Pedge Tweets!

Pike's Picture

A huge thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book :) Pedge and I can be so grumpy sometimes. I had a GREAT day, but still find myself in an Eeyore state. But Pike is my guy, I KNOW he gets it.

Had a blast over the winter on @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope" challenge "Pike's Place" slow burn series. @inept-the-magnificent was a big help! But if you're like me, and feeling a little blue, head over to Pike's Place for a winter pick me.

In the interim, Pedge and I are going back to bed...

Maxwell's Music

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut, this short includes references to death and parental relationship, as per the character's arc in Wonder Woman 1984

Pedge's Jukebox

Maxwell's Music

*Maxwell Lord is all 80’s all the time. He thinks he’s one of the cool kids, but doesn’t realize his…seasoned maturity… *Wakes up at 5am to take a power walk around the neighborhood. Grabs his green juice and pops over to the gym to enjoy the playlist and pump some iron before heading over to work. *On weekends, when he has him, Maxwell Lord is not only determined to teach his son Alistair the important points of business management, but he also imparts the backstory of his favorite bands in an effort to bond…That is, when he remembers… *In the evenings, Maxwell grabs a late night espresso to head to the gym for a repeat visit. He blares the music as loudly as possible and envisions his monetary empire growing exponentially *Doesn’t have time for relationships after the divorce, but will occasionally frequent the local Strip Club for a quickie with his favorite gal “Pussycat” (sexy time with a sexy gal to sexy music) *Absolutely hates silence at the office and around the house. Wants to bombard himself with sound and fury and activity all the time, to avoid thinking about his failures… *During his lunch, will break out his Casio Walkman and allows the music to “pump him up” *Didn’t want to attend his father’s funeral, so he sent money to cover the expense, and then went to work. Didn’t tell anyone about the death but shed a few tears listening to “When Doves Cry”. Promptly decided to never think on it again. *Upon reunion with his son, has vowed to turn over a new leaf and make that relationship his priority. Wonders what his son’s favorite music is, and can’t wait to listen to it…

*thanks @strangergraphics-archive for the cool dividers!

Max's Mix Spotify

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut

Pedge's Jukebox

Max's Mix: Spotify

*Max Phillips, who has had the same playlist for the last decade and still listens to it on his i-pod *Feels that recent music lacks the passion and conviction of music from the past  *For his next adjustment as Chief of Operations will offer an office-wide mandate to remove on-site music, video games, and personal phone usage during business hours *If possible, would prefer to turn a subject while listening to Beastie Boys, but if not available, enjoys the sounds of licking, sucking and gasping to absolute silence *When possessed of an unalterable mindset, will sometimes listen to “Kiss” by Prince and take a hot shower until he has an opportunity to satiate his bloodlust *Before his metamorphosis, participated in a collegiate band ironically called “The Bloodsuckers”. Even though Max doesn’t play any instruments, he enjoyed bossing the musicians as company manager *Actually enjoys listening to the elevator music that plays at the office

Don't forget to check out our recent Max fic "Bloodsucking Witch", and drop by to "Trick or Treat"! We love Spooky Season ALMOST as much as Max does...

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

Moody Thespian

As a theater professional, some of my favorite interviews with Pedro Pascal are when he talks about early performance opportunities, theatrical inspiration and the craft. I'm sure you've heard them, but be sure to revisit:

Talk Art Screen Actors Guild Talk Easy Podcast

We could obviously listen to his voice all day, but it reminds me why I'm passionate about the arts in the first place, and how much inspiration is readily available...if you're looking for it.

Joel Sits On You Peach + Apple Pie

I gotta say @yopossum's "Snug" already nailed this writing prompt from our beloved @beefrobeefcal BUT it did get the creative juices flowing, as I've started to write for the Pedro Boys, and Joel is one of my favorites. Check out my previous attempts with Moody Joel and I hope you enjoy this Fall treat with a little slice of pie...

Triggers: post-apocalypse, discussions of "married life", M fo F reader, expanding waistlines, mentions of food, playful sitting/wrestling in committed relationship, lite smut at end...

An enigmatic autumn wind whipped around your cozy, creaking cabin. A fire crackled in the hearth and your legs were tucked underneath you as you ventured further into your well worn, re-discovered copy of Frankenstein. It was a miracle you had found it, during the raids and plundering—little luxuries like books, furniture and a home cooked meal had, at times, appeared almost imaginary. Trying to exist outside of survival had been a Herculean task, but with each passing day, your time at the commune and your relationships had started to spark that inner familiarity of comfort and peace. But with it, came the awareness that at any moment, those same luxuries could be whisked away like the bracing autumnal wind you were harbored against.

