book hesitantly. “Well, it’s not surprising that you haven’t heard as much about her. She prefers to remain relatively anonymous, and most people don’t even know what she looks like. But the international ramifications of her story go far beyond Argentina. It triggered international discussions about poverty, women’s rights, abortion, misogyny and much more…” your voice trailed off insecurely, hoping that the DEA agent wasn’t harboring a chip on his shoulder. “There’s a documentary, too” you finished, humiliated at how small your voice had become. Geez, even feminism at the local Barnes and Nobles wasn’t easy. Pena seemed to sense your hesitancy, drawing back from the counter tentatively and looking off into the distance.

“The system is fucked up” he mumbled, kicking the base of the wooden counter and planting his hands once again on his hips defiantly. “Don’t have to tell me, hermosa. I battle the powers that be every damn day of my life. Money, drugs, death. It’s all a fucking nightmare” his words hung in the air heavily, like the humidity that threatened to oppress everything around it. He nodded curtly, drawing a nearby stool up to the counter and planting himself in front of it like a hungry schoolboy. “So, what actually happened to her?”. A momentary image of an interrogation room flitted across your mind, as you wondered how it would be to have this man opposite you in more threatening circumstances. But his demeanor seemed genuine, and you were starting to gain a little confidence in your presentation.

“Okay, well first she has a bout of peritonitis that requires surgery and causes physical complications leading to a dangerous episode of cramping and fatigue. So she goes to the nearby hospital for help, taking her mom with her for support.” You referenced the book in your hands,

“As in many other parts of the world, there are two kinds of hospitals. The clean ones with plenty of doctors and nurses to attend to patients, a clear view through the windows, labs, X-ray machines, ultrasound devices, gauze and emotional support. And then there are the other hospitals where people like Belen go. Two police officers handle her admission’”.

“That seems sketchy as fuck. Why are there police officers at a hospital?” Pena inquires, his stance still wide and foreboding, his arms stretching easily across the counter with control.

“That isn’t even the worst of it” you shake your head uncomprehendingly. “Here, let me read it to you….

‘When Belen finally comes to from the anesthesia she is surrounded by police officers. One of the men in uniform looks at her vagina. They ask where the fetus is. She is still adjusting to the news that she’d been pregnant and not known it, as well as to the news that she had miscarried, so she says nothing. Then a male nurse walks up to her with a small cardboard box. inside is something small and black. He shows it to her and says; “This is your son. Look what you did, bitch.” Belen cries and shouts that she didn’t do anything, so she doesn’t know what they’re talking about. They give her water to calm her down. It is day now and she is kept in the hospital under police custody. When she looks at the officer, she wishes she were dead’”.

Pena’s mouth falls open in disbelief, “The fuck…” he whispers, his eyes growing into a steely sheet of iron, grabbing the book out of your hands abruptly. Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t want to find this man behind the barrel of a gun. You pursed your lips thoughtfully as he rifled through the book, almost searching for redemptive clarity. Maybe you had judged him too harshly as per his proclivities. It seemed like he actually cared. You delicately retrieved the book from his open grasp. “Well, she’s safe now, right? They acquitted her, or issued a formal apology or something?” he asked, tightening his hands into two balls of fury pressed firmly against the wooden counter.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t quite that simple” you lamented. “They take her to prison for an interim period that lasts nearly three years” Pena’s lips tightened to a taut line of reproach. “And she has a string of deplorable lawyers before finally meeting Soledad” you brightened slightly with the first piece of good news in the narrative.

“Wait a damn minute, how can the court imprison someone for having a miscarriage? What about an abortion? I mean, THAT’S still legal, right?” his voice was tinged with incredulity, as you remained grateful that you were the only ones in attendance for your unexpected Ted Talk. This was going to be hard to explain, because it made little to no sense.

“Argentinian abortion laws only came into fruition four years ago, and the discussion of Belen’s story was a HUGE part of that. Prior to that time, most abortions were considered illegal. Even her lawyer Soledad talks about her personal experience, ‘I had an illegal abortion. The whole thing took me by surprise. This can happen to any woman. I went to the kind of place where no one on earth would feel safe. You can imagine what it was like. Suddenly, I was experiencing illegality and its many consequences. The moment when you feel you’ve lost your autonomy, then  all your rights, all of them, are suspended. I’ve never talked about it, you know? But my kids are all grown up now. That experience was a huge motivator. Why are women put through that? If it was awful for me, then what must it be like for women who don’t have the resources? Something inside me woke up. I might never get any rest, but I would do something for women’s rights. No one deserves to be treated that way’”.

You set the book down as Pena closed his eyes, attempting to quiet his breathing. He reached a hand behind his head drawing it across the back of his neck tensely and eventually dragging it down the front of his face. “Ay, Dios mio…I thought it was bad in Columbia”.

You paused quietly before offering, “It’s actually worse in Columbia”. Pena seemed to stop breathing momentarily as you continued. “I think Columbia only ratified their rulings in 2022, but don’t quote me on that”. The color drained from Pena’s face with embarrassment. He cleared his throat haltingly.

“LosientoDiostengapiedad” the words flew across his tongue fluidly as he rolled his eyes with chagrin. “I don’t….” he cleared his throat again for good measure, “I don’t generally associate with women who are in a…family way. Or want to be” his face contorted self-deprecatingly. “Maybe I just…didn’t ask….” his face gained a dull, graying quality. He looked like he was going to be sick.

You smirked knowingly. Okay, Playboy. Maybe you COULD teach this hot pendejo a thing or two. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cigarette packet before offering you one.

“Oh, I’m sorry you can’t smoke in here…” you apologized, watching his eyes widen to saucer like imploring orbs of incredulity. Licking his lips dryly and eventually tucking the cigarette deftly behind his ear he gestured. “Dame mas…” he rasped, lowering his eyes to the ground and swallowing thickly.

“I know, it’s hard to believe such a thing actually occurred, but let me try to synopsize….

When Belen arrived at the hospital she was already mid-miscarriage. She went to the bathroom, and amidst pain meds and confusion, unbeknownst to her, expelled the fetus. Belen wakes up in the communal labor room surrounded by police and with forensic pathologists examining her vagina, and learns she was 15 weeks pregnant. She had two lawyers neither of which visited her, and was eventually held in reprimand for first degree murder. No one raised the issue of doctor-patient confidentiality. Her new lawyer does not have access to her legal docket before asking for a mistrial amidst Belen’s protestations to remain anonymous”.

“But people should know!” Pena nearly yelled full voice, gripping his knees placatingly and looking into your eyes. “I didn’t join law force to fuck around!” his cheeks reddened immediately under your scrutinizing gaze. “Well….not JUST to fuck around…” he whimpered, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Listening to her experience, it’s easy to see why she was reticent about sharing her personal story. It was nearly three years before she finally received the acknowledgement she deserved, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. She spoke with multiple people proclaiming her innocence. Look, the author recounts,

‘The following day she tries her best to get some sleep. She asks for a sleeping pill and prays it’s all a nightmare. When she wakes up, a priest is staring at her with a frighteningly serious expression and a Bible in his hand. What you’ve done is incredibly serious. God’s law cannot be broken. You murdered your son. God will punish you. You must repent” she recalls him saying. Belen tells him she didn’t do it, she’s innocent. For days, weeks, months, she will say the same thing. The priest is asked to vacate the room; the patient is under medical orders to rest. It’s a lie. The hospital no longer cares what happens to Belen. They just want her to leave as soon as possible. The priest continues his rounds”.

“Bastardo” Pena mutters before reacting to your intake of air. “Sorry” his hands drifted upwards as though cornered by his own law enforcement officers. “Would you believe—lapsing Catholic?” his impish smile disarmed you must faster than you anticipated, as you chuckled under your breath. Shifting your footing you winced slightly as a pang of cramps ricocheted through your body, nearly doubling over. “Are you okay, hermosa?” Pena stood to his feet, touching your elbow slightly with concern. Your skin crackled under his heated touch, as you locked eyes.

“Oh…yeah…I just…been on my feet, all day, probably have a headache or something” you deflected, though you thought you caught a knowing purse of his lips in acknowledgement. You must be imagining things again. Pena checked his watch. 

“It’s nearly noon, I’ve been commandeering all your time” he lamented, looking around the bookstore appraisingly. “Can you…take your lunch?” he shrugged mischievously, gesturing to the small counter behind him that doubled as a refreshment bar. You sighed with relief, recognizing the prudence of his observations. God you could use a break. Your mouth curled with chagrin as you began to remove your apron. “Wait right here” you instructed, rolling your eyes with faux indignation. Can’t argue with the long arm of the law, you internally jested, flipping the “OPEN” sign in the doorway and motioning him to the counter. You grabbed two pre-packaged sandwiches as Pena reached over the counter for two bottles of Jarritos before tossing a ten before him.

“Keep the change” he smirked, pulling out a chair for you and joining for your impromptu picnic. You placed the book on the table and began to unwrap the sandwiches, rolling your eyes.

“My hero” you winked, as his face began to beam with unadulterated pride. “Alright Pena, fess up. How much did you know about Belen before meeting me today?” you questioned, taking a quick bite of your sandwich and humming in approval.

“Guilty as charged” Pena agreed, now twiddling the cigarette between his fingers, as though toying with his actual hunger. “I saw her name in the papers and always wondered. I mean, it was obvious there was a story that needed to be told. But what province was she sentenced in? What happened to her supporters? How did she go from a murder conviction to a final acquittal? Where is Belen?” the questions rattled off of Pena’s tongue as he watched you closely. You had definitely ensnared his attention.

“Are you interrogating me, Officer Pena?” you smiled between bites, happy to see his veneer crumple with tinged embarrassment. “I think it’s important to note that this isn’t just Belen’s story. You should check out the documentary. It shows a part of the story a lot of people are in denial about; the fact that illegal abortions primarily affect women who are poor. In the movie, Belen is in shadow and her face isn’t viable per her request. All we get is her voice, which takes the form of a desperate cry. Most of the women interviewed in the documentary which delves into the underworld of clandestine abortions, appear again at the end of the film when they say with a smile; let it be law. But Belen doesn’t. her silhouette in the dark, her voice, her pain, and her story are all she agreed to share. And it’s plenty. But the bright side of her is missing. She’s more than her experiences, more than that cry”.

Pena nodded solemnly, finally taking a bite of his sandwich and sighing heavily. It was a lot to take in and easy to feel a fraction of the helplessness Belen must have experienced during her incarcerated time. You opened the book and proceeded,

“It’s Belen’s first day at the Special Investigations Unit, and she would rather not talk to anyone. But another detainee approaches her and asks what she’s in for. Belen says she’s been charged with inducing an abortion. The woman bursts out laughing and says that can’t be right. “If it was, then I’d be facing life, I’ve had three” she reassures her. Belen wants to explain that she didn’t induce anything, but the woman insists that even if that were the case, no one gets sent to prison for an abortion. It’s odd, but after a while Belen starts to feel safer in prison than she did at the Special Investigations Unit. Then again, there’s the shame. She doesn’t want anyone asking her why she is there. She has no interest in talking about happened. All she wants is to go home and wake up from this nightmare”.

