Make Your Own Kind Of Music

Pedro, Painter, Poet

I'm a published author and musician, which takes up a tremendous amount of my professional and personal time. So when I have a recreational moment, I like to explore an artistic medium outside of my expertise. I like utilizing Klimt, Frida Kahlo, Pablo Neruda, Georgia O' Keefe, Shakespeare and many other artists, as you can see! Pedge says he is a self-made man which is 100% true, but I haven't had the heart to tell him he's also made by Bitmoji...Let's get artistic!

Pedro At the Beach

Refugee Day

Pride

Pedge Paints

Make Your Own Kind of Music

Happy Birthday to Me!

Purple Rain

Bi-Visibility Week

Pedro-Tober!

Trick or Treat

Pirate Pedge Poetry

Ode to Gratitude; Marcus Moreno

Pedro Stories Secret Santa

Pedge Bookshop Art

Crime + Punishment

Fantastic Four

The Oberyn Days

Javi's Afterglow

Pike's Picture

Friendly Frankie

Pena's Pose

Dostoyevsky + the Slutty Knee

Dostyevsky + The Dream

All About Eve

April Showers Prompt

Disability Visibility

Clint's Freaky Tales

Fink's Phrases

The Last of Us

Mister Fantastic

Pedge Pose

What Happened to Belen?

Through the Valley

Belen

Hold You Me

Mustafa's New Anthology

God Said No

Baby Pedge

Laker's Shirt

Critic's Choice

The Uninvited

Cannes (Eddington)

WIP; In Cold Blood

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...

Get to Know Your Moots

@burntheedges Always comes through with the Polls and Prompts. I've been wrestling with health challenges, but this Valentine's is a win for my self-love journey. Approaching my one year Tumblr anniversary and thought I'd introduce myself a bit more...

What's the origin of your blog title?: Pedro Pascal lists a friendly nickname of Pedge in a BBC interview, and Tumblr is where I exist with him parasocially. It’s Pedge’s World, I’m just living’ in it!

OTP(s) + shipname: Okay I’m a Tumblr baby so I had to look these terms up. But I’m the OG fan nerd. Star Trek, Star Wars, Harrison Ford, LOTR, Narnia, Marvel, D.C, Disney, Broadway, Sherlock, Harry Potter…I’ve really jumped around. I don’t often ship, but maybe Benny/Frankie, Han/Leia, Pedro and anyone…Not sure I understand this term…

Favorite Color: Every color is on the table for me. I love variety.

Favorite Game: I like any of Lego Themed Video Games because you never really die

Earworm: Abracadraba Lady Gaga, Father Figure George Michael

Weirdest Habit: I think my brain works weird. It’s supes philosophical and existential.

Hobbies: Legos, writing, music, acting, painting, art, Disneyland, reading

If you work, what's your profession: Teacher, Artist

If you could have any job you wish what would it be: I thought I wanted to be a mom/wife but that didn’t happen. Then I thought I wanted to be an actor and that DID. But then I realized I wanted to live EVERY life and that wasn’t possible.

Something you're good at: Mentoring other artists

Something you're bad at: Geography and natural sense of direction

Something you love: Humans

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Art philosophy

Something you hate: Hate and prejudice, particularly as it triggers my own self-perception

Something you collect: Mugs, Books, Legos

Something you forget: Don’t know. I forgot.

What's your love language: All of them. I’m an emotional slut.

Favorite movie/show: WTF? Pick one? No.

Favorite Food: Salad

Favorite animal: Dog…or unicorn.

Are you musical: Y.E.S.

What were you like as a child: Not even much shorter. Pure.

Favorite subject at school: English

Least favorite subject: P.E.

What's your best character trait: I love hard and uniquely.

What's your worst character trait: Self harm and the way it negatively impacts others

If you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be: Health

If you could travel in time who would you like to meet: Jesus, I guess :)

Recommend one of your favorite fanfics: I guess it’s Tumblr lore, but I LOVE “A Lover’s Pinch” by @hier--soir . It’s unfinished, so if you want a heartbreak, this is your angst…

Happy Valentine's y'all, I loves you mooots....

A Very Special Episode of PB and J

And now for a very special episode of PB and J. This one is drastically self-indulgent, though I feel there are some things Pedge and I can say to the fandom that might help. 

Sexy Disclaimer: Pedge is not a registered therapist, however therapeutic he might be. We are going to be talking about some challenging topics like SH, ideation, orientation, violence and shame…

Pedge and I have been talking a lot about shame and allowance lately, haven’t we Pedge? I know, it’s hard to sit with uncomfortable emotions no matter how many chocolate chip cookies we have. It’s easy to feel broken or like there’s something wrong with you. Hmmm? I mean, it’s only 11:30am but…yes we can have some for breakfast.

