Pike's Place Elf

In Cold Blood; The Exposition

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Happy to Help" @itwasntimethatdidit40, before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: mentions of alcohol/smoking, huge spoilers for the Truman Capote classic "In Cold Blood" which is referenced A LOT, profanity, romance, common themes from 1959, slight misogyny, murder and mayhem! Enjoy....

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

A seedy and polluted haze drifted over the din of the L.A. basin as Tim Rockford inhaled a slow drag from another satisfying smoke. Just another day in the life of investigation, as the gears of inspection ground down to a wearied lull. Another night for Chinese Take out, thought the P.I as he loosened the strap of his gun holster and downed the first of several whiskeys. Rockford didn’t mind being a private investigator. If pressed, he’d go so far as to say, he absolutely loved it; the adventure, the intrigue, the search for truth amidst a grimy haze of innuendo and misdirection. 

But on tired nights, such as these, he also wondered if a soft, feminine body wouldn’t cushion the loneliness. Begrudgingly extinguishing the cigarette and flicking the light switch, he grabbed his coat, poised to enter the bustling Los Angeles night life before….

A phone rang. 

HIS phone rang, in the echoing and empty office building he populated with so many others. Who would be calling at this hour? He paused but a millisecond to lift the phone receiver, anticipating the tinny crackle of an undisclosed voice.

“Tim Rockford; Private Investigator for hire”. An eerie silence permeated the landline, as Rockford sucked through his teeth with annoyance. “Look Mack, I’m on my way out, so make it quick…”. The line immediately bristled to life as a tentative, high-pitched nasal voice cut through the auditory ether.

“Tim Rockford?” the voice nonsensically repeated, as though caught in an unexpected moment. Rockford cocked his head to the side with curiosity. He wasn't often contacted by a woman, particularly this late at night.

“In the flesh” Tim answered, with softening annoyance. What was this? Rockford had some Moo Shu Pork to order before this whiskey threatened his already cranky stomach lining. Maybe egg rolls were a good idea as a chaser, he pondered, waiting for the caller to get up their gumption. “What can I do you for?” he probed, shifting his weight impatiently. 

“Tim Rockford….in Los Angeles…Tim Rockford, Private Investigator?” the voice gained a little anonymous momentum, as Tim tried to wrangle his increasing disdain.

“Look doll, I don’t care if you’ve got the zorros, but make it quick will ya? I’ve got a plate of stir fry with my name on it….” Rockford admonished, wondering if he should take his raincoat off or not.

“Yes! Yes, Mr. Rockford, forgive my hesitancy. Um….are you familiar with Holcomb? Holcomb, Kansas?” 

Rockford froze with intensity, looking around the quiet, darkened room. Of course, he’d heard of Holcomb, Kansas. The recent catastrophic four person, Clutter Family murder had painted the newspapers over the last couple weeks, and the entire investigative community was alight. Who would do such a thing in a sleepy, unassuming town? It had all the markings of a robbery gone wrong, but what could have led to such unmitigated violence? Tim’s inquisition and sense of justice was immediately heightened, but he tried to play it off as the cool cat he was.

“Plastered all over the news, paper shaker. What’s it to me?” his stomach gurgled audibly as he waited with rapt anticipation. He wanted in. This was maybe the biggest crime of the decade, and chance had potentially dropped a prime opportunity in the palm of his hand.

Another dramatic pause of introspection gripped the receiver before the voice admitted, “We need help Mr. Rockford. This case is much bigger than anyone here in Finney County can muster. It’s only a matter of time before the Kansas Bureau of Investigations comes snooping into all our business, and we want someone we can trust. You know, a man of the people…” the voice confessed.

Score.

“Alright doll, how many smackers are we talkin’?” Rockford chewed his lip with anticipation. He had just finished a recent case and there were no prospects on the horizon. Well, unless you counted the secretarial search, but a hook as large as this one would necessitate two…no…four weeks of investigation, travel and per diem. Maybe even justicial glory for the taking.

“Well….we took up a little charity offering at the town hall yesterday. Managed to dig up about one hundred dollars…” Rockford rolled his eyes before draping a weary hand over his furrowed brow. One hundred dollars? That would barely cover two weeks salary, to say nothing of the cost of food and travel. He stalled momentarily, unsure of his footing as the caller placated.

“Please Mr. Rockford, I think you might be our only hope”.

Rockford held his breath, weighing the options. The pay wasn’t as enticing as he’d hoped, but the rewards would far outweigh any monetary reparations. If his moniker was attached to solving the crime of the decade, it was only a matter of time before Rockford P.I. was a household name.

“I can be there in about two days” Rockford’s gravelly voice betrayed a hint of child-like enthusiasm as the anonymous caller rattled off the important details.

“Oh thank you Mr. Rockford, P.I., sir. I can’t tell you what a boon this is for Holcomb, Kansas. We are just beside ourselves with worry” the voice pleaded as Rockford nodded with encouragement.

“Damndest thing I’ve heard of in a while” Rockford admitted. “I’ll get to work straight away. See you in a few days, Mrs.….?”….but the line went dead at the potential inquiry.

Hmmm. Not a good sign. But Rockford was already planning his next move. Grab every piece of newspaper clippings, roadmaps and literature he could get his hands on. Pack a suitcase for a few weeks in Holcomb, Kansas, hop in his trusty Ford Falcon tomorrow morning and start the arduous task of uncovering the truth in the “Clutter Family Murders”.

Now, all he needed was an egg roll, some Moo Shu Pork and a good night’s sleep. Finney County, Holcomb, Kansas….here I come.

The mellifluous voice of Frankie Avalon drifted from your record player singing the dulcet tones of “Why” as you teased your bouffant just a bit higher.

I'll never let you go Why? Because I love you I'll always love you so Why? Because you love me

You bit your lower lip, already smudging the dark red lipstick you had freshly applied. Who did you think you were, Marilyn Monroe? You were reaching for the stars, not trying to ascend to heaven with the height of your questionable hairstyle. Opting for a more humble approach, you shifted your pantyhose awkwardly as they began to ride up your ass. So much for new fashions. 

No broken hearts for us 'Cause we love each other And with our faith and trust There could be no other

You had already been to more interviews than you could count, and opportunities were starting to become scarce. For most employers money was tight, and you didn’t have an official secretarial certificate to fall back on. But you were talented, skilled, full of moxie, and today on this potentially mediocre Tuesday, that was all you needed. 

I think you're awfully sweet Why? Because I love you You say I'm your special treat Why? Because you love me

You nodded curtly at your beleaguered expression in the mirror, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.  You were determined to land this next employment, come hell or high-water, and were willing to do whatever it took. Well, ALMOST whatever it took, you noted, grabbing your thermos of coffee and heading for the bus stop. This Mr. Rockford P.I wouldn’t know what hit him, you mused, locking the door securely behind you and strutting forward confidently. At least you would try to look damn good...while you, once again, fell flat on your coifed face...

We found the perfect love Yes, a love that's yours and mine I love you and you love me I love you and you love me We'll love each other dear forever

Rockford had spent most of a sleepless night pouring over the many newspaper clippings he had accumulated about the Clutter Family Murders. Somehow the Moo Shu Pork remained relatively untouched. The trades could always be sensational, but the distinction of these reports was indicated by everything they DIDN’T say. This was a veritable bloodbath, which had done quite enough to set Tim off his much anticipated dinner. The main point of contention seemed to be the cause for such a grandiose and seemingly incomprehensible atrocity. The Clutter Family did not seem to possess extravagant monetary means. They were well-loved and admired by the town of Holcomb, Kansas; couldn’t have been more quintessentially traditional than apple pie.

What had gone wrong?