“I don’t blame her” Pena muttered, wiping his mouth broadly and taking a quick drink. “Law enforcement is supposed to prevent situations like this, not make them worse” he sneered. “I’m surprised they didn’t release her…”.

“Oh, they tried”.

Pena nearly spit out his next sip of soda, sputtering slightly in surprise. “What do you mean?”  he coughed, grabbing a nearby napkin.

“Apparently it was clear to most of the correctional facility that Belen was being treated unjustly. One day, the guards endeavored to just…let her accidentally escape. Here, I highlighted this part,

‘Belen is on the sidewalk outside the correctional facility. She is un-handcuffed and unsupervised. The prison guards watch her from inside the prison and wonder if they will ever see her again. They can always make something up. They’re not worried. But Belen leaves the trash bags on the corner and walks back. She asks the guard to open the gate, then asks to be let back into the prison. The guards laugh, "You weren’t up to it. You looked like a cat that can’t be bothered to go outside” “I’ll go out when they prove my innocence. You’ll see.” Belen replies. She goes back to her book—How long can people live without air? How long? What is the measure of suffocation? And falls asleep”.

“No shit” Pena whispered, nodding in solidarity. “Speaks to her innocence” he curtly states, downing the rest of his soda in one gulp.

You nodded in agreement. “She and her lawyer, Soledad, never lost faith, but it wasn’t always easy.  Corea recounts Belen’s words,

‘No matter what happened to me, I never lost strength. I kept telling myself; I will not fall, I will keep going, because what they’re doing to me is unjust. Except for one time. There was a single time in my life when I thought I’d never recover, that I was falling and wouldn’t be able to get back on my feet. It was when I left the courthouse and my mom stayed behind. I didn’t think I’d get through it. It was hard, but here I am”.

“But where is here?” Pena opened his palms reflexively. “How did she escape? How did she prove her innocence? There must have been clues…” he propositioned, leaning forward in his chair, crumbs scattering the table before him. 

“Oh get this!” you exclaimed, rifling through the book as quickly as possible. “A social media post that Soledad noticed, ‘She felt a mix of relief and anger when she saw the last thing Belen had posted, five days before her hospital visit; a picture of her looking happy; with no belly. No one had bothered to notice that small detail before convicting her”.

“Jesus” Pena had started answering with one word responses, such was the force of his disbelief.

You continued,

“The way most of the media addresses this problem has to change. Too often, victims are blamed for their fates; they clothes, their friends, how they have fun. Deep down, the press fans the idea that “They brought it on themselves” . We need a news media that is committed to creating new protocols while adhering existing protocols and codes of ethics when covering cases like these. Television reproduces words and images that put women in situations of danger, inequality and dominance. It reproduces stereotypes. When women and girls who fall victim to violence are covered by the media, their private lives are trespassed”.

“The media is total shit” he spat. “Can’t trust ‘em for a goddam thing, unless it’s ratting out a source”.

“Tell me what you really think, Pena” you quipped, finishing your own soda and leaning back in your chair before gripping your abdomen tightly. Squinting your eyes shut, Javier reached across the table grabbing your hand tightly.

“I think that’s a little more than a headache” he softly intoned, squeezing your hand and beginning to clean up. “Why don’t you finish your lunch break and I’ll grab a smoke. I don’t want to leave Belen hanging for too long…” he begrudged, heading for the door and turning the door sign right side up. What an interesting customer, you reckoned, scouring your purse for that long awaited Advil and heading to the backroom. You decided to put together a display featuring some of the other books mentioned like “Jacque a Le Reina”, “Open the Door” by Ana Guillot, and “Bad Mothers, Abortion and Infanticide” by Julieta Di Corleto”. Belen may have achieved her freedom at a high cost, but there were still many women suffering under the injustices of an obsolete governmental system. You exhaled a steady sigh of exhaustion, heaving a new stack of books to the foyer and catching sight of your new, fast friend. His broad posture was pacing back and forth concernedly, a myriad of smoke mystically curling about him. As though hearing your unspoken thoughts, he turned abruptly to catch your stare, dropping the cigarette and stamping it into submission, flinging the door open decisively.

“Hot as hell out there, hermosa” he huffed, coughing slightly and rushing to help you with the stack of books. “So perhaps you can now tell me, what DID happen to Belen?”…

Part Two...

Through the Valley

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Pedge and I have been in mourning, and trying to avoid Joel Miller at all costs. Imagine my suprise when I discovered this image felt pretty Joel-coded. I paired it with the lyrics as sung by Ashley Johnson...

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death And I fear no evil because I'm blind to it all And my mind and my gun they comfort me Because I know I'll kill my enemies when they come Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life And I will dwell on this earth forevermore Said, I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul But I can't walk on the path of the right because I'm wrong Well, I came upon a man at the top of a hill Called himself the savior of the human race Said he come to save the world from destruction and pain But I said, "How can you save the world from itself?" 'Cause I walk through the valley of the shadow of death And I fear no evil because I'm blind Oh, and I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul But I know when I die my soul is damned

*never damned to me honey

@littlemisspascal 

@lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva

@wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya 

@schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian

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

@copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3

@shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

"What Happened to Belen?"

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Pedge and I have had a few ups and downs over here, but are managing okay! A couple WIP's, currently re-reading the Women's Rights book, "What Happened to Belen?" as recommended by Papi Pascal. Pedge's Bookshop has decided to tackle the important literature with Javier Pena at our side. Seems like he has plenty to say about it...

“Maybe…” you whispered, his face softening ever so slightly in response. The shift was incremental, but noted nonetheless. “You can’t always judge a book by its cover”, the words fell out of your mouth sloppily, but with sincerity nonetheless. He stood up slightly taller, considering your words and looking at the magazine centerfold once again. “Too true, hermosa, too true” he seemed to acquiesce. closing the magazine definitively and looking at you with a new appraisal. “What are YOU reading?” he pointedly asked, allowing his eyes to meander over the totality of your body, as though still looking at the magazine contents. You shifted with an annoying arousal that you couldn’t quite shake, noticing the buttons of his shirt dangling precariously open revealing a sun-kissed, tanned torso. Stupid PMS. “Uh…” your brain stalled like a sputtering car as he smiled sweetly at your unravelling manner. “Pena” he held his hand out, wiping it deftly across the backside of his jeans and extending it forwards into your halting grasp. “Javier Pena” he matter-a-factly stated, his Adam’s apple bobbing strongly in his throat as a small trickle of sweat cascaded down his sternum. Holy hell. It must be hotter in here than you realized.

Pedge Pose

Thank you @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book, Volume Two! I love this man's sense of fashion, art and love. Included some snippets from this family interview. Always appreciative of the transparency...

"I come from the perspective that no one can decide how somone else should live their life. I think that a person has the right to live his life conservatively or wildly as long as he does not negatively impact anyone or tried to embarrass others by his lifestyle. I don't touch these issues very much, for fear of hearing their perspective. But what I do know is that if I ever needed help I could ask, and I would get it. It was a very scary period. I grew up with my family, and from one day to the next there was no home to return to. Suddenly the idea of the safe nest was gone. It was shocking because in previous years I took for granted the privileged life we had..."

Mister Fantastic

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Oh man, we are EATING this week. It's a feast! An embarrassment of riches! I confess Pedge is a little over-stimulated and has needed lots of down time, and Reed Richards is here to provide...

The Last of Us

Went a little old school today. Negotiating my health challenges, and hoping The Tumblr doesn't crash. Super excited about Season 2 of the Last of Us coming out this Sunday, but might need to watch after the fact. If you're looking for a fix until then, check out my "Crime and Punishment; Last of Us" hybrid I wrote for Pedge's Bookshop. I'm really proud of the series and it sets us at the doorstep of Season 2. Check it out!

Until then, "endure...and survive..."

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” “Don’t be overwise; fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don’t be afraid - the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again.” “the most offensive is not their lying—one can always forgive lying—lying is a delightful thing, for it leads to truth—what is offensive is that they lie and worship their own lying…”

Fink's Phrases

Thank you @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I'm making slow progress on my health journey, but the holidays were the hardest. This movie was so nurturing, and empowering during this difficult season. I could listen to Papi Pascal all day :) Thanks for indulging my inner child...

Sometimes, to survive, you must become more than you were programmed to be. When you grow up without something you… end up spending a lot of time thinking about it. No one has the programming for motherhood. We just make it up. Funny how life works. Death’s proximity makes life burn a little brighter. If you forgot to say something before you left, they may have heard it anyway. Sometimes hearts have their own conversations. Eating the task is not the same as completing the task. Most of you hate me and I hate most of you. Everyone in here hates someone else. But here we are and here's the deal: the first one that walks out that door is dead and if we can't keep it together in here, everyone's dead. We all got one chance to see next spring, because of her. The 'thing', the 'monster'. And while you all ran from her and stole from her and made fun of her all she's been trying to do is raise her kid. She's the one who got you out of the storm, built this place, and despite my suggestion that she let you all freeze, she risked everything to bring you here. I'm a fox, I do foxy things. It's in my nature!

Clint's Freaky Tales

Thank you @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Had a bit of a health scare yesterday, but feeling more motivated and have 3 more doctor's appointments on the horizon. Pedge is mad at me, because I told him we are waiting to see "Freaky Tales" when it streams. He...yes Pedge, I'm listening....he says...that the director is going to be at a showing today in LA, but I reminded him that we need to rest and take it easy this weekend. It's OKAY Pedge, you can be mad at me, we just can't be everywhere at once. I'm sorry folks I have to go, Pedge is requesting chocolate chip cookies and "Daredevil", it might be another rough day...

Here's another version I tried, for extra credit lol...

Disability Visibility

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book and @romanarose for the Disability Visibility Prompt, if anyone would like to participate. At least for me, the anchor point I connect with on this front revolves around chronic illness. My father has a mental illness, and I'm going through another round of doctor visits and procedures that I don't want. But somehow I feel like Ezra gets it. I haven't written for this character yet because his syntax is so Shakespearean, so I thought I'd pair it with one of my favorite, perhaps applicable, sonnets for anyone who needs it...

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Let us continue to look on Love, which is boundless.

April Showers Prompt

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our lovely coloring book! This was fun to add the lyrics of "Purple Rain" and overlay an IG filter for The Birthday Celebration! Only our guy could look this good in a storm. Thanks to @jolapeno for organizing the event, and be sure to check out the hashtag #JolapenoAprilShowers to read everyone's stories and see their artwork!

