Moody SNL

The One That Almost...

Triggers: meandering weirdness, SH, ideation, illness, spirituality, asexuality, profanity...good luck...

Y'all, this year was strange. I doubled down on therapy and fitness...and crying, if we're honest. I went back to an old job for less money. I started communicating more with my employer about chronic illness, and I disappeared from a vibrant social life almost entirely.

No Pedge, my darling, I am NOT okay, but in 2024 I developed a genuine appreciation for that. Having survived a hysterectomy, my body is embarking on the next strange reboot, and most of the holidays were derailed because of this.

I'm not sure I've ever cried so much or been so confused. Yesterday I didn't even leave the house, and today I'm visiting the parentals to celebrate New Year by 8pm flat. And then I'm leaving lol. I've been so encouraged by Pedge's unconventional holiday because I feel like he GETS it.

I'm displeased with the election results, my parents are struggling, and my health prognosis is nebulous. I was offered a Broadway Tour that I declined, did no substantial traveling, and cultivated an AMAZING friendship with a man who is on the other side of the country. Broke up with my "gay husband", experimented with an "ace" label, discovered I don't want to get married or have kids, and am deconstructing my spiritual beliefs one devastating reality at a time.

AND...I'm writing a TON. I'm showing up more authentically in ALL my relationships, including self. I am more convinced than ever of the experience of Love, and somehow I continue to make my world a better place. I'm turning out to be the love of my life!

It's confusing as hell, but I'm not dead yet, and by golly I'm happy about that! I get to exist! I still haven't met Papi Pascal, but I'm not actually sure I want to. Everybody I know who has worked with him says he's a dream, and I believe them. Just knowing that we exist in the same world makes me happy, and today, that's enough. Plus, I had one quick convo with Coco, and she's just as sweet as our guy. I continue to be entranced.

Adding the button to my year of "almosts" I've been waiting to celebrate having 100 followers...as I'm stuck at 99. I considered doing some sort of Tumblr campaign, but honestly, WHY? I write for me! Goals are good, but this almost seems more fitting. I have a bazillion WIP's and it's helping me get through my health challenges, and that's what I need right now. As much of our Pazookie Pedge as we can STAND, and then a bit more...

So here is to a year of "almosts"! None of it looked quite right, it didn't follow my agenda, and it involved a lot more snot than anyone has a right to. But I still get to exist, and there's nothing "almost" about that. Thanks Pedro Pascal for being alive! I'm gonna try to do the same...

Pedge's Tree + Xmas Card

Oh this is fun! Pedge and I have never done this before, so I wanted to get a quick start since I'm late in the season! Pedge and I are currently making cookies! Weeeee! Decorate my tree. I mean...if you want to. Like, if you have time. Pedge says I was being too bossy...but I think he secretly likes it...

Rec's for a Lonely Winter's Evening

Your Fave Things @jolapeno

What Could Go Wrong? @beefrobeefcal

Christmas Writing Challenge @bluestar22x

Let's Celebrate! @chronically-ghosted

Dead Dove December @romana-after-dark

The Cheeseboard @goodwithcheese

Reverie Goods and Gifts

The Trailer; All About Eve

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

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

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

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The voice of George Sanders intoned in the background,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What in the world was bothering him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He loved it”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*roll credits

*@dornish-queen footage + Alfred Newman Soundtrack

Pedge, Painter, Poet...Writer?

I KNOW I'm not the first person to fantasize this supposition, but how many of us want PP on Tumblr anonymously? He's already a playwright, avid reader...fan. Who wants to bet he would have a ghost writer at some point, or venture into the literary landscape unannounced?

@for-a-longlongtime

Moody Ricky

I'm sure most of us would like to be "touched by this angel" and I'm going to try to catch the episode this evening. Back in the day I used to watch Touched By an Angel religiously, who knew we were all viewing our lifetime crush in real time?

Hey beauties, you are officially invited to "Pedro's Holiday Feast" for the month of November! Every Sunday we will sit down for a family dinner, enjoying the cornucopia. Things to be grateful for--

First Family Dinner

Second Family Dinner

Final Family Dinner

Thanksgiving Day Reveal!: Pike's Place; Love Actually

*thanks @bernardsbendystraws for the cool dividers!

Moody Joel

A huge thank you to @yopossum and congrats on the 100+ followers! It was so fun to put your mood board at the epicenter of mine. It not only inspired my first mood-lit, the cherry has been popped with my first fic for Joel! As always, Pedge is a self-made man (if you count Bitmoji...)

Triggers: descriptors are mostly emotional, lots of heroine self-confusion, Jackson-era, raised voices, lite smut, pretty easy stuff, a little profanity. Of course, with Joel it's everything he DOESN'T say...

You sat, curled up on the couch, book in hand, your favorite mug of tea steaming on the nearby side table. The season had started to shift and a blustery wind was drifting through Jackson, not entirely devoid of warning, but still laced with the enigmatic mysteries of autumn. A rare opportunity to enjoy a day without patrols, harvesting or other communal activities, you had busied yourself in the garden, small living room library and the kitchen, waiting for Joel to come home. A quick intake of air as you reminded yourself that this was HIS home, not yours. Pausing in your reading you took a quick glance around the room, finding a few conspicuous items that were starting to dot HIS landscape. 

YOUR favorite mug, the one book you owned, a too small quilt that had taken all year to scrap together. You rubbed your feet together with discomfort, wondering if your presence was starting to become oppressive. Looking over you saw the mismatched boots, messily piled next to each other, seemingly disparate in this moment. Were the seasons changing in more ways than one? Were you starting to get a little TOO comfortable in a world that constantly threatened to unravel itself?

Like a bull in a china shop, you heard Joel crashing through the kitchen assembling the dinner you had prepared. You smiled, wondering if he seemed as noisy to himself, resonating in only one ear. Saying so little, but meaning so much, with a presence that seemed to dominate every space he was in. Maybe there wasn’t room for somebody as small as you.

Joel tiredly lumbered into the living room across creaking floorboards and plopped down on the couch beside you, dinner plated. You cast a sideways glance, unsurprised at his immediate delight, as he shoveled the green beans, chicken and mashed potatoes unceremoniously into his mustached mouth. Salivating slightly at his enjoyment you took a rare moment to gaze at his countenance, watching the muscles in his jaw tick, eyes closed, swallowing steadily and licking his lips. He leaned back, sighing heavily, trying to release the tension of the day.

“Long day?” you ventured, closing your book and nudging your feet under his jean clad thigh.

Joel set the plate down in his lap for a moment, tilting his head back on the couch with exhaustion. It’s possible he hadn’t even heard you as you barely caught his grunt of acknowledgement. So much of life was centered around survival, any luxury seemed nearly ridiculous in comparison. There was nothing about your arrangement that felt manipulative, but maybe it was one sided. Maybe just another utilitarian coping mechanism to survive the next atrocity.