One aspect of your survival that seemed to anchor you to the realities of that new, peaceful life was Joel. Getting to know one another under the desperate, iron clad vice of hardened survival had been tempered by years of camaraderie, companionship…and eventually love. In one sense, marriage no longer existed, but had evolved into a state of committed partnership that transcended more than a contractual piece of paper. It was an unspoken agreement that was brought to life in passion, in practice and in repetition. In all the ways that humans were crafted for one another, you found yourself fitting into a life and another person who was helping you knit yourself back together. 

Except for today. Joel was running late. As usual. The foreboding skies were darkening as you anxiously awaited his return, hopeful that the day’s patrol hadn’t exhausted him beyond recognition. “Marriage” had been good to Joel. His mental health and stability had improved, and he seemed, over-all, a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the “effect it had on his waistline”. You smirked, pausing in your reading, as you reflected on HIS choice of words. Joel wasn’t a vain man, by any definition, but his survival acumen was unmatched. Even in this happier state, it was difficult for Joel to relax into any kind of comfort whatsoever. It was only by your daily proddings, smushy kisses and love of baking that you were infinitesimally dragging Joel down the path of blissful, partnered life. If he’d ever get home.

You heard the tell-tale signs of your Frankensteinian bedmate lumbering up the wooden porch and flinging the door open as cascades of leaves and hay blew in after him. Slamming the door shut behind him, he grunted in recognition as you yelled from the couch, “DO NOT TRACK THAT MUD INTO MY HOUSE BIG MAN! TAKE THOSE BOOTS OFF IMMEDIATELY AND GO TO THE KITCHEN”. You pursed your lower lip with slight chagrin, aware that you were running a little hot. Joel’s heart might be significantly armored, but you bit your tongue with embarrassment. Annoyed at your own need, you hoped that Joel knew you well enough to discern your restless state. Joel always had a way of handling you that kept you grounded and present, but perhaps there were some moods that even Joel couldn’t tame. He huffed with exasperation, dropping his coat on the ground unceremoniously and heading into the kitchen.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GARDEN OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS, BUT YOU NEED TO GET OUT THERE AND WRANGLE THOSE CARROTS INTO SUBMISSION!” you shouted from the living room, as Joel clanged around the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. “MARIA CAME BY TO ASK FOR AN EXTRA SHIFT NEXT WEEK IN CASE RAIDERS WERE COMING UP THE SOUTH PASSAGE!” you bellowed, annoyed that you had to sacrifice another evening with Joel at home. “THE LEG ON THAT DINING ROOM CHAIR IS MORE WOBBLY THAN EVER, AND YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO EAT THAT APPLE PIE UNTIL YOU HAVE SOME…soup first…!” you trailed off, lost again in your literary masterpiece as the kitchen chaos lulled to a dull roar.

You began mouthing the words of one of your favorite passages, “I endeavored to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise.” You temporarily paused in your reading, suspicious at the sudden silence in the house.

“DON’T YOU DARE ATTEND THAT COUNCIL MEETING THIS EVENING AFTER A FULL DAY OF PATROLS, WITH NO FOOD IN YOUR STOMACH AND AN ACHING BACK! AND IF YOU EVEN GIVE ME ONE IOTA OF SASS ABOUT TAKING A BATH THIS EVENING I WILL ABSOLUTELY SMOTHER YOU WITH KISSES UNTIL YOU’RE BEGGING FOR REPRIEVE!” you let your voice echo in the cabin, pleased with your relative confidence and bravado. Joel might inspire fear in the hearts of the commune residents, but you had seen this man in a bubble bath. It was obvious to you who wore the pants in this family.  

You continued reading, “I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye…”. You nodded your head in approval. It was so ridiculous that Mary Shelley hadn’t been recognized in her day as the foremost writer of science fiction. Eyeing the page skeptically, you were just about to shout something to that effect when Joel’s peach of a jean clad ass loomed large in your vision before he promptly sat on top of you.

“Jo-OOOOOOH-el!” you huffed as the warmth of his body covered you like a man-blanket, easing himself atop you delicately, at first, awkwardly smashing the book into your chest with solidity. The pine scented cologne of his plaid shirt muffled your laughter as he wriggled his hips atop you, sinking back to full effect.

“Needs Cheddar” he grumbled, mouth full of sugared sweetness, chomping away at the apple pie you had expressly forbade him to eat.

“I didn’t have tii—-ime” you hyperventilated “to cultivate and curdle bacteria between patrols you big…OOOF!” Joel pushed back gently as the couch creaked under both of your bodies, humming in delight at the baked goodness melting in his mouth.

