Moody Whiskey

Dead Dove December: The Deepest Cut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Control”. 

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

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

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

*Resources for Anyone Struggling

Moody Frankie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The One With Election Day

Sigh. Pedge and I are feeling sad today. We found ourselves in New York during the 2016 Elections, and there are some aspects of today that feel analogous.

Pedro Pascal has been very vocal about his politics, so I will let you research them on your own, but I told Pedge that a lot of us are feeling sad and scared about our country’s future.

What was that Pedge? Do I think Pedro Pascal could use some chocolate chip cookies today? Um. I’m not sure chocolate chip cookies will make EVERYTHING better, but in this moment it couldn't hurt.

If you happened to vote another way, I don’t think this post is for you. I have close friends and family who think differently than I do, and I still love them.

Pedge and I still love you. But we’re allowed to disagree. And I would encourage everyone to have as diverse a community as is possible so you can understand varying viewpoints and backgrounds.

Pedge says he loves enjoying all the colors of the rainbow when it comes to humanity and I couldn’t agree more.

If you are specifically in the LGBTQIA+ community please remember that you are not alone. As a self-described sexy celibate I often don’t feel like I belong anywhere, but as my mom says, “humans were made for one another”, and I believe her.

We were made for each other. Pedge, I don’t think I can hold your hand and type at the same time…Okay, just rest your head on my shoulder, but try not to snot into my t-shirt please. Thank you.

As per Pedro’s IG post, I have several friends at The Trevor Project, and I believe P has volunteered there as well. Please check out their resources if you are feeling lonely, or just need a talk.

Pedge and I will be enjoying our creativity today. We have several projects of gratitude, but Pedge wants me to remind you that thankfulness is never toxic.

It doesn’t operate in opposition to reality, it holds it firmly by the hand and gives it perspective. I exist in Love, regardless of circumstance and I believe that for you as well my darling friends.

Pedge and I encourage lots of snuggle time today, and we might even upgrade from cookies to pie this Thanksgiving season. There is still much to be grateful for like cherry pie, hot coffee, chocolate chip cookies, smut, Pedro Pascal, sweater weather, winter break, silly songs…but most importantly Pedge says he’s most thankful…for YOU.

Purple Rain (New York, New York Series)

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

Pedge.

Merde.

Here we go…

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

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

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

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

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

“There were executives there” he chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who carezzzz?” you giggled simultaneously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purple Rain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold You Me

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

*the original post from IG @elviralind

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

Moody Theater

I'm fairly certain our guy HATES the laugh/cry meme even though we love it. But have you ever watched this full production of "I, My Ruination"? It is absolutely gorgeous and Pedge really shines in his theatrical spotlight.

Act One Act Two

I think cinema is his first love, and we'll be able to enjoy him for years to come, but maybe someday he'll circle back around to us Broadway Babies...

*don't forget to clock the technical faux pas which we love almost as much

Thanksgiving Delights

This is part of our Pedro's Holiday Feast Celebration! Join us for a final Family Dinner this Sunday and stay tuned for the Thanksgiving Day Reveal of "Pike's Place; Love Actually"!

Triggers: I wanted to explore the praise kink for Thanksgiving, midst a Moreno marriage, post tryptophane haze. Smut, praise kink, marital bliss, hiding from the kiddos, oral f receiving, P in V committed relationship, profanity...food? I think that covers it...May we all continue to be grateful...

Closing your eyes in exhaustion you sank down on the mattress of the master bedroom, dangling your feet over the edge. Thank God. Thanksgiving was DONE. You sighed with relief, hearing the echoing shouts of your small family, starting the annual video game marathon tradition and allowing you a small respite.

You smiled with acknowledgement, assured that Marcus would have already put away the leftovers and begun the unenviable task of dishwashing, as you had doubled down on the Thanksgiving festivities. There was turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberry sauce, a charcuterie board, apple cider, date nut bread…and a cooling pumpkin pie as an encore. But, rubbing your sore muscles you had to acquiesce, the preparations were getting harder. You loved providing for your small family, and had no extenuating responsibilities, but your mid-life awakening came with an additional set of aches and pains.

Your eyes were still closed, but you heard the familiar baritone of your loving husband echoing down the hallway, “Everybody start without me, your mom and I need a nap….and don’t eat that pumpkin pie till you clear level five, AT LEAST!” he shouted good naturedly, nosing his way into the bedroom you had shared for more than ten years. “Any casualties of war?” he softly intoned, closing the door gently. If your eyes had been opened you might have noticed him surreptitiously locking it, but currently you were floating in a fatigue fueled haze of drowsiness.