This first writing year on Tumblr I’ve learned A LOT. I spent a full year reading ALL KINDS of fics and some of them had me feeling all sorts of things! I read fluff, I read violence, I read about threesomes, I read about orientation, I read about SH, ideation, dead dove…

Sorry, Pedge has his fingers in his ears and is singing “Purple Rain” right now, just in case. Maybe I should whisper a little…I’m just gonna give a little reminder that trigger warnings are there for a reason. You just protect yourself like Pedge does, and if you don’t like something, block it! I saw some scary pics last night I just blocked that ish straight away, no thank you! 

But sometimes I have a tendency to “block” myself, and that’s something my REAL therapist and I have been working on. What? No Pedge, I’m sorry the time that we spend together is very therapeutic, but it’s also important to speak with a professional. No, she doesn’t make chocolate chip cookies the way you do, and yes I would like some Almond Milk.

Anyways, sometimes I feel silly or embarrassed or guilty about the things that I like. Do you ever feel that way? I worry that a playful cartoon like Pedge might appear childish or misrepresent some of the adult topics we address. I’ve started describing myself as a sexy ace, but that label doesn’t really fit. Pedge is running to get his Pride Flag from June, thank you for the support, P. I love fics that explore orientation and different types of love. Yes, Pedge I LOVED the work you did in “A Strange Way of Life”. I mean…that was hawt, and I’m not just talking about the oven right now.

I like unpacking fics that involve violence. I’m not 100% why, but I feel safe within myself to explore those feelings, particularly in a fictional environment and not a real one. Yes Pedge, I DID watch TLOU and that hospital scene was VERY believable. No, I don’t know if Laurence Olivier liked chocolate chip cookies, but I’m sure he would have liked you. This October we’re going to explore some Halloween fics with some of your SUPER scary characters like Dave York and Max Phillips. Pedge, you know I can still see you even when you’re hiding underneath the covers, right? Okay, you just let me know if we overstimulate ourselves, okay? Maybe we’ll read those during the daytime…

Pedge, did you know sometimes I even feel embarrassed about writing? (Ahem) alright, you don’t have to laugh about it, silly goose. I often refer to you as Pedge or P, because you’re an avatar. No, not the movie. Yes, I know it’s a classic. An avatar is an icon or figure that represents a REAL figure like Pedro Pascal.

Oh honey, I’m sorry, no you are VERY real. How could you eat so many cookies if you weren’t real? Oh cuddle bug…okay you just nestle up in here for a hug, I’m sorry I made you cry. All I mean to say is that thoughts and feelings and desires are VERY real, and sometimes giving them a name or an image can help us sort through the complicated parts of ourselves! And it can mean whatever we want. It doesn’t mean we’re delusional, or violent or bad, it just means that we’re human. And humans use art to understand themselves and life.

Yes, and cookies. We also enjoy cookies and movies and museums and pleasure and all kinds of things that don’t need an explanation, they just get to be enjoyed, much like the fandom.

Sigh. No we’re not broken, we’re just human. Well, some of us are human and some of us are avatars, but we both need Love. And cookies. They’re ready? Okay good, this existential and literary crisis has made me very hungry. When in doubt, try to remember that feelings and thoughts are neutral, it’s what you DO with those emotions that defines their meaning and external impact.

In closing, Pedge and I just want you to know how much we like you. You’re good. You’re not bad. Okay, you’re not PERFECT. You’re just you, and we like that. Keep doing your best! Keep exploring, keep learning, keep growing, keep wanting! And if there are some emotions that feel too big even for cookies to handle, think about getting your own therapist, like me! Pedge is currently occupied, so you’ll have to get your own. Mostly, just be good to yourself and be good to others. And remember that sometimes a cookie is just a cookie. Yes, Pedge, you’ve done an extraordinary job with this batch, I must say. Yes Pedge. I love you too.

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the dividers!

My Darling Muse + Pedge's Jukebox

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA. Two dynamic worlds have combined to bring you this Very Special Episode of "My Darling Muse" and Pedge's Jukebox. Just to be safe, I'm going to include triggers from both series and advise you to proceed with caution. Dieter was particularly saucy but told me to leave as is so I don't "sully the purity of artistic expression". Totes.

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...

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!

Music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut. All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy!