You pulled your feet back under you, surprised at the cascading emotions and thoughts brought on by the autumnal brooding. You looked at the crackling fire, listening for the whistling wind outdoors. Your small house was just across the way, lonely, silent and cold and you wondered if things were starting to become a bit too entwined. Closing your book, you reached over tenderly to swipe a dot of gravy from the corner of his mouth, curious if he had somehow fallen asleep mid-bite. But hearing him hum in appreciation as your fingers drifted up to massage the back of his neck and scratch over his scalp. His chest rumbled with recognition, but you felt a slight pang of regret, curious if you amounted to a hired hand. Somehow a day of comparative solitude had threaded itself through your insecurities and you were suddenly vulnerable to its attack. Your face crumpled in defeat, unable to process so many feelings at once, unwilling to invite Joel into this swirling confusion.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, teetering precariously as you stood up. “I think I’ll take off, you good for the night?”. The clunky words fell out of your mouth, laced with subtitles you couldn’t interpret, as Joel’s eyes shot open confusedly.

“S’wrong?” he grumbled, perhaps more pointedly than intended.

“Nothing’s wrong” you lied, gripping the quilt protectively in front of your body and swaying slightly. “I’m just…tired, I guess…” the fib began to wrap its tendrils around your waist, cutting off the breath at the source.

“Well that’s no reason to leave, I’m just sittin’ down” he complained, furrowing his brow in confusion and wincing slightly as he sat further forward to discern your meaning.

“I know, I just…don’t want to bother you.”

Joel sat unmoving, metaphorical steam starting to emanate off his body in waves. Words didn’t come easily to him, but his survival acumen was unmatched. Something was up.

“Dinner’s real good” he stated, matter-a-factly, as though that communicated intricacies beyond your understanding. Unfortunately, it only solidified your hesitancy, as you were starting to feel like a glorified short order cook. Feeling emotionally naked you gripped the quilt desperately, inching backwards and forgetting the new side table Joel had crafted for your mugs of tea. You were just about to sputter some excuse about the seasons shifting when your heel caught on the table leg, propelling you backwards. Joel’s hand snapped out, grabbing you and the quilt you were holding and knocking his dinner to the ground with a crash.

“Goddamit, will you be more careful?!” he exclaimed, gripping you around the waist and pulling your body between his knees abruptly.

Something about the sudden adrenaline and self-indecision, disoriented your emotions even more than your body and you felt yourself well up with tears, lip wobbling in confusion.

Joel’s expression softened, as did his iron grip, as his fingers moved down your waist and lightly gripped your backside. “What’s gotten into you?’ he questioned, looking around the room as though trying to identify the shift in tonality.

“Don’t know” you lied again, unable to disentangle yourself from the growing self-loathing.

“You wanna leave?” he raised his voice, trying desperately to grasp at the threads of understanding.

“No” you pouted, finally assured of one truth. You didn’t want to leave. You just wanted to stay forever.

He huffed an exasperated puff of air into your face, squinting skeptically into your guilty expression. “Door’s right there, honey…just…” he shot back defensively, noticing the pools of emotion swimming in your eyes…”…just…”. He swallowed hard, as time started to drip more slowly, blurring his perception. He looped a finger through one of your belt buckles, tugging your hips jerkily.

“Just…is cold out, s’all” he managed to mutter, looking down at your lips disappointedly. “Gotta be careful” he grumbled, drawing his thumb across the small snippet of skin peeking from underneath your threadbare sweater. You melted a little bit at his touch, drawing yourself down onto his lap tentatively. You placed your hands on his chest, breathing together in sync, trying to take in the moment. “Gotta stick together” he rationalized, feeling a small pulse of emotion in his chest threaten to crest. The wind howled louder still, almost in agreement.“ You should stay” he suggested, placing his hands on your thighs and moving his thumb in small circles. “Dinner was REAL good” he repeated “until you made me drop it” he smirked, lightening the mood.

You felt your chest expand in a contented breath, settling down further onto his lap and relaxing slightly. “There’s more where that came from” you sulked, a little unsure of yourself.

Joel waited patiently as you sat atop him, moving his hands to your back and watching you intently.

“It IS starting to get colder” you reasoned, feeling some of your insecurity melting away with the day’s troubles.

Joel nodded his head gruffly in agreement, latching a finger at the collar of your sweater and slowly pulling you towards him. “Gotta stick together” he repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, when you kissed him with newfound abandon.

Pike's Place Nightmare Before Christmas

Thanks to @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" this dynamic duo is going strong till Christmas Day. I've started a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: fainting, nightmares, argument, profanity, reference to alcohol, gun use, emergency scenario, panic attack

Series Masterlist

“What are you doing?!” Pike implored, jumping up from the couch and nearly falling over the coffee table in the process.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you pleaded, wrapping yourself more tightly in an attempt to disappear into the floorboards.

“I know we’ve grown closer over the last few days…but you can’t just…How much Merlot did you have?” he questioned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stumbling slightly in the darkened room. Ella Fitzgerald weirdly kept repeating "I’m not yours, for better or for worse" as the record skipped jovially…

“ImsosorryIwasjusttryingtogetupthecouragetosaysomethingandyoulookedosadorablesleepingIcoulndttellifyouhadfeelingsformeandIvebeensoalonethelastfewyearsIthoughtwereallyhadaconnectionandIwouldneverwanttodoanythingthatmadeyouuncomfortableIveneverbeensoembarassedImsosorry!”

Pike was breathing heavily, running his fingers through his hair, trying to grasp the situation and looking wildly around the room as Ella warbled repetitively from the phonograph.

“What is it you want?” he questioned, pausing as all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. “Have you been playing me this whole time?”

Your eyes widened to pleading saucers, holding your hands out in supplication, “Marcus, let me explain…”.

“It’s Agent Pike” his eyes darkened slightly as the room became somehow hot and cold simultaneously. This can’t be happening, you thought as a chill ran through your body unexpectedly. This was your worst nightmare becoming a reality. You had finally circumvented your isolation and fear and taken a real risk and it had blown up in your face. Four years of working from home, becoming more and more distant from friends and family, therapy, a pandemic…You looked over at the nearly finished bottle of Merlot. Geez, did you have a drinking problem now, too? Shaking your head to clear the cobwebs you felt the creeping tendrils of a small headache form at the base of your skull. How had everything gone so wrong in a matter of minutes? And what did Marc…what did Agent Pike say about Washington D.C? Your thoughts were flashing wildly across your mind scape but not making any sense. You weren’t drunk, so why was everything so confusing? You looked up at Pike pacing nervously back and forth as the television sent bizarre flickering images across his face and body.