I never meant to cause you any sorrow I never meant to cause you any pain I only wanted one time to see you laughing I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain Purple rain, purple rain Purple rain, purple rain Purple rain, purple rain I only wanted to see you bathing in the purple rain I never wanted to be your weekend lover I only wanted to be some kind of friend, hey Baby, I could never steal you from another It's such a shame our friendship had to end

The One That's Parasocial

I want to wish our boy a beautiful 50th Birthday Celebration! I'm a couple years behind him, but even I feel the pressure of such a milestone. I hope wherever he is, he is with someone he loves. Pedge and I have been reflecting on the gift of para-social affection and this seems a perfect time to celebrate!

Triggers: PB+ J has RPF vibes, but Pedge is just the avatar I use to discuss deeper feelings and complex issues. Pedge was feeling a little child-like today if you want to join. It also includes some sexy time and parasocial narrative. Let the therapeutic roleplay ensue....

What a beautiful morning :) Pedge and I slept well, but when we awoke Pedge was feeling a little shy. It's always strange to experience the odd dichotomy of wanting attention, but not entirely desiring it. I had a nice cry in the shower, a lovely coffee and went to the gym...

Birthdays are a great time for self-care, and I've been having lots of confusing health problems. I feel like I'm making progress, but it's lonely and scary. I wish someone was here to hold me, besides myself, but I also have lots of stuffed animals. Pedge and I enjoyed pouring our big feelings into big movement! Motion and emotion are LOTION! Pluuuuus, we were looking forward to our afternoon plans...

We went to the library and bought a bazillion books! It cost $6. We asked a boy if he was ghosting us. We talked to the librarian about "Crime and Punishment". We've been a bit worried about finances and professional plans, but it's okay to sit with uncomfortable emotions. Especially when you have a lavendar latte.

I was imagining what Pedro is doing today. Did he wake up with someone he loves? He seems to avoid holidays, did he plan a party and then pretend to complain about it? What am I going to plan for my birthday this year? Will I get to travel to Ireland in the fall? Are enough people posting about him today? Pedge is still feeling shy, but happy he was getting so much attention from me. Lol.

Then we came back home for our afternoon plans :) My doctor assured me all sexy time maneuvers are on the table and Pedge and I have a new...toy. Pedge was VERY supportive in our pleasurable endeavors. I get distracted even by imaginary Pedro, so Pedge just used his voice, and then joined me for our afterglow. It was very pretty. I wished him a happy birthday in every imaginative way I knew how.

I gave some more availability to my job. I got a letter from the IRS. I'm sitting on the floor with my new books, for another smushy cry. Maybe I will get a SECOND coffee!!!??? Maybe I will draw. Maybe I will call my parents. Maybe I will do a Lego Set! I have so much supportive friends in real life, but they can't be with me all the time. I'm learning how to love without entitlement, and Pedge is helping me.

Pedge is very pleased with our quiet birthday celebration when we can cry, create and drink coffee as much as we want. We might have some chocolates or write some. Pedge went with me to my doctor's appointment yesterday so it wasn't so scary. I hope I'm showing my gratitude enough on his birthday and that he feels loved :) I certainly do.

In closing, Pedge and I would like to wish our beloved, Pedro Pascal, the bestest of birthdays that have ever been. I can't believe we get to exist on the planet at the same moment of perception. L'chaim! To life and Love and all that is between.

Pedge's Cinema; All About Eve

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I have been doubly inspired, writing the sequel for Pedge's Cinema; All About Eve. It was fun to take this coloring page and overlay it on some of Pedro's favorite movie posters. There are several more installments on the horizon, I hope you will enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Javi's Afterglow

A huge thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book :) The last week has been so great for me personally. After six months of health challenges I'm finally starting to make some progress because of my own advocacy. But that also led to voicing uncomfortable conversations with friends and professionals, and that's tough. Lost a best friend. Paused a job. Pedge and I feel some stories ending, but I don't know which roads I'm excited to take alone. Maybe that can be the exciting part. With the end of every journey comes the start of a new one, and I've sat at home for long enough. Javi knows how to take the big swings, and so do I...

I've found elements of the POC Tumblr discussion very interesting, and as a queer Jewish woman there are some specific ways I want to celebrate and recalibrate. The first time I posted this artwork the color scheme was....off. It wasn't intentional, but somehow I didn't quite capture our Chilean sun-god and it kept annoying me. So I re-did it, and included one of my favorite Javi fics I've written for the Afterglow Series (#irony).

Let us all continue to fully experience Love to the best of our ability. And as Javi would say, "Whether you like it or not, you have a gift; and that gift brings light and joy to an increasingly… dark and broken world! And to turn your back on that gift is to turn your back on the… entire human race!".

And Pedge definitely feels that.

The Trailer; All About Eve

Trailer: Inspired by the @auteurdelabre VHS Club, we are going to deconstruct these favorite movies and write some analogous fics taboot. Javi will be our theatrical custodian, but other Pedro Boys might join us for cameo appearances....

Concessions Stand: Don't forget to grab your sweet treat before heading into Pedge's Cinema. Check out "The Unbearable Weight of Perfection" by @wardenparker which should fit the bill nicely....

Triggers: This was a lot more complicated than I realized; spoilers for "All About Eve" (dialogue usage), no smut but romantic situations, discussion of ageism/misogyny, male infantilism if you squint (?)...

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5k

The week of acclimation had blearily raced past in happy contentment, and most of that was due to your newfound friendship with Javi. Italy was a close second. Since that first fateful encounter at the local movie house, you and Javi had become fast friends. Setting up a happy rapport of tourism and conversation had motivated the entirety of your summer stay. Every single morning, Javi arrived with two espressos, occasionally befriended by the local pastry options and after reviewing the evening movie choices, Javi would whisk you to the first of many cinematic locations. Visiting Venice and hearing about “Three Coins In the Fountain”. Touring the Vatican and talking about “Roman Holiday”. And enjoying gelato while Javi waxed philosophical about the Italian centered Nicholas Cage movie “Time to Kill”…which was actually about Ethiopia. Your friendship was like something out of a movie, and you relished every morsel of it. But this had done nothing to prepare you for the start of your Summer Internship. Having flitted away this “week of preparation” you found yourself on the doorstep of your next excited academic exploration, with little to no idea of what it might entail.

“I think we should take the students to all of these important cinematic locations!” Javi exclaimed, plopping down on the living room couch and beating clouds of dust out of the nearby pillows. Coughing and sputtering in allergic response, you opened the nearby veranda windows to the sunlight of the day.

“Are you my newfound TA for these events?” you jested, sipping your espresso tentatively as Javi had already inhaled his.

“Absolutely! Would you like that for your first day of class, Principessa? You don’t have to tell me how nervous you are…” Javi pouted, drawing the pillow up to him like a baby he was trying to cuddle. You stomach lurched with excited anticipation. You WERE nervous to meet the students and begin classes, but you were also excited to be working with your colleagues and gaining artistic insight into the rich history of cinema and storytelling.

“That’s VERY sweet of you Javi, but I know you have your big meeting tomorrow. I don’t want you to miss it…”.

“Are you talking about my very important industry meeting with international superstar and personal friend, Nicholas Cage?” Javi’s smile delightfully curled at his lips as you sat across from him on the couch, playfully propping your feet up on his lap.

“Oh I’m sorry, are you friends with THE Nick Cage?” you taunted, poking him slightly in the stomach and watching him crumple with embarrassment.

“Don’t tease me Principessa, we’re just meeting on the Skype. Besides, I’m still waiting for you to read our screenplay. I want all of your thoughts on the narrative quality of our story. Of course, Nicholas Cage will star” Javi’s eyes widened to an imploring gravitas as you shook your head with incredulity.

“I AM excited to read it Javi, but you haven’t given me half a moment! We’ve been bouncing from one tourist attraction to another…not that I’m complaining” you observed, rubbing your calves mournfully from all the walking Europe seemed to motivate.

“Would you like for me to recite it, right now?” he questioned, reaching over to massage the base of your foot, before you dissolved into a fit of laughter at the tickling sensation.

“I kind of hate to say this, but I think you need to go away for the next few hours. I need to plan my curriculum, organize my collegiate schedule for colleague introductions and…apparently read a screenplay this afternoon” you launched a pillow good-naturedly at Javi’s head as he began to sulk.

“But we have not yet been to the Trevi Fountain!” Javi lamented, collapsing against the couch dramatically and closing his eyes forlornly. “Perhaps we should watch “La Dolce Vita” this evening for our cinematic selection?”.

“Ah, no, no, no! You promised me we could begin with my teaching curriculum, starting with the Hollywood classic, ‘All About Eve’” you threatened, poking Javi once again and eliciting a small growl of protestation.

“I DO like Betty Davis, though she’s no Nicholas Cage” Javi retorted, setting a heavy hand on your upper thigh, as you attempted to stifle an unbidden shiver. “Very well Principessa, I will leave you to your cinematic studies, now appropriately fueled by the caffeinated nectar of the gods. What culinary selection would you prefer for this evening’s festivities?” Javi stood abruptly, towering over you at nearly six feet tall.

“You better bring the martinis and milkshakes, I’m going to procure a pizza from the trattoria down the street” you salivated, looking towards the kitchen with skepticism.

“Milkshakes?” Javi wondered, jaunting towards the door and grabbing his jacket from the nearby chair. “I will endeavor to bring the gelato…” he jovially saluted you, emphatically pointing to his screenplay situated on your kitchen counter and bouncing out through the foyer.

Javi was a ray of sunshine that never seemed to dull, his energy and iridescence was quite contagious. You only hoped all of your relationships would prove so fulfilling during this summer internship. If there was one thing you knew from your love of a masterpiece like “All About Eve”, professional challenges seemed to be hiding around every corner, and no sooner were friendships found, then they were immediately questioned. You prided yourself on your ability to ascertain someone’s intentionality, but would your colleagues be just as welcoming as someone like Javi? Only time could tell. You took your espresso over to the counter and picked up Javi’s screenplay as a curriculum amuse bouche. Let’s get to work…

The day passed quickly as you assembled your talking points for tomorrow’s class and skimmed Javi’s rough draft. You were delighted to discover it was quite good. Slightly meta, and self-deprecating. It would give Nicholas Cage a delightful opportunity to poke fun at his eccentric self. You couldn’t imagine anyone but Javi playing the autobiographical role, but Hollywood would probably find some young 20 something to play the 40 something and call it a day. Pausing to grab a fresh margarita pizza from the local trattoria you caught Javi walking up to your villa, grocery bag in hand.

“Bona note, Principessa!” Javi sang out, as the children raced past, chasing a futbol down the cobblestoned street. “I have returned with flowers, gelato and vodka, the holy triumvirate!” he greeted you with the traditional European kiss across both cheeks as the blush heightened across your freckled face. “We have much to discuss!”