Dieter's Deets (Spotify)

*Dieter always paints with his playlist blaring loudly. He says it summons his mind muses. *Obviously, Dieter can make love in just about any situation imaginable (insert here). He once had a passionate love affair with Cirque de Soleil. In any case, if music is not in the background, Dieter has been known to start singing mid sexcapade. Not well. But with…enthusiasm. *Dieter is a pretty sensitive guy, and has learned through trial and error that music and drugs are a poor combination. Depending on his vice of choice, Dieter can be found enacting the lyrics of his favorite pieces, which was particularly detrimental during his Doja Cat era… *Dieter is not allowed to attend Broadway musicals anymore. He would often go to see friends in aforementioned productions like “The Color Purple” but would start singing along at any opportunity, and was kicked out…several times. *After the nebulous success of “Cliff Beasts 6” Dieter has found new success with his TikTok account. Run by J, his PA, Dieter has posted several tutorials of his well known dance moves, which can also be seen in movie theaters around the world. *Dieter has informed J that he is only allowed to listen to the song “Pedro” by Omar Apollo five times a day, so he doesn’t become too dehydrated from sobbing hysterically. *Dieter has been using his playlist to explore components of his “Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine”. He can either be found in a pink, silk mumu dancing to “Tomboy” by Princess Nokia, or mostly naked in a tool belt and construction hat dancing to “I’m Still Standing” by Elton John. *As is widely known on social media, Dieter got his tentative start in a short, European adult film before transitioning into more cinematic masterpieces. What isn’t widely known is that he was cast not only because of his sexual fluidity, but also because of his monologue. After Dieter performed a dramatic version of “Let’s Talk About Sex”, he was hired on the spot. He was also sleeping with the creative team, but that is inconsequential… *Dieter once auditioned for a musical (before he was permanently banned from Broadway) for the role of the Piglet in the highly anticipated horror flick “Winnie the Pooh and the Hundred Acre WOOD”. After singing his audition cut, the director said Dieter was far too scary. Dieter concurred. *As you know, Dieter launched a controversial digital yoga program after his filming experiences in “Cliff Beasts 6”. His signature moves promise flexibility, increased libido and alleviation of lower back pain, but share little with common, legitimate yoga practices. Exercises are recommended with this playlist and are creatively termed by Dieter as: The Studmuffin, Fuck Position, and Fluttering Vulva.

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

Pedge Polls + Prompts

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

Rocky Road

Here we are with attempt Number Two, a therapeutic exploration of what healthy, angry s@x might look like in a playful, safe atmosphere. Pedge's Cuddle Couch is ALL RPF

Triggers: 18+, fluffy so fluffy to start, profanity, unprotected P in V (committed relationship), lite S/M, fainting, slapping, hair pulling, food reference

The frying pan dropped into the sink with a fantastic clatter as soap suds and utensils sputtered beneath it. “G@ddammit!” you muttered, literally throwing in the towel.

“Honey I’m home!” Pedge’s voice jokingly drifted in from the entryway, as you smoothed out your hair and clothes, in an attempt to disguise the obvious steam rising from your head.

“What’s up????” you squeaked, with an overt smile plastered on your face.

Pedge appeared in the doorway, and froze mid-stride with two grocery bags poised in the air. “What’s wrong?” he asked. You cinematically collapsed onto the floor in mock dramatics, as his smirk dangled above you, now upside down. “Everything is impossible. Students are driving me nuts, the parents are even worse. I feel like acid is dripping into my stomach and I’m jittering like a f@cking espresso!….F@ck!”

Pedro gingerly joined you on the tiled floor, wincing slightly at the crackle in his knees. “Okay with my boundless male intuition, I’m picking up on some distress here.” A begrudging smile appeared at the corners of your mouth. “Don’t try to lighten my mood, pendejo. I’m mad and I’m determined to stay mad.” He joined your histrionics with a theatrical pout. “Bath?” he quipped. “Wine? Ice cream? I got the good stuff.” You heaved a heavy sigh, inching your body closer to his. You felt like you were going to crawl out of your skin. So tired of being regulated and buttoned up in an emotional straight-jacket. You wished you could take all of this power and rage and channel it.

“What if we tried something…different?”

P’s eyebrows shot up straight to his forehead, “What, like Thai Food?”

“I’m thinking spicier…” you growled, not so gently grabbing the denim bulge in front of you.

Pedge nearly doubled over on top of you “Ay, ay…” he giggled. “What are you up to, mija? You want me to relax you?” That sounded nice, to be sure, but you had always been curious about ALL your capabilities. Scaring yourself with how small your voice became when you whispered, “Let me Dom you.”