“Look little missy” he drawled sarcastically “It was a long day, my back is hurtin’ and if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours I’m gonna give you a Texas spankin’!”. You stilled with anticipation, excited at the turn of events that had transpired with your moody attitude. Maybe you would have to start complaining more often.

“Just you t-t-try Big Man!” you tried to retort as a blush crept up your neck and cheeks, attempting to squeeze some sense into your hulk of man. Unable to grasp him fully around the waist, you shifted your hands to the meat of his thighs, gripping just under the knees. Joel lurched forward slightly in ticklish surprise, doubling down on his tactic he sighed contentedly, relaxing into your lap.

Shaking your head in comic disbelief, you decided to opt for a new tactic, and with honeyed dramatics you coo’d, “OOOH…I’m seeing stars! I can—t…can—t breathe!” you giggled, flailing your arms like a small child. “My life…it’s fl-fl-flashing before my eyes! This is it! I’m s-s-o weak….” you trailed off, releasing all the energy from your body and collapsing in mock catatonia. You heard Joel sigh heavily, easing off your body and creaking to the floor gently. The corners of your mouth turned upward as you hazarded a squint out the corner of your eye to find Joel on his knees in front of you with slight annoyance and concern. 

“That’s better darlin’” he swallowed, a glint in his eyes flashing for the smallest millisecond. He reached over for his plated slice of apple pie, grabbing a small piece with his bare hand and dangling it inches from your mouth.

“Now that I got that pretty mouth to shut up, go ahead and open wide darlin’” he teased, licking his lips with more than hunger.

Your mouth parted lustfully as he delicately placed the gooey desert on your tongue, as you sucked the crumbs off of his fingers. Hissing with arousal his lips formed a small “oh” as you licked the tart sweetness off of his thumb which he dragged across your lower lip.

“Now that’s settled, Baby Girl, it seems to me…somebody said something about a bubble bath…”...

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

Moody Nathan

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

A Very Special Episode of PB and J

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the dividers!

This is the most personal series I've attempted so far, but Mark Twain says to write about what you know. I've been really fortunate to work in NY and LA with some of the same peeps as Peepaw and often wondered how often we found ourselves in the same buildings, the same subways and the same cities as we pounded the pavement. I feel so inspired by the artists around me and wanted to celebrate our continued journey. RPF series...

Triggers: Set in 2014, it might progress to some lite smut, but this first episode only includes a slightly tipsy trip and mild profanity. NYC is rough enough--save the drama for your llama...

Episode One: The Big Apple Episode Two: The Audition Episode Three: Purple Rain Episode Four: The Big Goodbye (Finale)

Shorts:

Pedge Tweets Baby's Beats Moody Thespian

You twiddled your thumbs in nervous anticipation. There wasn’t anything to worry about. You had waited your whole life for THIS moment. You were as prepared as anyone could be. You’d packed a winter coat, hand sanitizer galore and zip lock bags for heaven’s sakes. The Big Apple wasn’t ready for YOU. You tightened your seat belt and looked out the plane window, marveling at the puffy clouds dotting the horizon. How did you arrive at the epicenter of your dream? A decade’s worth of auditioning and you were finally headed to New York City and were about to start your first Broadway National Tour. Maybe dreams do come true, you smiled, intent on ordering a celebratory champagne. It was all smooth sailing from here.

Ironically enough it was NOT smooth sailing from here, and it wasn’t until the plane started to level out that you noticed the heat emanating from your seat partner’s forearm, which you had locked in a death grip.

“You okay, there?” a low, honeyed voice dipped into your ear and your eyes tilted up to see brown pools of orbed concern above you.

Hello gorgeous.

You unlocked your hand from his arm, attempting to smooth over the finger markings starting to redden underneath.

“Sorry about that…” you mumbled, smoothing out your hair, brushing the dangling oxygen masks out of your face and rethinking that champagne order.

“Well that was unexpected!” he smiled broadly, twinkling with a charm that immediately shouted "actor". You swallowed dryly, watching people around you laughing with surprise and clapping in belated relief. “I’m Pedro” he reached over to pull a strand of hair out of your face with an intimacy that forced the breath out of your lungs. “And you are?”

“Uh…I’m J” you stammered, nervously attempting to roll the oxygen mask back into its compartment, but unable to quiet your shaking fingers.

“Here let me get that…” he reached up with a broad stroke that deftly closed the above compartment as he smiled with a sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

You covered your mouth, giggling quietly into your third champagne. “And the phone number was a NY area code, so I joked, "oh that must be Broadway calling"…..AND IT WAS!” you snorted uproariously as Pedro brought a jovial finger to his mouth to quiet you.