You smiled with anticipation as Javi immediately launched into a descriptive analysis of the screenplay, drawing your attention to several of the analogies you hadn’t noticed. You had just queue’d the dusty DVD to start playing “All About Eve” as Javi synopsized.

“And so you can see how the relationships ARE similar. The protege, desperately desiring validation. Surviving in a world of distrust, ambition and greed. Not knowing where to turn and feeling that youth slipping away like time itself…” Javi gestured dramatically before eyeing a few of his own sun-soaked wrinkles with skepticism. “So many insecurities in our 40’s…” he sighed, raising a glass of vodka infused gelato before settling further into the couch after dinner.

“You’ve really written something marvelous for Nicholas Cage to star in” you agreed, toasting Javi’s milkshake martini concoction with curiosity. “Is that how your friendship really came about?” you questioned, as the memorable soundtrack by Alfred Newman lilted in the background.

“That is for me to know, and you to discover! What is cinema, if not ILLUSION?!” Javi bellowed, pinching at your leg flirtatiously and smiling broadly. “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night!”

The voice of George Sanders intoned in the background,

“To those of you who do not read, attend the theater, listen to unsponsored radio programs, or know anything of the world in which you live, it is perhaps necessary to introduce myself. My name is Addison DeWitt. My native habitat is the theater. In it, I toil not, neither do I spin. I am a critic and commentator. I am essential to the theater. Margo Channing is a star of the theater. She made her first stage appearance at the age of four in Midsummer Night's Dream. She played a fairy and entered, quite unexpectedly, stark naked. She has been a star ever since. Margo is a great star, a true star. She never was or will be anything less or anything else”.

“Betty Davis is quite nearly as big a star as Nicholas Cage” Javi whispered beside you, munching on the final piece of pizza. You smiled quietly, relishing his artistic obsession. You would have thought he would demand cinematic silence, but Javi’s movie enthusiasm was often as unbridled as his general lust for life.

“She must have learned a lot from his pantheon of work” you scoffed as Javi gently nudged you in the side with his elbow, shushing you ineffectively.

“Think me cynical, if you like, but the cynicism you refer to, I acquired the day I discovered I was different from little boys! Bill's thirty-two. He looks thirty-two. He looked it five years ago, he'll look it twenty years from now. I hate men” you moved your mouth in conjunction with Betty Davis as she lamented the joys of industry aging. “I'm not twenty-ish, I'm not thirty-ish. Three months ago I was forty years old. Forty. Four O. That slipped out. I hadn't quite made up my mind to admit it. Now I suddenly feel as if I've taken all my clothes off.”

God, you loved this movie. You looked over at Javi, his eyes shining affectionately as the screen flickered light across his joyful face. A fellow afficianado. “You know, if you wanted to come by after your meeting tomorrow I could use the help. I AM actually a little nervous” you admitted, looking down at your gelato hesitantly.

“Oh Principessa, I would love to!” Javi met your eyes with encouragement. “You are already supporting me in my cinematic endeavors, I would also love to support yours!” he beamed.

You snuggled up beside him, soaking in the exposition by Joseph Mankiewicz;

“The theatre. The theatre. What book of rules say the theatre exists only within some ugly buildings crowded into one square mile of New York City? Or London? Do you wanna know what the theatre is? A flea circus. Also opera. Also rodeos, carnivals, ballets, Indian tribal dances, Punch and Judy, a one-man band, all theatre. Wherever there's magic and make-believe and an audience, there's theatre. Donald Duck, Ibsen and The Lone Ranger. Sarah Bernhardt and Betty Grable, all theatre. You don't understand them all. You don't like them all. Why should you? The theatre's for everybody, you included, but not exclusively. So, don't approve or disapprove. It may not be your theatre, but it's theatre for somebody, somewhere.”

“Did you know that the Mankiewicz brothers were both famous for their literary ability?” you whispered, as Javi remained quietly at your side. “Herman Mankiewicz gained notoriety for Citizen Kane…”. You paused, surprised by Javi’s uncharacteristic silence. Eve Harrington, the antagonist of the movie continued on;

“If there's nothing else, there's applause. I've listened backstage to people applaud. It's like - like waves of love coming over the footlights and wrapping you up. Imagine, to know every night that different hundreds of people love you. They smile, their eyes shine, you've pleased them. They want you. You belong. Just that alone is worth anything”.

“You’ve got to give it to her, she is DEFINITELY passionate, if not unscrupulous” you teased, waiting for Javi’s retort and hearing none. You looked over at Javi to see if he had fallen asleep, but his countenance had taken on an uncharacteristic solemnity that concerned you. “Hey, you okay over there, Shakespeare?” you sat up slightly, watching his brow furrow with consternation.

“Oh. Um, yes, forgive me principessa, just….thinking” he muttered, gripping his knees fixedly and staring at the television screen. Had you done something wrong? Maybe he didn’t want to cuddle on the couch, but wasn’t saying so. You scooted a few inches away, drawing your hands into your lap with disappointment. Glancing at his side profile you watched his Adam’s apple bob tensely as he swallowed hard. What was going on? Betty Davis monologued,

“So many people know me. I wish I did. I wish someone would tell me about me, outside of my own notoriety. What’s in a name anyhow? What is it, besides something spelled out in light bulbs, I mean - besides something called a temperament, which consists mostly of swooping about on a broomstick and screaming at the top of my voice? Infants behave the way I do, you know. They carry on and misbehave - they'd get drunk if they knew how - when they can't have what they want, when they feel unwanted or insecure or unloved”.

“I have to go!” Javi bolted upright suddenly, as you confusedly paused the movie.

“Okayeeeee….are you alright? Do you need me to…?”

“Absolutely not! I mean…it’s time for me to go!” Javi grabbed his jacket lying on the coffee table and gave you a quick peck on both cheeks before nearly running out the door. If it wasn’t so concerning, it might be comedic, as he nearly tripped over his own shoes, farcically wrestling into his evening jacket and flinging the door open. “See you tonight! I mean tomorrow. Thank you for a lovely evening principessa…” and he was out the door.

How strange. You were often apt to conclude that you had somehow misread the situation, but your instincts told you that something had shifted. Was he suddenly embarrassed about his screenplay? It wasn’t perfectly formed, but it was quite good. Maybe you hadn’t offered enough encouragements. You shrugged your shoulders doubtfully, resuming the movie and trying to set your quandaries to one side. You were anxious about class tomorrow—maybe Javi was growing similarly trepidatious about his industry meeting with Nicholas Cage. You sighed defeatedly, trying to release the growing tension in your shoulders and neck. If only real life could be as straightforward as the movies…

Hearing your high heels echo in the lecture hall you tried to conjure the confidence and stage presence of Betty Davis as you read her scintillating observations of women in the performing arts industry,

“Funny business, a woman's career - the things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman. That's one career all females have in common, whether we like it or not: being a woman. Sooner or later, we've got to work at it, no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis, nothing's any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed, and there he is. Without that, you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings, but you're not a woman. Slow curtain, the end”.

Your voice hung in the air as about 20 students gazed back at you with enchantment. Betty Davis you were NOT, but you were delighted to see the cinematic enthusiasm of your summer students.

“And what do we gather from the character’s steely diatribe against society’s requirement of the female persuasion?” you asked, noticing a shadowy figure sneak in the back of the lecture hall and silently take a seat. Oooh, maybe it was someone from the administration, you’d better be on your best behavior. “I think it’s incredibly prescient, given its context in the "Golden Age", you formed quotation marks with your fingers “…and recognizing society’s grab for power, dominance and greed at all costs. Even to the exclusion of the personhood of the human” you debated, returning to your notes for the classroom agenda. “Let’s move on to the topic of social manipulation and professional ambition” you noted, referencing your power point presentation. You clicked on the graphic of the character Addison Dewitt,

“That I should want you at all, suddenly strikes me as the height of improbability. But that, in itself, is probably the reason. You're an improbable person, Eve, and so am I. We have that in common. Also, our contempt for humanity and inability to love, and be loved, insatiable ambition, and talent. We deserve each other”.

The figure in the back of the room shifted slightly in their seat with discomfort. You hoped you were making a good impression. “The character of Addison Dewitt is a literary metaphor for the dominating ambition that seems to drive, not only those in the performance industry, but in a capitalistic society at large” you tried to use as much flowery language as possible. This internship was a golden ticket of sorts, and you were anxious to demonstrate your academic prowess. You referenced the next clip, eliciting a vocal response from your audience as Addison slapped Eve across the face;

“-We are all busy little bees, full of stings, making honey day and night. Aren't we honey? -Sounds more like the mark of a true killer: sleep tight, rest easy, and come out fighting. -I’m sure you mean something by that, Addison, but I don't know what. -I am nobody's fool, least of all yours. -It’s important right now that we talk, killer to killer. -Champion to champion. -After tonight, you will belong to me. -Belong to you - why, that sounds medieval, something out of an old melodrama! (slap) -Now, remember, as long as you live, never to laugh at me - at anything or anyone else, but never at me.”

The class tittered with tension and awkward laughter. “The relationship between Addison and Eve is hardly romantic, but more so qualifies as a means to an end. How do you think that contrasts with the other relationships such as Karen and Lloyd; Margo and Bill?” Shifting to the next power point slide, the character of Bill reprimanded Margo in a lover’s spat,

“-As it happens, there are particular aspects of my life to which I would like to maintain sole and exclusive rights and privileges. Like….you. -That might be my cue to take you in my arms and reassure you. But I'm not going to - I'm too mad. Darling, there are certain characteristics for which you are famous, on stage and off. I love you for some of them, in spite of others. I haven't let those become too important. They're part of your equipment for getting along in what is laughingly called our environment. You have to keep your teeth sharp - all right - but I will not have you sharpen them on me, or on Eve! -You know, there isn't a playwright in the world who could make me believe this would happen between two adult people. -Perhaps I’m not a good enough director to salvage our scene, but you must be a good enough actress. There never was, and there never will be another like you.”

The hum of the projector warmed the already infused summer air as you wiped your forehead delicately, hearing the silhouetted figure clear their voice loudly in the background. You noticed their hand raised and delightedly called on them. “Is there any hope for her at all?” the voice rang out from the back of the lecture hall, bouncing off the walls and around the interior of your heart. Javi! He made it! You wondered how his industry meeting had progressed before responding…

“Well the cinematic ending is rather ambiguous, but I think Margo Channing has a vibrant life ahead of her! Finding romantic fulfillment with Bill Simpson and recognizing her individualized self-worth is probably the best revenge one could get…”

“I mean….Eve. Is there any hope for Eve?” Javi’s voice cracked as the class began to turn in their seats to locate the hidden voice in the background. You paused, somewhat concerned if Javi were okay, there seemed to be a note of tension in his voice. Perhaps he needed some encouragement after his Skype discussion.

