WIP Wednesday...Thursday...Friday

Crime and Punishment The Family

Foyer: There are already so many great AU fics featuring all our favorite Pedro Boys and I'd like to showcase them! In the Coffee Shop Foyer you'll find some great rec's for coffee and books alike. This week, check out Miller's Booknook @whocaresstillthelouvre as your sweet treat!

Bookshop: As per your recommendation, Joel is our shop owner. I think there's something appealing in a man who says little, but obviously feels so much.

Triggers: profanity, sexy descriptions, typical Last of Us canon, discussions of violence, cat allergies, major spoilers for "Crime and Punishment"...

Series Masterlist

Christmas had come and gone. The flurry of snow and holiday activity had begun to recede into the nearby distance, clumping into dirty pockets of slippery ice and sludge as you trudged your way down main street. In this moment you were assured of one thing;

You felt like a complete idiot.

Staggering haphazardly down the main thoroughfare of town, you caught more than a few sidelong glances as you struggled with your carried contents. It wasn’t everyday they saw the town teacher hefting a bona fide picnic basket at the epicenter of winter, and possible tail end of humanity itself. Who had time for a picnic in the apocalypse? Forget the fact that you had about ten lopsided picnic baskets in your living room from last spring’s unit on agriculture and crafts. Smiling awkwardly at your passing students, your embarrassment would have grown larger still if anyone knew the cornucopia of items you were attempting to proffer. Gone were the days of food markets and charcuterie boards. Here, at the end of the world; you had carrots.

Well, not just carrots, you had brought a few treasures, including last year’s canning of apple preserves, but you just hoped Joel wasn’t too picky an eater. You had promised lunch for your next literary discussion, and you aimed to make good on your word. More than a little late, you now found yourself under the microscope of burgeoning Jackson Commune gossip, nearly tripping over Tommy and Maria as you approached the book shop.

“Whoa, where ya going there little lady, with all those goods?” Tommy joked, arm in arm with his wife Maria, who was expecting in the spring.

“Oh, um…just checking out the new bookshop!” you chirped, a bit too enthusiastically. “For the students…my students…our students…” you rambled, peering around Tommy’s broad frame and trying to see if Joel were in the bookshop foyer.

“Watcha got cookin’ in there?” Tommy questioned, propping the basket lid slightly until Maria slapped him alongside the arm.

“Leave them alone, Tommy. What are you, “The Enquirer”?” she jested, wrapping her other protective hand around the underside of her growing belly.

“No harm in lookin’!” Tommy protested, passing by on the side and calling over his shoulder. “Tell Joel I said to be on his best behavior!” Maria chuckled quietly under her breath as your cheeks reddened slightly with chagrin. Making eye contact with Rascal the orange tabby through the bookshop window, you smirked with self-deprecation. Guess the cat’s outta the bag.

Maybe the picnic basket was a little much, but you had every right to be there. Rascal the Cat seemed non-plussed by your thought process as you shoved the bookshop door open to the tell-tale ringing of the bell. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, you set the basket down on the lobby chair, already welcomed by the crackling wood-burning stove, inviting coffee’d fragrance and…

Ellie?

Ellie rounded the corner with a stack of books piled nearly to her head, pausing in the aisles to register her apparent surprise.

“Miss J?” she questioned, as Rascal leapt on top of the nearby picnic basket with curiosity. You nearly turned on your heel with embarrassment, but stubbornly stood rooted to the floor.

“Oh! Hi Ellie! Is your dad…” you winced “is your Joel…I mean…Is Joel here by chance?” you bumbled incoherently, watching Rascal shove an aggressive paw under the basket lid, searching for more catnip.

“Ask him yourself, he’s right behind ya…” she retorted, setting the books on the floor before she dropped them completely, as Joel bulldozed in through the door, slightly out of breath.

You had clearly caught one another unawares, as Joel stood panting quickly, a dried bunch of lavender clasped firmly in his gloved hands. His mouth dropped open surprisingly, as he took in the sight of Rascal, Ellie, you, the picnic basket and his own insecurities, shoving the door shut behind him roughly with a booted foot.