One newspaper clipping had stood out. Such was the descriptive narrative by a reporter named…Capote something…Rockford had all but obsessed on its picturesque description. 

“Until one morning in mid-November of 1959, few Americans-in fact, few Kansans had ever heard of Holcomb. Like the water of the river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow trains streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there. The inhabitants of the village, numbering two hundred and seventy, were satisfied that this should be so, quite content to exist inside ordinary life-to work, to hunt, to watch television, to attend school socials, choir practice, meetings of the 4-H Club. But then, in the early hours of that morning in November, a Sunday morning, certain foreign sounds impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive whistles. At the time, not a soul in sleeping Holcomb heard them-four shotgun blasts that, all told, ended four human lives. But afterward the townspeople, therefore sufficiently unfearful of each other to seldom trouble to lock their doors, found fantasy recreating them over and again-those somber explosions that stimulated fires of mistrust in the glare of which many old neighbors viewed each other strangely, and as strangers.”

Rockford issued a heavy sigh, dragging himself to his feet, pouring himself into the Ford Falcon and making a quick trip to the office. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with irritation and fatigue. Maybe a breakfast of whiskey and aspirin wasn’t TOTALLY out of order. He had started packing a small suitcase for the approaching trip, before realizing that most of his formative research and notes still remained at the office. Pulling into the parking lot of the building, his reliable Ford puttered to a smoky stop before Tim achingly lumbered up the stairs to his own office. Just ONE whiskey before the road. How many aspirin could you take on an empty stomach, he wondered before opening the door to find….

….the silkiest legs he had beholden in more time than he would care to admit.

The sounds of an imaginary saxophone seemed to permeate his now idling brain, as his eyes lugubriously dragged from the curving ankle up to the ironed skirt, and finally resting on the mischievous expression of an unknown female.

“Mr. Rockford, I presume?” you stood, outstretching a well-manicured hand into the dumbly, overstimulated countenance of a somewhat befuddled and handsomely disheveled private investigator.

“Ummmmm….” he stalled, simultaneously looking around the office to make sure nothing untoward lay in a public place. 

“I’m here for the secretarial interview” you immediately offered, as he kicked the door shut behind him, holding your hand tentatively in his surprisingly tender grasp.

A spark of acknowledgement flitted through his mind scape as he reconsidered the logic of a whisky chaser with breakfast. Damn. What a doll. Shame that I can’t investigate further, he lamented, dropping your hand with immediate chagrin and bustling about the office haphazardly.

“Look sweetheart, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m just on my way out with an important case. I’m sorry the agency wasted your time, but I’ve got little to no time for a person of your….skill” Rockford seemed to be bumbling with his words as he gathered the important documents and research loosely in his grasp. Your expression immediately fell with disappointment before morphing into a confident transformation.

“I’m not with an agency!” you piped up, starting to organize his desk, such as it were, and placing a smelly, used cigar in the nearby wastebasket. “I’m a go-getter, and a single gal of wit and resource. Looks like you could use all the help you can get!” you blurted out enthusiastically, grabbing the pile of papers from Rockford’s surprised hold and smoothing them into an organized pile. “Now if you’ll just show me where the typewriter is, I can get to work on notating this important case of yours” you insisted, nearly shoving him to the side and plopping down in the main office chair as it squeaked with impetulance.

Tim smiled ruefully to himself, opening the side drawer that revealed assorted contents of handcuffs, pencils, paperclips and aspirin. Well weren’t you a fire starter? Typical redhead. He winced with regret, massaging the back of his neck with discomfort. Get ahold of yourself, fella; no time for night time fantasies in the day. Just let her down easy and head towards the next steps of your future. “Look Miss….?”

“You can call me Red” you offered definitively, beginning to rifle through Rockford’s drawers in order to appear decisive, but gasping ever so slightly upon discovering what appeared to be a spare revolver in the lower chest. Clearing your throat immediately you sallied forth, brushing past his broad shoulders and beginning to organize the disastrously unkempt file cabinets in desperation. 

You could NOT lose this job opportunity. You would do whatever it took…and this Mr. Rockford could just get on board sooner rather than later. Rockford stood smiling behind you, with a knowing agitation. Maybe he could employ your services after the case, but it wasn’t going to be easy to throw you off of his scent. Maybe intimidation was the key...

“Familiar with the Clutter Family Murders?” he all but interrogated, reaching over to slam the file cabinet shut, a puff of air displacing your auburn locks and eliciting a fast flourish of your feather-like eyelashes.

“Of course” you lied. It’s possible you had read something fleeting in the local newspapers, but most of your attention had been focused on securing a new job as fast as was humanly possible. It had been a long trek to L.A. and you weren’t enthusiastic about returning to your mid-western roots, with your tail between your legs. Determined to make something of yourself in the City of Angels, you stared back at Rockford with what you hoped was a steely gaze of determination. Rockford’s glance lowered ever so quickly to the plump, reddish hue of your lipsticked mouth. 

Damn. “Look doll…I mean…Red…I don’t know the intricacies of this case, I’ve only just started. But based on the trades, the scene is about as colorful as that perky nickname of yours. Not easy fixin’s for the eyes of a lady, to say nothing of a doll….” Rockford bluntly stated, as a thin shade of embarrassment crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

Damn. “Mr. Rockford, I don’t know how many ‘dolls’ you’ve employed in the past, but I am no shrinking violet” you tried to quell the slight tremor that laced your voice. Probably just…the excitement of a new job opportunity. “I am more than capable of fulfilling any secretarial duties, whether the crime is polite or not” you nodded curtly, perhaps in an attempt to convince even yourself. Rockford gazed at you appraisingly with a degree of skepticism.

“I can’t pay you…much” Tim muttered, hesitantly considering the options before him. This was quite possibly the biggest case he had ever been invited to solve, and it didn’t escape him that he might need all the help he could get—even from a distracting broad like you. Your visage shifted ever so slightly with the changing balance of power.

“I’m very interested in gaining more experience” you blurted out a bit too quickly before confidently placing your hands on your hips. “I can type 60 words per minute and make a darn good cup of joe”. Almost as an afterthought you raced around the desk, grabbing your purse for the plaid thermos, unscrewing the top and hefting it under Rockford’s nose. Tim tilted his head to the side with cynicism.

“Travel per diem might be in order….” he considered, taking the thermos tentatively and sniffing with curiosity. This was better than whiskey. Or….better WITH whiskey, he sipped slowly at first, eventually draining the entire draught. Your mouth dropped with surprise at this new information.

“Travel?” you dumbly repeated, dropping the purse on the nearby chair and attempting not to sink down on top of it. What the hell? You had barely been in L.A one month and had yet to fully understand the transit system. Was your first job in this new life, already tearing you away from it? “Travel to where??” you doubled down, stubbornly unwilling to let go of this tantalizing opportunity just within your grasp.

“Holcomb, Kansas of course!” Rockford wiped his mouth with the back of a speckled hand, returning the thermos and now rifling through the drawers once again. Aspirin. Revolver. Binoculars….He begrudgingly thought better of actually retrieving the “breakfast whiskey”.

“KANSAS?!” the word escaped from your mouth like an accusation, trying to pin him down with incredulity and meeting his gaze with unadulterated surprise. “When?”

“That’d be now, sweets” Rockford offered, nodding curtly and lumbering out the door with a handful of files and assorted necessities as you looked around the office helplessly.  “Either way, thanks for the coffee, you’re a real doll. Meet you back here in an hour if you’re game. Otherwise, I’ll be seein’ ya…” his voice drifted down the hall as you stood with mouth agape.

He must be joking. Within thirty minutes of meeting Rockford P.I. you had a possible job, the promise of adventure and intrigue, and a questionable road trip with a man you hardly knew. What could possibly go wrong?

