Use Somebody Song Fic

My Darling Muse; My Darling Dieter

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. I so enjoyed the writing prompt for "Get Dieter Sober" @bitchesuntitled! D is with you!

Triggers: 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!

Doctor's Notes for Journal Entry,

"What would you do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people". "But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one he loves". "Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in this world! May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!" "Cowardice is the most terrible of vices." *written in the margins: Patient's Name, Dieter Bravo. Addiction: YES. Detox + Psych. Eval. Art Therapy. Narcissist/Low Self-Esteem. Yoga + Kit-Kats.

Dieter has been quoting "The Master and Margarita" as his mantra of choice during his rehab. stay. Here follows our correspondence...

My Darling Dieter,

Oh my honey, I'm sorry the "cinematic narrative of your life is flashing before your eyes". Just a gentle reminder that you have only been in rehab for 24 hours, and I couldn't be more proud of you! Keep up your steady diet of celery juice and Kit-Kats. And yes, I will give you a sponge bath when you get home. Sincerely, J

My Darling Dieter,

The doctors say you are doing well, particularly with your consumption of Kit-Kats! I know this is a difficult time, but I am so proud of you! Everything is on schedule for "Cliff Beasts 7"! You will be appearing as your own clone, in the year 2500 A.D. I hope this news provides some respite. Sincerely, J

My Darling Dieter,

Your reply gave me such joy, though I'm not sure this is a good moment to smuggle in your favorite whiskey. Perhaps I could persuade you with some chocolate chip cookies? I'm glad you are finding comfort in "The Master and (the) Margarita"! But no, I don't think rehab. is a good locale for a coup....Yours, J

My Darling Dieter,

The doctors say you have rounded the corner with your ongoing recovery! I am so excited to attend your upcoming one man show, "Dieter Deconstructed". I'm sure it will be a smash hit at the rehab. center, and yes, maybe we can start developing it as a musical. I'm not sure tap dancing is your forte, but let's talk more...Yours, J

My Darling Dieter,

I am so excited for you to come home and teach me about your new coping skills! I have purchased a nurse's outfit, as per your request and have stocked the fridge with copious amounts of celery juice, Kit-Kats and chocolate chip cookies. The Tik-Tok of you dancing in your hospital gown went viral, as expected....Love, J

*thanks @kodaswrld for the cool dividers!

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter’s PA. This has been an exciting week for all of us, as Dieter checked himself into rehab. after the recent election. He said he was feeling particularly “wibbly-wobbly” and wanted a tune up before starting his next project of “Cliff Beasts 7”. His fellow actor and good friend Pedro Pascal recommended the book “The Urge; Our History of Addiction” and “The Master and Margarita”, which has given D a tremendous sense of hope. While I doubt this is the only time Dieter will need rehab., I can assuredly say it has taken our friendship to a new level. We both feel this is not the opportune moment to pursue an exclusive relationship, but I will happily be giving D sponge baths for the foreseeable future, as part of my PA responsibilities. Dieter is currently snoring contentedly in his sensory deprivation tank, and has requested more chocolate chip cookies for the end of his session, so I better go…Happy healing to all!

Afterglow Series Workplace Benefits

*thank you @almostfoxglove for the sexy moodboard, I'm inspired!

The Afterglow Series is more focused on intimacy and unexpected situations, so please imbibe accordingly. Javier Pena is so voracious, I wanted to explore what would happen if he met his match.

Triggers: Prostitute POV, empowered woman in a safe transactional relationship w/ Javier Pena that evolves into more vulnerability, a little physical aggression, profanity, alcohol use, aftercare, crying (there's always crying), P in V, a little more smutty than most of my stuff, more valiant attempts at Spanish however inaccurate...

Series Masterlist

You loved your job. It wasn’t the type of thing you could easily discuss with your sister and the futbol moms. But you felt empowered as fuck, and prostitutes were more protected than ever. To be honest, you didn’t really think of yourself in those terms. What you thought of was the money and the sense of power you felt, holding important men, quite literally by the balls. And Javier Pena was one of them.

You’re not sure when, but at some point, things had begun to shift. At first, he came over for a quick whiskey and a fuck. And then one time, he arrived on your doorstep, already drunk and cuddly as a teddy bear. You don’t think he even remembered, leaving $100 bucks on your nightstand and thanking you for a “good time”. There was a routine of sorts, and sometimes he was flat out aggressive, but you never had a problem with that. As long as he paid, you were happy to incur a few bumps and bruises, and knowing he left happy, your income was relatively secure. But last week, he came by, perfectly sober and ready…to talk? It wasn’t a DTR, that would be ludicrous. He just wanted to talk. You kept trying to lure him to bed, but he endlessly deflected, making you laugh till you nearly snorted iced tea out of your nose, ordering  tacos from the seedy joint downstairs, and still leaving $100 bucks on the nightstand after you fell asleep watching tv. What the non-fuck was going on?

Today seemed like the routine as per usual. He’d shown up on your doorstep, raring to go, whiskey in hand and lust pouring from his steely gaze. Several breaks in, he’d enjoyed himself profusely and you found yourself being pounded from the back, as his sweaty hips thrashed against you loudly. Until….you had a problem. You were cumming.

The day had been fine, you’d already had several clients and were looking forward to seeing Javier in the evening. Feeling relaxed and unfocused you hadn’t realized your body was careening out of your control until this very moment. A quick surprising breath caught in your throat as you attempted to stifle a low moan…

“Que?” Javier questioned, as though telepathically linked to every nerve in your body.

You tried to play it off as one of your many performances, “Oh Javi more! So wet, so wet…” until you realized those statements weren’t a fabrication. Your legs were already trembling and the room was starting to spin around you.

“You like that, pobrecita?” he kept a relentless pace, jack hammering into you from behind. “You never tell me what you like…” he grunted appraisingly.

Your eyelids fluttered shut of their own volition as the silvery thread of arousal coursed through your veins fluidly. This can’t be happening, your mind stuttered, attempting to divorce yourself from the powerful sensations ebbing through your body. You prided yourself on your professionalism, but quite honestly, you didn’t get into this career for…sex. Most of the men that came to you were escaping a disappointing home life or were otherwise sexually unsuccessful, so their last concern was your pleasure, and that was fine for you. No reason you needed to be vulnerable in the workplace. The money was compensation enough and you could pleasure yourself on your own time. But Javier Pena wasn’t a regular guy, and when it came to sex, he was actually good at it. He came for his own pleasure, but that included yours, and he was down to try anything. Honestly, it was just a matter of time, but you had remained irresolute and focused up until now. And now, you were cumming.

The harder you tried to swat the idea away, the stronger the impulse grew. Small tendrils of pleasure that pulsed at your core, stuttered breaths that caught in your throat, whimpers of ecstasy that escaped from your mouth; Javier was devouring it like a man starved.

“There she is…” he drawled, grabbing you by the throat and hoisting you backwards until your back was pressed against his sweat glistened chest. “Are you going to cum for me, hermosa?” he panted into your ear, as you shook your head slowly.

“No, no, no” you had dropped all pretense of performance, realizing your body seemed to be acting of its own accord. You dropped your hands to your clit, rubbing in quick circles now desperate to get off.

“Mine” Javier growled into your ear, grabbing your wrists and yanking them around his neck as he angled up into you, harder still. You cried out in anguished ecstasy, confused at the unbidden sensations tingling throughout your being.