Share for share, share alike You get struck each time I strike You for me- me for me- I'll give you plenty of nothing I'm not yours for better but for worse And I've learned to give the well-known witches' curse I've a terrible tongue, a temper for two And everything I've got belongs to you, you, you, you, you, you, you….

Your breath hitched in your chest as Ella outlandishly skipped over and over again, adding a horrible paranoia to an already uncomfortable moment.

“For heaven sakes!” Pike huffed, yanking the needle off the phonograph and eliciting a bone chilling scratching sound in the speakers. He picked up the record and smashed it across the hearth. The fire crackled ironically, as Pike looked at you as though seeing for the first time. “I think you should leave” he muttered, lowering his eyes to the ground uncomfortably and almost backing into the formerly cheery Christmas Tree behind him. “Now. I need you to leave now.”

“What?” you whispered, gulping with anxiety and beginning to consider the ramifications of his statement. What time was it? Maybe 2am in the morning? You hugged your body to your chest fearfully, balking with incredulity. Pike might not reciprocate your feelings, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It was officially Christmas Eve, where were you supposed to go in a blizzard? Could you stay in your car till the storm subsided? Maybe you could just promise to stay in the upstairs bedroom till the mechanic arrived…or sleep in the wood shed? A lump immediately formed in your throat as tears sprang to your eyes. This is what you get for believing in yourself, you chided. Pike told you to be the hero of your own story, and now you were going to be more alone than ever.

“Get out. Now!” Pike shouted, grabbing the manilla envelope from under the tree and throwing it in the fire.

“No!” you shuddered, reaching for the envelope helplessly, praying you could somehow salvage the turn of events. You watched the unknown gift crumple into flames, feeling as though your heart were somehow mangled in the smoke. Coughing and sputtering, you stood to your feet, swaying slightly with confusion, feeling an oppressive weight bearing down on you.

“Marcus, I never meant to…” you doubled over in weakness as the room spun around you overwhelmingly.

“Agent! Pike!” he exclaimed, picking up the Christmas Tree and shoveling it into the roaring fireplace. The room was getting hotter and hotter as you fell to the floor gasping for air. The entire cabin was going up in flames. You felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, clawing at your own mortality as Marcus started laughing maniacally…

“Get out of my house!” he cackled, his eyes alight with revenge and terror, seemingly basking in your cries for help.

“Please, please…” you heard yourself crying until…

You sat bolt upright in bed, awakening to the sound of your own voice. Blinking rapidly in the nearly pitch black room you heard the howling wind outdoors. You were covered in sweat and had a pounding headache. Damn Merlot, you reprimanded yourself as the reality of the evening’s events cascaded, unbidden, into your foggy dream-like state. If only THAT had also been a nightmare, but no such miracle occurred. You swallowed a fresh cascade of sobs, desperately wishing you had kept your desires to yourself. But no, you were determined to escape the never-ending isolation of the pandemic, and somehow ended up more alone than ever. Tomorrow, you were leaving, heading into an unknown future. Worse still, you might have lost a real friend in Pike, but what did it matter? Pike was moving to Washington D.C and you had just ruined the only opportunity that had graced your doorstep in a very long time. This was oh so very real. A real nightmare come to life. Your very own “Nightmare Before Christmas”…

Pike stared unblinkingly at the flickering images on the television screen. Perpetually hounded by nightmares for the last several days, he annoyingly found himself unable to sleep, replaying the evening over and over in his mind. He rubbed his forehead placatingly, trying to make sense of the recent complexities. Once again he had repeated the same enthusiastic mistakes, falling head over heels for an idyllic misrepresentation of the truth, and now he’d broken someone else’s heart in the process. He looked towards your upstairs doorway, cold and closed to the harsh winds battling outside. Were you okay? Were you asleep? Were you as unsettled as he was? How could he fix what had been so easily broken? One moment, he held you in his arms, caressing the very gift he had so desperately desired from day one. And the next, you were flying up the stairs in retreat, planning to permanently leave his life before Christmas had even come to fruition.

How had things gone so drastically wrong? First you were strangers. Then, you were circumstantial friends. He didn’t want to treat you like a captive audience. During all those conversations, all those movies, and all those glasses of Merlot, he didn’t want to ruin things the way he had with Lisbon. Even allowing himself to believe that love would find its way to him had felt impossible, so why even mention it? Why mention the move to Washington D.C when that information had only caused harm in the past? Why believe that love had shown up on his doorstep when that door was just going to lead to another dead end?

Pike watched the television as Jack Skellington battled between the two paradigms of Halloween and Christmas, trying to move into a holiday of celebration and joy, whilst somehow taking his own limitations with him. Cynically smirking at the ghoulish figures parading before him, he twitched once again hearing the howling blizzard which had only intensified over the last few hours. The once picturesque landscape had begun to turn, trees clawing loudly at the roof, wind arguing fiercely for dominance. At first a small glimmer of hope had begun to light in his heart. Perhaps he could stall your departure and make an explanation, but what was there to explain? He had come back to tie up loose ends with Lisbon, and after closing that door, had shipped his few belongings to D.C and determined to end the year in solitude. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the holidays would include…you.

And how had he accepted this newfound sense of acceptance and unexpected opportunity? By hiding valuable information and then giving in to his desires without considering the ramifications. He hoisted himself up to grab some more fuel for the fire. The least he could do as a good host was keep his guest warm and try to get you home in one piece before Christmas Day.

The front doorknob rattled ever so slightly as a particularly large gust of wind shook the cabin dauntingly. Pike silently took stock of the resources and reserves that he knew remained in the cabin. Living on the East Coast had given him some inclinations of a real winter, but this was extreme, especially for California. The pipes could freeze, power lines could go down. He was just wondering if he should check the landline in the study, when he caught the telltale overture of trouble. The television started flickering hesitantly along with the lights, until the very mechanism of life itself seemed to grind to a halt, all electricity evaporating into the ether and plunging Pike into immediate darkness. Things just went from bad to worse.

You clutched your chest, hearing the dull thud of your racing heartbeat as blood rushed through your ears. What was that? Somehow the room was even darker than before and you could no longer hear the twinkling sound of the television from the living room. What was going on? You pulled off Pike’s flannel pajamas, nimbly feeling your way to the ubiquitous pink snowsuit.