“From the ‘pothecary” he grumbled, shoving the dried lavender into your shocked grasp and making a bee-line for the back room, quickly removing his winter coat and rubbing at the back of his neck humbly.

“Jesus, Joel don’t be an asshole!” Ellie yelled, ignoring your delighted expression as Joel exclaimed from the back, “LANGUAGE!”. Ellie giggled good-naturedly eyeing the picnic basket with admiration. “Would ya like some coffee?” she rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly at Joel’s adolescent attitude. Before you could answer, Joel’s booming voice cascaded from the back, “COFFEE’S ON THE STOVE!”. You both smiled ironically as Rascal shoved his furry head into the basket’s contents.

“Joel said you might be droppin’ by….for research?” Ellie’s eyes brightened conspiratorially, as though enlightened by a secret she alone was privy to.

“Uh…sure…it’s not everyday you trip over the new town library!” you busied yourself grabbing a cup of coffee, unsure of how to wrangle your way out of a premature conversation. “Started your homework yet for post-holidays?” you deflected, eyeing Ellie mischievously from behind your steaming mug of joe.

"You bet…” Ellie sardonically chided. “You know how much I like homework” she smiled, setting the books haphazardly on the shelves, without looking.

“Bullshit” Joel mumbled under his breath, sporting a new plaid shirt and nearly bumping into the nearby bookshelf when he caught sight of your pensive expression.

“Language” Ellie whispered sarcastically, as you attempted to hide a growing smile behind the grasped ceramic.

“Don’t you got somewhere to be?” Joel snapped quickly, shoving the sleeves of his shirt up his sinewy forearms and huffing with annoyance. “Told Tommy you were gonna muck the stables this winter…” he pointedly asked, grabbing his ice cold coffee and downing it in one swallow.

“Jesus, don’t gotta be all mean about it…” she scoffed, standing to her feet spryly and grabbing her own coat from the nearby counter. Her voice lilted as she shew’d Rascal away from the picnic basket to take a peek. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she called, grabbing a biscuit and heading for the door. “I’ll start that homework tonight, I promise!” her voice echoed after the shop bell rang, turning impishly to make a funny face at Joel and quickly stalking away.

“Goddam teenagers…” Joel grumbled, though the soft sheen of his eyes betrayed his own sentimentality, as he shifted awkwardly under your penetrating gaze. “Gonna ask me about MY homework, teach?” he jested shyly, placing his hands on his hips and stifling a small chuckle.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full with plenty of responsibilities!” you confessed, opening the nearby quilt with a flourish and setting the picnic basket atop it. “Hungry?”

“Starvin’” Joel admitted, striding forward and wincing slightly at his crackling knees. “Not a spring chicken…” he acknowledged, grabbing the dried lavender from your grasp and fiddling with it sweetly.

“Well, that’s why we’ve got the next generation, so they can keep us on our toes” you teased, removing your odd assortment of treats to Joel’s wondering eyes.

“Not quite sure I understand much of it…” he revealed, drawing the lavender to his nose and inhaling deeply.

“What, teenagers or life?”

“Both” Joel stated matter-a-factly as you both chuckled softly.

“And here I thought you were confused about the homework…” you pried, removing your copy of “Crime and Punishment” as the last in a series of unexpected items.

“Got plenty of questions for all three” he began, accepting a plate and looking ravenously at the quirky feast spread before him.

“Where shall we start?” you gestured at the picnic, as Joel hungrily shoved a biscuit into his mouth before it even reached the plate.

“The family” he mumbled, a few crumbs already dotting his broad chest, as you began to open the jar’d preserves and pickled vegetables.

“Yeah, I had to look them up…Alexandrovna the mom. And Dunya, the sister…” you recited, from last night’s academic notes.

“They all talk too much” Joel complained, shoving another biscuit into his mouth and grabbing for the preserves.