“M-m-more…” you began to mumble incoherently, no longer concerned with the loss of control, and only focused on your pleasure and nothing else.

Javi tipped you forward violently, re-situating himself in a seated position, and then abruptly pulled you back onto his lap, pistoning up into you at the most  delectable angle. Your entire body seized up in a pre-orgasmic throb. He gripped you tightly, calloused fingers palming your breasts, kneading and pinching as all thought left your mind completely. You were a ray of light, pleasure itself, his heat sheathed inside you, piercing the darkness and eradicating everything else. You’re not even sure if you spoke out loud, but the primal awareness that you were cumming, clouded time itself, until there was no denying it anymore. You threw your head back against his shoulder and cried in a silent scream, softening into a guttural moan of euphoria. Your body was fluid, liquid gold, dripping and melting over his hard figure. He worked you through your release until you pulled at the nape of his neck, weak with overstimulation. He drew his palm down the front of your salt soaked body and then flipped you around in a tangle of arms and legs, nearly collapsing on top of you, lowering you to the bed.

In the dull recesses of your mind you felt the throb of embarrassment, but not yet cognizant enough to grasp it with any enthusiasm. Holding onto your cloud of your contentment, you were vaguely aware of Javi’s absence, assuming he had left the appropriate amount of money on the bed stand and made a quick exit. You felt your heat twitching and throbbing with the loss of his presence, but thankful he had left you to your own mortification. It had been so long since you felt comfortable enough to enjoy yourself with someone else, you were nearly shocked it was still possible. You swallowed dryly, blinking away the tears. Damn endorphins, you sniffled, freezing as a figure appeared in the doorway with a washcloth and water.

“Drink, hermosa” he commanded as your eyes widened to saucer shape. He was still here. Was he angry? Did you just lose your best customer, and this was the swan song? Appraising your silence he brought the glass of water up to your parched lips tentatively, eyeing you with slight concern. You started shivering slightly as your body attempted to regulate itself into normalcy. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, sitting on the edge of the bed and lifting you to a seated position so you could drink.

You shook your head slowly, devoid of intelligence as the tears began to dry on your cheeks stickily. You flinched with surprise as he began rubbing down your legs and mid-section with the washcloth. “Shh, shh…” he shushed, as though coddling a small child as your body relaxed with relief and exhaustion.

“You don’t have to do that, Javi” you muttered softly, grabbing his wrist gently, but as yet unable to meet his eyes.

“Porque, eso cuesta mas?” he pondered, a small smirk shadowing his countenance.

“I’m not charging you for tonight” you murmured, turning your head away from him in defeat, until you felt him reach around and draw your chin back towards him.

He drew his thumb across your lower lip, not saying a word, a pained expression pinching at his eyebrows unexpectedly. “Inestimable” he whispered, almost to himself, kissing you lightly on the lips and withdrawing to the bathroom. You sunk down on the bed, unsure of what might happen next. Your ears were still ringing from the high, and your body felt like a heavy weight drawing you further into the mattress. You heard the soft click as Javier shut off the lights and crawled into bed with you tentatively.

“Puedo quedarme un poco mas?” he paused, his body hovering above yours.

You bit your lower lip in the dark, pondering the uncharted territory. No one ever asked to stay. Should you charge for that? Your thoughts were becoming more muddled and your eyelids heavier still, as you wordlessly tucked your body into the crook of his side, huffing a small sigh of defeat. No more thinking. Just sleeping. Javi wrapped his arms around you, breathing deeply at the crown of your forehead. 

“Smell good” he mumbled into your hair, as you started to drift into darkened oblivion. He was rocking you ever so slightly, and you didn’t have the energy to make any arguments whatsoever. You hadn’t felt this content in a very long time.

Swallowing dryly, your eyes blinked into the sunlight, hearing the motorcycles putter to life in the streets, and the vendors selling Cafe Caribe for the morning commuters. You sat up abruptly, reaching sideways to feel the cool sheets under your fingertips, noticing the hundred dollar bill grinning at you from the bed side table. Next to it, you saw the small cardboard cup, steaming with the chocolate aroma of your morning cafecito, note scribbled hastily across it…

“Thanks for the f@ck, hermosa. See you next week”. The small heart drawn in the corner winked at you as you smiled to yourself.

You loved your job.

*thanks @samspenandsword for the dividers!

Happy Birthday!

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

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

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

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 Tease

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

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

Moody Nathan

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

Pedge's Bookshop The Wound

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this literary collection from @obscurexsorrows "Recommendation" before heading into the Bookshop...

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", hospital environment, death, wounds, blood, spiritual concepts

Series Masterlist

Words: 3k

Your heart throbbed painfully in your chest, gripping your windpipe with a searing knife-like burn and you felt the icy pinpricks of the wintry air stab at your cheeks as Ellie raced behind you. Did you even dismiss the class? You suddenly realized you weren’t wearing your winter coat, having run out of the classroom blindly, and were still several hundred feet away from the infirmary.

Joel was hurt.

And truthfully, there wasn’t another substantial thought in your mind as your boots gripped the recent snowfall tenuously. What had Ellie said just a few moments ago? Only ten men had returned, and Levi wasn’t one of them. You didn’t have an iota of care for that man, but it only added a cloud of concern and fear to the already tense situation. What had happened?

Would Joel be okay?

You barreled through the infirmary doors, immediately feeling the shift in temperature and tone as pure chaos descended. There were men sitting on the floor, covered in blood and dirt. The limited pool of the commune’s medical resources were already strewn haphazardly around the small building as your eyes took in the scene before you. Every eye seemed to emanate guilt and anxiety, as you searched frantically.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Stopping abruptly you were greeted by the doleful countenance of Tommy who was locked in heated conversation with Maria. You and Ellie rushed towards him, ignoring the subdued voices contrasted by medical yells of urgency. “Where’s Joel?” you bluntly questioned, interrupting Maria mid-sentence, immediately noticing the blanket of blood covering Tommy’s jacket. “Is that his blood? What happened? Did Levi do this?” the questions poured out of you like a tumult as tears streaked down your face. You were crying. When had you started crying? You didn’t care.

You had to get to Joel.

“He’s dead”.

The world stopped for a moment, tilting on its axis, as you stopped breathing.

“Levi is dead” Maria quickly clarified for Tommy as a small cry escaped your lips, unbidden. Your knees buckled slightly as the group steadied you with supportive hands.

“Where’s Joel? Tell me what happened to Joel…” you croaked, pleading with Tommy helplessly.

“It was a mess. An absolutely ambush” Tommy’s eyes glazed over tiredly. “Levi’s men scattered everywhere when we found the infected. Or THEY found us…” Tommy shivered slightly as Maria gripped his arm tenderly. “It’s my fault…” Tommy’s voice cracked in defeat as Maria shook her head defiantly. “I had the sightline, and I stood up, and Joel…” he swallowed harshly as you looked to Ellie who was uncharacteristically silent. “Joel got shot”.

Your breath came out in haggard rasps, looking desperately around the building. “Where…is…he?” you hyperventilated, prying yourself out of their grasp and meandering shakily. Ellie gripped your arm, heading towards the only examination room that existed as voices blurred around you. All of your senses were somehow merging into a myriad of confusing sensations and images. The people around you took on a bizarre, inhuman quality; their features distorted into a hall of mirrors. Sounds were amplified as though blaring through a sieve, and your skin was a heightened maelstrom of sensitivity and dulled awareness. Moving with the unadulterated force of a bullet you plowed through the separating sheaths of fabric until you found him.