You hadn’t even waited for an explanation. After the embarrassment of throwing yourself at Pike in a Merlot infused bid for love, his Washington D.C confessional had been the ultimate bruise. For that matter, WHY didn’t Pike mention the Washington D.C move earlier? You bit your lower lip, searching haphazardly for your boots. You’d spent the last few hours tossing and turning over your own missteps, but it takes two to tango. Was he really so oblivious as to think that was an unimportant detail? You found your initial irritation beginning to blaze in the recesses of your regret and guilt. You knew that Pike was too good to be true, but somehow his own contagious enthusiasm had dulled the impenetrability of your emotional armor. You had started believing that love was possible. You hurriedly zipped up the snowsuit, considering your options. You didn’t want to impose on Agent Pike anymore than you had to. Maybe this was a sign to try to bring your old broken down Hyundai to life. Much like you, maybe Bessie still had some kick in her and had just stalled. Pausing to listen a dull thrumming sound clicked into gear and the cabin seemed to pulse with a timid heartbeat once again. You glanced at your dimly lit cell phone by the bedside table. Stuffing your feet into your snow boots you checked the phone’s reception. Dead.

Everything felt like it was disintegrating. You thanked your lucky stars you were with Marc…Agent Marc…Agent Pike, but what if your subconscious was right? Pike would never place you in any harm, but it was clear you had worn out your welcome. You were both going your separate ways, and that was that. Maybe we don’t know each other very well at all, you paused, wondering how you were going to extricate your Californian self from this Snowpocalypse of 2024. You felt like Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas”, pining after a love that was never going to come to fruition. Maybe you WERE that wilting version of Donna Reed in a snood, trapped in a reality that never seemed to mirror the deepest of your desires. It was time to face the music and bring this Hallmark Movie to an anticlimactic conclusion. Just another Christmas alone. You took a deep breath, resolving to exit Marcus’ life as quickly as you had entered it. Roll credits.

Pike was rummaging around the supply closet for a flashlight upon hearing the telltale squeak of the upstairs bedroom’s opening door. You squinted as the light hit your gaze unceremoniously, covering your eyes confusedly. “What’s going on?” you slurred a bit, stumbling down the first few steps. Pike lurched forward with a hand outstretched.

“God, be careful!” he raced up the stairs, taking hold of your elbow and easing you down the stairwell. You ended up at the bottom of the stairs, more confused than ever. Were you still drunk? The television twinkled softly amidst the glowing firelight, but the room felt disorienting at best. You rubbed your eyes sleepily, attempting to form some cohesive, dawning thoughts.

“I’m okay, just waking up…” you blinked rapidly, jumping at the scratching sounds above your head and across the nearby windows. “What was that?” you asked in hushed tones, adrenaline pumping through your system like a shot.

“The storm has really picked up since…you went to bed” he cautioned, drawing his arm around your back to steady you. “I think we’re okay, but those trees are a bit closer to the cabin than I’d like. Annnnnd…I think the power lines are down” he trailed off, hoping to keep you relatively calm and safe. “The generator kicked in, but it hasn’t been in use all year. I don’t feel great about our…situation” Pike pondered, always the man of preparation.

Your eyes widened in concern, wondering how long you could last if the storm continued to intensify. “Can we call for help? I don’t have any reception. What should we do next?”.

“I tried the landline in the study, nothing is getting through yet. I’m gonna head out for a bit and check the generator to see its condition” Pike reached for his jacket, but kept his hand around your waist in solidarity. You reached towards him imploringly, freezing slightly at the unexpected revelation.

“Is that a gun?” you whispered, suddenly quivering with more than the cold. You heard the soft smile in Pike’s voice, viewing his flickering countenance in the relative dark.

“I suppose being an agent on the Art Squad isn’t that dangerous, but it IS standard issue. Just taking extra precautions, there could be wildlife that were disturbed by the storm, or other stranded motorists. I’ve got to keep you safe. I mean, keep everybody safe…” he was rubbing your back in circles as you swayed from side to side. You were feeling overwhelmed, off-kilter, and vulnerable. What kind of assistance could you possibly be in a challenging situation like this? You swallowed dryly, attempting to focus on the firelight and form a cohesive thought.

“Wait, what? Heading outside? Now?!” you began to panic slightly, grabbing at Pike’s forearm. “I don’t want to be by myself! What if we can’t contact anyone? What if you get lost in the blizzard?” your mind began to race with possibility as you felt your throat tightening with emotion. Not alone. Not again. The pandemic came racing back with all of its isolation and feelings of helplessness. Pike paused, considering the options.

“Okay, just stay behind me and don’t let go of my hand, alright?” he grasped your shoulder good-naturedly, drawing his hand up to cup your face and finding a few stray tears. “Hey, what’s this?” he drew you into his body for a close embrace, allowing you to sniffle into his chest timidly. “We’re okay” he swayed with you from side to side, rubbing your back and holding you at the neck comfortingly.

“I’m just…so sorry…for earlier” you mumbled into his chest, feeling your fatigue catching up with you. Pike pulled back, his intentionality apparent even in the void like expanse of these challenging circumstances. The fire flickered dimly in the corner adding a serene warmth to the soft smile on his face. He sighed heavily, wiping his thumb in a circular motion across your cheek tenderly. “There’s…more to say” he began, until more limbs and twigs were crashing and scraping across the nearby windows. “At this rate, I’m not sure any of us are going to be leaving tomorrow” he gulped, taking your hand in his and heading towards the door. “This Christmas is turning into a nightmare, but I’m getting us to the finish line come hell or high water” he promised, flinging the door open and bracing you both against the moderate winds.

The blast of cold air nearly knocked you over in one fell swoop, as you gripped Pike’s hand with determination. It was as though you had been plunged into a full body ice bath, as the tingling, numbing sensation of the winds whipped through your hair and very being. You had a sudden clarity of purpose and renewed energy. Squinting into the snowy winds, you blearily identified the small wood shed about fifty feet away. The wind had cleared the snow a bit, but stray detritus and tree limbs were strewn around the tundra as Pike pulled you forward ambitiously.

“Let’s go!” he shouted over the din of the intense winds, cutting a path to the woodshed, in search of the enclosed generator. “Be careful!” he advised, gripping you tightly around the waist, attempting to shield you from the blizzard which was steadily increasing by the minute. You pursed your lips doggedly, determined to be of assistance. Looking behind you, you saw Bessie the Hyundai, shivering in the cold, her front windshield had been cracked and indented by a falling tree limb. Somehow seeing her forlorn condition, increased your own, as the two of you hobbled to the nearby woodshed, desperate for a solution. Stumbling to the doorway, Pike flung the door of the woodshed open as billows of smoke came cascading out. You fell backwards in surprise, a hard blanket of snow somewhat cushioning your fall as Pike grasped at your arm securely. “Well, that’s not good!” he shouted, motioning you to stay seated as he waved the billows of smoke helplessly. “No way this is gonna last much longer!” he yelled over the din of blistering maelstrom. “I know it hasn’t been used for ages, but I was at least hoping…” a skittering sound interrupted his query as he reached for his gun quickly.