“Does that mean I’ve got the job?” you questioned, receiving no answer whatsoever and hearing a car puttering to life outside.

Well not if you just stand there, Red, you mused, gathering your things and taking one final glance around the office. “Catch you on the flip side!” you muttered to no one in particular, racing down the hallway and running towards the nearest bus stop. If you hurried, you could just make it.

Exactly one hour later, you felt ridiculous. Standing on the corner, with a small, humble suitcase, you felt like Little Orphan Annie. You bit your lower lip in frustration. If William could see you now, he would be laughing his ass off. You brushed the self-deprecating thought aside. Well, William isn’t here now, and it’s up to you. You heard the sound of the sputtering Ford Falcon before seeing it, as a smoky plume drifted into your peripheral view and Rockford P.I. loomed large before parking the car just beside you, the engine idling loudly.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come, Red” he smiled, opening the passenger door, and gesturing to the back. “Glad you packed light! Hoist it in the back will ya?” It seemed you had passed the point of no return, as you hefted your small suitcase atop boxes of newspapers, a small typewriter, baseball bat and other assorted mysteries. You hesitated just a moment before wiping down the dusted passengers seat and noting the myriad of cigarettes populating the nearby ash tray.

“How ‘bout it doll? Ready for an adventure?” Rockford asked rhetorically, before the engine roared to life in response. Your answer died quickly on your lips before settling in your stomach with a heaviness that betrayed the fluttering curiosity in your chest. Only one way to find out…

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

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...

Pedro Boys

Pedge and I have FINALLY started writing fics for the Pedro Boys and we wanted to have a spot where they could all catch up! Check out the masterlist below!

Pedro Pascal Pedge Cuddle Couch New York, New York Series Baby's Beats (short) Javi Gutierrez Afterglow: Phoenix Rising Marcus Pike Charcuterie Challenge A Different Happy Ending Pike's Place Pike's Playlist (short)

Frankie Morales Moody Frankie Frankie's Favorites (short) Joel Miller Moody Joel Peach and Apple Pie Crime and Punishment Joel's Jives (short) Max Phillips Blood Sucking Witch Max's Mix (short) Javier Pena Afterglow Series Pena's Playlist (short) Dieter Bravo Yes Chef! My Darling Muse Dieter's Deets (short) Marcus Moreno Thanksgiving Delights Din Djarin Unmasked Platonic Love

Crime and Punishment The Visitor

Grab a latte! Time for a sweet treat before you head into The Bookshop! Check out "Sleepy" by @starlightandfairies when you get a chance!

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, discussions of death, MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", abusive "ex" type character enters the picture

Series Masterlist

Words: 3k

Winter seemed to stretch before you like an interminable blanket of scarcity. You didn’t know if this season were particularly harsh, or if the tumultuous relationships you had begun to form were impacting your perceptions. “Crime and Punishment” indeed. Caught between a rock and a hard place, there had been no real opportunity for conversation since that fateful night at the Miller Household. Not only did you find yourself vibrating with the palpable realization that Joel had his suspicions, but another patrol had almost immediately necessitated his absence. You found yourself slotted between the desperation of seeing his face again, and avoiding that confrontation completely. The anxiety of his potential return had almost overshadowed your own misgivings, coupled with the unlikely possibility that he might not remember the drunken conversation at all. Regardless, something had peaked his attention, and you could only hope you would have the chance to talk things out once and for all.

Winding your way from your humble abode down the soggy streets of the Jackson Commune, you were almost grateful for the momentary distraction of a commune meeting. You’d received a personal invitation from Maria days before, in your mailbox, and were curious as to the tonality of the discussion. As always, you were planning to blend seamlessly into the background as more vociferous members complained about rations, resource allotment, commune responsibilities and more. Stuffing your hands further into your pockets you were doubly curious as to why the town meeting was so early in the morning, and only seeing a few solitary souls dotting the commune main street. Had you mixed up the times?

Trudging up the solitary steps you headed into the main eating area that doubled for community activities, immediately halting your steps at the echoing sight that greeted you. The dining area was completely empty, save for a long table at the back end of the room with three chairs. It was seating for Tommy, Maria…and you. You heart dropped into your stomach as your breath caught in your throat. WHAT was this? Had Joel said something about his suspicions? Maria had always been shrewd, and a formidable leader, maybe even more so with the expectation of giving birth in the next several months. If anything, it seemed to have provided a clarity of purpose and a voracity of intention you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be stacked against. You had the momentary terror of being asked to leave, but quickly shoved it from your mind, almost guiltily heading towards them.

“Tommy. Maria…” you began, feeling your posture collapse into itself though hoping for a more confident facade.

“Teach!” Tommy exclaimed, oddly mirroring Joel’s mannerisms for a split second, before pulling out a chair for you under Maria’s hawk-like gaze. “Thanks for joining us!”

“Glad you could make it” Maria politely smiled, a hand tucked under the table to cradle her burgeoning belly.

“Didn’t quite realize this was going to be a solo venture” you mumbled, reaching for the water that had been laid out for you conscientiously. “Is Joel back from patrol yet?” the words were out of your mouth before you had a chance to hold them back, as Maria’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.

“No, they’ve been gone for almost a week again. Patrols are getting longer and harder the further we venture into Elk Creek and Mountain View. Dangerous too…” Tommy begrudgingly admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck dejectedly. “Hate to not be with ‘em…”.

“We talked about this” Maria muttered under her breath, eliciting a sharp look from Tommy in retort. “You can’t lead every patrol AND lead the commune from within. We’re already stretched too thin, and I have my own responsibilities” she emphasized, firmly but kindly, as he nodded acquiescently.

“Talked to Joel” Tommy added, “before he left”. Your heart lurched violently in your chest. Jesus, was this is? The moment they asked you to leave the commune for good, finally aware of your questionable past. Unfit for teaching, unfit for living, unfit for…

“Told us that you were trustworthy. Like family”. The words hung in the air as you sputtered helplessly with your glass of water, watching Maria’s reactions from across the way.

“What?” you croaked, coughing slightly in the echoing dining hall. “What did he say exactly?” 

“That was about it. Joel’s not one for lengthy conversations. We’re…uh…looking into leadership expansion and Joel said you were the one to ask…” Tommy trailed off, looking at Maria hesitantly. You stared at the both of them, uncomprehending.

“I have my reservations about Joel” Maria began, as Tommy hissed begrudgingly under his breath “but he wouldn’t even consider the position. His first recommendation was to ask you…” she stated curtly, folding her hands across the desk imploringly. “We need you to step up and lead” she finished. Your mouth parted in shock and concern. Leadership? Whatever suspicions Joel had about your past, he had either kept to himself or those opinions weren’t weighing heavily on the proceedings before you. You desperately wished you knew which one.

“But I’m…” you paused, unwilling to go into more detail, “I’m just…a teacher” you stalled, unsure of what requirements you were stepping into. If Tommy and Maria didn’t know about your background already, the moment they did, it would immediately derail any hopes of future expansion. Better to stay in the background as much as possible, while still proving yourself useful.

“You’re a lot more than just a teacher, and you know it” Tommy unwittingly bruised your disappearing ego. “You care for the next generation of The Jackson Commune, you’re an upstanding citizen, knowledgeable and friendly, and trustworthy. And we need you”. The silence was deafening as you considered their words. You didn’t want to incite suspicion with more deflection. Maria was about as investigatory as they come, and her pregnancy seemed to elicit an almost supernatural power of insight you didn’t want to overtly incur. As though perceiving your hesitation telepathically, she joined Tommy’s request.