He looked so small.

Your spirit was immediately arrested as all your senses came rushing back with the precision of a scalpel. Smell of iron. Cotton clean. Rusted blood red patches of cloth thrown on the ground. Joel was curled into the fetal position on a low cot, gripping his stomach protectively as Tommy and Maria followed unsteadily behind you. A slew of medical attendants were coming and going, and you immediately noticed a solitary bag of medicine precariously connected via IV. Resources were extremely limited, so the situation must be as serious as it looked. Joel’s shirt had been ripped open, giving you a clear view of the gauze that had been quickly wrapped and immediately soaked in his blood. It was a gut wound, and you knew from books how excruciating those could be. It was a miracle he was even conscious at all, and you wondered what IV the commune had access to.

“The prospects are good, but you know we don’t do surgeries very often…” Maria’s voice held a small quiver, possibly considering her own health concerns. The Jackson Commune would have a limited supply of antibiotics, penicillin and other medicines, but it was obviously for emergencies only. Living and dying had always been a messy business, but the apocalypse reduced everything to one or the other.

“Please, can I touch him?” your voice drifted out of you as though from another country, as the only doctor in the commune raced into the room to check Joel’s vitals.

“Make it fast, Teach…taking him in any second…”.

As though moving through quicksand, you found yourself outstretching your hands towards Joel, afraid to touch him. As though he were made of glass and could easily shatter at any moment, you touched your fingertips lightly to his face, watching his eyelids sluggishly flutter open. What pretty eyelashes, you obscurely thought, now mostly unaware of every other flurry surrounding the room.

“Hey Teach” Joel choked, his fingers twitching quietly over his abdomen, as you circled your thumb over his patchy beard. Dirt and grime had seeped into every crinkle, highlighting his sun-kissed wrinkles, but his eyes held the youthful fear of a young boy. “Tommy tell you I need an extension on my homework assignment?” he smiled tiredly, closing his eyes once again.

“Absolutely unacceptable” you whispered. “The moment you get out of surgery I’m subjecting you to a pop quiz”. You joked tenderly, reaching for Ellie’s nearby hand and pulling her into the conversation. “You don’t want this one to surpass you, right?”. Joel’s eyes shot open with a new awareness, immediately flooding with a host of tears.

“Sarah” he rasped before closing his eyes once again. Tommy lowered his head solemnly as Maria’s eyes widened in acknowledgement. You squeezed Ellie’s hand with encouragement.

“Go on honey, he’s just confused” you offered, catching the intensity of Ellie’s stare as she hesitantly stepped forward. Joel’s eyes fluttered open again with confusion.

“Tell ‘em…” Joel mumbled, his fingers quivering softly in front of him as you brushed a feather-light kiss over his lips before they took him down the hallway.

“Ellie, please…” he continued “Tommy already knows. Please. You gotta tell ‘em” his words started to slur slightly as you gazed helplessly around the room looking to the doctor.

“We gotta take him” the doctor stated, gesturing to the volunteers in the room who grabbed Joel’s cot by both ends gently.

“I’ll be here Joel…” you called after him, leaving the group standing impotently silent, the din of chaotic voices suddenly cascading in from the foyer.

“What did he mean by that?” Maria asked, looking to Tommy for understanding as you gripped Ellie around the shoulders bracingly. Tommy kept looking at the floor as Ellie maintained a tight lipped reservation in response to your probing gaze.

“He’s got to be okay” Ellie stated desperately, rubbing at her forearms with anxiety.

“He will be” you lied. In this moment, you were hanging on by the thinnest of threads, but were determined to offer whatever confidence you could muster. “He’ll be fine because he has to be”.

The group stood poised in silence until Maria broached the subject once again. “Tommy…what did he mean?” Tommy refused to meet her eyes, but glanced quickly at Ellie for confirmation. You gripped Ellie tightly around the shoulders, uncertain as to how to support in the best way possible. You knew he was medicated and nearly delirious, but his words seemed sincerely motivated.

“I…” Ellie halted, looking around the small room, as though expecting a myriad of clickers to come cascading through the doorway. “How much did Joel tell you about our escape from the Fireflies?” she muttered, nearly under her breath. You held your breath with nervous anticipation. This was it. This is what Joel was trying to protect. WHO he was trying to protect…

“Not much” Maria offered, a tinge of betrayal spiking her tonality. “Tommy won’t tell me any of the details, just says I should keep my mouth shut…” she grumbled, looking to Tommy with slight annoyance. Tommy and Ellie knowingly locked eyes, as you observed her clawing and voraciously itching at her forearm, as though trying to tear it off. A cry of anguish from the foyer jostled your group out of its tumultuous reverie, as Ellie shook her head with defiance.

“Just leave me alone…” she muttered, wrenching herself out of your grasp and heading for the exit. Maria breathed a sigh of frustration, clutching her abdomen protectively.

“I pushed. Pushed too hard…” she observed, throwing her hands up in supplication. “Damn it. Tommy why the fuck do you ever let me talk out loud!” she tried to jest, contemplating sitting on the floor and finally giving up with frustration. “I need to take a walk…” she grumbled, heading out the door before slapping Tommy across the back of the head, eliciting a small smile of acknowledgement. Tommy’s eyes stayed locked to the floor.

“Women” he smiled, one small tear falling to the floor and dotting his dirtied boot. You grabbed his hand lovingly, nodding your head. Emotions were running high, including your own. You genuinely believed that Joel would pull through, besides which you couldn’t stew any longer in your own anxiety.

“You’ll be here?” you asked, watching Tommy shuffle his feet awkwardly.

“Not going anywhere” Tommy stated matter a factly, before giving your hand an exhausted squeeze.

“Okay, let me talk to her…” you offered before casting one final glance in the direction of the surgery room, willing Joel to sense your telepathic concern.

Joel. Fight. Fight like a motherfucker. I can’t lose you. Not yet. Fight. We need you. I need you.

You turned on your heel and headed out the door, knowing the one place Ellie would go for solace. Trudging through the cold and rain which had turned the previous snow to a dirtied sludge, you were quite a distance from The Bookshop. Finally alone with your thoughts and overwhelming emotions, one reality bubbled to the service with stark clarity;

….Levi was dead.

You weren’t exactly pleased, but wondered at his unexpected demise. Is it possible that Joel had something to do with it? You batted the thought away with annoyance. But with Levi’s death came the completion of a chapter of life that had long since ended. You were thankful for the closure, and desperately wanted to talk with Joel. IF he was able. You winced painfully, shoving those intrusive thoughts out of your mind as quickly as they appeared. Nearing the Bookshop you already saw the telltale signs of the woodburning stove and pacing tom-cat. It just wasn’t Rascal this time, it was Ellie. You approached cautiously, the bell at the door muffling a somber sounding ‘ding’ as you pried the door open tentatively.

“Can I come in?” you ventured, spying Rascal the Cat who was similarly peeking its head from behind the bookshelves. Ellie didn’t respond, just continued her cyclical pacing around the room in a flurried fashion. You shut the door behind you, backing up against it so as not to frighten her unduly. Ellie made another loop around the totality of the Bookshop as Rascal eyed you both suspiciously. Whilst obviously aware of your presence, Ellie seemed undeterred from her meditative flurry as she muttered something under her breath.

“Endure and survive, endure and survive, endure and survive….”