“Jesus Christ” Pike muttered, dragging you backwards and positioning you along the outside corner of the woodshed. “Stay here” he cautioned before you had a chance to argue. You saw Pike’s athletic silhouette poised on the adjacent corner, gun outstretched protectively. He disappeared from sight as you held your breath hesitantly. The winds were like a steely hand, gripping your insides and swirling with a wintery menace. You sat tentatively, bracing yourself against the wooden fixture.

“Pike?” you called, steadily becoming more and more terrified as the moments lapsed. One. Two. Three…you thought back on your therapeutic training. Take stock of your five senses. What do you see? All I can see is snow. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, you thought. Four. Five. What do you smell? Coughing slightly, the arid bite of billowy smoke tickled your nasal passages. Six. Seven. What do you feel? I feel scared dammit, you retorted, crying out again. “Pike?”

Only the winds answered you.

What can you touch? You clasped your hands together for warmth, pining after the handhold you’d sacrificed with Pike’s temporary absence. You blew into your cupped hands for warmth. Eight. Nine.…What can you…?

“Holy hell!” Pike yelled as you heard a furious wrestling sound and then a gunshot echo in the howling winds.

“PIKE!!!!????” you screamed, covering your face in fear and tucking your body, wrapping your arms around your knees. Oh my God. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t feel anything. You were numb. You were nothing. You were completely alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. You rocked back and forth trying to catch your breath. “Pike. Pike. Pike. Pike” you whispered against the howling winds. You couldn’t form a thought, the world was swirling around you confusedly. You weren’t even human. A cry began to mangle at the epicenter of your sternum, radiating into your body as you sobbed hysterically. “Pike. Pike. Pike. Pike”.

Strong arms grasped you at the shoulders, shaking you ever so slightly as your head whipped up to see Marcus’ face pressed close to yours in concern. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t hear anything. You found yourself strangely disassociated, marveling at the pink in his cheeks and the snowflakes dotting his beautiful eyelashes. Not alone. Together. Pike. You and Pike. You smiled numbly, your head lolling back with exhaustion. Pike was shouting into your face, and you were smiling. Just smiling. What a nice Christmas, you thought bizarrely as Pike pulled you to your feet. You immediately collapsed into his arms as the world circled around in a vortex of cold and ice. What a nice Marcus, you thought haphazardly, feeling yourself caged against his broad chest and floating back towards the cabin. You began to hear the crunch of the snow underneath his feet, and the beating of his heart wildly against his chest. Such a pretty Christmas, you sighed, nuzzling into him for warmth and hearing the door slam behind you both abruptly. Pike laid you down on the couch as you watched him with bleary cheer, tossing more firewood into the hearth and returning to you in one quick motion.

Pike ran his hands fixedly over your entire body, looking for any injuries or wounds, as you grinned dopily, your senses quickly rushing back in arousal.

“Can you sit up?” Pike spoke, as though from another room, as your hearing started to focus on the low tones of his concerned voice.

“What?” you slurred, sitting up hesitantly and swaying with the effort. Pike ran his fingers over your scalp and down your arms, attempting to assess the situation. “Keep breathing, I’m gonna get you some water” Pike placed his hand over your sternum concernedly, quickly disappearing into the kitchen. Your thoughts were still blurry as you wondered at the magical fire crackling before you. At least one thing was aiding your survival, you mused, chewing your bottom lip numbly and placing your head between your legs weakly. You tried to take deep, centering breaths. What was going on?

“Damn!” you heard the shuddering of the pipes from the kitchen and Pike’s muted tones as he returned quickly to the living room, kneeling in front of you. “The pipes are frozen, I think” Pike complained, rubbing his hands over your arms and legs and bringing your gaze up to meet his. “Are you okay? How do you feel?” Pike swallowed dryly, looking intently into your eyes. Without thinking you flung yourself into Pike’s embrace, suddenly cognizant enough to grasp the recent chain of events. He gripped you firmly in a bear hug, swaying you gently from side to side. “Thought I lost you there for a second” he chuckled, rubbing your back warmly.

“Goddamit, Marcus!” you mumbled, pushing against his chest aggressively and falling back to the couch with exhaustion. Pike placed his hands on your knees, furrowing his brow with concern.

“I’m fine” he observed, taking off his jacket and hovering at your knees. “Did you hit your head? Are you cold?” he gazed back at the fire and looked above him as a creaking sound split the night air forebodingly.

“What the hell was that?!” you yelled, sitting up unsurely and gripping the collar of his shirt. “I thought….I thought….I don’t know what I thought!!!!” you acquiesced, gripping your hands tightly around his neck and pulling him towards you. Pike rested his forearms on your thighs, bringing his forehead lightly to yours and breathing for a moment.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere” he rhythmically repeated, willing your breathing to slow, while taking stock of the situation. “It kind of freaked me out, too” he whispered. “I know animals will sometimes seek out shelter in a blizzard, but the timing couldn’t be worse…” the cabin creaked again as though in confirmation. You tried to focus on Marcus’ lips as he spoke. What beautiful lips. You’d never noticed how plush they were. So soft. And kissable. You thought back on the disastrous, if not exciting events of the previous night. Sweet. His lips actually tasted sweet. You licked yours hungrily.

“I think we caught the little guy nibbling at the power cables” Pike paused dragging his hand over your forehead with care. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” his voice was still echoing strangely as you blinked heavily. He shook his head continuing undauntedly, “I don’t know much about generators, but I’m assuming we don’t want them smoking like a barbecue pit” Pike chuckled nervously as you reached up to delicately finger the snowflakes in his hair. He closed his eyes contentedly, trying to steady himself. “I haven’t been that scared in ages!” he twitched with self deprecation. “I sort of caught ‘Meeko’, unannounced. He sure didn’t take it very well”, Pike sagged with relief as you ran your fingers over his scalp. Awash with confusion and exhaustion you began giggling uncontrollably.

“What? What’s so funny?” Pike grinned, opening his eyes to your tittering frame.

“Meeko?” you snickered with delight, “…like from Pocohontas? Our grand nemesis of the evening was a raccoon?” you stopped abruptly, suddenly a bit sobered. “Oh my God, did you shoot him?” you gulped, unzipping the snowsuit a bit, to defrost.

Pike shrugged comedically. “Contrary to popular belief, the Art Squad is not the Firing Squad” he jested, “I think he scared me more than I scared him. He definitely ran off in to the woods, but we are none the safer” he glanced towards the kitchen in defeat, pausing to strategize.

“Let me think out loud for a second, my mind is swimming” he reasoned, carefully standing and rubbing his forehead tiredly. “The generator is nearly gone, Bessie is officially out of commission. Landlines are down, as is our cell phone reception. We’ve still got some food, which we could chill outdoors if necessary, but the pipes are frozen. I mean, we’re literally surrounded by snow and we could just melt some of it if things get desperate. But who knows how long the generator will last, and this fire is our main source of warmth. I guess we could burn the Christmas Tree if we ran out of fire wood?” Pike heaved a hefty sigh of defeat, looking at the formerly homey symbol of holiday cheer, now figuratively going up in flames. “But at least you’re not going anywhere this Christmas Eve” Pike tried to focus on that silver lining, peering up at the ceiling with apprehension as the winds only increased their fervor.