You laughed heartily, starting to dish up the nearest items at your fingertips, smiling at Joel’s immediate engagement. “Never had a sister, but Tommy’s fixin’ to turn into that Raz-a-whatzits here in Jackson…” Joel mocked, dipping his forefinger sloppily into the preserves and bringing it fixedly to his mouth. You gulped slightly, fixated on Joel’s puckered lower lip.

“Razumikhin?” you rasped, suddenly much warmer than you had been in the town square.

“Believing’ the best, and ignoring the rest. Don’t tell Tommy I said that…” Joel nodded approvingly at the preserves, sighing contentedly and leaning back against the bookstore counter.

“I ran into them on the way in” you observed, barring Rascal from setting up shop in the now emptied picnic basket.

“Jackson’s real good for him, only…” Joel paused, suddenly steeped in self doubt.

“Only what?” you asked, unsure of his directionality.

“Don’t think Maria likes me” he mumbled, shifting his body weight uncomfortably on the hard wooden floor.

“Maria is shrewd. A real investigator if you ask me. Just wants what’s best for her family and the town…” you offered, finally allowing Rascal to overtake the picnic basket as he purred victoriously.

Joel nodded, picking at the rogue crumbs strewn across his plaid shirt. “She sees a lot” he agreed, picking up the lavender once again. “She wouldn’t believe that Luzhin for one damn second…” he noted, picking at the dried flower absentmindedly.

“Reallllly? What makes you say that?”

“Man’s gotta rely on his instincts if he wants to survive” Joel stated matter-a-factly. “Luzhin is no good, I’ll tell you that right now. Plenty of people in this world that will take advantage of people like Tommy, Ellie…YOU. Gotta be careful” once again Joel seemed to vanish into a world entirely his own, as you paused, wondering if he were still talking about “Crime and Punishment”.

“Well, a big thematic component Dostoyevsky likes to explore is intentionality and motivation…” you continued hesitantly, lost somewhat in the stormy countenance of Joel’s faraway gaze. “Rascalnikhov oscillates between his own self-inflicted punishment and a desire to transcend the boundaries of natural law with impunity. He constantly questions the limitations of situational morality and utilitarian ethics. He can’t even bring himself to acknowledge the murder, rationalizing that he didn’t kill a person, he just killed a concept, but that reasoning only lasts so long. At the end of the day, we ALL ask the question—who do we answer to? Particularly in a society that inflicts such pain upon itself…” you let your words hang silently in the air, concerned at Joel’s disappearing visage. What inner world was he retreating into? You took a moment to absorb the lines and wrinkles painting his face, as his jaw worked needlessly against some clandestine challenge. The sudden unbidden desire to drag your fingers across the rough stubble of his beard flashed through your mind, as Joel heaved a heavy sigh of unknown conflict.

“More coffee?” his eyes suddenly found yours with a dazzling light, as he emerged from whatever tumult had surrounded him.

“Sure!” you chirped, having only drunk half of the cooling beverage. Joel noisily staggered to his feet, already uncomfortable in the seated position for such a burly guy. Rubbing at his lower back his other hand grazed yours, taking the coffee mug wordlessly and heading over to the wood burning stove.

“How’s Ellie doing in school?” he muttered, with his back to you amidst the growing library of treasured books. Surprised at his shift in topic, you immediately jumped at the chance to learn anything about their mutual, mysterious background.

“Ellie’s a sharp student. Quick witted with a swift tongue…” you smiled at the diplomatic appraisal, but it was true. Ellie was one of those rare students who didn’t speak much, but when they did, their words whistled clean and true, like a penetrating arrow. Joel must know as much.

“Yeah, that girl’s got a mouth on her” he chuckled, returning with your refreshed coffee and towering above you. “Doubt I’m much of a damn good influence” he reasoned, reaching across your body, and coming dangerously close to your lips as he grabbed one final biscuit. You indulgently caught a quick fragrance of leather, soap and pine that overwhelmed your entire being for that millisecond. Unsure if Joel somehow noticed, you thought you saw the smallest twinkle graze the corner of his eye as he headed to the back room definitively.