It took you a couple passes to gather what she might be repeating as she continued to scratch at her forearms, so you decided to take up residence in the foyer armchair, wrapping the quilt around yourself protectively. You were thankful to be distracted by your care for Ellie, otherwise you might have crawled out of your own skin waiting for the surgery to be successful. After a few minutes you decided on a different tactic.

“Have you arrived at the confession yet?”.

Ellie’s circular path halted, placing her behind a bookshelf, effectively hidden from your sight. You had struck a chord. Maybe if she couldn’t immediately make her own confession, you could arrive at via literary resources.

“Of course, Rascal tries to make his confession multiple times before he finally succeeds with Sophia…” you continued as Ellie’s mantra resumed, albeit at a slower tempo.

“Endure and survive, endure and survive…”.

“When Rascalonikov finally confesses, he moves from a place of human isolation to Divine consummation. Much like Lazarus, he begins to participate in his own rebirth; his own moral resurrection, rejoining the community via his own suffering and eventual redemption…”. Ellie quietly stopped pacing as Rascal the Cat nearly bumped into her calves and stared at you with a fixed intensity. “Just don’t tell Joel, I don’t think he’s read to that part yet…” your voice finally wobbled with emotion, allowing the smallest thread of reality to seep into your periphery.

Rascal the Cat slowly began stalking in the opposite direction, as Ellie attempted not to trip.

“And when he eventually does, a lot of it is steeped in anger and bitterness…”. Ellie remained undeterred in her pacing, but the words dulled to a non-existent roar. “That’s one of Dostoyevsky’s main points, regardless of society’s aversion to it, the true human of conscience can’t escape their own Divinity. Morality becomes it’s own punishment…and salvation…”. You were just winging it here, but how many lectures were born out of spontaneous desperation? Pouring your fervor and anxiety into the one beneficial thing you could helplessly do, was less of a decision and more of a reaction. Rascal the Cat had finally ceased his opposition and trotted merrily behind Ellie in her slowing circle of perseveration.

“If you had the power to save Levi’s life…would you?” she rasped, Rascal plopping down on the floor lazily and beginning to play with Ellie’s tangled shoestrings. Your mouth fell open dryly as the pit of your stomach dropped to the floor abruptly. An unexpected bout of tears immediately sprung to your eyes as the room stilled with a newfound, pulsing heat. You grasped helplessly at emotions you obligated yourself to, contrasted by the confusing substantiality of what was. Waiting for your response, Ellie delicately walked towards you, seating herself at your feet and looking out the main foyer window pensively. “If somehow you had the power to save, even the worst of these…would you do it?”.

You closed your eyes with consternation, Joel’s small, pained form seared into the recesses of your mind. Could both seeming dichotomies be true? Were punishment and salvation so inexorably entwined that humanity could never distentangle them?

“I think…” you cleared your throat from the emotion-filled rasp that greeted you. “I think…I somehow hated Levi enough to WANT him dead, but would do almost anything to keep him alive. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. But that doesn’t make it any less true…”. You collapsed back into the chair with exhaustion as Ellie laid her head against your leg with a restless, contentment. Rascal jumped into your lap, settling himself for a catnap as the snow began to drift lazily across the cold, foyer window. And that’s how you stayed, until the bell rang loudly at the Bookshop Door with Maria’s rushed entrance. You didn’t know when you had all fallen asleep but the specks of whitened snow were now dotted against the darkened, evening sky.

“Joel’s out of surgery!” Maria’s voice jarred you from your tumultuous reverie, as adrenaline kicked your heart into a flurry of activity.

Joel was awake.

Running into the infirmary, ghosts of the previous chaos hung lightly in the air, as you noticed a handful of men, sleeping quietly in corners or speaking in hushed tones. Piles of bloodied rags and emptied IV bags were piled haphazardly outside of the walkway, as Tommy barreled towards you and Maria. “He’s asking for you both” Tommy sighed with relative relief, holding Maria’s hands and stifling a wash of tears. “They removed the bullet, and if we can hold off infection, he should make a steady recovery” his voice trembled with emotion as Maria nodded her head with encouragement. “It’s good that we’re both the same blood type” he smirked with chagrin. “‘Seems only fitting if I got Joel nearly killed out there, that I should have something to do with his recovery”. You smiled with gratitude, grasping Tommy’s forearm and then heading tentatively into the make-shift recovery room.

Seeing Joel’s skin in a grayish hue, but his otherwise serene expression, dotted with a slight sheen of perspiration was a mixture of solace and concern. But he was safe. Ellie took your hand shakily as intently watched Joel’s chest rise and fall in steady breath. The four of you stood poised at Joel’s bedside, somber and quiet. It was quite a bit of time before Ellie’s voice tentatively emerged.

“I have to tell you…” she whispered, barely audible, as Joel’s eyelids fluttered sweetly in medicated sleep. Maria pursed her lips stubbornly, determined to protect the fragility of the moment.

“Tell us what, honey?” you swallowed, not taking your eyes off of Joel. None of you wanted to disrupt the intimacy of your connection. You were alive. There was something about death that made living all the sweeter. Ellie slowly reached down and peeled back the sleeve of her flannel revealing the puckered and veined laceration of an apparent infection. Without meaning to, you dropped her hand reactively, bringing your hand up to your mouth with revulsion. Tommy closed his eyes and dropped his head to the ground, while Maria gasped in quiet surprise.

“Ellie, are you?…When?…” Maria’s voice was pinched and cautious as Tommy shook his head quietly, holding her fixedly in place.

“Let ‘er talk first…” Tommy’s voice graveled, as you grabbed her hand again in forced solidarity.

“Are you sick? Are you infected?” the words tumbled out of your mouth as Joel stirred slightly in the bed.

“I thought I was…” Ellie’s confession now poured out of her without hesitation or limit. “But I’m immune. Joel knows. He’s known for a while. That’s what we were trying to do with the Fireflies. We were trying to find a cure”. The words hung awkwardly in the air as Maria’s brow crumpled in disbelief.

“That’s what you’ve been hiding?” Maria looked to Tommy doubtfully as he remained stoically in place. Ellie swallowed dolefully, her eyes widened to saucer-shaped orbs of apology.

“There are others” Ellie blurted out, as Joel stirred once again, his fingers quivering at his sides helplessly, unbeknownst to you and the group. “I’m not the only one, but it’s dangerous for anyone to know. There’s no cure. At least none that we could find. We got out of there as fast possible once raiders descended on the hospital. Joel saved me. He might have saved us all” Ellie reflected, looking back at his stilled form on the gurney. “I’m sorry Maria” her voice broke with defeat. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up…for you…and the baby. But no one can know…” her shoulders sagged with overwhelm before Joel’s voice rumbled low and quiet against the stillness.

“Hey Teach…” he smiled tiredly, reaching a hand out towards you and Ellie as you both quickly moved towards him. “When’s that pop quiz you promised me?”. The five of you laughed with relief before Joel winced in relative pain, clutching his abdomen tenderly. You made quick eye contact with Maria and Ellie in knowing acknowledgement of discussions yet to be traversed. But not now. Now, was the time for healing and rest.

“Come on Joel” you sighed with reassurance. “Let’s get you home”.

What Happened to Belen?

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I so enjoyed reading Pedro Pascal's book recommendation "What Happened to Belen?" and found it particularly insightful. For those of us Joel girls in mourning I wrote a pivot fiction for Pena you might check out at Pedge's Bookshop! Pair it with Pena's Playlist for the full Narcos experience :)

“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, police 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.”