Your addled mind flashed on your earlier nightmare, wincing at the nearly clairvoyant similarity. It seemed that one minute you couldn’t wait to stay, and now both of you were desperate to somehow find a way out. “Sounds like YOU might be the one who’s leaving me” you pouted, finally willing to confront the REAL nightmare that neither of you had addressed. Pike sighed heavily, casting his eyes to the floor in disappointment.

“Look, about that…” he began as you stood to your feet unsteadily, trying to even the playing field.

“Why in the world didn’t you say so, Agent Pike?” you teetered precariously as the room seemed to shift diagonally, bracing a hand against the couch for assistance. “How could you let me think…or why didn’t you…” realizing that once again you were at a loss for words. Why was it so hard for you to connect the dots? The pandemic had deprived you of human connection, communication…LOVE! Your life felt like it was in shambles, separate and alone, and Pike’s permanent departure was just one more example of that. Even in a blizzard you couldn’t get anyone to stay!

“Agent Pike? Are we using our Christian names now?” Marcus teased, attempting to lighten the mood after the adrenaline infused hijinks.

“Come on, I’m serious! I feel terrible for making assumptions about…you…and me…or us…or Donna Reed…” you trailed off, stumbling around the room slightly trying to assemble your thoughts cohesively.

“Hey, maybe you should sit down” Pike cautioned, extending a hand and beginning to follow you around the room tentatively. “Please, let me explain, I WANT to explain. When you kissed me last night…”…

“This is SO typical of me” you rambled, pacing in circles as the blizzard howled around you outside. “I finally become the hero of my own story and I can’t even land the guy for heaven sakes!” you protested, unzipping your snowsuit a bit further in the warmth of the fireplace. “I have main character energy!” you shouted as Pike nodded affirmatively “MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY!” you repeated, rubbing at your temples confusedly.

“You do!” Pike encouraged, following along behind you like a woebegone puppy, his hand placed gently at your back to ensure you didn’t fall over. “VERY Kate Winslet!” he supported, moving the small side table out of your way so you didn’t trip over it.

“And the moment I take matters into my own hands…” you whirled in place, gripping Pike by the collar and shaking him emphatically, “you slip right from my grasp!” you collapsed your hips against his, looking up into those glowing, chocolate-colored orbs of light.

“I’m here! You’ve got me” he rasped, holding you at the waist and inching his face closer to yours imploringly.

“No I don’t!” you huffed, beginning your pacing again with Pike in tow. “Now you’re headed off to Washington D.C, and our perfect Christmas is RUINED!” you emphasized for greater effect. “I don’t even have a gift for you! And whyyyy didn’t you tell me?” you whined falling back against Pike’s chest dramatically and slumping slightly against him. Pike propped you up by your elbow, gripping you around the waist supportively.

“Will you please sit down? Something feels off….I’m feeling off” Pike was trying to make sense of everything, but it was difficult with this splitting headache. Had the lack of sleep finally caught up with him? He didn’t even have any Merlot last night, why was everything so distorted?

You pushed away from him, swaying haphazardly in confusion. Now there were…TWO Pikes standing in front of you. Oh well, now you could TWICE as mad! The cabin groaned forcefully as the room seemed to lurch forward and back. “You know, I could really like…BOTH of you if you’d just give me a chance!” you tried to point an accusatory finger at the pair of them as Pike’s image blurred before you.

“I want to! I want more! I want YOU but…GEEZ…my head in pounding right now. Do you have a headache, too?” the Pikes curiously questioned, reaching back to steady themselves at the fireplace hearth and pinching the bridge of their noses with fatigue.

“I ought to after this nightmare!” you unzipped your snow suit all the way to your waist revealing your sparkling pink bra and fanning your face heatedly. Why the hell was it always so hot?

A dull cracking sound echoed outside as a heavy branch split through the living room window blasting an icy gale of wind through the epicenter of your conversation. Pike shielded his eyes, staggering towards you, grabbing you by waist and pulling you in.

“Careful Pink! Are you okay?” Pike shouted over the din of chaos, bringing both hands to the sides of your face and looking into the dazed expression that was mirrored back.

“I don’t feel so good…” you mumbled, your knees buckling beneath you, crumpling to the ground as Pike cradled your body to the floor. Shielding you against the wind he drew his fingers lightly across your forehead, trying to clear strands of hair away from your eyes. The two Marcus’ coalesced into one image that flickered before you like a dimming television screen before separating again into mirage like images of apprehension.

“Pink? Pink….?” his voice began to distance itself into the dull recesses of your mind as a high pitched whine moved towards the forefront. You reached up to touch his lips tenderly.

“Merry Christmas…” you droned, feeling your body simultaneously feather light and anvil heavy, wishing you had the strength to kiss him once again.

“Stay with me, Pink…” Pike’s voice vanished into an echoing chasm while your thoughts muted to a single pin prick of enlightenment.

What a beautiful nightmare, you mused…before the entire world went dark.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

Pike's Place The Holiday

A huge thank you to @burntheedges for a fun Roll-a-Trope Challenge that has turned into a slow burn, snowed in Winter Series. I have @inept-the-magnificent to thank for all their encouragements and outline rec's!

Triggers: Tipsy Pike (cutest ever), slight profanity, sexy thoughts, accidental lingerie (?), discussions of ex, stranded car trouble, discussion of pandemic...

Series Masterlist

You stood, poised with crowbar and cell phone in hand, watching the adorable, pink-cheeked man in front of you swaying ever so slightly. “How can I help you?’ his voice comedically cracked at the end, as the tv meandered on with Jimmy Stewart’s countenance flickering before you. Still shivering slightly from the cold your explanation cascaded forth, somewhat unhinged, 

“ImeansincethepandemicIcanttellifImcomingorgoing.Itsbeenalongroadmethaphoricallyliterallysexuallyspiritually.OfcoursenotallwhowanderarelostbutthisgalisasIcantfindmyAirbnb.BessiekonkedoutonthesideoftheroadcouldIuseyourlandline?”