It was like all the air went out of the room, and Pedro’s eyes turned a dark black. “Fuuuuck” he sighed stickily. You started to shrink down into yourself with embarrassment, until he planted his palm across your stomach lowering his voice about an octave, “I’m game if you are.”

How the hell did you get yourself into this predicament? All of your fancy ideas, and here you were, pacing around your bedroom in a black negligee, high heels and a silk scarf, while Pedge sat dopily grinning from the bed.

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I think in our haste I left the ice cream on the kitchen floor. We can just grab two spoons and call it a day…”. Something about his innocent tone focused your resolve, as you took a deep breath and lunged on top of the bed, now towering over him, heels and all. His mouth dropped open and he apparently stopped breathing as his eyes fixed on yours. “I’m gonna need you to stop talking now” you flatlined, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat hungrily. “Do you remember your safe word, honey?” 

“Rocky Road” he licked his lips feverishly, nodding a little too enthusiastically. You smiled quietly, not entirely sure how to proceed, but cock confident in your approach. Making this up as we go along, you thought, moving to straddle his torso and gently lowering your heat on his stomach. He was breathing hard and holding your quads as you grabbed his jaw and dragged your thumb across his lower lip. “Lots of sound; no words” you threatened quietly.

A whimper caught in his throat, as you stuck your thumb in his mouth. This wasn’t going to be the smoothest operation, since you couldn’t decide what to do first, dragging the scarf across his neck. That seemed a bit too dangerous so you stuffed part of it in his mouth, as his eyes widened to the shape of saucers.

“More sound please” you growled.

Humming into the scarf, his eyelids fluttered shut. So far, so good, you mused, moving both your palms lightly to the sides of his neck and holding with light pressure. Pedge started groaning beneath you and wriggling his hips expectantly. Right. Without realizing it, you had absentmindedly been grinding yourself across his pubic hair which now glistened with your slick. You felt his length bump against your ass, and without thinking you took the palm of your hand and slapped the side of his face.

“Oh gawd!” you gasped in horror drawing your hands up to your mouth and immediately stopping all of your gyrations. 

“Whthpnd?” he comically mumbled into the scarf, as his eyes shot open in confusion, spitting it to the side. “Are you okay?” he grabbed you by the elbows, lifting you up, a look of concern shadowing his features. You had buried your head in your hands, somewhere between crying and laughing, appalled at where your instincts had taken you. “That…wasn’t…I didn’t plan that…” you managed to eek out.

His body relaxed a bit, moving his hands to rub your back, “I mean…I kind of blacked out there for a second, but you’re not getting any complaints from me…” he smiled. Your body started to relax as well, a single tear dropping onto his forearm.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, pobrecita” he chided, reaching up with his thumb to wipe another tear away. “This is a very empathic Domme”…Your sniffle collapsed into a giggle as your hips resumed their circular movements. “Believe me, I know how to take directionnnnnnn…” he moaned as you started sliding down his length along your folds.

“Holy hell” he sighed.

“No words” you repeated, regaining a bit of confidence and notching his tip at your entrance.

He groaned placatingly as his eyes closed shut again. Digging his hands into your waist and hips, your heat swallowed him in one envelopment as he lunged forward in surprise.

“Shhh…” you taunted, covering his mouth with your hand, as both of your movements started to sync up. You were thinking less and less, dragging his hands above his head and fucking him relentlessly into the headboard. You could feel him, like an iron rod inside you, as the pressure began to build, your desire white hot and direct. 

Now wrapping his hands behind his back in a tight prison you grinded down on his hips, collapsing into his shoulder and biting it. As you sunk your teeth in a bit and started to suckle, his entire body began to quiver with you atop it.

“Ohhhhh…” he mewled, his hips starting to falter and stutter in confusion.

“Tell me I’m in charge” you reached up and grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling hard.

“Yes ma’ammmmm…” his throat exposed to the ceiling, now covered in salty sweat. Starting at the divot in his sternum you licked a slow line up to the stubble on his chin.

“Tell me what’s mine.”

“Yes m..ma’am, yes m…ma’ammmmm…” you’d never heard him so delirious and wrecked before, but you were fairly certain you were starting to unravel a little yourself. 

“Look at me when I talk to you”, you held the weight of his head in both hands, fisting his hair on either side. He was blinking quickly and trying to acquiesce, but his eyes kept fluttering shut and rolling back in his head. This was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever done, but you were also having a hard time focusing, as you milked and pulsed around him.