"What Happened to Belen" is written by Ana Elena Correa

@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

Pike's Place Elf

Yay! Here's Episode Three of @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope Challenge! I'm really digging this slow burn series, final episode on Christmas Day :) A big thank you to @inept-the-magnificent for cool rec's and assists!

Triggers: lite smut, profanity, discussions of isolation/pandemic, that d@mn snow suit (costume malfunctions), stranded motorist, honestly at this point in the story we might just die of sugar overload, literal and metaphoric please proceed at your own risk...

Series Masterlist:

The fire was crackling brightly, flickering across Pike’s face as he gazed longingly into your eyes. Your body was perched atop his on the couch, two glasses of wine sitting in front of the television screen playing an endless loop of “It’s a Wonderful Life”. Snow was lightly falling across the pristine white landscape, as the both of your were housed in a cocoon of winter wonders. You sighed heavily into his chest, body thrumming with anticipation.

“I can’t believe this is happening” he whispered lowly, grazing his lips across the soft flesh of your neck, noticing the breath hitch in your throat haltingly. “Is this okay?” he pulled back with concern, his large hands rubbing your shoulders in one fluid motion and watching you intently.

“More than okay” you smiled, leaning in and hovering just above his lips teasingly. “This has been a Christmas I’ll never forget” you breathed into his ear, watching the goose bumps splay across his cinnamon skin. You felt the corners of his mouth turn up against your cheek, beard tickling at your grin as you pulled back to see his expression.

“I think showing up on my doorstep in the middle of a blizzard, wearing…THAT…was particularly memorable” he joked, eliciting small tickles from you as he crumpled in a protective vice, smashing your body against his in a useless defense.

“You were the one in your slutty, gray sweatpants crying into your Merlot!” you taunted mercilessly, reaching your hands around to his sides and pinching his ribs.

“Ouch!” Pike laughed, pausing dramatically until he had your full attention. “I was NOT crying into my Merlot…”. Your tickling hands halted for a millisecond, unsure if you had inadvertently hurt his feelings, or crossed a line. “It was a Pinot Noir.” Pike could give as good as he could take, and launched a full fledged tickle assault as you writhed atop his body with delight. You were squealing like a small child, squeaking and huffing as Pike tenderly wrestled you into submission. His movements started to slow, until his hands were gripping your back, and moving in small circles, lower and lower and lower. Your pupils dilated to to lustful circles, feeling magnetically drawn to his pouty lips, closer and closer and closer until….

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

You inhaled quickly, taking an adrenaline fueled moment to look around the room in assessment. The cozy dream you had been enjoying started to recede into the hazy background. It was juxtaposed against the pounding of your heart keeping time with the knocks at the door.

“I don’t want to scare you, but I think there’s a good chance a mystery woman in a pink snow suit may have burgled my winter cabin last night?” the muted tones of Pike drifted through the cabin door as you eyed said snow suit across the room. Grabbing at the sheets, you pulled them up to your chin, remembering you were only wearing a t-shirt you had found in his cabinet that was sinfully soft and smelling of a woodsy pine. The events of the previous evening came flooding back to you, drumming in your chest. There weren’t a lot of options after Bessie the Hyundai had come to an unceremonious halt in this unexpected blizzard. Trudging the distance to a nearby cabin you had come upon Agent Marcus Pike, unlikely tipsy hero, who had offered you lodging in this unexpected conundrum. Truthfully, he had primarily offered you hot chocolate, as you listened to his melancholy tale of heart break and isolation. It hadn’t taken much to draw you in to the warmth of his personality and plight, particularly as it seemed aided by one too many glasses of red. Falling asleep on the couch you had tucked him in for the night and headed upstairs to survive the snow storm. The fuzzy remnants of your dream flashed into your memory as a smirk dotted your face. Guess it was obvious which direction your subconscious was headed, as it dragged your conscious mind right along with it. But would Agent Pike seem nearly as adorable in the harsh light of day? 

“I must remind you in this moment that I AM a man of the law, and trespassers will be treated with the utmost stringency and repudiation”. Silence followed as you gulped dryly. Oh my. Maybe he didn’t remember the events of last night and had already called the police. A quick image of you in a pink snowsuit and handcuffs flashed comedically across your mind scape.

“I’m not trespassing!” you called out, trying to diffuse the situation. The door gently swung open on a light squeak as Pike stood before you in a pressed white dress shirt and slacks carrying…a tray of pancakes?

Your mouth dropped open slightly taking in the angelic sight before you. You almost had to laugh at the comical rom-com persona grimacing before you, silhouetted by the morning sun. Pike couldn’t have appeared MORE cinematic, as you took in the bowl of pinecones, restaurant perfect pancakes, glass of orange juice and mug that read… “I’m only a morning person on Christmas Day”.

“I don’t usually make pancakes for burglars, but in this case, I thought I’d make an exception?” he joked, taking a quick glance at your disheveled morning hair and freckled confusion. Oh you were even cuter than he remembered from last night. Truthfully, he didn’t remember much. There was pink, there was a crowbar, there was…lingerie? That part seemed more like a fever dream. But glancing out the window of his snow-covered cabin he could clearly see a small car dotting the landscape, and the aforementioned crowbar sat atop the living room table, so there was evidence enough of his Merlot fueled fantasy. Somehow Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and the whole experience was a bit muddled in his mind, but he was fairly certain a roadster had requested lodging for the night and…he furrowed his brow in concentration. There was a lot of pink. Sexy pink? He cleared his throat with discomfort. One more example of romanticizing EVERY moment indiscriminately. But standing before you, gazing at your questioning expression he felt slightly justified in his usually theatrically perceptions. His memory was functioning just fine. You WERE adorable. And he had pancakes.

“I…uh…don’t remember ALL the details from last night, but I noticed your car out front, and thought you might have found yourself slightly stranded…” he trailed off, eyes widening at the sparkly pink bra draped across an even louder pink snowsuit. Ah, that was…something. The tray shook in his hand ever so slightly as a red tint crossed his cheeks, blazingly hot. “Oh, we didn’t…um…I mean…” he stuttered with concern, noticing the t-shirt you were wearing from his closet.

“Absolutely not!” you blurted out, nearly standing up, but remembering you were only wearing his t-shirt underneath the bedsheets. “Agent Pike…I mean Mr. Marcus…M-Marcus!” you took a deep breath, attempting to still your heart throbbing loudly in your ears. “I don’t make it a point to take advantage of…members of the Art Squad..” you winced awkwardly attempting to form a cohesive thought “…who have taken ME in for the night” you punctuated your sentence definitively trying to regain some measure of composure, and spotting his sigh of relief with slight disappointment.

The floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight with indecision.

“What kind of pancakes are those” you managed to eek out, happy to fill the void.

“Chocolate chip! I don’t have much in the way of sugar so your coffee might taste like maple syrup, I don’t know how you like it.”

I’m more than happy to tell you how I like it, Agent Pike, you clandestinely thought, overjoyed to finally keep your inner monologue silent for once.

“Can I…?” Pike paused precariously at the doorstep, indicating the foot of the bed.

“Please” you rasped. Somehow this appeared a bit begging on your part so you cleared your throat for a second attempt. “Yes, please enter”. Good Lord, it’s getting worse. Why do I ever use words, you wondered as Pike jauntily walked in, setting the tray down at the foot of the bed, and grazing your ankle ever so slightly with his pinky. You jerked away nervously, suddenly aware of his close proximity. Pike’s eyes shot up to yours with intensity.