“Oh! That much is up for interpretation. Addison does encourage Eve to place her accolades and awards where a heart should be. But the enigma continues as we see her potential protege, already usurping Eve’s meteoric rise to fame. Ladies and gentleman allow me to introduce my friend and colleague Javi Gutierrez. An aspiring screenwriter, cinematic aficionado and close friends with international superstar, Nick Cage!” you really laid it on thick, but wanted to support Javi however you could. The class immediately burst into applause as you finished the lecture. “In closing, let’s continue to analyze the ramifications of this cinematic classic. The way that it questions industry ambition, greed, power and the double standard brought about by professional misogyny. I haven’t even touched on the queer subtext, sophisticated campy dialogue or dramedy hybrid, but that will be another discussion for another time. Don’t forget to start watching our list of classic and contemporary cinema covered in the syllabus such as “East of Eden”, “Psycho”, “Fanny and Alexander”, “Deer Hunter” and more. I’ll see you next week, excellent work! Class dismissed!” There was a smattering of applause as the students excitedly talked and exited the classroom straining to get a better view of your enigmatic guest, as he walked down the stairs to the front of the room. You gathered your books and notes, the projector humming vibrationally next to you and casting dramatic beams of light around the room theatrically.

“You are a vision!” Javi exclaimed, kissing you across both cheeks and beaming with pride. But his eyes seemed to be shining with more than just satisfaction, as you caught a sheen of emotion dotting his countenance and a deep furrow to his brow.

“Aw, thanks Javi, it means the world that you made it today, I can’t tell you…” you ventured, squeezing his forearm with approval. “How’d everything go with the meeting? Was Nick pleased with your progress?” Javi’s face immediately fell with defeat, as he turned his back to you with a small whimper.

“Let us focus on your victory of the day, rather than my own…” his voice dramatically intoned, gathering up more of your books despite your protestations. “I am anxious to enjoy our dinner and movie selection of the night” and he immediately headed out the door amidst your confused looks.

What in the world was bothering him?

It had taken some coaxing, but on the walk back to your villa, Javi had slowly started to relax. You couldn’t be sure what was plaguing him, but after a steady stream of discussion and joking, he nearly seemed back to normal as you both entered the apartment laughing jovially. You were just about to suggest an evening movie when you caught Javi’s crestfallen expression as he fixed his eyes on his screenplay sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Alright, out with it!” you exclaimed, as Javi’s face crumpled with emotion, his lip quivering ever so slightly with concern.

“I cannot continue” he dramatically professed, histrionically dropping the books and flinging himself face first onto the living room couch with chagrin. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, picking up the screen play and carefully sitting atop his lower back as he sniffled quietly.

“It seems to me this couch could use some more padding” you tried to tease, as Javi’s weight shifted beneath you with embarrassment.

“Would you taunt a man whose very existence is dissolving into a heap of despair and angst?” Javi’s voice mumbled into the pillows disdainfully. You pouted with concern, moving to the floor and running your hands lightly through his curly hair. European men could be so dramatic, but something was obviously bothering him.

“Is this about the meeting with Nick?” you offered, before Javi pushed himself up revealing his red-rimmed eyes and crimson hue’d nose.

“YES this is about my online meeting with international superstar and close personal friend Nicholas Cage!” he nearly cried before collapsing back onto the couch with despair.

You bit back a smile of skepticism before starting to rub large circles over Javi’s back and nodding in support. “He didn’t like it?” you whispered, dreading the response. Javi paused before mumbling into the pillow;

“He loved it”.

You stopped your ministrations, sitting back on your heels with disbelief. “Well of course he loved it! It’s absolutely amazing!” you giggled, looking at the prostrate man before you. “Wait, so…what’s the problem then?” you waited with anticipation watching Javi’s back rise and fall with a tense breath.

“I believe…” Javi’s voice wilted under the oppression before meeting your eyes with gravitas, “…I believe I have become….Eve Harrington”. He threw himself back onto the couch as you blinked dumbly before him.

“I’m sorry….what?” you tried to stifle a laugh, fingering the pages of the screenplay in your hands. Artists were so delightfully hyperbolic.

“It is not funny, Principessa!” Javi declared, sitting up abruptly and kicking your foot with seriousness. You nodded solemnly, hugging the screenplay to your chest tightly. “You must understand the sincere anguish that is permeating my very soul in this moment.”

You quietly considered his admission. “How absolutely horrible, you must get confused for Anne Baxter all the time” you deadpanned, waiting for Javi’s explanation. FINALLY, his veneer cracked, as he sheepishly collapsed back onto his side with petulance.

“It is possible I might be over-reacting” he acquiesced, poking the screenplay with one large forefinger. “Did you actually like it?” he whispered, his eyes a sea of innocence.

“I absolutely did” you confessed, leafing through the pages with delight. “It’s campy and genre-bending. A total tour-de-force for Nicholas Cage, and a wonderful commentary on the self-referential nature of Hollywood and artistry in general. It actually reminds me of "All About Eve" in some ways…” you admitted before Javi’s face screwed up with anxiety. “But not because you’re turning into Eve Harrington!”

Javi sighed with uneasiness, as you sat down next to him, attempting to heft his body to an upright position. “I’m doooooomed for all eternity! I have sullied the iridescent name of cinematic powerhouse and intimate artistic comrade, Nicholas Cage, with my flagrant attempt to displace his greatness! As though that were even possible….” Javi whimpered with a flourish, collapsing his heavy weight against you and tilting his head to your shoulder.

“Oh my. This is really quite serious” you nodded. “I had no idea you had such gargantuan screenwriting prowess. On the surface, you just seemed like a loving fan who idealized their theatrical hero. And now, as per your observations, I can clearly see how maniacal you have become. It’s just too bad Nick Cage is not capable of seeing through your facade” you teased, taking Javi’s large hand in yours and stroking it tenderly.

He sniffled thoughtfully at your remarks. “Nicholas Cage is the paragon of dramatic virtue” he observed huffily, drawing your interlaced hands up to his chest and heaving a hefty sigh. “Perhaps you are right, Principessa. But what of the playwright Mr. Richards? He intimates that artists should know their place and avoid self-aggrandizement at all costs!”

You screwed up your face in remembrance, trying to access the referenced cinematic moment. “Javi, he says something about actors taking artistic liberties with words that are not their own. If anything, that quote refers to Nick Cage, not you the playwright…” you argued, as Javi apparently stopped breathing momentarily. “Maybe you could listen to the words Nick is actually saying to you, because they seem to be nothing but supportive”.

Javi turned to face you with a new beam of enlightenment gracing his sparkling face. “I am not attempting to usurp and displace theatrical legend and creative genius, Nicholas Cage?” he whispered, nearly nose to nose with you now.

“I’m not sure you could, sweetie” you offered, gripping his hand tightly with encouragement.

“I have not turned into an attractive but maniacal masculine version of the literary character Eve Harrington and forever damaged our burgeoning professional and personal relationship?” he blinked skeptically, looking for any minuscule traces of hesitation in your micro-expressions.

“That would be quite the talent, but no, I’m fairly certain not”.

Javi’s face burst into a radiant smile as he collapsed back against the couch, finally satisfied, and breathing a sigh of relief. “And you really thought the screenplay was good?” he cast his eyes downward, avoiding your glance before you dipped your head lower still to catch his gaze.

“I really did. And so did Nick Cage” you smiled, kissing Javi lightly on the cheek as he blushed a deep crimson.

“Eccellente” he mouthed, stifling a small giggle of joy.

“Now, I wouldn’t mind another one of those gelato milkshake concoctions from last night. Are we watching another selection from my curriculum series? I haven’t even attempted “The Candyman”…or maybe “Poltergeist”?” you questioned.

“Principessa, I have had more than enough horrors for the evening!” Javi joked, kissing your hand with bravado before heading into the kitchen for ingredients. “Incidentally, I believe you agreed to watch one of my favorites at your earliest convenience….” his voice drifted in from the background.

“Javi, we already watching Paddington 2…” you whined, kicking off your heels and settling in for the night.

“A giant in the world of dramatic arts!” Javi bellowed from the kitchen before waxing philosophical. “But, of course, I am speaking of National Treasure 2, starring international film star and personal friend….”

You mouthed with his expected response, “Nicholas Cage”. Smiling quietly to yourself you listened to the melodic hum of Javi’s voice as you watched the children playing in the golden light of Italian dusk.

There are very few moments in life as good as this. Let's remember it. To each of us and all of us, never have we been more close, may we never be farther apart.

*roll credits

*@dornish-queen footage + Alfred Newman Soundtrack

Dostoyevsky + The Dream

A huge thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful Coloring Book! I hope you will check out Pedge's Bookshop, as this rendering is based on the integration of "Crime and Punishment" themes that closely resemble "The Last of Us". I was really hesitant to finish this series, but I wanted to complete before Season 2. I guess I'll head over to Pedge's Cinema, or start a one-shot Pedge's Bookshop for "What Happened to Belen"? In the interim, I hope you enjoy the art and a prescient quote from Dostoyevsky himself I found very appropro for our LOU ongoing lore...

“He was in the hospital till after Easter. When he was better he remembered the dreams he had had while he was feverish and delirious. He dreamt that the whole world was condemned to a terrible new strange plague…Some new sort of microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but these microbes were endowed with intelligence and will. Men attacked by them became at once mad and furious…Whole villages, whole towns and peoples went mad from the infection. All were excited and did not understand one another. Each thought that he alone had the truth and was wretch looking at the others, beat himself on the beast, wept and wrung his hands. They did not know how to judge and could not agree what to consider evil and what good; they did not know who to blame, who to justify. Men killed each other in a sort of senseless spite. They accused one another, fought and killed each other. There were conflagrations and famine. All men and all things were involved in destruction. The plague spread and moved further and further. Only a few men could be saved in the whole world. They were a pure chosen people, destined to found a new race, and a new life, to renew and purify the earth, but no one had seen these men, no one had heard their words and their voices.”

Pedge's Bookshop The Epilogue

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this RPF fic "Between the Pages and Us" by @andy-15-07 before heading into The Bookshop!

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, PTSD/anxiety attack,/nightmare, MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", foreshadowing for LOU Season 2, pregnancy, not really smut but a lot of romance...Gosh, I didn't want this series to end, I think I was stalling a little...(series completion)

Series Masterlist

Words: 6k

Somehow you felt you had finally arrived. A lifetime of running, and you still had no earthly idea where you were going. But the events of the last few months had coalesced into a contentment that felt unbridled and dreamlike. You felt an odd pang of regret, recognizing the circumstances that had to occur to arrive at such a conclusion. But you almost didn’t care. Almost.