“Things are steadily going to become more difficult for me as I approach the due date” she knowingly smirked. “I’ve got to be realistic about my own limitations, and start including others in the leadership process. I don’t know what this might involve, but can we count on your cooperation?” she almost pleaded, tilting her head to the side sympathetically. You took a deep breath before launching forward.

“I’m here” you stated bluntly, rubbing your hands together nervously. No turning back now. Come hell or high water, you were a citizen of the Jackson Commune, and whether they could unconditionally accept you, you were invested lock, stock and barrel in the health and wealth of the growing community. It was time to double down, whatever the consequences might turn out to be. Both Tommy and Maria sat back victoriously in their chairs, looking to one another in affirmation and resolve.

“Like I said, we don’t know much about the specifics, but as soon as Joel and the patrol party get back, we should have some idea of how this plays out” Tommy offered, standing courteously.

“Any quick questions before we adjourn?” Maria asked judiciously.

“Who’s Sarah?” you blurted out, almost covering your mouth with embarrassment, but holding firm to the question. If you were going to trust The Miller Family with your secrets, you needed a better understanding of some of their own. Tommy immediately sat back down solemnly, looking back to Maria tentatively.

“What did Joel tell you?” Maria asked, her eyes squinting cautiously in appraisal.

“Not much” you confessed “I could just tell that….he wanted to” you shrugged your shoulders placatingly, desperate to know more, but hesitant to push the matter. The silence deepened as Tommy and Maria seemed to communicate without words, Tommy haltingly stuttering, 

“If…” he cleared his throat sensitively “…if Joel already mentioned Sarah, you could…ask Ellie about it, too” he clicked his tongue guiltily. “Just go slow, teach. That’s not a topic you should hover around needlessly” he intoned, tilting his head forward darkly. You sighed heavily, acknowledging his implied warning. Understood.

“Thanks for coming by” Maria gravely stated, gesturing for your exit which you quickly took advantage of. Leaving the large dining area, the blast of cold winter air was like a refreshing slap in the face, steeling your resolve and snapping you back into reality. You needed to know more. Joel’s continued absences were not only making progress difficult, but you had to admit the stress of longing was waring. Every time he left, you wondered if he would make it back, and Ellie must be feeling the loss even more intently. Perhaps you could seek solace in the company of one another. Standing at the commune crossroads, you finally decided to venture past The Bookshop. Maybe it would prove comforting, even symbolically.

Arriving at the door, you always saw the stark “CLOSED” sign teetering bitterly in the window, but caught a quick glimpse of a lazy, orange tail flicking past the bookshelves. Joel might not be there, but Rascal the Cat was. Trying the doorknob you easily entered to the comforting sound of the ringing bell, as Ellie’s face popped curiously from behind a stack of books.

“Joel?” she uttered, before registering her temporary disappointment.

“Just me kiddo, sorry…” you apologized, enjoying the warmth of the wood burning stove, but feeling the loss of Joel’s presence as much as Ellie did.

“Sorry teach…Joel is on another patrol, and Rascal was gettin’ restless” she sighed, re-stacking the books in an unknown order and throwing her hands up helplessly.

“I think I know how he feels” you commiserated, joining Ellie on the The Bookshop floor and wrapping your arms protectively around your knees. “Did he say anything before he left?” you probed, wanting to be gentle, but also gnawing at the bit. Maybe Rascal wasn’t the only one feeling restless.

“No, I just caught him the morning before he left again. Said you had talked the night before?” she questioned, her eyebrows raised with curiosity. “Did he seem okay?”.

You smiled tenderly, reflecting on Joel’s vulnerable inebriation, and longing to reach out and touch his face in that exact moment. “He seemed…tired” you confessed “and…a bit…sad. Mentioned something about…Sarah” your voice nearly disappeared as you second guessed your line of conversation, but found yourself running out of time and options. Joel was hopefully going to come back any moment, and you were more than ready to offer whatever support and encouragement you could. But how could you do that without knowing the type of wound you were encountering? Ellie seemed momentarily surprised and a bit unsure of herself as Rascal the Cat rounded the corner, butting its head against her shoulder playfully.

“He told you about her?” she began, absentmindedly petting Rascal and shifting with discomfort.

“He mentioned her, and you…and someone else named Tess”.

Ellie shifted uncomfortably once again, her lips drawn tightly in resolution.

“Normally, I wouldn’t ask, but Tommy and Maria seemed to think it was a good idea” you slotted the final piece of information in carefully, as though negotiating with a nuclear explosion. “If you don’t think it’s appropriate, please forget that I asked…”.

Ellie breathed in quickly, an inhale of relief washing across her face momentarily, before Rascal started purring contentedly. “Just don’t tell Joel that I told you” she looked around conspiratorially as though expecting him to pop into the room clandestinely without her knowledge. “Sarah is…Sarah WAS Joel’s real…Sarah was Joel’s daughter” the words finally cascaded forth, anxious for their revelation. As though in support, Rascal mewled affectionately as you nodded your head in affirmation. 

Of course. So many things were starting to coalesce. Joel’s protection of Ellie, his isolation, the supportive father figure that he was. Steeling yourself against the barrage of emotion you sat in silence wondering at the many twists and turns of life and death. You continued to feel helpless in the face of such insurmountable suffering. Maybe the only comfort you could provide was a solace for confession and expression in a world of silent punishments, and maybe it would have to be enough. “And Tess?” you gently added.

“I don’t like talking about Tess” Ellie huffed, moving Rascal off of her lap as he smugly trotted away. “She saved me and Joel, and then she died. And it pissed me off, if I’m being honest” she barreled through the admonition, leaning back against the bookshelf resignedly before quietly smiling. “Not sure what that is” she pondered, fingering the pages of the nearby books pensively. “Don’t see why death should cause so much…anger”.

You tilted your head sideways, once again surprised by Ellie’s preternatural wisdom. Circumstances may have catapulted the next generation into a premature adulthood, but there was a lot to be learned from the ranks coming up. “Death is one of the most visceral of all human experiences, and we get to fully inhabit our humanity when we wrestle with it. It’s like a dance. A beautiful, horrible dance” you offered, just as perplexed as Ellie was.

“I’m glad Joel has you” Ellie whispered, tightly hugging her abdomen as though she were about to pull apart.

“I’m not the only one you guys have” you nudged Ellie’s boot with your outstretched foot as she hesitantly met your eyes with acknowledgement. “I’m glad you have each other…”.

The peaceful silence was punctuated by the wood burning stove, until you noticed a solitary figure begin running down the main thoroughfare of town. A quick intake of air was met by the telltale alarms of a returning patrol as you and Ellie locked eyes emphatically.

“Joel”.

Running down the mainstream, arm in arm you ran as fast as the lingering snow would allow, a small group of town’s folk assembling at the front gate. Your breath halted in your throat seeing the purpose driven pace of the patrol approaching, though not apparently in distress or escaping trouble. You uttered a small cry of relief seeing the bags of resources they had in tow, swiftly scanning the group to find Joel’s telltale winter’s coat.

“There!” Ellie pointed euphorically, as Joel’s formidable frame came into focus, galloping towards The Jackson Commune. Damn, he looked good. You squinted helplessly, trying to identify any cuts or abrasions, though he initially seemed to be in one piece. You attempted to quell the disparate emotions vying for attention in the overwhelming thrum of your heartbeat. This was it. Whatever Joel remembered from his inebriated conversation, he had obviously reconciled himself to whatever suspicions he may have previously held. Maybe he didn’t know what he thought he knew. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

You watched from a distance as Ellie raced to meet him, Joel cautiously dismounting from his horse as Ellie poked and prodded at him inquisitively. He DID have a few abrasions you noticed as you neared the party, Joel quickly making eye contact with you from several feet away. A smile teased at the corners of your mouth until you noticed the severity of his external injuries.