“Hmmm…?” you muttered, hopeful that a cuddle session was about to ensue…or at least that the dishes were already done. The mattress dipped under his weight, as he collapsed next to you, his feet nudging yours.

“I’m fullllll” he groaned, resting a hand on your thigh languidly as you rubbed at your eyes tiredly.

“It was good, right?” you knowingly smirked, turning your head to the side and finding him already staring at you. You gazed into his eyes that were crinkling with joy and tryptophane, drawing a finger across his forehead and admiring the wrinkles that had developed over the last several years. If you squinted (as you often needed to now, in your 40’s) you could see a hint of the salt and pepper dotting his beard and fringes of hair. What a fox. How had you gotten so lucky?

“Honey, you outdid yourself this year” he stifled a yawn, moving his hand up your thigh and resting it on your softened tummy, which gurgled in response. You giggled, surprised, curling up into a ball and turning your body towards his.

“What did you like best?” you sparkled, noticing the small hole in the armpit of his gray shirt. You made a mental note to purchase some new undershirts at your next store run.

“I like the chef the best” he teased, his scruffy beard scratching at the crook of your neck as you hummed contentedly.

“Happy Thanksgiving” you whispered, expecting to drift into a happy nap before joining the kiddos in their evening games.

“You know…” Marcus began, interrupting your reverie, “I’ve been feeling particularly….thankful for my wife this holiday season…”. Your eyes flew open in curiosity.

“Oh honey, I’m so grateful for everything you do for me and the kids…and well, everyone. That’s one of the many reasons why I married you…” you drifted off a bit, returning to your sleepy, disjointed mindset.

Marcus cleared his throat tentatively, slowly moving his hand across your midriff and cupping your backside with one hand. Your eyebrows crinkled, unexpectedly aroused, but still tired and now moving your own hand in lazy circles across his back.

“I was…kind of hoping we had time for…dessert…” he sounded a bit bashful with his request, as you responded, “You can’t possible want that pumpkin pie NOW…” you joked, eyes still closed. Marcus swallowed so loudly, you finally understood his intention, cocking one eyebrow quizzically.

“Honeyyyyyy…” you moaned, “I’ve been up since 6am, I’m not sure I have a shred of energy left…even for THAT” you jested, poking him in the stomach with one finger.

“What if…I did all the work?” his eyes were a sea of warmth and love, and you felt yourself getting lost in the magnetism of his pining.

“Is this gonna involve whipped cream, because I’m pretty sure I forgot that on my grocery list this year” you smiled.

“Only if you want it to” he sank down to his knees on the carpet, tugging lightly at the sweat pants you were wearing.

“Baby, you can’t be serious” you sat up on your forearms looking at his puppy dog face that was now resting on your knee, and pouting adorably. “How are you still hungry?”

He shrugged boyishly, a wide grin spreading across his face and tapping at your hips excitedly. You heaved a sigh of happy resignation as he shimmied your sweatpants off seductively, his eyes glistening a deeper shade of black. “Did you lock the door Casanova?” you questioned, enjoying the glazed look sinking into his countenance as he peppered kisses across your knees and up your thighs.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, sweet pea” he mumbled into your upper thigh as your knees unexpectedly clamped around his head.

His hands shot up in the air placatingly, “I surrender!” he muttered, practically encased in your womanhood, as you released your grip immediately.

“Oh my God, we’ve been so busy lately, and the holidays…she’s not…She’s not…manicured. Just come up here and make out with me already. You don’t even have to brush your teeth…” you attempted to deflect, but your husband wasn’t easily dissuaded.

“Don’t care about that” he moaned into your clothed pussy, a thin layer of lace acting as the only barrier between his desires and you.

“Ohhhhh” a sinful moan escaped your lips as you fell back onto the bed. Good God. How long had it been? You were extremely happy in your marriage, but circumstances never really slowed down. Sometimes you worried you weren’t performing your marital duties enough, but Marcus never complained. It was often the last thing on your mind, but not in this moment. In this moment, Marcus was invading EVERY fatigued crack and recess of your mind and body. His tongue flattened and lapped against the material of your underwear creating a mind numbing electricity of friction.

You gasped heatedly, parting your legs for better access and gripping at his hair greedily. “Ohhhhh gawwwwwd” you sighed, every thought fluttering out of your head in relaxed euphoria, as Marcus paused in his ministrations.