“I’m sorry you were having car trouble last night” he took a step back, clasping his hands behind him modestly. “I did call the local mechanic and Triple A in the interim, but everything seems to be inaccessible at the moment.”

You nodded your head appraisingly, unfortunately unsurprised. This California Girl didn’t know much about blizzards, but business was hard enough during the holidays, let alone on a Sunday. You took another detailed look at Agent Marcus Pike who was casting quite the coifed, clean shaven aesthetic this morning in a button down white shirt and even wearing his lanyard, adding to his official presence.

“I didn’t realize the Art Squad was so proficient in the culinary arts” you teased, eyeing him up and down.

He smirked shyly, drawing his hand behind his neck and rubbing slightly. “I didn’t realize burglars were so pretty” he bit his lip painfully, already annoyed at himself. Too much. 

Your cheeks reddened as you pulled the sheets up even higher than they already were. “Well, it’s important when you’re having car trouble to try to look as fabulous as you can” you chuckled self-deprecatingly, feeling a bit out of sorts. “And what about you Agent Pike, are you…headed to work?” you questioned, wondering at his apparel.

“Oh, this old thing? I only wear it when I don’t care how I look!” he chuckled, backing out of the room slowly. “And you can call me Mr. Marcus, I mean M-Marcus, if you want…” he tripped slightly over the frame, grabbing the doorknob to steady himself. “I’ll just be downstairs tidying up, no rush” he ducked his head out quickly before he said anything else.

You laughed quietly to yourself, breathing a sigh of relief. Looks like you weren’t the only one out of sorts. You gazed down at the steaming cup of coffee and plated pancakes and smiled. What holiday Hallmark movie had you stepped into?

Pike plodded down the stairs shaking his head from side to side. Nice one, Pike, real smooth, he chastised himself, heading back into the kitchen. Why didn’t you just ask her ring size while you were there? He had to chuckle to himself, trying to elicit a bit of grace, noticing “Elf” playing on the television screen. That’s not an old movie, he muttered under his breath, but smiling with recognition. If anybody understood Buddy the Elf it was him. Endlessly optimistic, overly enthusiastic and a hopeless romantic. He took a moment to appreciate the roaring fire in the hearth, and pulled back the curtains to see your small forlorn Hyundai, punctuating the snowscape. Still on East Coast time, he had awakened bright and early, using all of his investigative skills to piece together the previous evening. It was unlike him to have spent so much time moping in the preceding week, and your unexpected arrival had jarred him into a state of productivity. Re-starting his indoor exercise regiment, he decided to make a better “first impression”, jumping in the shower and presenting a clean-shaven business appearance. He didn’t want you to think he was a lush, wiling away the holiday hours and fretting into his Merlot. It’s true the last couple months had been an emotional roller coaster, but there was no better time than the present to turn over a new leaf. Pike looked around the tidied cabin appraisingly. He had already called Triple A, and the local mechanic, to no avail. He’d already been up for four hours and was attempting to quell the nervous restlessness bouncing around inside his chest. Still smarting from his recent romantic escapades, he was well aware that enthusiasm was his downfall. He just couldn’t help himself, and the holidays seemed to intensify his longing. Perhaps he could just enjoy the possibility of a new friendship, and help you on your way to wherever you were going. He gazed over at Buddy who had just finished decorating all of Macy’s in a holiday extravaganza. Rolling up his sleeves with determination, he reasoned there was only one thing left to do in this anxious state. It was time to start baking.

Ever since Pike’s gentle appearance at the door, your heart wouldn't stop hammering in your chest. It had been so long since you made any new friends, let alone someone…from the Art Squad. You mindlessly inhaled the delectable breakfast Pike had assembled, downing the maple flavored cup of coffee in one gulp. What was a girl to do? This wasn’t a real Hallmark Holiday special. This wasn’t “It’s a Wonderful Life” and you weren’t Donna Reed. You were here, on a working vacation, as per your therapist’s recommendation, and Bessie the Hyundai had mercilessly betrayed you on this blustery blizzard Sunday. Firmly grasping your fantasies in one hand you hopped out of bed, determined to double down on your holiday independence. If something seemed too good to be true, it probably was, and you were obviously infringing on Marcus’ Holiday solo expedition. Sorry, Agent Pike, you reprimanded yourself. No getting familiar now, just because he had accidentally seen you in your altogethers. Pull up your big girl snow suit and get back to work! Taking off his large t-shirt you gripped it in your hands, indulging in one final inhale of the woodsy cologne, and flung it onto the bed. Something for the road, you reasoned, hopping back into your pink snowsuit and mustering every ounce of determination you had left. You gazed over at the demolished breakfast, disappointed at your decision to make a quick exit. Compliments to the chef, you pouted, willing yourself to dart down the stairwell, before you changed your mind.

“IamsosorryIinterruptedyourholidayvacayIcantthankyouenoughforthemazingbreakfastandhospitality.HonestlyitssoembarassingthatBessiekonkedoutIamsureIcangiveitanothergo.AndthankyouagainforallofyourhelpAgentPike!”

Pike peaked his head out of the kitchen just in time to see the flurry of pink cascading by him in a tornado of activity, whisking down the stairwell and practically running toward the door.

“Oh watch out for the…!”

If you had paused long enough to see Pike’s fallen countenance at your quick departure you might have anticipated the upcoming results. But grabbing the crowbar on your exit, you flung open the cabin door and nearly fell over the waist high tumult of snow.

“….snow fall!” Pike managed to get out before a clump fell on top of your head poised just beneath the door frame. You had never seen so much snow in all your life. The momentum of your exit catapulted you forward as you fell face first into the soft pillowed blanket of snow. Pike hurried forward, grasping your snow suit around the waist and hoisting you back up to a standing position. You inhaled shakily, icicles stinging your cheeks as your feet slid on top of the snowy dregs. “Steady there, sailor!” Pike laughed, gripping you hard around the waist and pulling you in for an awkward hug. This seemed vaguely reminiscent of your earlier dream, as he reached up to brush some stray snowflakes from your surprised expression. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere for the next 24 hours” he appraised, somewhere between an apology and a suggestion, as you blinked confusedly. “Let’s get you indoors for a second” he surmised, taking in your silence and sliding you back into the cabin’s warmth. He left his hand on your lower back for a bit longer than was absolutely necessary, making sure you had your sea legs and then give you a quick wink before heading back into the kitchen.

“I already called Triple A and the mechanic down the hill, but you’re welcome to ring them as well” he called from the kitchen, returning to his task at hand. You shook your head violently from side to side. So much for Barbie’s break for independence, you scoffed, looking over at the flickering television screen and Zooey Deschanel singing in the shower. Maybe this wasn’t a situation you could easily run from.

“How did those pancakes treat ya?” he inquired, grabbing a nearby apron that said “Who Needs a Hug?” and pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven. Momentarily stunned into silence you tried to get your bearings in the midst of this snowy quandary. Your Arts and Crafts Girl Scout Training hadn’t prepared you for this particular scenario, but you were an independent gal, with brains and boobs. Time to rally your wits and try anew.

“Um…the pancakes were absolutely amazing” you confessed, watching Pike beam with pride and pour you another cup of coffee in the interim. “Are you starting a bed and breakfast anytime soon?’ you teased, pulling your snowsuit hood back down and taking the coffee from him.