“Have you had anything to eat today?” he quarried, swallowing his own champagne. You hungrily watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. Hiccuping slightly, your cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry…I’m so nervous, and excited…” you burped quietly and started giggling again. “I should eat something, huh?”

“Let’s get some food in you, stat” he pushed the button for the flight attendant and took your glass before you accidentally dropped it.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t even…” you hiccuped suddenly… “…haven’t even asked very much about you…How do you find yourself in New York?” you swayed a little, unsure if the plane was moving sideways or you were.

Pedro brought a light hand up to steady your shoulder, smiling easily. “I’m an actor” he responded dolefully “…but I might be the only one that knows it” he shrugged, motioning for the flight attendant to bring 2 box lunches.

“Oh my gosh, do you sing?!” you practically shouted, unaware of the volume of your voice in these close quarters.

“Absolutely not!” he whispered. “Though, if pressed, I confess I did appear in ONE musical at OSCA, it was "Gypsy".

“Oh my god, did you go to OSCA? I almost taught there last year…” you whispered clandestinely, as though plotting a bank heist.

“Well that’s why YOU are appearing in a Broadway Musical and NOT ME” he argued, taking your box lunches from the flight attendant and gesturing to your bag of potato chips.

“I’m actually just coming from a gig in Croatia and it was like…a DREAM. I got to meet these incredible artists, and I had this amazing costume. They did a cast of my head! Geez, I always say too much, but I get so excited. Have you ever heard of "Game of Thrones’?”

Your mouth dropped open as you dangled a potato chip before your poised tongue. “Ummmm, I’m sorry, Game of Thrones? That’s a frickin’ big deal!” you crunched loudly on your disappearing snack. “Are you shitting me right now?”. You hadn’t seen any episodes since you couldn’t afford cable, but hordes of your friends were obsessed with the show, and given the chance, you thought you would be too.

“I know right?!” his eyes lit up like a little kid’s, sharing his secret treasure trove of discovery. “But it doesn’t air for like…FOREVER, and now I’ve just gotta go back to my survival job and start hitting the pavement again. And I can’t even talk about…anything. I’ve got an audition coming up and my resume isn’t even current…” he rubbed the back of his neck as you took a massive bite out of your turkey sandwich.

“Dude, I’m SO impressed” you mumbled, smacking your lips together whole-heartedly as he reached over to swipe a dollop of mustard from the corner of your mouth.

“Thanks, it really feels like I pushed through a wall or something. Nothing has changed on the outside, but everything is different on the inside, you know?” his eyes sparkled with intensity, meeting your gaze magnetically, as he brought his thumb to his mouth enticingly.

“I do” you hiccuped, wrapping your fingers around his wrist encouragingly, and then squeezing with affection, “I really do”.

You sighed contentedly burying your face further still into your pillow. This was a weird pillow. It was curved. And slender. And warm. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your flight has landed” it said softly, cupping your face with one large hand.

You licked your lips as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking blearily at the blurry face that coalesced in front of you. “Do you need some water?” he squinted with concern, undoing your seatbelt and dragging a hand across your back.

“Ohhhhh” you sighed a bit too loudly, biting your lip with chagrin until you noticed that the plane was mostly empty. “Oh my gawd, have we landed?” the adrenaline pumped into your system as you bolted upright, nearly knocking your head into the above compartment.

“Careful!” Pedro cautioned, popping upward and doing the same. You both rubbed your heads with embarrassment, laughing slightly at the gaff. “Looks like we’ve arrived” he observed, gripping your hand and grinning with anticipation. “Welcome to the Big Apple!”

Standing nervously in the epicenter of Port Authority you felt like Little Orphan Annie. “Three bucks, two bags, one me” you muttered, under your breath, standing in the swirling vortex of humanity bustling around you.

“Do you know where you’re headed?” Pedro hefted his backpack over his shoulder, gripping a larger bag underneath his arm easily.

“I’ve got some friends in Brooklyn, they said to grab the Q?”

“Get outta town, that’s where I’m headed too!” he jerked his head towards the escalators as you trundled your pretty pink suitcase behind him.

“THANK YOU!” you shouted “I get lost EVERYWHERE I go!” you marveled at the buskers, fighting for attention in the echoing hallways. He beamed with pride at the city that never sleeps.

“I gotchu!” he nodded, grabbing your other bag and hoisting it over the turnpike, once you had purchased your subway pass. You fought the urge to clap your hands together excitedly as a subway loudly whooshed past you on the exit. A barrage of people purposefully stormed towards you as Pedro dodged out of their way with alacrity. You both made your way to the center of the pathway, nearly plopping down on one of the open seats before Pedro lifted you up by the elbow.