Speaking almost to yourself you continued, “I DO wish I knew more about the students in my classroom, it would make it easier to connect with them on the things that really matter…” you trailed off, beginning to ponder aloud. “I wonder if Dostoyevsky would be a good read for the spring…”.

“You’re the expert, teach” Joel reappeared with a stack of new books, including a beleaguered yellow pages from the outlying territories. “Just seems like a lot of death for new, young lives” he questioned, hefting the stack of books on the front counter and heading back for more. You began to clear some of the picnic away as Rascal the orange tabby protested vociferously.

“It’s true, but some of it is unavoidable” you vented, thinking on the cornucopia of ages and backgrounds represented in your small classroom of maybe 25 children and teenagers. “Some of these kids have seen enough brutality to last a lifetime, and others have been completely insulated from the outside world for their entire existence”. You shook your head, incapable of comprehending how to provide for all of their educational needs. “What about the two of you? Did you see much violence on the road to Jackson?” the words were out of your mouth before you considered them, immediately arrested by the stoic silence of the backroom. Several moments passed before Joel reappeared with a smaller stack of books to join the first.

“Yeah” Joel huffed, unwilling or unable to go into more detail at the present moment, and you didn’t want to push it. “Ellie is tough. She can stand it. But not all my…not all girls are alike” Joel enigmatically offered, gesturing at you broadly. “What about you teach? You seem tough as nails, ‘specially for a bookish sort” he probed, tossing the yellow pages at your feet as Rascal scampered out of the way. Your eyes flashed with acknowledgement, thinking back on your first, surprising bookshop meeting. You were no shrinking violet, but you weren’t sure how much of that information would be beneficial for your educational duties. Setting the picnic basket to one side, and picking up the yellow pages for future organization, you avoided.

“You’re probably right. Not all girls are the same. And Ellie can take care of herself” you reticently observed, looking Joel dead in the eyes as you grabbed a nearby stack of reading material. “I’m pretty sure the 300’s are science or social science”.

“Don’t know much about that, teach. I’m not really a man of science” he scoffed, heading to the backroom darkly.

“I think Dostoyevsky would agree with you!” you yelled to the back, beginning a new section of literary options and returning to the main topic of discussion. “He hates the high brow aristocracy, and scientific knowledge to the exclusion of all else. But make no mistake, D is a writer of tremendous emotion…and BELIEF!”

“Bullshit!” Joel emerged from the backroom one last time, nearly dropping the towering array of books balanced precariously in his hold. “Don’t quote me some Firefly, ‘lost in the darkness, look for the light shit’” he complained, punctuating his opinion by dumping the book stack unceremoniously atop the front counter.

“Language!” you sarcastically teased, as Joel’s face tinged with the sweetest shade of red imaginable. “I don’t want to get too far ahead of you, so you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. But think about Rascal’s slipshod theory about the inhuman”.

“What, like the infected?” Joel debated, searching for any books on the sciences. “If you tell me Dostoyevsky was a fortune teller, Rascal’ll kick you out before I can…” Joel toted the appropriate books over to your aisle, shoving them into the side of your shoulder mockingly. Attempting to avoid the distraction of his intoxicating fragrance you plowed onward, however unsuccessfully.

“RASCALNIKOV” you enunciated mischievously, turning into the pile of books “starts to wax philosophical about a master human race. A division of inferiors and superiors, Napoleons and what-nots, but it’s all one big fallacy for his own self-aggrandized delusions”.

“Them’s a lot of big words, teach” Joel pursed his lips defiantly, scanning the whole of your body skeptically, and not without a tinge of arousal.

“It’s all a big show! Rascal can’t escape his own self-judgement or admit his actual motivations for the crime itself! He’s completely mired in his own delusional alienation and desperately grasping at anything he can find to avoid the acknowledgement of human pride and base inferiority. He’s just as infected as everybody else!” you finally exclaimed, noticing how closely Joel was watching your passionate expression, as his eyes hovered precariously over your now trembling lips. You tried to still the flutter of your shivered breathing, unwilling to break eye contact as Joel was magnetically drawn closer.

“You’re comin’ to dinner” he broke the spell abruptly, returning to the backroom nonsensically, and avoiding the incredulity of your followed gaze.