“I think I’m gonna need better hosting skills for that to happen” he apologized with chagrin. “I’m not sure you were catching me at my best last night” the pained expression on his face, softened your resolve as you plopped down at the dining room table huffily.

“Maybe we have a do-over this morning, I’m not sure either of us were on our best behavior” you gulped down your second cup of joe as Pike set down the cookie tray and outstretched his hand.

“I’m Marcus Pike from the Art Squad in Sacramento, and you are?”

You took his hand warmly, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m snow time Barbie, I come with props, though there have been some factory disputes regarding my somewhat defunct Hyundai.” Pike smiled broadly in acknowledgement, returning to his baking. 

“Sounds like Pike’s Place is just the spot for you”.

You and Pike feel into an easy rapport for the next hour, chatting about holiday plans run amok, recent work challenges and options for your car’s retrieval. After some digging on your part you confirmed that all nearby resources were in the lurch and you’d be forced to spend at least the next 24 hours at “Pike’s Place” whether he wanted you to or not. Downing a glass of cold milk, Pike patted his stomach with contentment.

“I think I’ve probably eaten enough chocolate chip cookies for the both of us”, he laughed, returning your coffee mug to the sink and starting the dishes. “Do you wanna watch a movie while we wait out the storm? I think I already offered, but there IS hot chocolate…”.

You paused reflexively catching yourself in a Cheshire like grin. You hadn’t even been hesitant the last hour, revealing parts of yourself that had stayed hidden for the last several years, and being unaccustomed to that level of intimacy, started experiencing an emotional hangover of sorts. Your face literally hurt from smiling so much, but what did you really know about Marcus? Agent. Pike. This was a lot to process in a short amount of time, and the walls of the cabin started to feel just a bit more oppressive in retrospect. The fire roared loudly from the hearth as you back pedaled slightly. 

“Um, is it possible to use your laptop for some work, maybe? I AM supposed to be on a working vacation…” you ventured, attempting to reboot to something a bit more neutral.

“Come on, you don’t need to work on a Sunday!” Pike teased from the kitchen.

“Well, you don’t really know me very well, do you?” the sentence escaped your lips before you had a chance to consider the ramifications. The mood immediately shifted from the cozy camaraderie you had been experiencing to a blizzard like cold.

“I guess that’s true…” Pike stalled, wondering in the tonality shift. “But I’d…like the chance…if you have time…” he trailed off, unsure of his direction.

You kind of stopped breathing for a second, grappling with the many emotions fighting for your attention. What was going on? Once again your snow suit seemed hotter than ever as you picked at the cuticles on your nails. Had you actually forgotten how to interact with other humans? Did the pandemic really fuck you up so much you couldn’t even consider the possibility that someone might actually like you, without some sort of hidden agenda?

“I can come up with lots of activities!” Pike tried to brighten the mood again. “I think we’ve got Twister…uh…cards…puzzles? Oooh, maybe we could make some snowflakes out of newspaper!” he piped up over the clanging dishes.

“Snowflakes?” you uttered, incredulously. “Are you kidding, Art Squad? This isn’t a daycare, I actually have some work I need to get done…”

“Oh. Right.” Pike stuttered, returning to the dishes. The silence stretched out awkwardly before you, as you gazed at his broad back and now hunched shoulders. Outside of his gaze you bit your lower lip with embarrassment. Where did that come from? No wonder you hadn’t dated anyone in years. Bitch. I don’t deserve somebody like Pike, you rationalized, suddenly very aware of your limitations, both without and within. You felt your eyes welling up with tears unexpectedly.

“I mean, if that’s okay with you…” you stumbled forward politely, trying to assemble your emotions one at a time. Get in a line, motherfuckers, you chided. You’re a guest, you’re stranded and you have nowhere else to go. Just because you’re alone on the holidays doesn’t mean you have to take it out on Mar…on Agent Pike.

Pike cleared his throat, softening his expression slightly. “Sure, just check the briefcase over there in the study” he muttered, trying to focus on the dishes. You quietly stood up, heading over to the side room and quickly caught sight of his briefcase. Popping open the metal latches, his laptop thunked to the bottom as you caught sight of several manilla folders and a small photo of a smiling woman with kind, brown eyes.

Uh oh. The ex.

You picked up the photo hesitatingly, as though rummaging around through his underwear drawer. I wonder if he wears boxers of briefs? Oh shut up, Barbie. You swallowed hard, wondering at the circumstances you both found yourselves in. You truly believed everyone was just doing their best. You didn’t have the copyright on injustice or personal heartache. It wasn’t easy to make changes or move in a new direction, but Pike was trying to move on, and he didn’t need your insecurities or relative isolation clouding his own. Get it together woman, you resolved. You can do better than this. Make a plan to get yourself out of this situation and leave Agent Pike to his own healing. Heaven’s knows you’re not put together enough to warrant his attentions. You stifled a small sniffle, feeling that all too familiar lump in your throat rising to the surface. Grabbing the laptop you returned to the living room, determined to make a better representation of yourself, but found the setting completely still.

Agent Pike did seem like a fantastical figment of your imagination, but even the Art Squad couldn’t evaporate into thin air. Your heart sank, realizing how alone you might truly be if not for the safety of the cabin and Pike’s warm disposition. Did you really just ruin things from the get go? Sitting quietly at the dining room table you had just haltingly opened the laptop when Pike lumbered down the stairs in a winter jacket and heavy snow boots.

“Be right back” he muttered, flinging the door wide open and shutting it abruptly behind  him. He continued, wading through the waist high snow to a nearby woodshed.

Mouth ajar, you peered out the snowy window to see him retrieve a snow shovel and begin barreling towards Bessie with decided purpose. Your lip quivered with emotion as a single, unbidden tear found its way down your cheek, pattering to the floor. Jesus, you can’t even manage one day with a perfect specimen like Marcus, how were you ever going to make it work with anyone in this state of mind, particularly during the holidays? Sigh. You returned to the dining room table awash with defeat. Agent Pike. His name is Agent Pike.

Pike allowed the cold sting of the snowy tundra to purify his meandering thoughts as he drove a hard line to Bessie the Hyundai. This is a test, Pike, hegrunted with effort, flinging powdery snow to either side, making quick work of his hundred foot task. When faced with temptation are you going to take the path of least resistance or are you going to man up and admit the truth? Pike paused to catch his breath looking back at the cozy cabin and billowing plumes of smoke chugging from the happy chimney. What truth? He coughed heartily, watching his breath blossom in the cold air. It’s time to start thinking realistically, and without entitlement. This woman doesn’t owe you anything, and the most important thing you can do is get her back on the road to relative safety. And maybe pack some chocolate chip cookies for the road, he nodded with resolve. Are you a man of the law, or not? Now get crackin’…He started shoveling like a man possessed, determined to carve a quick path to Bessie and get you back on the road as soon as possible. No time for love, Pike. It’s the holidays. Get ‘er done.

Now faced with the relative silence of the roaring fire you sat silently in front of the blinking cursor. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Your eyes blinked back the tears that were starting to crowd your vision. WHY was it always so damn hot in here??? You unzipped the top portion of your snow suit, perspiration dotting your chest and sparkly pink lingerie. Something about your relative inability and helplessness had you needlessly lashing out at poor Pike. That lump in your throat tightened exponentially as you attempted to bulldoze through some work emails. Pike was right, you don’t need to do anything on a Sunday. Who were you kidding? Pike was so friendly and unassuming, he reminded you of all your need and loneliness. You paused to consider the warmth radiating from his entire personhood. JEEEESUS it was warm, you aggressively pulled your arms out of the snow suit, bunching it at your waist and wiping a film of sweat from your brow. If you didn’t learn how to bite your tongue you were gonna end up completely alone for the rest of your life. The tears started running down your face indiscriminately as you looked over at James Caan, chewing out Buddy the Elf for his holiday enthusiasm. You could really use that hot chocolate right now…IF IT WASN’T SO DAMN HOT!!! You blew a strand of hair out of your face as the front door flung open, a blast of cold air rippling through the cabin refreshingly.