You gulped with slight embarrassment, your eyes shooting over to the locked door and hearing your children yelping with excitement and frivolity. Your hand flew up over your head grabbing a pillow and stuffing it to your face. No going back now. This was going to be a Thanksgiving to remember. Marcus dove back in, his hands easily moving your underwear to one side and circling the pointed spear of his tongue around your clit, pulsing forward after every circumference. He was everywhere. He kept shifting directions and then flattening his tongue, licking a devastating stripe from the base of your fourchette up to the tip of your heat until you couldn’t think straight. You were writhing and moaning and began clawing at the pillow, biting into it to dull your sighs of pleasure, but Marcus knew your body like the back of his hand. You really had no chance whatsoever. A primal swirling sensation was whipping you into submission, already tired from the day’s festivities, you could have come on his tongue in a matter of minutes. But then he was pausing and breathing heavily, a welcome respite from the onslaught of passion, somehow leaving you simultaneously relieved and wanting.

“Is it time for the whipped cream?” you asked, a lazy smirk dotting your face, as you tried to get your bearings.

Marcus smiled, the glisten of your arousal coating his lips and beard like a sugar glaze as he hungrily crawled up your body, looking into your eyes.

“Want to see my girl” he rasped, wiping his face on your stomach and biting at your breasts over the comfy t-shirt you were wearing.

“Is that so?” you drawled, his hand cupping the back of your neck and holding the weight of your head against it.

“Want to show how thankful I am, to the mother of my children” he graveled, unzipping his jeans in one motion as you helped pull them down to his knees. “Can’t wait another second…” he pulled his length out, notching it at the tip of your entrance. A shock of electricity bolted through your body as you struggled to keep your hips level. “Want to give you everything you give me” he nearly croaked, sheathing himself in you slowly as your hand flew up to your mouth in restraint. At this rate, the neighbors were going to hear, if you couldn’t control….

“Made for me…pretty girl” he started to unravel, looking into your face and beginning to pump in and out rhythmically. You bit down on the top of your hand, now moving your hips in synchronicity with his.

“I love watching you come apart for me…all mine…just for me” he stated absentmindedly, watching your eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Good girl, good girl…” he repeated his mantra with every thrust, drawing you closer and closer to your release. Wow, wow, wow. Thank God for Thanksgiving. You searched for any thread of control you could find, now gripping at the sheets desperately, and finding none. Good girl. Good girl.

“You’re (I’m) close” you muttered nearly at the same time, your body pulsing and fluttering around him in ecstasy. He grabbed at your backside, drawing your hips up into him and moving faster.

“Are you going to cum for me, now? Are you my good girl?” he growled, your eyes shooting open with surprise. You were. You were going to come for him. The tendrils of your orgasm were already wrapping themselves around your abdomen, and bubbling to the surface. You couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop. You wanted more. More. More. More.

Your body lurched a couple times in agonizing climax as your eyes glazed over in enjoyment. Watching Marcus bite at his lower lip, a thin sheen of sweat dotting his forehead as you cascaded in one, two….THREE. The world exploded in a ball of light and love, your mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. You tried to wriggle out of his steely grasp, but he pumped into you voraciously, not letting up. Blearily wondering how much more ecstasy you could take, you felt his hips stutter and still, as his own release filled you with warmth and contentment. After a few more moments of delight, he collapsed next to you, breathing heavily and wiping at his forehead. You whined happily, somehow satiated AND hungry, turning your body towards his.

“Wowwwwww, baby” you nuzzled into his side, nipping at his earlobe with your mouth, completely blissed out. “That was…wow” you couldn’t articulate anything, just happily buzzing next to your husband and hearing the echoing pandemonium of the living room drift back into your awareness.

“Happy Thanksgiving” he mumbled into your breastbone, a contented and sleepy expression dotting his face as you smiled back.

“Thaaaaaaank youuuuuu” you giggled, pulling his face to yours in a sloppy kiss and sighing into his mouth happily.

“Mmmmm….” he moaned, stroking your back with the tips of his fingers and relaxing against your body. You held each other contentedly for several minutes, flickering between consciousness and a hazy warmth. Finally opening your eyes in gratitude, you found him staring at you fixedly once again.

“This is the life I dreamed of” he whispered, his eyes glistening with tears, drawing a thumb to your mouth in supplication.

“Me too” you smiled softly, pecking gently at his lips and lying back on the bed.

“Time for seconds?” he grinned, placing a hand across your sternum and inching closer.

“Seconds? We haven’t even had the pumpkin pie yet!” you teased, latching a finger at the base of his hole-y undershirt.

“Wasn’t talking about pumpkin pie…” he laughed, burying his face in your stomach as you wrapped your legs around him tightly.

*thanks @bernardsbendystraws for the cool dividers!

WIP: Thelma + Louise Trailer

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

*thanks @dornish-queen for the UWOMT footage

Lakers Shirt

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

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

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

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

Feeling Finkish

Holidays were rough, but this guy kept me company!

*thanks soul sparklettes art for the cute scrapbook background!