The often stoically minded Joel had softened himself for your benefit during this season of healing, and didn’t seem altogether bothered by the metamorphosis, however temporary it might be. He jokingly demanded all of his meals were spent in bed, so he could enjoy the luxury of having your supple body nestled beside him. A tenuous rapport had resumed with Ellie, particularly as she entertained a flirtation with a fellow commune resident named Dina. Under Joel’s feigned aloof tutelage, she endeavored to invite Dina to an upcoming dance to celebrate the Spring Harvest. But since her confession at the hospital, an unspoken apprehension had permeated the Miller household. It was as though the secret itself had tendrils of infection, moving into the nooks and crannies of an otherwise happy existence, and you found yourself wondering when the emotional dam might break.

There were so many aspects of life that were tenuous and fragile, and life could change at the flick of a switch. Sometimes, nearing the end of reading “Crime and Punishment” Joel’s baritone voice would trail off absentmindedly, as he read to you in bed. At first, you thought he had fallen asleep, but often discovered him starting darkly into the corners of the room, haunted by phantasms of the past you could never entirely understand. It often seemed that Joel was in an emotional prison of his own making, and his main solace in existence was the ever-present, anchoring support of his once again found family.

The both of you were still often plagued by nightmares, as you gathered bits and pieces of a life no longer lived. Joel’s stray, delirious comments about the horrors of the hospital, or impassioned plea to keep Sarah safe. Some of your nightmares were just as enigmatic; wrestling with Levi in a pit of snakes or running from infected that hounded you till you awoke in frightened disorientation. And Joel was always there. Grasping at your hands that were grabbing for purchase, shushing and pleading to remind you that you were safe. Somehow, his eyes would always find you in the dark, softly coaxing you back to the light. And you would hold one another, swaying from side to side or humming quiet melodies until the dawn arose. 

One recent commune expedition had brought back a guitar, and you were shocked to discover that Joel was a humble musical aficionado. It took quite a bit of convincing, but he had even started playing simple choruses, particularly at night when the stress of the day seemed to catch up with the entire family. Even Ellie seemed impressed as she took up the mantle of reading aloud, as you knitted in the living room. Though often besieged by Rascal the Cat and introspectively serenaded by Joel, it kept the nightmares at bay, with the dream-like quality of something from a book. And there wasn’t a moment you wanted to take for granted.

As the healing process continued there was thankfully a lot of work to be done. The Bookshop was nearing its final reveal, and as Joel’s health continued to improve, Maria was nearing her due date. Joel and Ellie had begun to take small trips to the Bookshop in preparation, and you had all but moved into the Miller residence full time. It was ridiculous to cite nursing duties, as returned to your teaching obligations full time. But the easy rapport and comradry you felt, not only with Joel, but with Ellie had started to wear away your well-developed armor. It was a new life. And part of you had to guiltily acknowledge Levi’s demise as a stepping stone to that contentment.

You didn’t know what to make of Levi’s final actions. It wasn’t a feeling of gratitude, but a sort of begrudging awareness that every journey has a price. Whether selling yourself to the highest bidder, or exacting emotional interest on a debt that required payment, there would always be a punishment for the crime. More and more, you wondered if that debt was housed in humanity or Divinity. Dostoyevsky seemed to have an understanding, but it seemed beyond your own machinations. All you knew was that you were currently reaping the benefits of a life well-lived, and whatever suffering the future held, you would encounter it; together. Levi was a distant part of your past that had reared its ugly head, and despite the current existential respite, a certain foreboding crept on the horizon. You just hoped you could be unafraid and meet it head on.

And so the days turned into weeks, and things began to resume a certain post-apocalyptic normalcy. School resumed, the spring harvest was well underway and the Bookshop was slated to officially open to the rest of the commune in a matter of weeks. In the interim, Tommy had successfully traded for more resources at Elk Creek and Joel was looking sturdier on his feet, even adding a beautiful mahogany coffee table to the cozy bookshop atmosphere. It wasn’t until Ellie came home one day after school that the darkening clouds of confrontation began to assemble.

“We’re havin’ a dinner” she began, under Joel’s watchful stare.

“What’dya mean ‘we’re havin’ a dinner’?” he parroted with suspicion, as you quietly prepared food in the background.

“I mean, Maria and Tommy came by The Bookshop while you were out and invited themselves over for dinner sometime” Ellie bluntly stated, shifting awkwardly. Joel cleared his throat authoritatively, mirroring her discomfort.  

“What for?” Joel questioned, his eyes narrowing skeptically.

“They said it was just to catch up on commune responsibilities, and see how you were doing. But you know how Maria is” Ellie observed. You felt the bristle of tension move through the kitchen as you stirred the evening stew.

“Maybe…you could invite Dina?” you offered, trying to lighten the mood before Joel and Ellie both vociferously objected.

“No (just) way (family)” their voices clashed aggressively as your eyebrows shot up with surprise. The kitchen deadened to an uncomfortable silence.

“I…kind of expected them to come by…sooner…” you trailed off, hesitant to voice everyone’s concern. Tommy’s presence in the hospital had been unrelenting, and you didn’t doubt their current intentions for a millisecond. But Maria was besieged with plans for the upcoming delivery and commune responsibilities. And Ellie’s confession…

“Just say it” Ellie proffered bitterly. “It’s my fault”.

“Absolutely (FIDDLESTICKS!) not” this time you and Joel cascaded in a heap of protestations. The silence awkwardly returned.

“Fiddlesticks?” Ellie coyly smirked, tilting her head towards Joel jokingly. You heaved a sigh of relief, chuckling under your breath.

“I TOLD you to tell ‘em” Joel encouraged, nodding his head defiantly. “Didn’t say it was gonna be easy though”. The pots of food bubbled precariously on the stove, much like the pressurized conversation. “Alright, tell ‘em to come over tomorrow night” Joel said definitively glancing in your direction.

“No bramble berry wine this time” you wisely observed, returning to your dinner tasks. This reunion was long overdue, and there was nothing to fear. Just time with family. Your newfound family. Nothing to worry about. But as you and Joel plated the prepared dinner, you couldn’t help but wonder; what newfound challenges were the three of you headed into this time?

Joel hugged you against his side tightly, nestled comfortably in the darkened bedroom. Ellie had already gone to sleep upstairs, and with your leg hung loosely over Joel’s legs you sighed contentedly as his mellifluous voice lulled you into a pleasant drowsiness.

“And yet he was ashamed, even before Sonia, whom he tortured because of it with his contemptuous brought manner. His pride had been stung to the quick. It was wounded pride that made him ill. Oh how happy he would have been if he could’ve blamed himself. He could have borne anything the, even shame and disgrace. But he judged himself severely. Vague and objectless anxiety in the present, and in the future a continual sacrifice leading to nothing—that was all the play before him. What had he to live for? What had he to look forward to? Why should he strive? To live in order to exist? Why? He had been ready a thousand times before to give up existence for the sake of an idea, for hope, even for a fancy. Perhaps it was just because of the strength of his desires that he had thought himself a man to whom more was permissible than to others. He suffered too from the question; why had he not killed himself? Was the desire to live so strong and was it so hard to overcome it? In misery he asked himself this question and could not understand. He didn’t understand that consciousness might be the promise of a future crisis, of a new view of life and of his future resurrection.”

Joel paused to remove his reading glasses and scratched at a small scar you had noticed, situated just to the side of his face. You delicately reached up to stroke it, but his head jerked away as his hand swatted your attentions to the side. It was uncharacteristically curt of him, and your body crumpled aside him with embarrassment. He turned to look at you apologetically, his lips tightening to a narrow line of reticence.

“I’m fine. Don’t need your nursin’ anymore…” he attempted to explain, but the words only seemed to seep into your skin with a heavy poison. You drew your body away from him in confusion as he dropped the book to bring you back to his side. “Wait. I didn’t mean that” he whispered, dipping his head to the crook of your neck, his beard bristling at the tender skin of your decoupage. You giggled quietly, pleased that the misunderstanding was short-lived. There were still many unseen scars that might never completely heal, but you were thankful to be with a man like Joel who didn’t shy away from the ones you also possessed. You didn’t have long to think about it, as Joel’s lips dragged achingly slowly across your neck and nibbled at your jawline. “Enjoyin’ the final chapter of ‘Crime and Punishment’” he teased, mumbling into your breastbone, as his hands found their way to your backside, squeezing gently.

“Oh absolutely…” you drawled, gripping him tightly against you and drawing your fingers across his back seductively. “It’s so visceral, I don’t remember the epilogue being so alluring when I read it in college” you joked, feeling Joel’s body titter with laughter against you. 

“Must be the company” he smiled, looking lovingly into your eyes. You reached up to stroke his face sweetly.

“What are we gonna do about the dinner?” you sighed, the sudden intake of air signifying his trepidation as much as your own.

“Don’t know” Joel bluntly stated, leaning back on his side of the bed and looking up at the ceiling. He took your hand, interlacing your fingers with his own as you both lay still in the quiet bedroom. “Maria doesn’t know….everything” he began, the bed creaking awkwardly under his shifting weight. “Nobody really does”. You held your breath tentatively, as though waiting for permission. There had been so many indicators of a tension unresolved; a type of secret that was infecting even the healthiest of relationships and desires.

“Something at the hospital?” you whispered, longing to press Joel further, but hesitant to force the matter. Joel’s head shifted quickly in your direction, as though telepathically imploring you to clairvoyantly understand. The moments passed laboriously slow, as an old wooden clock ticked loudly in the corner. You drew Joel’s hand to your heart, breathing quietly as you looked into his eyes. “You saved her” you recounted from Joel’s previous delirium, his eyes closing abruptly in remembrance. A pained look crossed his features as you waited patiently.

“That day…in the hospital….with the Fireflies…” Joel began, as though dragging the words through the mud with every suffering syllable. “We lost so much on the journey to bring her back…” he observed, thinking about Tess, and Sam and so many others on their meandering sojourn. “Ellie wanted her immunity…to help others. To save us all….” Joel opened his eyes once again, a newfound tear cascading down the side of his face as he turned to meet your gaze. “But if I had known I was deliverin’ her to death’s door, I never woulda stopped runnin’” he confessed, gripping your hand tenaciously in his own.

“But the raiders, they attacked you. You saved her. Even if she’s immune, there are others. Let others worry about it…” you remembered from Ellie’s description at Joel’s bedside. What part of the story were you missing? Your voice hung questioningly in the silence as Joel swallowed dryly under the heat of your stare.

“What if I told you….” he paused, shuddering slightly on the next inhale “…there weren’t no raiders at the hospital that day?”. You blinked confusedly, eyeing him with skepticism.  Joel sighed heavily, as though battling a silent war within himself. The clock’s ticking thudded in dull, oppressive strokes as you watched his shoulders tighten in immeasurable tension. He brought his hand tiredly over his face, rubbing at his temples and scowling with indecision. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. He looked like he was going to be sick, and you wondered if his wound had in fact healed properly, or if he were nursing another fever. He drew in a shaky breath to steady himself before muttering, “Can’t keep this secret anymore….s’gonna kill me. Or kill Ellie in the process…” his voice cracked, steeling himself for the long overdue confession.