“Maayyyybe don’t sit there” he cautioned, eyeing the seat suspiciously and clocking the approaching Q train. You gulped with excitement seeing the rats scurry away from the vibrating rails and trash. 

“This is soooo cool…” you glittered, taking a deep fragrant inhale of mint, beer, urine and garbage.

“I know” Pedro concurred, drawing closer to the approaching train. “Now, it’s common curtesy when you board a subway to stand off to the side so people can exit first”. You nodded your head solemnly, intent to blend into the East Coast atmosphere. “And once you get onboard, most seats will be taken so stand close to the handrails and dig in with a really wide stance so you don’t fall over backwards with the momentum.”

“This is a lot different than L.A. traffic” you ventured, rolling your suitcase awkwardly to the front.

“Yeah, you’re not in the O.C. anymore” he chided, the train doors sucking open with piles of people pouring out.

“Let’s go!” he piped up, dragging you, your suitcase and your dreams right along with him into the overcrowded train, gently elbowing a path to the nearest open spot and hooking his arm around a handrail. “Hang on!” he reminded you, as the train lurched forward, nearly tipping you over your suitcase headfirst. A strong forearm gripped you around the waist and pulled you back to center before you bumped into the baby stroller next to you. “Surprise!” he tittered, nearly touching your forehead with his and scrunching his nose up playfully. “Gotta expect the unexpected…” he whispered into your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

A guardian angel, you thought. I’m living the dream. Three bucks, two bags and one me.

“I really can’t thank you enough for all your help!” you shouted into his ear as your stop approached.

“Oh my gosh, congratulations on your tour, it’s gonna be amazing!” he smiled, growing a little regretful at the end of your encounter.

“I can’t wait!” you reasoned, biting your lip hesitantly. Do you ask for his number? I mean, you kind of have your hands full with rehearsals starting and trying to navigate an entire city. That’s stupid, right? “And congrats on your upcoming episode, it’s gonna be EPIC!…I’ll have to get cable!” you joked as the train began to grind to a halt.

“So maybe I’ll see you around Brooklyn this week? Or Ripley Grier? Where are you guys rehearsing?”

“I’m not sure!” you shouted, gripping your suitcase excitedly as the mass of people pushed you out of the subway onto the platform. “See you around, Brown Eyes!” you called as the doors unceremoniously whooshed shut.

“Bye…” he mouthed holding up a hand placatingly, and miming a theatrical sob at your departure. You locked eyes joyfully as the train pulled out of the station, taking your newfound friend with it.

You sighed regretfully, hoping your paths would somehow cross again. You’d made it this far. And tomorrow, you had to learn how to hail a taxi.

Charcuterie Challenge

Pedge and I were pretty late to the game on this one but I couldn't get the @happypedrohours Charcuterie Challenge out of my head and off of my plate. So here we are with the last minute offering! I'm not as familiar with Marcus Pike, but @perotovar and I noticed that he seems to be eating a lot, and we have no complaints here!

Ingredients

Candy Coating sweet as Marcus Sprinkles for the sparkle of life Parchment Paper for Sexy Messiness

Directions

Fall in love with Marcus Pike. Obvs. Place parchment paper on a baking sheet. Read your daily sexy fics until you are hawt as hell. That will make it easier to melt your candy coating as quickly as possible. Dip the pretzels half of the way into the candy coating (allow Marcus to lick the coating off of your fingers and other extremities). Place the candy coated pretzel on the parchment and cover with sprinkles, if you’re not already on the floor, kissing and hugging each other in a sweet, sticky mess. If you find yourself overheating, place in freezer. Oooops! Just the pretzels, not Marcus, he won’t fit!

Enjoy sexy time ASAP. Have pretzels for after-sex-time snack, and stay salty!

Salty Poetry

Body quivers as hot palms touch me Arousal is written all over my face Wrapped inside two muscular arms Ten fingers lock in a tight embrace. Warm breath tickles satin shoulders Skin lights up with an electric charge Hot lips nuzzle chiseled naked flesh And a solid man part shows large. Sweet plum bosom tips point at you Fiery tongue caress the crimson peaks Squeals spill from my red parted lips Soft nibbles steal breaths-cannot speak. My whimpers drive granite to throb Arousal lights cheeks with a pink glow Sweaty bodies flex into pretzel twists Nimble fingers flick the creamy flow.

Credit: Deborahlee, 2016, @happypedrohours

Knitting Back Together

Hey folks! I don't know about you but I find interviews with PP to be deeply therapeutic. He's said a number of things I try to speak to myself in self help moments and I hope this FICTIONAL encounter that references some of those quotes is helpful!

Triggers: SH references, scarring, un-alive ideation, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, discussions of death, spirituality, slight profanity, childhood memories, depression, mother relationships etc...