“WHAT?” you called after him, looking around the room haphazardly to find Rascal the orange tabby sitting smugly atop the repacked picnic basket.

“YOU HEARD ME!” Joel’s voice echoed from the back room, as you threw your hands up placatingly, imploring Rascal the Cat to offer any assistance whatsoever, and finding a lack of feline solace.

“I suppose I’m bringing another picnic basket?!” you remarked, huffing with feigned annoyance and grouping the books sloppily on the shelf.

“Not this time, teach. Gonna put Ellie and me to work and have you over tomorrow night at the house” Joel’s voice crescendoed until his broad frame was nearly on top of yours. “Ask anyone around town, you’ll find us. Seven sharp” his eyes squinted skeptically, almost challenging you to refuse.

“Fine”.

“Fine” his low voice rumbled forebodingly in his chest as you stared back.

“Fine”.

Rascal the Cat meowed curiously, as though joining the conversation. A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, watching Joel’s jaw tick playfully. “Now, scram, I gotta work and you’re distractin’ me from my homework” he chaffed, turning on his heel and smiling to himself with delight. It was a date.

“I’m distractin’….?” you queried to no avail, as Joel’s thick frame had already exited the foyer and returned to the bowels of the backroom bookshop. Rascal blinked sleepily in your direction with self-satisfaction. Hidden from sight, you beamed triumphantly. Grabbing your winter wear and hoisting the significantly lighter picnic basket, you confiscated the dried lavender from the floor, tucking it into your shirt pocket. “I’LL BRING THE COFFEE, MILLER!” you giddily reprimanded, nodding at Rascal and making a quick exit to the sound of the bookshop bell.

Things were starting to get interesting.

@morallyinept @littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges

@janaispunk @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya @schnarfer @devineconjuring 

@mermaidgirl30 @mandolover37 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk 

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

@copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @princesspurple75

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin

Moody Whiskey

"I got a six pack of cold ones on ice and my roomie's out all night. So you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar.”

Dostoyevsky + The Dream

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

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

Intimacy and Empathy

I really have no excuses this time. This has completely devolved to a pure literary self-indulgence, utilizing our hero and sexy time villain, Papi Pascal. Fluff, fluff, and fluffer nutter with a little smut at the end.

Triggers: RPF, committed relationship, exploration of intimacy/empathy, hetero M/F description, oral fixation, mention of food, exploration of consent etc...Mood board is for aesthetic only. No affiliation with Coca-Cola lol...

It was the perfect Sunday afternoon. The windows were open as a cool breeze blew through the house, curtains fluttering in the wind. You and Pedge had set up camp on the living room sofa, “being alone together” as a jazz record played on the phonograph. Two Diet Cokes sat perspiring on the coffee table as you each devoured your Sunday book of choice. Your feet lay propped on his lap, as he sunk further and further into the cushions, weighted down by literary gravitas. You peered up at him, over the corner of your book "Intimacy & Empathy" with a mischievous glint.

“Babe?”

“Hmph…” he barely grumbled, chewing on his lower lip, brows furrowed in concentration.

“I have an idea.”

“Yeah?…” he mumbled, turning the page.

“Intimacy,…”

“Yes!” he jumped to his feet, slamming the book shut in comedic theatrics, laying down on top of your giggling form in one fell swoop.

“Okay, hold up cowboy” you laughed, feeling him nuzzle into your breastbone with delight “My book is exploring the subtle differences between intimacy and empathy…”

“Emmmmpathy…” he began to drone, nibbling over your t-shirt at your nipple.

“Stawhp!” you giggled, writhing in faux exasperation, cupping his jaw in your hands and bringing his eyes up to meet yours.

“Yes ma’am” he sighed brazenly “you have my undivided attention. Innnnntimacy…”

“Yes, intimacy and empathy” you re-started, curling your fingers around locks of his hair and tenderly stroking his eyebrows. His eyelids immediately grew heavy while your thumb absentmindedly moved in circles across his cheeks. “This author is talking about how the dom dynamic subtly operates around themes of empathy…”

Pedge’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead, lightly gripping your finger between his teeth. “Mmmhmmm…” he started sucking on your finger, swirling his tongue around it.