You stood huffing slightly from the minimal hike, atmospheric cold and rambling monologue, which seemed to have no affect on your clueless cabin mate. He stood irresolute except for a slight waver that betrayed his intoxicated state. Feeling more awkward by the second you glanced around the room for any sign of life, noticing a small lanyard by the door that stated, “Agent Pike; Art Squad”, featuring a clean shaven version of the business lumberjack in front of you. If this man was a threat, he was certainly masking it well. You were the one holding a crowbar and crashing his tipsy Christmas extravaganza. A pang of guilt flashed through you as you realized the silence was stretching into an eternity. Agent Pike might be cutting quite the cozy figure, but you were starting to feel like Winter Barbie in your pink snow suit, complete with crow bar and cell phone props. All you needed was the Pink Corvette and you could leave this sweet man alone for the holidays…

Pike blinked confusedly as his eyes focused in and out on the vision in front of him. Was he hallucinating? One minute he had been enjoying a bottle of red, and commiserating with Jimmy Stewart. The next second a pink snow bunny had materialized on his snow-bidden doorstep and was propositioning him with a crowbar and cell phone. Merry Christmas? He swallowed dryly, pink cotton candy between his ears, static in his vision. This must be a mistake, have I finally summoned love itself, he wondered? Was he saying anything? Am I saying anything? Time seemed to be moving in liquid droplets, or lightly falling snow. He was cold. He was hot. He was confused. He was drunk? Why was he wearing a suit jacket? The pink vision was talking to him in lilting tones, but he couldn’t concentrate, focusing on her sparkly eyes and curving body. Clearing his throat, he decided to reboot.

“How can I help you?” he repeated dumbly, attempting to stifle a small unbidden hiccup. Pike stumbled slightly, chuckling to himself…

You lurched forward in a pink swirl of energy, attempting to grab his hand and finding it impossible with a crow bar and cell phone. “Whoa, steady there, Agent! You okay?”

His eyelids were now half closed as he grinned dopily, “Sorry, I feel like I might bump into you. Guess that red rrreally packed a punch…” he swung loosely, poking you in the ribs eliciting a small shiver of surprise. You set the crowbar down on the nearby table and pocketed your cell phone. 

“I’m sorry, I’m totally disrupting your holiday celebration…with your family?…” you ventured a curiosity, catching another glance at his comfy gray sweatpants and wondering what lay beneath. Swatting the thought away, you held him by the wrists lightly as he swayed like a dandelion in the wind, attempting to catch sight of a…non-existent ring.

“Just me” he grinned, though it bordered on a whimper that caught in his throat, as his forehead scrunched in concern. “All alone on the holidays…” he trailed off, nearly to himself.

Oh my gawd. Did I just fall in love? Your eyebrows shot up to your forehead in surprise, looking over at the dwindling fire and near finished bottle of red. Gosh, maybe you weren’t the only one feeling lonely this holiday season. After the pandemic it seemed as though the world had moved on without you, but maybe there were some others feeling a little left behind. You pouted sympathetically, wondering if you had found a kindred spirit.

“Come on, let’s get you situated here…” you easily led him to the couch as he collapsed unceremoniously in a heap, sighing heavily. Of course, it might have been bravado on your part, but this guy did seem to be a security agent of some kind, and he certainly wasn’t a pressing danger in this state. You looked over at his forlorn grin as he rubbed his socked feet together like a cricket. Heaving a sigh of relief, you plopped down on the couch next to him, trying to figure out your next steps. You looked around the small cabin. Nobody had a landline anymore, and even if they did, who was gonna be able to reach you at this time of night, in a snow storm? 

“You’re stuck!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger as though divining the truth you had uttered mere seconds ago. You smiled broadly, feeling yourself melt into the couch. This was going to be a problem.

“Yes, Detective, that is correct” you grinned, looking around the room for one final scavenging hunt before giving up completely. “My car isn’t moving another foot and apparently neither am I”.

He nodded appraisingly as though clairvoyant, “I thought asz much” he slurred slightly, trying to gather his bearings, and sitting up a bit to focus. “I’m not a detective, but I notice stuff” he kept nodding and gave you a little wink. You pursed your lips together in amusement. I mean, you WERE crashing his solo holiday celebration, but damned if you weren’t already smitten with Agent Pike.

“I mean, I don’t notice EV-E-R-Y-THING” he emphasized every syllable dramatically, not attempting to stifle the next hiccup. “My girlfriend (hiccup)…”

Your stomach lurched forward, unsure where his sentence was headed…

“…left me for another guy”.

You tried to hide your guilty enthusiasm with a sympathetic pout.

“S’okay” he waved his hands in front of him, nearly knocking over the wine bottle in the process. “I moved waaaaaay too fasst. But no more. Nope. Not for me (hiccup). I’mma just go it alooooone…” he trailed off, blinking rapidly. “Drinkss?” he gestured broadly, nearly knocking over the wine bottle again, which he punctuated with a hiccup. “S-sorry I stoods up a little fast. Too fast…” he trailed off again pouring the remaining dregs into his glass.

You sniffled with emotion or congestion watching this puppy dog of a man unravel in front of you. “Why can’t I find somebody like you?” you whispered, eyes widening to the shape of saucers, chagrined that your inner monologue had somehow materialized outward.

“What?” he hiccuped, offering you the now empty wine bottle. You took it from his hands gently. “Okay, last round Agent Pike” you smirked, wondering at this enigmatic turn of events. Transparently you marveled at your miraculously good fortune, but at what cost? You found yourself snowed in, with a teddy bear of a guy, who was apparently nursing a broken heart, and yours had yet to start beating again. You twiddled your thumbs nervously, wary to share too much information. But drawn magnetically forward by his warm gaze, you decided to hazard the harsh truth. He won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow anyways, you rationalized.

Pike was squinting hard to try to cement every detail into his memory. If this was how he met his wife, he wanted to remember the moment it happened. That was stupid. She’d have to be his fiancé first. He shook his head slightly attempting to clear it of cobwebs. Why can’t you be a normal human and just start with a date, you imbecile. That’s ridiculous, you can’t go on a date out in the wilderness. She might not even be single. I wonder how many children she wants, the thoughts floated through his mind unrequested. Listen to what she’s saying you idiot, he chastised himself. You’re an officer of the law, Pike, get it together. He tried to sip his wine introspectively, quickly becoming aware that was intensifying his intoxication. Whatever you do, just take it slow, Pike. Don’t rush in like last time. The last thing women want is someone moving too fast and making assumptions that aren’t real. This gal finds herself in a tight pinch, and all you’re going to do is make sure she gets home in one piece. He found himself staring at your lips as they moved fluidly, wondering how they might feel….Hot damn, shut up, Pike! You’re already muddled enough, just keep your thoughts to yourself and don’t say anything stupid. She’s pretty. He shifted with slight discomfort noticing the tell-tale pinching feeling between his legs. For that matter, just don’t do or say anything at all. Robot. You’re a robot. You don’t think, you don’t feel anything.

“It’s nice to talk to a real human” you began, unsure of how much to share and what to omit. “I’ve been working from home a lot, and sometimes it seems like the world just keeps getting smaller and smaller”.