“Baaaaabe! I’m home!” Pedge exclaimed from the front door, gripping one bag in his mouth and precariously balancing phone, keys and coffee in one hand. Slamming the door shut, he immediately paused at the mausoleum like attitude that forced the air out of the room, oppressing everything in its path. “Baaaaabe?”

He piled everything at the door entrance, looking over at the coffee table to see your keys, book bag and water bottle sitting in loneliness. Furrowing his brow, he bit his lip with concern. This wasn’t good. He did a quick surveillance of the living room to make sure nothing was broken. That’s ridiculous. An over-reaction. You’re probably just taking a nap. At…7pm in the evening? He took a deep breath, calmly walking down the hallway towards your bedroom door which was slightly ajar. “Babe?”

His breath caught in his throat seeing your sedentary figure, piled under copious blankets, a mug of cold tea and tissues strewn around the room.

He swallowed dryly, walking softly to the edge of the bed and sitting down carefully, so as not to jostle you. “Are you awake?” he asked, positioning his hand on the other side of your body, caging you in. Momentarily unsure of your answer, he noticed the lump of fabric, shuddering with movement and whimpering slightly. Trying to lighten the mood he continued, “If this is a burglar, I just want you to know that I only have enough food for two people, and my girlfriend is going to be VERY annoyed you are using her favorite mug.”

Silence.

Shit. Maybe this was serious. He quickly changed tactics, becoming concerned. “Can I touch you?”

More silence.

“What’s wrong? Is it your mom?” he shifted to the other side of the bed, laying down next to you.

“It’s nothing” your face crumpled slightly at the tell tale crack in your voice. A strong forearm reached over your quivering form, splaying against your abdomen and pulling you into his torso.

“I’m here” he quietly said, kissing your shoulder and slotting his hips against yours. Your resolve started to shatter as you realized you’d been holding your breath for some time now. A silent cry started to emanate from your mouth as the shaking intensified. Pedge sat up attempting to assess the situation, turning you by the shoulders and looking into your eyes with worry. You started shaking like a leaf, scrunching your face into a silent, distorted cry. He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into his body and holding you around the waist. “Breathe, pobrecita, breathe” he commanded, rubbing your back and exampling with his own breath as you shook against him. Your silence finally shattered into a heartbreaking sob as he gripped you even more tightly, rocking you back and forth.

“Can’t…breathe….can’t….breathe….” you squirmed amidst the sheets, kicking your legs in discomfort, and grabbing at his hands for purchase. He grabbed both hands in one grasp, wrapping the other arm around your waist and scooping you into his lap, holding you as you writhed and hyperventilated against his chest. “Can’t…breathe…can’t…breathe…” you twisted in desperation, shuddering against his body and bucking sporadically.

“Okay, we’re okay” he tried to steady his voice, swallowing hard as his heart pumped wildly in his chest with anxiety. “You’re holding your breath, hermosa. Exhale”. Pedge’s voice was steady, but you could hear the edge in his tone as he looked into your face. He blew a soft stream of air over your face as though cooling a warm coffee, and that broke your episode momentarily, your eyes shooting open in desperation.

“Come back, come back to me…” you could hear his voice echoing around you in a dim haze, stars punctuating the edges of your vision, enjoying the tingling sensation traveling through your fingers and across your cheeks. You crumpled slightly against his chest as your body sagged in exhaustion. “Breathe”. You could numbly feel his hands circling at your back, rubbing some life into your deregulated system.

You’re not really sure how much time passed, but your eyes fluttered open to the gray daylight, face dried and sticky with salty tears. You gazed at the particles of dust floating magically against the stream of sunlight drifting in from the windows. Another day.

You felt your body expand with breath, tilting your head up to hazily take in your bedmate. Pedge was sleepily propped up against the headboard, his lips slightly parted, arms grasped loosely around your sides. You took in a shaky breath, moving fingers delicately over his warm forearms. This man was a constant furnace; you felt the corners of your mouth tickle upward in recognition. Okay, a smile. You could still smile.

Taking a few minutes to enjoy the rise and fall of his easy breathing you tried to sink further still into his chest. If I can just disappear. Just for a second. I’m nothing. Just a breath. I’m not me. I’m you. A single tear fell, cascading down his soft stomach. I don’t feel anything. I’m that tear. I’m nothing. No feeling. No being. Just breathing.

Floating between your disassociation and internally grasping to get back into your body you heard Pedge inhale suddenly, licking his lips and gazing around the room in confusion.

“What time is it?” he rasped, blinking against the sunlight.

You gazed up at the ceiling fan which was circling in a monotonous, repetitive drone.