“Can…I…cum…need…cum…please…cummmm…” he sounded absolutely undone with you bouncing on his cock, breasts nearly in his face. You dug your thumb into his jawline, turning his head to the side, marveling at the pulsing vein beneath. 

“Cum. Now.” you growled, sucking hard on his earlobe and clamping down with your thighs as hard as you could muster.

“Ohhhhhhhh!” he spilled forward violently, grabbing you around the waist, nearly knocking the breath out of you with the force of his orgasm. Damn, you had forgotten how strong he was, even at his most vulnerable. That was gonna bruise tomorrow. You started to see stars, tilting back with euphoria into his grasp as the entire room seemed to flip sideways in a hazy echo.

Seemingly from another universe, Pedge’s voice began to drift into your consciousness with a slight ringing sound…

“My love, my love. You’re starting to scare me a little, please come back.” Your mouth was fuzzy and your eyes refused to open on their own accord. I’m tired, you thought stretching your arms lazily above you, and nearly passing out again with the effort. A small sigh escaped your mouth as you floated back into your self, realizing Pedge was caressing your face, and was laying on top of you, poised with concern.

“Oh my gawd, did I f@ck you into oblivion? Come back mija, whenever you’re ready, come back…” A small tickle in your chest bloomed into a smile as you shuddered with pleasure. “Mmmm…” you managed to hum, slipping in and out of consciousness and thoroughly pleased with your first attempt. You were vaguely aware of peppered kisses finding their way across your stomach and mouth and chest. It was quite some time before you coalesced back into existence and found those big chocolate eyes transfixed on your face.

“Are you alive?” he pleaded, sounding a little more concerned than was warranted, considering the earth shattering experience you just orchestrated. “Plenty” you slurred, cock drunk and completely forgetful of the day’s events as well as your name.

“Ay Dios mio” he laughed, burying his head in your chest and dragging his lips up to your mouth. “I have never…” he started.

You began giggling uncontrollably, looking down at your high-heeled laden feet sticking out from beneath him. How did those manage to stay on? you pondered, having long since lost the scarf and any semblance of dignity. “Rocky Road” he mumbled. Your eyes snapped open blearily, trying to focus on his face. You lifted yourself up on your elbows, “What, baby? What’s wrong?"

“No, I’m sorry, Rocky Road. I left the Rocky Road on the kitchen floor, it’s probably melted into a puddle by now.” he laughed. Well, so have I, you smirked, collapsing back underneath him with contentment. “For our next act, Pedro Pascal will drizzle ice cream into his girl friend's belly button and suck out every drop to thunderous applause…” you intoxicatingly rambled, feeling your bodies titter together in laughter.

“Yes ma’am” he grinned, tucking a hair behind your ear and burying his mouth to yours in a deep, languid kiss. “You are just full of surprises”.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

Sigh. I'm conflicted. I love my blog title, but over the last year I've run into a little resistance. Two anons have questioned the title and last year there was tremendous discord associated with this particular nickname. I think at least one amazing writer has blocked me because of it, and I don't want to be associated with anything even peripherally gross...But I'm also working on finding my own literary voice...as I write about somebody else...ummmmm....

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...

Pedro, Painter, Poet

Gosh, I don't know what happened. With all "The Uninvited" and "Gladiator 2" buzz, I wanted some special alone time with Marcus Moreno. Check out my recent fic, and I hope everyone has a glorious Thanksgiving! This boy gives us so much to be grateful for!

Ode to Gratitude by Pablo Neruda

Thanks to the word that gives thanks. Thanks to the gratitude for how excellently the word melts snow or iron. The planet seemed full of threats until soft as a translucent feather, or sweet as a sugary petal, from lip to lip, it passed, thank you, magnificent, filling the mouth, or whispered, hardly voiced, and the soul became human again, not a window, some clear shine penetrated the forest: it was possible again to sing beneath the leaves. Gratitude, you are medicine opposing scorn’s bitter oxides, light melting the cruel altar. Perhaps you are also the carpet uniting the most distant men, passengers spread out through nature and the jungle of unknown men, merci, as the delirious train penetrates a new country, eradicating frontiers, spasibo, joined with the sharp-cusped volcanoes, frost and fire, thanks, yes, gracias, and the earth turns into a table, a single word swept it clean, plates and cups glisten, forks jingle, and the flatlands seem like tablecloths. Thanks, gracias, you travel and return, you rise and descend. It is understood, you don’t permeate everything, but where the word of thanksgiving appears like a tiny petal, proud fists hide and a penny’s worth of a smile appears.

*transcribed for background in English/Spanish

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!