“What the hell, Joel?” you exclaimed, reaching up to his forehead concernedly, as he took your hand gently in his.

“Good to see you too, teach” he winced with discomfort as Ellie prodded at his upper arm. “Not a science experiment…” he grumbled, though his mouth betrayed a tremor of affection.

“What happened? Any clickers? Get any good books?” Ellie immediately interrogated, taking Joel’s pack from his shoulder and starting to pat down the nearby steed.

“Ran into some trouble up by Elk Creek. No clickers, but patches of raiders pocketed in the harsher territories. Met up with some scattered folks that gave us a hand…” Joel clicked his tongue begrudgingly, absentmindedly rubbing a small circle into your outstretched palm. That was new. “Found a copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’” Joel lowly intoned, his eyes sparkling mischievously, as you gawked incredulously. “Had to go through a heap of mess to get it” he whispered, as you slapped him good naturedly on the shoulder eliciting another small wince. Taking his arm in yours, you decided to save the chastisement for later, before escorting him to the medical facilities for a quick check.

“Looks like I can start assigning even more homework for our next adventure” you teased, so thankful to have Joel back in your sights and back in the safety of the commune. Maybe you were starting to believe in happy endings.

“Well, as I live and breathe! If it isn’t ‘The Teach!’”

A smarmy voice penetrated your bubble of happiness as your heart skipped several beats. You gripped Joel’s hand in a white knuckled vice, attempting to keep your face as stoic as possible, before turning slowly towards the familiar gravel, you had so happily escaped in year’s past. Joel’s face flicked to yours intensely as Ellie’s face contorted in skepticism.

“Levi” you drawled sarcastically, plastering a smile across your face politely, and gripping Joel’s hand even tighter. Joel positioned himself ever so slightly ahead of you, broadening his chest and staring fixedly at the stranger that stood before him.

“Couldn’t be more grateful to The Jackson Commune for welcoming us sorry band of misfits for a temporary respite”. Levi’s voice was as honeyed and calculated as ever, but you had learned long ago to distrust every iota of Levi’s practiced and sinister promises. “Looks like your Joel found himself between a rock and hard place. We were just happy to arrive when we did, and give ‘em a hand” Levi extended his hand to Joel who summarily dismissed it, coldly.

“Happy to get you back on your way after a square meal” Joel gritted his teeth harshly, watching your staunch expression, and growing more adversarial by the minute.

“Where ya from anyways?” Ellie squinted skeptically, already attuned to the tension in the frigid winter air.

“Oh we go way back, isn’t that right, teach?” Levi lightly touched your elbow which you jerked back reflexively. 

“Let’s get you to the medical bay” you uttered briskly, dragging Joel behind you before he did something you would both regret. Joel clenched his jaw resolutely, watching your face intently as he followed. You tried desperately to ignore the salty tears cascading down your cheeks with abandon, but the heat of Joel’s gaze seemed to propel them forward. Joel might not care about your questionable background, but there was no doubt in your mind;

Your past had just walked in through the gates of The Jackson Commune. And right now, there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to escape it.

In Cold Blood; The Funeral

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Fall Coffee House" @alwritey-aphrodite before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: profanity, murder, smoking, references to alcohol, small abrasion, major spoilers for "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote, based on historical events, 1950's cultural misogyny, references past problematic relationship, burgeoning workplace romance, funeral...

Series Masterlist

Words: 5k

“Hey, doll. You wanna open those pretty eyes for me, let me know you’re still with us?” Rockford’s voice seemed to float in on a cloud of contentment. You snuggled further into the leather seat which had somehow softened against your drowsiness. You felt a whisper of his hand against your chin, cupping your cheek. “Time for sleeping beauty to wake up…” you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming or hallucinating, but your eyelids fluttered precariously trying to discern. “Time for our adventure to start, Red…” his voice gained solidity as a shot of adrenaline coursed through your system, jolting your eyes wide awake.

“I’m up!” you nearly shouted, as Rockford’s hand shot quickly to your forehead to prevent you from hitting the top of the car ceiling abruptly. 

“Owwww….” you moaned, closing your eyes once again and covering your face with your hands sleepily. “Are we there yet?” you grumbled, squinting through one eye at Rockford’s bemused and adorably bedraggled countenance.

“We have arrived” Rockford confirmed, tilting his head sideways against the headrest and relaxing slightly. “Welcome to Holcomb, Kansas…” you noticed a lazy diner called ‘Hartman’s Cafe’ before you, and the car seemed quite cool to the touch as you reasoned you had been parked for some time in arrival. 

“Did you drive all through the night?” you rhetorically asked, smoothing out your a-line skirt of travel wrinkles and looking in the overhead mirror to check your faded makeup.

Rockford nodded tiredly, scratching at the newly appearing scruff on his chin. “Wanted to get here as soon as possible, I don’t know when the FBI muckety mucks are going to show up. Might be here already” he wondered, clearing his throat of the morning huskiness and blinking steadily in the burgeoning dawn.

“Well, I don’t know much about being a travel secretary, but I think coffee is in order” you reckoned, delicately rubbing the sleep from your eyes and gesturing to the diner. “Thanks for letting me sleep, are you going to be okay for the day?” you wondered taking in the darkening circles under his eyes, and resisting the urge to finger his tousled hair.

“Nothing a little whiskey can’t cure” Rockford joked, catching your incredulous reaction. “Let’s grab a quick breakfast and we can locate the town sheriff afterwards. Last thing we need is to be fighting the long arm of the law before we’ve even begun…” he huffed, cranking the door open noisily and then tiredly stretching into the morning air.

“You’ve got the right mid-western mindset” you encouraged, rubbing at your lower back and emerging from the car, trotting behind him. “You’ll get more flies with honey, that’s for sure” you observed, hugging your purse to your side and casting a downward glance to your healing abrasion. Other than a few bumps and bruises, the near 20 hour drive to Kansas had transversed relatively quickly, and you were already starting to enjoy the newfound professional relationship with Rockford. You were keen to prove your secretarial prowess, despite the fact that you both felt a bit out of your league. It was one of the things that immediately bonded you to Rockford’s persona, was his dogged determination to pursue justice and excellence even in seemingly insurmountable odds. You hoped you could provide whatever support he might need, but you didn’t have the first clue about how to start the investigation. Maybe your midwestern upbringing could cushion Rockford’s fall from L.A’s bustling and cosmopolitan landscape. The familiar ring of a doorbell chime greeted your ears, as the wafting fragrances of coffee, pancakes and sausages tickled your nose. Your stomach grumbled in happy response. Rockford pressed a hand to your lower back, leading you towards the counter and smiling graciously at the waitress.

“Room for two?” he attempted to enchant, though the waitress was apparently having none of it.

“Not from around here, are ya?” she adroitly observed, a tight lipped smile painting her face as she smacked her lips sullenly against the trampled gum she was chewing.

“No ma’am, guilty as charged” Rockford poured on the charm, as much as possible, though the two of you were a bit of a sight after your lengthy travels. “Name’s Rockford, Tim Rockford P.I and this is my associate, Red. We’ll be gracing your homey town for the next couple weeks. Sorry to hear about your recent troubles and all…”. You nodded sympathetically, looking around the relatively empty diner in the early morning light. Rockford’s demeanor took on a honeyed quality as you quietly admired his attempts. You guessed one didn’t arrive at much professional investigatory success without a clear understanding of sweet talking and intimidation. You off-handedly wondered about the latter.