You tried to respond but nothing materialized.

“I’m worried about you” he whispered, rubbing his sore neck and blinking away the sleep. His eyes drifted down as your fingers trailed absentmindedly over the faded, light lines feathering your forearms. You hugged your abdomen tightly against the massive scar slicing across your pelvis.

Broken.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he ventured, lifting your chin up with one finger to gaze intently into your eyes. You wanted to be rid of this dark, self-seduction. So many words. So many feelings. It all seemed to intensify that which you couldn’t control. Your breathing hitched in your throat, picking up pace in anticipation of the next anxiety attack.

“Okay, okay, okay, my turn…” he cautioned, bringing your body close to his as the bed creaked underneath with your shifting weight. Pedge sighed heavily and swallowed hard, pondering how to offer some comfort in this moment. “Sometimes emotions feel kind of invisible…” he began, trailing his fingers over your scars pulling a small shiver from your body. “And other feelings are so vivid. Like some kind of cinematic dream…” he continued while you closed your eyes, listening to the melodious quality of his voice.

“I mean, in my life. Family. The beach. Movies. It’s like a kaleidoscope…and sometimes it’s hard to grab ahold of”. You bit your lip, holding your breath in anticipation. Pedge was always open hearted, but you didn’t want him to feel obligated, just because you couldn’t get your shit together.

“It can feel really isolating, for me. Denmark…Chile…never entirely belonging, even to yourself.” You tilted your head up with concern. “You really don’t have to…” you eeked out, already thankful for his candor.

He smiled dolefully, carrying on. “There are some things you just can’t say. Emotions that are so strong. Unless it’s a book. Or a movie! Then it’s magical. It’s sacred. It’s a kind of…church”. You nodded your head against his chest.

“I don’t really know. Sometimes you’re just so desperate to belong. I told you before, but school in CA wasn’t great. I thought I was accepted, and then I was wasn’t. Geez, adolescence sucks.” Smiling with acknowledgement, it wasn’t until Pedro grasped your hand that you realized you had absentmindedly been scratching at your forearms. You stopped short, embarrassed by the momentary lapse. He paused, licking his lips and gripping you tightly.

“What am I saying, here? It was like the parts I wanted to keep were slipping through my fingers. But the feelings I didn’t want were so visceral, it was like I couldn’t escape them.”

You felt your body relax atop him, trying to slow your breathing and take in the moment.

“I don’t really like remembering that time, but the connections. The connections with people who knew me. Like REALLY knew me and accepted me even when I didn’t accept myself” he drew his hand over his face, scratching at his beard. “Jesus…what am I even saying?” he grinned ruefully, a blush creeping up his cheeks in self-deprecation. “What does it all mean?”

You cleared your throat hesitatingly. “No, I think I get what you’re saying. Sometimes life feels intangible. Or temporary. Or larger than life. And emotions can be so strong, you just wish something would mirror that experience. Like…cinema…or…other people…” you trailed off gazing hesitantly at your largest scar digging its way through your pelvis. “Sometimes you just wish you could explain…or…not have to”. His eyebrows furrowed together sadly, tightening his lips in silence.

“Yeah, there are some things we want to express that are…wordless” he ventured, rubbing the new pinkish trails of scratches that were just plumping up, angrily. You laughed sarcastically, shaking your head disapprovingly at your own proclivities. Change.

“Anyways…I think it can be hard, following expectations other people set for us. OR we set up for ourselves. I sort of believe nobody has the right to tell us how to live our lives, as long as we don’t hurt anybody” he stopped abruptly, unsure if he had said too much.

You shifted with discomfort at the unintentional sensitivity. Nobody can hurt me more than I can hurt myself, you chided, attempting to keep that thought as silent as possible.

“I’m sorry, that’s not…” he back pedaled slightly, embarrassed at the derailed attempt, but you hugged him fiercely around the torso, eliciting a grunt of admission.

“Keep going” you pouted, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“Okay…” he started over, clearing his throat. “I mean, I guess the person who probably understood me the most was MY mom”. You stopped breathing for a moment, uncertain if you should stop his narration, but desperate to hear his thoughts.

“I always liked her attention, but that’s like…a special connection. I was talking to a doctor one time and he said the times that we were separated were like…embedded in my body or something weird like that. I don’t know if I believe all that stuff, but…her love really shaped my life…” his voice broke haltingly, as he cleared his throat again, masking the emotion.

You sat up, swaying slightly at the head rush, mumbling something about getting more tea, but he grasped your upper arm sweetly. “It’s okay, just a few more minutes, I’ll get us some tea…”. You rested your head against the headboard, searching his brown eyes for a way to communicate your gratitude.