“Are you concentrating?” you smirked, finding yourself distracted by his ministrations. He bobbed his head excitedly, hair flopping loosely around his temples. You tittered underneath him, trying to steer the conversation forward, regardless of distraction.

“This book says that the nature of sexual domination in its healthiest form, is akin to empathy, in that, the needs of the sub are paramount, in helping establish an intimacy of self.”

You relished the slight popping sound as he pulled his mouth off of your finger and moved his hands to your waist. “Babe, I’m in the middle of Henry IV, so…I’m still in Shakespearean mode.” He reached up to delicately pinch your lip between calloused fingers, “I can’t concentrate on anything that pretty pink mouth is saying, but it sounds like…I’m about to order some padded handcuffs on THE Amazon, methinks?” he queried, licking his lips inquisitively.

“To be honest, I have no idea what I’m suggesting…” you quizzically twisted your mouth in confusion as he waited patiently. The wind chimes bounced in the distance, as you heard some birds chirping, and attempted to coalesce a cohesive thought.

“Maybe we could explore…”

“Yes!” he jumped up again, downing his Diet Coke in one gulp, staggering slightly and offering his hand out to you enticingly.

“You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever known” you teased, shutting your book and following suit. You hooked your fingers into the back loops of his jeans as he began to salsa into the bedroom, humming under his breath.

“Empathy, ecstasy, empathy, ecstasy…” he abruptly stopped and twisted around, grasping you in a hug and falling backwards onto your bed.

You both laughed, as he stayed pinned to the mattress, you in his embrace, peppering sloppy kisses all over his neck and face. “But babe, I don’t have any plan. No ground rules…I mean, we still have our safe words, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m suggesting…”

“Do you usually have an itinerary for our sexy time?” he joked, catching your mouth in a small tender kiss.

You pondered the question, and his lips for a moment before realizing, that yes, you were always intent on an achievable goal. For the moment, that point seemed moot as he licked into your mouth eliciting a small moan. You’re not sure how long you enjoyed kissing one another before you collapsed back into him catching your breath.

“I think I actually do. Plan, I mean”.

He stroked your back lightly, “Plans are good. Are there blueprints? Is there a power point presentation?” he rumbled as you kicked your feet childishly atop him.

“Maybe I want permission…to just follow my whims, without censorship? I don’t know, it might be…unpredictable…” you trailed off, unsure of where this sexy time adventure was headed.

“I think we can probably arrange that” he smiled. “Life is unexpected, so it makes sense that sex would be too.”

You shrank into his body bashfully with a small smile.

“What?” he laughed, hugging you tighter.

“You said, ‘sex’” you whispered, rubbing your legs together like a cricket.

“I meannnnn…” he gently flipped you over, now caging you in with his elbows and humming into your neck. You wrapped both legs around his waist, squishing his stomach in pulsing movements.

“Eeee, eeee, eee, eeeee…Bee..eee..care…ful…I did have that Diet Coke.”

“Okay, you sound like a chew toy.”

“Fine by me, honey. Chew me up and spit me out…” he buried his head into your chest once again and started gnawing at your shirt. “Off pleeeeeease…”

You lifted your hands above your head as he peeled your t-shirt off and threw it to the side. He blew a big raspberry into your stomach as you giggled and squirmed underneath his weight, squeezing his mid-drift even harder.

“I’m not a toothpaste tuuu—uuube” he teasingly grimaced, kneading your stomach and thighs with his fingers.

“Mmmm, I can taste that Diet Coke now. ‘Be open like never before’” you winked, taking his face in your hands and kissing his nose. You sighed into his mouth as the make-out session continued. It was easy to move your body against his, circling your hips and pulsing up and down. You felt his length harden between your legs as he dragged your hands above your head.

Breathing heavily, he started sucking on your neck, “You okay? Is this intimate enough?”