He nodded his head imploringly, holding the wine glass between his lips like a sippy cup. You almost couldn’t help yourself. There was something about this man that probably charmed everyone to his gentle personality, but you didn’t care. It had been so long since you had anyone listen to you, particularly someone in gray sweatpants. You found yourself melting like a snow…woman into the couch, assured that he somehow understood what you were talking about. Just two people. Lamenting the lamentable. Sobbing into their Christmas cookies. The holidays SUCK. Donna Reed caught your eye as she ran the down the street from Jimmy Stewart’s passionate advances. You rolled your eyes in annoyance, still hoping they ended up together. Horror upon horror, “Mary Hatch” was a librarian and a SPINSTER! Sigh. If she had lived during the 21st century things you probably would have been buddies. But alas, she was in the 1940’s and you were in the 20 somethings. She was a fictional character and you were as real as it gets. She was wearing a snood. And you were in a pink snow suit.

He sloppily reached out to grab your knee. “I know!” he nearly shouted, nodding like a bobble head.

You giggled slightly, mostly to keep from crying, but you felt the emotion bubble up within you nonetheless. You hadn’t even voiced the hurt to yourself, so speaking it into existence was a bit harder than you anticipated. The fire crackled in the hearth warmly, adding a softness to the moment that floated hazily in the room. You began to notice how hot everything had become, staring into his eyes as they drifted lazily in and out of focus.

“I haven’t even….dated anyone since the pandemic…” your voice nearly disappeared, shocked you were sharing this information with a man you had suspected of being a serial killer but 20 minutes earlier.

“Oh nooo” he lamented, tipping his head sideways on to the couch and turning his body towards you. “Well, you’re not missing anyone… No, that’s not right (hiccup). I’m sorry. Men are dumb” he paused, suddenly befuddled in his buzzing state that he had said too much. “Or women? Women are dumb!” he cringed, trying to blearily ascertain the situation, now growing concerned that he had misread the signs AND insulted you.

You grinned again, appreciative of his awareness even in an intoxicated state. “Yes, well women can be stupid too, but boyfriends take the cake” you huffed. Taking special notice of the amber flecks in the pooling brown of his eyes, you tilted your head to meet his. “At some point, it really does seem easier to just go it alone”. Damn, why was it so hot in here? Peri-menopause ought to be a few years off for Christ’s sake. You looked over at the crackling fire.

“I guess it’s my own fault” you slid the zipper of your snow suit down, dabbing at the perspiration on your neck and overheating in more ways than one. “Somehow I just became more and more isolated as time progressed” your lower lip wobbled unexpectedly, surprising even you. “I wish I could be more relaxed. More forward. Much like Bessie the Hyundai, I have a tendency to move as slow as molasses”. You looked over at his doe like countenance, as he had apparently drained the final dregs of his wine glass and was looking pointedly at your chest. He gulped dryly, raising his eyes to meet yours.

Oops. You glanced down at your unzipped snow suit, suddenly remembering there wasn’t much beneath. A sparkly pink bra and matching underwear had most assuredly caught his attention, but had slipped yours. Coughing slightly, you slid the zipper back up just enough to showcase your burgeoning cleavage. His brain seemed to have short circuited as you winced with embarrassment. 

Marry me, he thought. Shut up, Pike! Did you not learn your lesson in Sacramento? This isn’t some cinematic, sappy movie that you’re watching on AMC! You’re an agent for God’s sakes! Man of the law. He licked his lips dryly wondering who had drunk all of the wine. I’m just a hopeless romantic, emphasis on the hopeless part, he drolled to himself. Just a lone wolf. I wonder what her lips taste like. Shhh! Lonely wolf. Awwwooooo! He stifled a wine-fiiled giggle..

About three things you were absolutely positive. Number one, Agent Pike was the most adorable non-serial killer you had ever met. Second, there was a part of him, and you didn’t know how potent that part might be, was ogling your…snow suit. And third…you seemed to have no problem with it whatsoever.

“I think you’re a hero” he hiccuped, holding his now empty wine glass up in a toast. His eyes were twinkling as a stray lock of hair dangled in front of his chocolate colored eyes. Puffing his cheeks to blow the strand away, you mercifully reached up to draw it back into place.

“I’m a hero, Agent Pike?” 

“Yeaaaaah” he drawled, then sitting up suddenly in a burst of focused energy. “You must be the heroine of your own story!” he looked like he was about to stand up and deliver a speech, so you positioned both hands on his quads to calm the situation.

“Okayeeee Pike. I think if it’s okay with you I can bunk here for the evening, and come morning I can call Triple A and see about getting a tow. Does that sound okay to you Agent?” you gazed at him curiously as he swayed slightly, still grinning.

“There’s hot chocolate” he offered, somewhat randomly, but helpful nonetheless. “You can call me Mr. Pike if you want (hiccup). I mean Mr. Marcus…M-M-arcus…” he mumbled adorably.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate, Mr. Marcus” you offered sweetly, noticing that your hands were still cemented to his broad thighs. You wiggled your fingers slightly, in a near out of body experience, as he remained intoxicatingly unawares.

“We can finish the movie!” he exclaimed. “I’ll take the couch!” he hiccuped, lying back with contentment as you took the wine glass out of his hand gently. “I wanna hear it!” he chanted “I’m the hero of my own story!!!” he repeated, grabbing the remote to unmute the tv and then closing his eyes serenely.

“You’re the hero of my story” you absentmindedly repeated, noticing the next movie “The Holiday” had started twinkling before you. You gazed at the small staircase leading up to a possible bedroom for the night. This certainly was not the way you had anticipated your adventure starting, but perhaps Agent Pike was going to be the Christmas gift you never expected, but always deserved. All that remained was to see if you could let yourself receive it, before the Christmas Miracle evaporated. The familiar opening melody of “The Holiday” began as you looked over to notice small snuffles and light snores drift from Pike’s plush lips, made pink in the flickering fire-light. Art Squad indeed, you marveled, finally able to get a glance at his aquiline nose and gentle profile. Your eyes drifted over his broad chest, soft stomach and cozy gray sweat pants. Holding your hands firmly in your lap, you drew yourself up to grab the nearest chunky blanket and tuck him in. Taking an indulgent moment to lightly draw your fingertips over his frame, you thought you caught the lightest whisper of, “Love you, honey” before he slipped back into a wine-soaked slumber. 

Oh my, this WAS going to be a problem, you smiled, shutting off the tv, and padding up the stairs to find your bedding for the evening.

Merry Christmas to us all, and to all a good night…

*thanks @samspenandsword for the dividers!

Moody Fall

Grump. I is in a bad mood. Here are some pretty pictures for me and anyone else in a bad mood. Now...I am in a slightly better mood. Hmph.