“It’s all kind of fragile. Kind of vulnerable. That’s love, and then life changes before you have a chance to notice” his lower lip wobbled with emotion as you placed your hand over his heart. You closed your eyes for a moment, smiling with approval. So much love. Everywhere. Ever-present.

He sniffled slightly speaking quickly as though afraid to stop “And sometimes it’s super confusing…the separation…the tension. The danger. I don’t really know how to reconcile that with…everything that happened. The funeral. Everything was so weird. How the universe could keep going when an entire world had stopped. It takes a really long time to feel safe again, within yourself. It’s just a lot…” he stopped suddenly a bit overwhelmed with reliving those particular memories.

“Thank you” you whispered, reaching up to catch the small tear threatening to cascade down his cheek. “She would be so proud of you” you said definitively, gripping the side of his face, finding the small heart-like patch in his beard.

“I hope so” he smiled, remembering easier times. “Be good to yourself and be good to others, right? Beeee gooooood…” he placed his hand over your heart, looking intently into your eyes.

“E.T.? Are you quoting E.T,. Mr. Cinema?” you joked.

“Maybe” he grinned, happy with your quick catch. “I mean, all that stuff was a long time ago, but sometimes I think, maybe I should talk to her more. Like we’re doing right now…” he sighed, yawning slightly.

“I think she’d like that. I know I do” you leaned back, still exhausted from the effort of thinking and feeling…and being.

“It feels silly sometimes, saying these things out loud. I like, think about her everyday and try to live it out. I don’t know, maybe that’s a kind of prayer, or a song or something…” he trailed off.

You smiled with joviality. “Is this the part where you start singing?”…

He poked you in the stomach as you crumpled in half, a little chagrined.

“Come on, you know I can’t sing”.

“You know it. I know it. But I’m glad that doesn’t seem to stop you…” you giggled, rubbing your feet together playfully. “Sometimes you’ve gotta find any way possible to express something, whether it makes sense or not”. Your attitude grew immediately somber again, sinking back into your seemingly inescapable mindset. Flitting your eyes back to his face your countenance took on a guilty expression. “Sorry I’m such a mess” you apologized.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be okay all the time. There were a lot of things I wish my mom had said, but you’ve only got so much time…Once that person you love is gone, it’s so definitive. There’s everything we want, and then there’s reality, and all this space in between.”

You listened to the hum of the ceiling fan and faint sounds of the city as it began to wake up. Another day. You sighed shakily, trying to assemble your thoughts for the day. Work. Food. Responsibility. Shit. Therapy. That was today.

Pedge coaxed you lower on the bed, sloppily pulling the comforter up and over both your heads in a makeshift tent. “I guess we’ll just stay in bed. Nobody can find us here” he whispered. “Geez, it’s so dark, I can’t even find us here…” he laughed, fumbling around and messily planting a kiss on your chin.

Wouldn’t that be nice? God, what I wouldn’t give to just disappear, all of my feelings going with it. It’s not really fair that I’m here and she’s not.

“You don’t have to do anything, you know”. You heard his voice muffled in the pillow, as though reading your thoughts. “Life is just hard. Lots of striving. Trying. I’m kinda lazy, so this is an easy one for me…” you heard a smirk in his tone. “I just mean…there’s nothing to earn. We’ve got what we’ve got, and all we can do is enjoy it while we can. Before it disappears” he paused, unsure of your reaction, in the dark.

“I hear you” you nodded, willing yourself to consider another day and all the ramifications of that one simple step forward. It didn’t have to be a good day. Just another one. And then another. And then another.

“Most of the time I’m not even sure what I’m doing. It all feels like a big mistake, still wanting all that attention, and knowing it doesn’t last. But all those wants. All those feelings, I just pour it into what I’m doing so it doesn’t…hurt me as much” he finished gently, shifting on his back and wincing slightly.

“Sorry about the sleeping arrangements last night” you hissed, sliding a hand across the mattress, just under his lower back. “I don’t think that was recommended by AARP”.

“Ouch” he parried. “I’ve still got another year before that, thank you very much…”.

You stretched, catlike, feeling light headed and humming slightly.

“Do you want some food? I can make that tea…” he offered.

“Noooo, let’s just stay like this for a little forever longer” you whined, curling up next to him, thankful for the thoughts he had shared. Feeling yourself knitting back together slightly, at least enough to conquer the day.

“Fine by me” he yawned, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. Just two people. Surviving a day. Surviving a life. And trying to knit themselves back together.

Here is some beautiful artwork designed by Marsha Onderstijn and coupled with a Mary Oliver poem called "The Life of Death". I noticed it on the Insta and Pedro Pascal similarly liked...Blessings on our collective healing!