“Take your pick” the waitress seemed to complain, thrusting two menus into your hands and heading back towards the coffee behind her. “Looks like you could use the whole pot this morning…” she drolly noticed, avoiding your beleaguered expressions as you plopped down with fatigue and humility. Not the most auspicious beginning, but valiant nonetheless. Your eyes hungrily took in the options of the morning as Tim shook his head trying to clear the morning cobwebs from his mind. He’d have to be on his best behavior if he wanted to pry any secrets from a town like Holcomb, Kansas. He almost felt the iron-like bars of a social prison start to tighten around him as your eyes widened with recognition.

“Don’t look now, chief, but I think we’ve just had our first home town miracle” you whispered, as Rockford squinted at you skeptically. The doorbell rang once again to the sound of boots and leather chaffing against one another as Rockford looked out the diner window.

Holcomb County Sheriff’s Department. Bingo.

“Our first break” Rockford shushed, staring fixedly at the menu. “Go ahead Red, stick your leg out like they do in that movie with Clark Gable…”.

“I hardly think Clark Gable would be such a cad” you joked. “Besides which, my legs are all banged up from my clumsy secretarial pursuits on the highway earlier…” you scoffed. “That’s not what you’re expecting for my professional contributions, I hope?” you chuckled, attempting to focus on the menu in front of you.

“Absolutely not” Rockford chimed in. “It just happens to be a nice perk, from where I’m sittin’” he admitted, clearing his throat amusedly. It wasn’t but a minute the waitress appeared from behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee and a disdainful look as a side order, as the sheriff skeptically surveyed you both from a stone’s throw away. First chatting with the sheriff conspiratorially, she eventually made her way to your table, somewhat begrudgingly…

“What’ll ya have?” she pointedly asked, pulling the pencil from behind her ear and smacking her lips loudly in accompaniment.

“I would like the Grand Slam, ma’am…” Rockford awkwardly rhymed, trying to remain aloof amidst the opportunity and gesturing to you next.

“I would like the oatmeal with toast on the side. And the possibility of speaking with that gentleman at the bar” you bluntly stated, watching Rockford’s eyebrows shoot sky high at the straightforward request. A flash of recognition and hidden admiration passed across the waitress’ face as she yelled over her shoulder, “EARL, your reputation has preceded you and your presence is requested forthwith…” she smirked, tucking the pencil behind her ear and pocketing the small writing pad.

“Huh?” the sheriff grunted, casting a not so imposing figure before hurrying over to your table quickly.

“Leave the coffee, will ya doll?’ Rockford questioned, as the waitress’ countenance immediately bittered. 

“Just don’t forget my tip, Mack” she retorted, soon replaced by the sheriff who was breathing raggedly with a quick jaunt.

“How can I be of service, ma’am?” the sheriff asked, attempting to size up Rockford who sat inquisitively across from you.

“Thank youuuu for your quick attention” you coo’ed, laying it on a little thickly, but desirous to make a good first impression. “We are obviously from out of town and looking to provide services of our own” you indicated to Tim to proceed.

“I’ve been hired to investigate the Clutter Family Murder. Rockford’s the name. Tim Rockford, P.I” he outstretched his hand in a friendly decisive manner, hopeful the sheriff might prove forthcoming, rather than combative. Sheriff Earl Robinson noticeably relaxed, and took Rockford’s grip firmly in his own.

“Pleased to meet ya, Mr. Rockford” he sighed, glancing back at the waitress who was overtly eavesdropping before making a quick exit to the kitchen. “Thought you might be one of them FBI agents that are en route as we speak. Don’t mind tellin’ ya we are all a bit out of sorts…what with the murders and all…” he trailed off as his features darkened. Rockford nodded grimly, moving aside so the sheriff could sit down at the table with you. “Most criminal acts are reduced to the production of moonshine in these parts. That, or the occasional harvest festival gone higgledy-piggledy” he admitted with humility, shifting the gun holster at his waist. “Haven’t seen a bona fide murder since my time in Kansas City, to say nothing of FOUR!” he lowered his voice with the confession, shaking his head dejectedly. “Don’t mind tellin’ ya I was glad when they took up that offerin’ at the charity event. The least we could do for the Clutter Family. They were the best of us…” he nodded, a small emotive crack in his voice appearing on the edges. You teared up in response. Gosh, you forgot the pleasantries of mid-western life after all. You immediately felt a bit reprimanded, shifting your adventurous enthusiasm to one of solemnity and mourning. Four people had lost their lives, and in a particularly violent and seemingly arbitrary way. You wanted justice as much as anyone in Holcomb did.

“We’re real sorry for your loss” Rockford observed, similarly moved. He’d seen plenty of crime on the seedy streets of L.A, but there was something about this atrocity that seemed especially personal. He wanted to proceed with sensitivity, and was again thankful for your delicate presence, particularly where his own intuition might be lacking. “I assume you were able to catalogue the scene of the crime…” he pressed, watching the sheriff shift with discomfort.

“Damndest thing” Sheriff Robinson finally removed his hat, wiping at his brow with turmoil. “Still trying to work my way around it…Sorry the girls had to see such a nightmarish sight…” he muttered absentmindedly, grabbing Rockford’s coffee cup and downing it in one swig. Rockford pouted with frustration, but silently refrained. “What girls are those?” he inquired, gently taking the cup back and sliding it away from the sheriff’s grasp.

“That’d be Nancy and Susan” he offered. “Sorry, Nancy Ewalt and Susan Kidwell. No one should have to see…somethin’ like that” he sighed, now reaching for your coffee cup and downing it in one swallow. Poor guy. You took his hand lightly in your own, curious to proceed.

“Can you tell us anything about the scene of the crime?” you softly asked, looking to Rockford for guidance. You didn’t want to move too far too fast, but the opportunity seemed to have dropped in your laps. The sheriff stiffened at the memory, his eyes casting downward with a sort of shame. “Don’t rightly want to burden you with those details just now” he protested, holding the now empty coffee cup firmly in his grasp. “Why don’t you come by my office later today, we’ll get you access to all of our reports” he formally offered as the waitress returned with your breakfast orders.

“Got your regular order, Earl” the waitress perfunctorily proffered, juggling your array of menu items and depositing of plate of assorted meats in front of him, as the sheriff swallowed dryly. 

“Thanks doll” Rockford winked, in the elongated silence, as her countenance soured once again. She retreated to the kitchen as Earl politely shoved the plate to one side. 

“Just can’t make head or tails of it” his eyes took on a glossy quality, looking out the window as Holcomb County seemed to blossom to life. You reached across the table once again, squeezing his hand with encouragement.

“We’re hoping to help as much as we can” you urged him, watching Rockford pour a fresh cup of coffee on the far end of the table, preferably out of the sheriff’s reach. “Who do you suppose we should talk to first?”

“Well, normally it wouldn’t hardly be appropriate, but seeing as everyone in the town hall meetin’ knows, you could probably come to the memorial this afternoon” the sheriff definitively reached across Rockford’s plate and grabbed his fresh coffee before Tim could protest.

“We don’t want to impose” Rockford tried to hide the edge in his voice, before stifling a yawn. This was going to be a long day.

“No way around it now” the sheriff contended, picking up a fork tentatively before tossing it back on the table with a loud clang. “Everyone should be there, includin’ the girls, my undersheriff Wendle Meier, Bobby….that’s the boyfriend. Probably talk to Myrtle as well. She’s the town gossip…” Earl winced with chagrin “I mean, local postmistress. She’s privy to everything that comes and goes. You just come on by my offices later and we’ll get you set up before the FBI folks arrive…”. Earl shouted towards the back, “I’M HEADIN’ OUT DOLORES! Will you put their breakfast on my tab??” The sheriff shifted awkwardly out of the booth, straightening his gun holster and holding his hat tentatively in his hands.