“Ohhhh yes” you exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m feeling very empathic”. You felt him smile into your collarbone as he moved south, dragging his lips down your torso.

“Wait!”

His eyes whipped up, as he paused at your stomach, surprised at the outburst. You started giggling in embarrassment as he dipped his tongue into your bellybutton, sucking and biting. “Are we done? Did we achieve intimacy?”

You laughed to yourself, thankful for the respite. “I’m not feeling super confident about that…right now…” you admitted. Pedge began to pout, resting his chin atop your stomach and moving his hands under your knees.

“Fair enough. Expect the unexpected” he parried “Are we retiring back to the library, or is there an amuse bouche?”

You pursed your lips together, mulling over the many, many options.

“You?”

His eyes lit up with recognition, the corners crinkling into happy exclamation points. “Where do you want me, coach?”

You took a deep breath of relief, trying to NOT overtly plan your next move. “Lay down on the bed for me, please.”

“Yay!” he moved enthusiastically to the side, quickly stripping off his own shirt, and folding his hands over his stomach in anticipation. You removed your sweatpants and straddled his legs, gently removing his hands. He blushed, balling his fists beside him.

“Preeettty” you admired, dragging your hands down his stomach and fingering the trail of hair leading to his hardening length. Slowly, you unbuttoned his jeans as he lifted his hips. You could see him tightening against his boxer briefs and you nuzzled your nose into his stomach, breathing deeply. As you lightly nibbled at the fabric he unexpectedly bucked into your chin.

“Easy there, heavyweight” you coo’d, peering up at him as a smile crept over his face.

“Sorry” he flushed, a crimson hue creeping up his neck. “You’ve got me all wound up, chiquita”.

“Alright, let’s take care of you, sweet pea” you mused, already aroused by the foreplay of the day.

His eyes drifted to your breasts as he chewed his lower lip. “Do I have any lines?” He reached up for your waist, making eye contact and fingering your lace waistband. “Am I embodying intimacy or empathy? I need my motivation…”.

You lazily dragged your heat over his upper thigh, lightly grasping his length in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think you’re going to be lacking in motivation” you countered as he hissed an intake of air.

“Wait”.

It was your turn to be surprised as your eyes shot up to his face, a small look of embarrassment creeping over his countenance.

“Are we….just doing me, tonight? I mean…” he cleared his throat with discomfort “that feels a little…selfish…for me."

You sighed heavily, endlessly impressed with this man’s attitude. You turned your eyes down shyly and clasped your hands in front of your body. He took them in his own, playing with your fingers. “Hey, look at me, bebita. I’m here for whatever you need, whatever you want. Absolutely no complaints. You know. “An Actor Prepares”. I’m ready for those blueprints.”

The corners of your mouth turned upwards, as he placed your finger back between his teeth with anticipation. What WERE you asking for?

“I think…I’ve been so up in my head lately…If I could just lose myself in you…it would take some of the pressure off. I just…love you, and stuff.”

He stopped abruptly, crinkling his eyes with amusement and bringing your hand up to his face. “Okay, we’ve got our character breakdown. You’re the empathy. I’m the intimacy”.

You flashed your teeth in a cheshire grin, waiting for his acquiescence. He theatrically huffed, furrowing his brow in mock frustration. “What is a man to do when faced with such a question?”

Shrugging your shoulders with curiosity, you held your breath in anticipation. Gently bringing your lips to his, he whimpered softly.

“Sounds like a yes, to me” you smiled.

What Happened to Belen? Part One

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

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

Series Masterlist

Words: 5k

This workday was taking forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, they tried”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You continued,

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

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

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

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

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

Part Two...

Blossom Beauty, Blossom!

Pedge and I have been speaking at length about come of the recent Tumblr tiffs. While I am resolutely holding my own (#cough-lies), Pedge is an open book and has spent many an evening requiring copious cuddle time, chocolate chip cookies and sniffles. Luckily, we are up for the task! But I wanted to send a quick thanks to @millersflowermarket and @positivelypedro for their stellar work in focusing on the positive. Pedge might not be a registered therapist, but he ALWAYS provides me with some interesting insights...