Jumping to your feet with resolve you just managed to shout, “I’M SORRY!”…before the snow suit slipped to the floor around your ankles.

Pike stood poised with your luggage in one hand and snow shovel in the other before it clattered loudly to the floor. He gulped loudly, unsure of where he should be looking, as the corners of his mouth twitched upward in delight.

You pursed your lips comedically, unwilling to lose any ground at this point, and authoritatively placed your hands on your hips. And why not? You work out. Half the population has boobs, and the other half wants them, so there’s nothing new under the sun. You giggled a bit attempting to proceed, “I would like to apologize!”

“You would????” Pike bellowed, dropping your luggage next, nearly tripping over it as he slammed the door shut.

“Yes I would!” you shouted back, now covering your mid-drift section and shivering ever so slightly. “I’m sorry I’m being ridiculous…” you tried to subtly slide downward pulling the snow suit back up around you. “It’s been a long time since I’ve…felt…feelings” you meandered forward, unsure of how to articulate your own confusion. “I’m just used to being alone, and fixing things on my own and…I apologize” you reiterated, zipping the snow suit back up and vowing to change into normal clothes ASAP.

Pike sighed with relief, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “There’s nothing to apologize for” he sighed. “I always come on too strong with people I like” he paused abruptly, waiting on your response. “And…I do like the color pink” he chuckled, unzipping his winter coat and kicking off the powdery lumps of snow from his boots.

“I would like to make it up to you” you pondered, as Pike froze with curiosity.

“How?” he whispered, immediately tightening his lips with restraint. “I mean, what exactly did you have in mind?”

Having both changed into a more cozy pair of pajamas you emerged from the kitchen, now wearing the aforementioned apron and balancing two plates of pasta in your outstretched arms. “Do we dare open another bottle of Merlot?” you teased, rounding the corner and gesturing to the coffee table in front of you. “Elf” had restarted for the AMC marathon and Pike grinned expectantly at the culinary offering.

“I’m game if you are” he rose to take the plates from your grasp as you returned to the kitchen to locate a new bottle and two wine glasses. You pushed the memory of your earlier dream to the side, content with the new friendship you had forged with your unlikely hero. Bessie was still anchored firmly in the tundra, as a new wave of snow lightly feathered down on the cozy cottage. It was going to be at least 48 hours or more until you could attempt another winter escape. But currently, that didn’t seem quite as oppressive as it once did, a loud pop resounding from the kitchen as you uncorked the Merlot pouring its heady aroma into the wine glasses before you. You padded into the living room, noting your matching gray sweatpants. Pike beamed with anticipation as you sat across from him, offering a glass of congratulations.

“Thanks for bringing in my luggage, I really don’t know what I would have done without your assistance” you toasted him with celebration, enjoying the light clink of your glasses touching rims.

“It was my pleasure” Pike returned, drawing the glass up to his mouth, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I don’t think I’m the best cook, so it’s lucky your last Instacart order arrived when it did. I think we might be stuck here for the indefinite future” you worried, however secretly enthusiastic at the turn of events.

“This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship” he surmised, licking his lips pointedly and clinking glasses once again.

Happy holidays, you smirked, as the wind blustered outside. Happy holidays, indeed.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers

The One With Racism

Triggers: This one goes strong, so if you're feeling sensitive, please avoid. Discussion of racism, misogyny, anti-semitism, queerphobia, spirituality, profanity, racist symbolism, SH, ideation, NC. Pedge the Therapist has RPF vibes, but he's just the avatar I use to discuss difficult topics.

Alright, Pedge is hiding in the corner trembling slightly, because I want to discuss our recent discourse around racism, but Pedge doesn’t want to. I’m reminding him that Pedro Pascal is delightfully vocal about his own beliefs, which we heartily subscribe to, but Pedge is still feeling a little shy, and that’s okay too. We finally went and read “the fic”.

To be more accurate, we skimmed the fic until we found the reference to the Confederate Flag. I appreciated the reader who gently questioned its inclusion, though I can no longer see the writer’s response. Being Jewish, I also resonated with the supposition that a swastika would be equally in bad taste, which I understand and agree with.

Having adored this writer for the last year+, I can’t claim to know them personally, but I feel I know something about literary style. This character is PURPOSEFULLY in bad taste and our main character gets off on using him sexually. The most I could definitively say is that I don’t find this type of situation appealing, but I can intellectually understand someone who might. Besides which, the main character is listed without ethnicity or physical description. So that means, I, as a Jewish woman, have the literary option to literally give a “fuck you” to this ridiculous fictional character. For me, this is equivalent to NC fics or SH which I find more personally appealing because I can explore these darker emotions in a fictional setting so I can bring them into the light, not hide them further in the shadows. I get to exercise literary control, and in regards to racism, that is something that many of us feel we lack. (*adendum; this was after I was alerted to its content, which was not specifically included in the triggers....)

I really think that’s what the author was trying to express. If you don’t think that, then please keep saying so, in as truthful a way as possible. Your experience is completely different than mine, and I want to hear about it. I didn’t read this fic when it came out because I don’t find this character appealing, and I didn’t find him appealing in the SNL sketch, but that's just me. As a queer Jewish woman, I experience anti-semitism, misogyny and self-hatred from within, and that’s what I have SOME control over and am currently working on.

Pedge and I also appreciated the discussion that ensued after, though I’m sad the writer left. They had already temporarily exited the fandom last year, so I think that’s an indication of many nuances happening behind the scenes that I can't comment on. The last thing I’ll say is the personal ways I’m interested in combating racism in my own life, since that’s the only thing I have dominion over.

-Go back and read my own fics and see if any can easily remove ethnic/gender descriptions and if I’m interested in doing that. I have already written some fics with that mindset.

-Continue to write for characters that are unique in the ways that I understand; Jewish, queer, “passing”, spiritual…and safely explore darker writing prompts regarding SH, NC and ideation.

-Continue to elucidate controversial or potentially hurtful topics in the listed triggers

-I personally don’t think it’s appropriate for me to write to the black experience, because it’s not mine. For me, that would be the height of arrogance to think I could articulate the intimate experience of my brothers and sisters. Other writers might be able to, but that feels inappropriate for me to even attempt it. I would rather read books by black authors, continue to chat with all of my friends about their personal experiences to inform my own, and support as many artists as I can in expressing the varied and beautiful creativity of the human condition.

-I will continue to support black, queer, Mexican, trans, gay, bi, handicap and other minority groups in whatever way I can creatively think of, as I continue to learn more.

Sigh. And if this writer should ever return to the fandom, I think we could continue to voice any concerns in the way our aforementioned reader did. Gently, and with love. Pedge is feeling very sleepy now, but he is reminding me that we don’t often see others the way they are; we see them the way WE are. And that should be as self-informing about our experience as anything else.

To read some more thoughts on the matter check out @whataperfectwasteoftime insights. I found it very comprehensive and thought provoking...