“Look Mr. Rockford, I won’t pussy-foot around. The Clutter Family deserved better than this. Better than conjecture. I don’t rightly know what Holcomb can do to aid your investigation, but we are fixin’ to rise to the occasion. I confess I will be mighty glad when those FBI agents take control, but not everyone in Finney County feels the same way. You’re bound to find a mix of neighborly interest and small town secrets, but if you have any real trouble you just let me know. ‘Preciate your help as well ma’am” he took your hand definitively in his own before nodding curtly and heading out the door. “SEE YOU LATER THIS AFTERNOON D!” he shouted before heading out the door. Rockford shifted his gaze to you with curiosity before pouting over the now emptied coffee. As if on cue, Dolores emerged from the kitchen with a fresh pot of joe.

“‘Xpect you’ll be wantin’ more” she jibed, depositing the now obsolete check at your table and muttering under her breath, “Wouldn’t hurt to get a tip on that, Mack…” before returning to the kitchen in protest. You paused, looking at both of your untouched plates before you. 

Looks like you were headed to a funeral.

You gazed down appraisingly at your bandaged knee, which despite a disheveled aesthetic, was managing to heal nicely. You were a bit of a sight for sore eyes, and it never ceased to amaze you how quickly the ghost of condescension showed up, despite your protestations, and the small town atmosphere was doing nothing to aid your self-imposed ignorance. You couldn’t help but flash on the disapproving countenance of your own past, before batting the memory away once again. Seemed like the death of the Clutter Family wasn’t the only injustice that was rising to the forefront of your mind. Nonetheless, after a bracing breakfast and several pots of coffee, you and Rockford at least presented a respectable figure as you approached the milling group of mourners at The First Methodist Church of Holcomb in the late afternoon. Rockford had grabbed a quick shave and a new tie, and you had attempted to smooth out the wrinkling apparel of a dark blouse and coiffed hat. It had been a full month since you found yourself living out of a suitcase, and were anxious to check into the Holcomb Motel, but not before scoping out the first and foremost suspects in the town…while offering your condolences.

You blanched under the weight of whispered gossip before the sheriff quickly spotted you both and made fast work of welcoming you to the proceedings. It really was miraculous that you were starting the investigation off with that kind of support, and you weren’t about to take it for granted. You and Rockford were both bound to ruffle some feathers, but you couldn’t argue with the intentionality of the town itself. They wanted you here—and you wanted to help. As attendants began to straggle in, you were astonished to see so many individuals paying their respects, and you wondered how many people were well-meaning lookie-loos, or attending family members. There were easily hundreds of people, if not bordering on a thousand, as the Reverend Leonard Cohen ascended the pulpit to begin the proceedings.

“It is a sad day indeed that gathers us together on this unseasonably warm day. A warmth that I can only surmise is permeated by the glowing tenderness of the Clutter Family themselves” sniffles and coughs could be heard around the packed sanctuary and you and Tim sat shoulder to shoulder in the crowded pew. It was difficult to see, but you imagined a row of relatives sat towards the front, and just to your right were several teenagers sitting in a row that must be classmates from Holcomb High School.

The Reverend continued, “God offers us courage, love and hope even though we walk through the shadows of the valley of death. I’m sure he was with them in their last hours”.  You tried to surreptitiously look through the crowd for the two girls Sheriff Robinson had spoken of. Just to your right, holding tightly to the hand of the girl next to her sat a cherub faced young girl of about 16 years old. She was starkly appareled in all white, horn rimmed glasses perched atop a buttoned, red-rimmed nose. You bit your lower lip with compassion observing her dark haired confidant, who was practically wringing her hand in supplication. Outside of the obvious tear stained patches of tumult, they were both the idyllic mid-western ideal of purity and youth. You were sorry to see the town itself marred by such a painful and unfathomable occurrence as this. You wondered if an interview could somehow be cathartic, but also worried that the remnants of a traumatic wound only recently incurred, might be exacerbated.  

The soothing voice of the Reverend pattered on, “Jesus never promised us we would not suffer pain or sorrow but he has always said he would be there to help us bear the sorrow and the pain”. Rockford looked to the other side of the sanctuary, noticing the row of honored relatives who somberly sat in the front pew. He squinted skeptically at a young man whose gaze was narrowed in an almost combative scowl, contrasted by a halo-like tousle of golden locks atop the crown of his head. Was this the boyfriend, Bobby Rupp, as the sheriff had intimated? Rockford could hardly believe that anyone in the town of Holcomb, Kansas would be capable of such violence, particularly as a young teenager. But if the war had taught him anything, it was that man was capable of tremendous atrocity, even under the guise of benefaction.

“Let us now rise and sing Hymn 25, ‘Blessed Assurance’” the organ began a solemn refrain as you and Tim awkwardly rose, your hands easily finding the hymnal in front of you. You glanced sideways in surprise, hearing Tim’s raspy voice haltingly and quietly proceed, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine. Heir of salvation, purchase of God. Born of his Spirit, washed in His blood”. You would not have thought Rockford the religious type. But then again, you were still getting to know one another, and there was a quite bit that remained in the shadows. Rockford nodded curtly in the girls’ direction as you returned his confirmation. It would be entirely inappropriate for Tim to question them at such a time as this. But with a proper introduction from the sheriff, you might be able to offer some solace, perhaps in exchange for essential information. “This is my story, this is my song

Praising my Savior all the day long. This is my story, this is my song. Praising my Savior all the day long”. You admired the voices raised in shaky song, here at the First Methodist Church of Holcomb, Kansas. You were more determined than ever to get some kind of justice for the Clutter Family, who by all accounts were upstanding citizens and well-loved members of a tight-knit community. Wincing with remembrance, you only wished you came from a similar experience, but maybe this could be a small chance at redemption. “Perfect submission, perfect delight. Visions of rapture now burst on my sight. Angels descending bring from above. Echoes of mercy, whispers of love”. 

The service proceeded as family members and neighborly friends spoke about the deceased family with love and admiration. Mr. Clutter was described as a pillar of Holcomb Community, member of the Federal Farm Credit Board and a respected name among Midwestern agriculturists. His wife, Bonnie Clutter was a fragile wisp of creature who had often been plagued by maladies and chronic illnesses. Timid and pious, she attempted to run the household from her sheltered state, giving Herbert Clutter four children in total; Eve Anna and Beverly who had grown and left the family residence, and Nancy and Kenyon Clutter, the younger two siblings who had experienced the dismal fate of their aforementioned parents. Nancy had recently appeared in the school play, to resounding applause, and the youngest boy, Kenyon, was a well-liked but more introverted youth who mostly kept to himself. There were no obvious indications whatsoever of what could have motivated a crime of this magnitude. You batted away the looming possibility that a close relative might somehow benefit from an insurance policy of some kind. There was still so much information you had yet to gather.

"In this moment, let me also speak on the subject of forgiveness, as we the community try to make sense of the inexplicable" the Reverend ventured, as a nervous cough appeared from the back of the congregation. "In the same way we have opened our hearts to the visiting extended Clutter Family, they have invited us to do the same in our own hearts and minds henceforth. I have heard some congregants, on more than one occasion, suppose that the criminals of this dastardly deed should be hanged from the nearest tree. But let us continue in the spirit of Christianity itself when I encourage us to forgive, as God would have us do. For they shall know we are Christians, by our love" the Reverend's voice rang out in the all but silent church as you hazarded a sideways glance at Rockford, who seemed undeterred. "The deed is done and taking another life cannot change it. It is not right that we should hold a grudge in our hearts. The doer of this act is going to find it very difficult indeed to live with himself. Hi sonly peace of mind will be when he goes to God for forgiveness. Let us not stand in the way, but instead give prayers that he may find his peace".