In our PB + J sessions, Pedge feels it is very important to stick together ala "The One With Pedge and Jett" and "The One with Pedge and Queen Beef". I had come across some peripheral postulations, but Pedge was feeling a bit more curious and we went in search of (dun, dun, dun...)...the confessions blog (blog, blog, blog) [insert dramatic echo]. I had some hesitancy, but Pedge said to keep an open mind so we decided to give it a glance.

Oh my heavens! Pedge! Excuse me a moment this might require an emergency batch of chocolate chip cookies and face kisses. Hmmm...Pedge, if necessary, please reconnect with your somatic center by placing your hand across your chest and practicing some deep breathing (Pedge has some anxiety and who would blame him?)

I'm not 100% sure what the man himself would say, but Pedge is flumoxed. This is a complete mis-representation of his stance on self expression, positivity and...cookies.

I suppose confessions have an element of personal truth that can be appropriately considered. But as an amateur therapist (yes Pedge, I will include your sexy time proclivities...)...as an amateur therapist Pedge would like me to remind us all that truth must be viewed personally, intimately and within an appropriate context. And unfortunately, this blog is none of those things.

After reminding us both that we successfully survived Jr. High, Pedge and I signed off, blocking yet another negativity...

So that took care of that, and we are obviously on the continued hunt for any additional examples of plagarism or bullying that might occur. I reminded Pedge that loving discussion can provide some insights about difficult topics. Thank you to @gasolinerainbowpuddles for a nuanced discussion of NC and the therapeutic benefits of expression and the importance of Trigger Warnings. Pedge and I similarly speak about SH, ideation, mortality and other darker subjects in pieces like "Knitting Back Together".

Life can be very painful. Sexy time can be very confusing. The exploration of Love can be so lonely, isn't that right, Pedge? But I am confident as we continue to pursue Truth, Beauty and Love in the ways that make sense for us, we will find how much we share in common, rather than the many ways we might be divided.

In closing, (as Pedge continues his deep breathing practice) he would like me to remind us all to "be good to yourself and be good to others". It's always a good time for things like flowers, Love and, of course...chocolate chip cookies.

PIP? Pining In Progress....

Now that Pedge and I have 100 followers we are feeling cocky AF....AND we had a little holiday health scare. Imagine my adolescent embarrassment when the only regret that surfaced was that I haven't written Papi Pascal a fan note expressing my (hopefully not dying) love and adoration. I CAN'T stomach an IG message that will easily go unseen, so I'm wondering if anyone can PM me another option! Back in the days of yore, fan mail was so much easier. I don't wanna meet him, a girl just needs to express herself, you know what I mean jelly bean? I'd rather have my perfumed note disappear in the literal ether, rather than the digital one...

Hey beauties! Welcome to Pedge's World, our little corner of the digital universe where healing, freedom and chocolate chip cookies reign supreme! Pedge helps me sort through all of my sad, sexy, angry, euphoric, hungry, cranky, spiritual, creative moods! I hope you will join us! 18+, no minors!

Sexy Series Masterlist (RPF)

Let's Stick Together!

Art Projects Dieter's Art Studio; My Darling Muse

Afterglow Series Dead Dove December; The Deepest Cut

Pedge's Campsite

Fun With Mood Boards!

Pedro Boys

Pedro Posts, Polls and Prompts

Pedge's Juke Box

Pedge Tweets!

Pedge's Bookshop

Pedge's Cinema

Sexy Series Masterlist

Pedge says that one of his favorite pastimes is Therapeutic Smut. Although he wants me to convey that he is not a registered clinician, Pedge is very interested in discussing challenging topics like self-expression, identity, and spirituality but likes it with a side of sexiness. These are all RPF so please proceed with caution . Come join us on the cuddle coach if you are 18+...

Knitting Back Together

Rocky Road

Sweet Dreams

Euphoria

The Purpose of Pleasure

Intimacy and Empathy

The Boxing Match

Intoxicated

A Sense of Pride

Use Somebody

Death of Self