“The Fireflies nearly killed her at the hospital that day” he whispered raspily, shaking his head from side to side. “Wasn’t gonna let nobody hurt my girl…not again” he said, almost to himself, as you tried to grapple with this new information. You bit your lip in consternation, trying to assemble the details as Joel laid them out.

“They tried to….extract her immunity, and apparently her life was a small price to pay for it” he pleaded with you finally, wringing your hand between his own in supplication. Your eyes widened with awareness as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. “So I killed ‘em. I killed them all”. You mouth fell open in surprise, finally processing Joel’s many enigmatic reactions over the last several months. He was a murderer. You were in love with a murderer. 

Joel seemed to sense your growing apprehension as he pulled back slightly in self-revulsion. “There aren’t no others. It’s just her that’s immune. And Ellie doesn’t know”. Your breath seemed to stop with trepidation, as he nearly collapsed back against the headboard with exhaustion. A myriad of thoughts were pummeling you into disorientation, but Joel was the anchor holding you in place. You gripped his hand more tightly, cupping his face with your other palm, watching his lips tremble apologetically. “Wouldn’t change a damn thing” he muttered over and over again, as you flung yourself into his arms. No one could know. For Joel’s sake. For Ellie’s sake. For your own. The only possible redemption resided in this secret confession, but that’s as far as it could be allowed. The only other thing that remained was to suffer in silence. And so that’s what you did. For the rest of the night, you held one another in the silence of that horrible realization. Ellie was immune. And she was alone. But there wasn’t a damn thing that could be done about it.

The next morning passed wordlessly as the Miller household was submerged in a state of tension. Ellie was appropriately worried about the upcoming dinner, but you and Joel held the suspension of disbelief, knowing the additional gravity of the situation. Maria was a bloodhound when it came to the truth, territorially motivated by the continued survival of the commune, and viscerally impassioned with the upcoming birth of her child. After Ellie’s hospital confession, the five of you held a special connection that seemingly surpassed that of bloodlines and family, but would that information be enough to leave things as they were? You spent the day, avoiding Ellie’s stare in class, and rushing home to prepare the simple dinner. 

Before you knew it, dusk was upon you as you observed Tommy and Maria slowly making their way across the blossoming field, leading up the Miller household. You felt your stomach anxiously lurch, suddenly wishing that you and Joel had discussed a plan of action. But for better or worse, the conversation was now imminent as Tommy and Maria approached the landing. Ellie looked like she was standing in front of a firing squad, pressing her plaid shirt staunchly against her rigid body. Joel make quick eye contact with you, as he crossed the living room and opened the door to their overt smiles.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Tommy immediately intoned, bursting through the door and embracing his brother strongly. Joel winced, ever so slightly, his abdominal wound mostly healed, but the surrounding muscles tender and sensitive. Maria patted her stomach empathically, rounding the corner and immediately catching Ellie in a somewhat stilted, but well-intentioned embrace. “I’m starving!” Maria enthusiastically exclaimed, though you secretly wondered if there were an ulterior agenda to the evening’s discussion. You finished setting the table, and enjoyed a round of placated small talk; recent trade at Elk Creek, the upcoming Spring Harvest Dance, preparation for Maria’s upcoming delivery. The banter began to die down as the conversation turned to more pressing matters.

“Joel, how have you been feeling this last month?” Maria began, innocently enough, but the shift in the mood was apparent.

“I hate to say it, but my resident nurse has proven real helpful…” Joel smiled, a tinge of distrust flickering across his eyes that only you were privy to, as he took your hand with encouragement. “I’ll be ready for patrols, as soon as you give the word” he offered, nodding succinctly, hoping to end the conversation there.

“About time to get your sorry ass back out in the field” Tommy joked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Try not to get killed this time” he teased, kicking his brother’s foot good-naturedly under the dinner table.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Maria’s voice gained a syrupy sweetness that immediately brought Levi to mind. What was her intent? “How have you been feeling since our….discussion at the hospital?” Joel’s hand immediately stiffened in yours, his head whipping over to Ellie watchfully.

“I’m ready for patrols too!” Ellie chirped, gripping the table energetically. “Joel can tell you, I’m real capable with a knife, or a gun…” she beamed, as Joel bit back a protective reprimand.

“Oh no, I think you’re far too valuable to risk out on patrol” Maria ventured, under Tommy’s imploring gaze. “It’s not every day you meet someone with immunity” she tried to observe matter-a-factly before Joel slammed his fist in to the dinner table abruptly.

“Goddamit Maria, now you know that’s not up for discussion!” Joel spat, his body becoming a taut representation of feral rage. Maria gripped her swollen belly protectively as Tommy shifted in his seat with embarrassment. 

“It’s just family, Joel” Tommy quietly intoned, nodding in your direction. “Right, Teach? Just hear her out for a sec’” he pleaded, drawing a hand to Maria’s back affectionately as Joel attempted to calm down. The water in the nearby pitcher was still sloshing from side to side as the table sat in relative unease.

“What do you wanna know?” Ellie muttered, her face becoming stoic and steely under Maria’s hopeful countenance.

Maria didn’t hesitate a moment, as month’s of pent up inquisition and curiosity tumbled out of her mouth haphazardly. “Well, you said you were immune, and there were others that shared that ability. But you haven’t found a way to share that immunity? Have you tried a blood transfusion? What about studying your DNA?”

“Maria” Joel growled as he fisted the tablecloth, threatening to upset the entire dinner table this time.

“Honey, can’t we just let sleeping dogs lie?” Tommy beseeched his wife, lowering his gaze to the floor with humiliation.

“I’m just asking a question, Tommy” she bitterly retorted. “Don’t you want your baby to grow up in a commune that’s safe, and protected from EVERY horror this world has to offer?”. She took a deep breath and rested her attention on Ellie once again. “Well, honey, what’ve you got to say for yourself?” 

Ellie’s face nearly curled in a snarl, sensing Joel’s brimming rage and your helplessness in the face of the truth. “It’s no use” she began, holding Maria’s gaze with an unflinchingly cold stare. “I’ve lost countless people that my immunity could never save. Riley, Tess, Sam….None of it made any difference. I was stupid to think the Fireflies could do better. But Joel will tell you. We tried everything, and when that didn’t work, the raiders came and destroyed everything and everyone that got in their way. I’m no damn good to the people I love. Just another god-forsaken human in this shit-show of an existence. And it doesn’t matter if that baby lives to grow old, he better learn to take care of himself, because he won’t be gettin’ any goddam help from the world around him”.  Maria’s face fell with disappointment, nodding slightly with acceptance as Tommy took her hand encouragingly. You bit back a sob, hearing Ellie’s bleak outlook on life in this post-apocalyptic hell. Joel could never tell her the truth about that day. She was already so alone, his apparent betrayal would only serve to isolate her further still. Ellie MUST be kept alive. Looking over at Joel’s graying visage, you wished it didn’t come at such a high cost.

“So that’s it” Maria muttered, touching her belly lightly, her eyes still lowered to the ground. “Joel, are you sure you’re not hiding anything else?” she asked one final time, fixing him with an interrogative stare. You held your breath with anticipation as the room caught Joel in a heated stare. Maria would NOT back down. Either her desperation was so intense or her maternal nature was in intuitive overdrive, it seemed only a force of nature would deter her at this point.

“Well, I guess you caught me…” Joel began, drawing your concern and Ellie’s questioning eyes in one fell swoop. This couldn’t be. You had to stop him from undoing the most difficult choice he had ever made in his life. 

“Teach and I are plannin’ on gettin’ married”.

Your mouth dropped open in surprise, squeezing his hand so hard you wondered if he would need to revisit the doctor that evening. “Joel, are you sure?” the words fell out of your mouth as Ellie reverted back to a teenager of 17 years, giggling and clapping her hands enthusiastically, and Tommy began to beam broadly in periphery.

“Still workin’ on the wedding present, but yeah, I figure if you can put up with me and Ellie for the last several months, ya might be worth keepin’ around for good” Joel’s mouth curled in a mischievous grin as you sat yourself firmly on his lap, hugging him assuredly around the neck for good measure.

“Well I’ll be damned!” Tommy exclaimed, clapping his brother heartily on the shoulder and catching Maria’s knowing expression.

“I told you there was something he was hiding” Maria slowly mused, sighing with relief, and giving Ellie’s arm a soft squeeze of approval as a peace offering. You looked into Joel’s eyes searching for the smallest amount of doubt or hesitation, but found none there. It was something beyond your dreams, that even seemed to quell your nightmares. It was home.

Rascal the Cat sniffed awkwardly at every visitor, as the The Bookshop’s normally quiet atmosphere radiated light and love, the residents of Jackson Commune pouring in throughout the day. Joel stood behind the counter, stoically surveilling, but approachable nonetheless. His arms were folded neatly over his broad chest with skepticism, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, watching families and children make their way around the neatly organized and homey Bookshop. You and Ellie were on social duty, guiding families to the appropriate sections, the corner wood burning stove currently out of use as the Spring season began to thaw everything around it. You looked over at Joel whose statuesque stare was already beaming at your welcoming and warm presence. You could never have imagined this chain of events that first day you walked into his bookshop.

The Bookshop Bell rang jauntily as Tommy sauntered in with a fresh bouquet of lavender, immediately catching your eye and heading towards you. You finished your conversation with a nearby family as Tommy caught you in a familial embrace. “How are the plans comin’ Teach?” you admired the small freckles dotting his cheeks and mischievous sparkle in his eyes that reminded you of Joel. You’d never had a brother, but you were pretty sure this is what it felt like.

“Gosh, I haven’t even stopped to think!” you admitted, brushing a stray hair out of your face and grinning at the children that were good-naturedly chasing Rascal around the biographies section. “Honestly, a wedding ceremony is the last thing on my mind! We’ve got Spring evaluations for the students and I’m helping Ellie organize the Harvest Dance. But at least The Bookshop is finally up and running, and Joel can get back on patrol soon. What about you? How’s Maria?”

“Oh she insisted I leave her alone this afternoon, and sends her regards” Tommy handed you the bouquet, sheepishly tugging at the back of his neck with humility. “She’s just about to pop, and I think I’m driving her more nuts than usual” he confessed, squeezing your arm affectionately. “Just wanted to say, thanks for all your help around the commune, and gettin’ my elderly brother to soften up a little. Welcome to the family!” he leaned in conspiratorially as Joel eyed him suspiciously from the corner. “Don’t tell everyone what a big ole softie he actually is…”. You knowingly smiled, catching Joel’s inquiring gaze that immediately spread into a shit-eating grin. You hadn’t seen that look in a while, and you breathed a sigh of relief enjoying the settling Spring recreation. Maybe everything was going to be just fine. Tommy headed over to the front counter as Ellie caught your attention from the Classic Literature Section.

“Hey Teach, have you ever heard of a book called something like….The Miserables?” Ellie grimaced, skeptical at its existence.

“Les Miserables?” you pondered, glancing at the backroom. “Uhhh…does the musical count?”

Tommy lumbered up to the front counter as Joel finally melted from his stolid, sentry-like visage, relaxing under his brother’s sunshine countenance. “You old dog” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, looking around The Bookshop appraisingly. “I hate to say it, but….you done good. This is just what the commune needs, and seems like you got the best part of the deal” he watched you and Ellie disappear into the backroom, laughing together. “Ya gonna get her a ring?” his eyes twinkled sweetly, reaching over for Joel’s unfinished coffee and taking a swig, wincing at its potent bitterness.

“Not sure you noticed but we’re kinda in an apocalypse right now?” Joel huffed, defiantly placing his hands on his hips, and matching Tommy’s mischief. “HOWEVER, if you’ll put me back on patrols I can get to bartering for it” he gruffly stated. “Already got a wedding present. Do you want me build a city hall and get the appropriate paperwork while I’m at it?” he grabbed the coffee from Tommy’s hand and downed it in one gulp amidst Tommy’s chortling.

“I’m just glad to see you so happy again” Tommy acquiesced, looking around The Bookshop and nodding with encouragement. “Wasn’t but a few months ago, I was starting to think my brother right near lost his mind. Damn, you had me wonderin’ if you were joining up with the raiders, or vying for the Fireflies”. Joel’s eyes flashed a dangerous shade of black before his face returned to a jovial skepticism. “But all that time, you were just fixin’ to get married” Tommy teased. “How’s about some brotherly advice? Doesn’t seem near appropriate for this soon to be dad askin’ about Playboy magazine” his ears tinged a slight shade of red. “How’s about Home and Gardens? Or Women’s Health?” he balked, chewing at his lower lip. Joel heavily clapped a hand on his back looking over at Ellie affectionately.

“We’ll get you fixed up” he surmised. He hadn’t but circled the counter when a young man came running down the commune square, flinging open the door to The Bookshop with the telltale ringing of the doorbell. 

“Tommy, come quick! Maria already went to the infirmary after her water broke…and is screaming bloody murder! I ran as fast as I could…but you might nearly be a dad already!” he gasped between bouts of coughing and sputtering as the color completely drained from Tommy’s face and a tavern-like cheer went up in The Bookshop.

“Holy hell” Tommy muttered, standing still in paralysis, like a man sleepwalking until Joel shoved him towards the door.

“Ellie, get this man over to the infirmary before he damn near falls over” Joel beamed, gesturing for Ellie, and sending the three of them towards the door in a bumbling, talkative heap as you sidled up beside him. 

“Come on ‘Uncle Tommy’ you look like you’re about to lose your lunch!” Ellie joked, grabbing Tommy’s arm and driving him forward. “Say, do you know why one Father’s Day gift wasn’t better than another?” Joel rolled his eyes as Ellie wheeled Tommy out the door. “A tie. It was a tie” she guffawed, pulling Tommy down the street and towards his future, bright and beautiful.

The Bookshop twinkled with congratulations and laughter as families plotted on what to barter for their upcoming “purchases”. Taking Joel’s hand in yours you eyed the three of them stumbling down the commune square towards the infirmary and grinned with satisfaction.

“You know she would do anything for you” you mused, leaning against Joel’s body and sighing with contentment.

“I feel the same way” Joel agreed, smiling tiredly. “But she’s near grown up now. Won’t need me no more” he introspected wearily as Rascal the Cat looped himself around Joel’s ankles.

“Well, some of us still need you” you nuzzled his shoulder fondly as Joel turned, backing you up into one of the nearby bookshelves.

“Joel…” you whispered shyly, looking around The Bookshop with chagrin and remembering your first meeting with nostalgia.

“M’I not allowed to kiss my ‘soon-to-be-wife?” his cheeks flushed brightly as he gazed lovingly into your eyes.

“Fine by me” you smirked, digging your hands in to the front pockets of Joel’s jeans and eliciting a low, chuckle from his towering figure that was caging you in. “You know, it’s okay if that was a red herring or something” you deflected, admiring the swirling depths of feeling in Joel’s nearby shining eyes.

“How’s that?” Joel mumbled into your clavicle as you gripped him possessively around the neck, crumpling your body against him and blushing.

“Oh you know what I mean…If that was just to detour Maria, or if you have second thoughts, I’m not going anywhere” you mumbled before Joel pulled back to look deep into your eyes.

“Not havin’ second thoughts” he blunted stated before planting a searing kiss on your imploring lips that seemed to deaden the chaos in The Bookshop to a single pin prick of loving light. It was quite some time before the sound of the surrounding atmosphere trickled back into your hearing, as your eyes remained closed in a dizzying haze of romantic ebullience. Your eyelids finally fluttered open as Joel watched you keenly, placing both hands aside your face. He looked like he was about to kiss you again before his eyes darted up to the small metallic indentation in the bookshelf just above your head. “Well I’ll be damned” he whispered, digging a small bullet out of the corner and holding it in front of your face with some confusion.

“Expect the unexpected” you drolled, fitting your hips against his playfully.

“Come with me, Teach” Joel teased, pocketing the bullet and pulling you into the backroom. “Rascal, mind the store” he called behind him, meeting the cat’s quizzical expression. “Was gonna save this for our weddin’ night, but sounds like someone needs a little assurance” Joel said over his shoulder as he rummaged around his work space in the back. You enjoyed the fragrant smell of wood chips, coffee and tattered books, silently cataloguing the many resources you had yet to organize.

“S’just a start” he reddened, presenting a chiseled, hand made set of bookends labeled ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ in his outstretched hands before you threw yourself into his embrace.

“How long have you been working on this?” you giggled, seeing his copy of “Crime and Punishment” nearby at this desk.

“‘Bout as long as I’ve been workin’ on weddin’ vows” he grimaced, shaking his head from side to side. “Probably need to set the bar low, Teach” he self-deprecated, shrugging sheepishly.

“Is that your next homework assignment?” you taunted, picking up the book and turning to the most recent dog eared page. Joel took the book from your hands, clearing his throat timidly.

“Just tryin’ to learn from the best” he mused, reading aloud;

“How it happened, he did not know. But all at once something seemed to seize him and fling him at her feet. He wept and threw his arms round her knees. At the same moment she understood, and a light of infinite happiness came into her eyes. She knew and had no doubt that he loved her beyond everything and that at last the moment had come. They wanted to speak, but could not; tears shone in their eyes. They were renewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for the heart of the other. What terrible suffering and what infinite happiness before them! But he had risen again and he knew it and felt it in all his being. He knew with what infinite love he would now repay all her sufferings. And what were all the agonies of the past? Everything, even his crime, seemed to him now in the first rush of feeling an external, strange fact. Life had stepped into the place of theory and something quite different would work itself out in his mind. Under his pillow lay Sonia’s Bible, it was the one from which she had read the raising of Lazarus to him. He did not open it now, but one thought passed through his mind; “Can her convictions not be mine now? Her feelings, her aspirations at least…”. He did not know that the new life would not be given him for nothing, that he would have to pay dearly for it; that it would cost him great striving, great suffering. But that is the beginning of a new story-the story of the gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing from one world to another, of his initiation into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of a new story, but our present story is ended.”

Joel’s raspy voice trailed off, now lost in the curious expression of your eyes that danced with a newfound light. “A new story…” you whispered quietly, drawing your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a tender kiss.

A new story.

Dostoyevsky + the Slutty Knee

A big thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I really feel like I'm making progress with my health journey, but it's super slow going. The main thing that is keeping me creatively motivated is my art projects! I'm working on the final fiction for our "Crime and Punishment" series at Pedge's Bookshop, just in time for "The Last of Us Season 2". Don't forget to check out Joel's Jives if you would like the full participatory experience.

I think our next foray is going to be a one shot with Pena and J revolving around Pedro's recommendation, "What Happened to Belen?". And don't forget to check out our first fic for Pedge's Cinema "The Trailer" when Javi and J first meet. Grab your popcorn first however, the opening scene of "All About Eve" is soon to be started.

“Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.” “–and suddenly, in the midst of my laughing, I’d give way to sadness, fall into ludicrous despondency and once again start the whole process all over again

“You never reach any truth without making mistakes. Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I'll kiss you for it. And what are we doing now? In science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism, judgment, experience and everything, everything, everything, we are still in the preparatory class at school. We prefer to live on other people's ideas, it's what we are used to! Am I right?” “Break what must be broken, once for all, that's all, and take the suffering on oneself.” “Fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don’t be afraid - the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again.” “What do you think, would not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds?”

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My Darling Muse, My Darling Dieter (iii)

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 @auteurdelabre 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! Workplace vibes...

Dieter's Art Studio

My Darling Dieter,

Oh silly muffin! I was so excited to receive your postcard and hear more about your spiritual sojourn! I know you are doing research for your reawakening, but I still miss you terribly and our intimate spongebaths. Be sure to keep all your sketches limited to postcards and not the originals....Yours, J

My Darling Dieter,

Racoon! Your travels sound absolutely amazing, it will be just the thing to take your mind off of awards season. YOU are the true gift! My Darling, is it just me or are some of these pictures a bit....erotic? I definitely recognize the artist, but I can't quite put my finger on it....Love, J

My Darling Dieter,

Oh my! My neighbors are fantastically scandalized as they keep intercepting your postcards and complaining about their content. I told them IT'S ART!!! Although, I'm not 100% sure if these images are being displayed in their purest form. Sweet D, I think you've taken some artistic liberties... Yours, J

My Darling Dieter,

There is something about these pieces I can't stop looking at. I find myself drawn into a void-like, dreaming state, thinking about you Mr. Darling D. I think they might be flowers of some kind! But I find them very erotically charged! I can't seem to concentrate on anything else! Are you coming home soon? Who is Georgia? Should I be jealous? Love, J

My Darling Dieter,

Need you. Come home now. J.

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter’s PA. The year has been a challenging one, as Dieter has successfully checked himself out of rehab and has embarked on a spiritual journey of artistic expression! I am sad to report that his holiday special, Cliff Beasts 6 1/2; Hannukah Hijinks, was completely snubbed by the Oscars this awards season, so we indulged in many a sponge bath to recouperate. I myself am experiencing some health challenges, and can't accompany D on his exciting embarkation, so he's promised to send postcards from his travels as I attempt to figure out "Where is D?". He keeps mentioning Georgia, so I think he might be in Atlanta, but it's anyone's guess. I've just received his most recent postcard and he's promised to be home any minute! Gotta go! Where will D be next?

*I'm afraid D has taken HORRIBLE liberties with the classic artwork of Georgia O' Keeffe, but I would encourage anyone to view their work in New Mexico and research their stellar artistic contributions and creative friendships with the likes of Frida Kahlo, Ansel Adams and Agnes Martin.