You looked more intently at Rockford's visage to try to glean his emotional response to this retort, but his focus was in observance of those around him, probably searching for a similar motivation. Was it possible to consider that the murderer of the Clutter Family was in this very room? The probability seemed unlikely, but not nearly as impossible as the investigative task before you. Perhaps justice and forgiveness could not proceed hand in hand, and it was not your business to even attempt it.

“Let us now proceed to Valley View Cemetery on the north edge of the city for our graveside services, and recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. I know the Clutter Family will join us, even posthumously, in our mutual praise and worship of the everlasting and eternal God”. The congregation rose once again as the organ sprang to life with a final refrain of “Amazing Grace”, as people began to quietly and pensively leave. You firmly grabbed Rockford’s wrist nodding in the direction of the girls before catching the eye of the nearby sheriff. Tim gave a quick wink, and headed in the opposite direction, presumably to find Bobby Rupp or investigate another suspect while he had the chance. The Sheriff met you towards the front of the sanctuary, as the girls held one another in a firm embrace, sniffling quietly to themselves as the mourners exited. 

“Ladies, I wanted to make a special introduction of our newfound friend from the Rockford Investigative Agency” the sheriff smiled with encouragement as you offered a handkerchief which the girls declined. “I know you have already been through so much…” his voice cracked with emotion, much like this morning, and your heartstrings pulled ever so slightly once again.

“Nancy, Susan…I don’t want you to feel obligated to speak with me after such a horrendous event” you bit your lower lip humbly, clutching your purse for some sort of emotional anchoring. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever…want to speak to me about what you witnessed…” you trailed off, smiling wanly at passersby and craning your neck to see if Tim were having any more luck. This was going to be a delicate process, and you wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to avoid the microscopic attention Holcomb County was about to receive.

“I can’t get the images out of my head” Susan whimpered quietly, as her school friend Nancy Ewalt hugged her ever more tightly. “Never in a million years did I think such a thing would happen in our town”. Nancy nodded emphatically, as her hair bobbed around her.

“I couldn’t even stand to wear black today” Nancy’s face scrunched with overwhelming emotion, looking imploringly at the sheriff who helplessly gazed back. “Nancy and me was like twins, on account of our names, and friendship and all. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. All I do is remember and remember” the girls both trembled slightly in one another’s grasp. “I think it might actually help to talk about…what we saw….and how we feel” Susan ventured, looking to Nancy for support who nodded quietly. The Sheriff pressed his lips together dolefully as you stretched a comforting hand towards Nancy’s back as she finally broke down into silent sobs.

“Let’s get you to the cemetery to make your final goodbyes, and we can set something up later this week. Does that sound okay?” you gently questioned, beckoning the girls forward and hugging Nancy tightly around the shoulder as you exited. They agreed to meet up for tea once things had quieted down a bit, and the sheriff continued to escort them onward as you met Tim at the church doors. You shook your head with lament, catching Tim’s equally darkened countenance. A brash young man tore past you both, nearly hitting Rockford’s shoulder en route and barreling past the rest of the congregation before anyone had a chance to speak to him.

“Bobby Rupp?” you questioned, catching Rockford’s grave expression.

“The boyfriend” he offered, watching Bobby recede into the distance. “Think I convinced him to join me at the diner tomorrow for a man to man talk. I might be city folk, but there’s nothing here that says hometown motivated quadruple homicide. That kid is mad as piss and vinegar, and I don’t blame him. Hell of a thing”, Rockford rationalized, drawing a hand to your lower back in emotional support. 

Rockford stifled a yawn while taking in the burgeoning colors of dusk tinting the steadily approaching evening sky. You brought a tentative hand up to his face, fingering the five o’clock shadow that was already appearing. “I’d say this has been fatiguing for all of us, to say nothing of someone, who shall remain nameless…” Rockford’s face relaxed with a humble chagrin, “who had been driving for ten hours straight”.

“Only so many things a cup of joe can fix” he rationalized, swallowing another yawn and looking towards the nearby Ford Falcon. “Let’s get a jump on the evening respite and we can start the day anew tomorrow. We can pick up the reports from the Sheriff and interview the youth to start” Rockford seemed to be convincing himself of a plan of action that didn’t involve running you both into the ground before the investigation had even started. You felt the pressure of success as well, but Rockford was right; justice would have to wait until tomorrow. You both headed to the car, arm in arm, anxious to uproot the unknown poison that was tainting the otherwise idyllic community of Holcomb County, Kansas.

The Ford Falcon puttered onto the main thoroughfare of Finney County, rounding the corner to arrive at the grandiose Windsor Hotel. You would not have thought such an establishment would be housed at the city’s epicenter, but noticing the bustling, nearly cosmopolitan energy of the main street, you were immediately thankful. If the funeral had been any indication, there could easily be hundreds of people milling around the otherwise sleepy town, hoping to get a look at the dramatic nature of the recent tragedy. Your anonymous benefactor had set up the reservation, before Rockford was even officially on the case, and whenever you discerned their identity, you would have to thank them for it. Your eyelids drooped tiredly, as Rockford lightly smacked the edge of the car door with his hand good-naturedly. “Be right back with our rooms, doll…” his ragged voice blurred around the edges as you gazed into the back of the messy Ford. Despite losing several newspaper clippings en route, you still had a few boxes of files, and were hoping to add to that from the Sheriff’s collection.

What a whirlwind beginning. You had not barely been in Los Angeles for a moment’s breath, before finding yourself at the center of one of the most talked about and sensationalized crimes in recent midwestern history. You tiredly emerged from the car, hefting a small box of files along with the small transportable typewriter into the front seat. You were starting to get a better idea of how your services might prove truly valuable. Rockford was an impressive P.I, but he didn’t have a midwestern sensibility, and there were some sensitivities that only a woman could provide. You were curious to resume your conversation with Nancy and Susan to get a better idea of the details surrounding the scene of the quadruple homicide, when you noticed Rockford slowly ambling back to the Ford Falcon. You knew you were both tired, but there seemed to be an added gait of dejection as his figure approached the car.

“Doll…I think we may have encountered our first bona fide small town scandal, I just wasn’t planning on being in the middle of it…” Tim nebulously began, shifting his weight awkwardly before you, a blushing tinge dotting the tops of his ears. He was cute when he was embarrassed.

“More scandalous than a four person murder?” you proffered, shifting the box to the side of your hip. “What is it now?” you wondered, taking in Rockford’s humorous and unknown conundrum.

“Well, seems that the hotel reservation is just for one…” he halted, looking around the crowded thoroughfare… “and the town is bustin’ at the seams with lookie-loos and passersby”. A growing awareness drifted into your periphery as Rockford’s cheeks reddened still further. “That is to say, in the most respectful of ways possible…notwithstanding any professional impropriety…” Tim began to stutter adolescently, rubbing the back of his neck with self-consciousness.

Your mouth dropped open with incredulity, “Oh will you spit it out Rockford? Are we sharing a room?” you asked tentatively before meeting Tim’s uneasy expression.

“We’re sharin’ a bed” he muttered with discomfort, looking around the square helplessly and shrugging with irritation. “It’s like somethin’ Biblical. There’s no more room at the inn!” he winced, trying to lighten the mood before catching your similarly humiliated expression and pausing dramatically. “I had to tell ‘em we were married”.

You nearly dropped the box of files before starting to laugh in hysterics at the incredulity of the unexpected situation. “Let me get this straight…” you guffawed, between bouts of strained laughter, “I have not only become employed in the last 24 hours, but I am now also MARRIED? And working for my faux HUSBAND?” you gasped between laughter, only slightly bruised at the similarity to past indiscretions Rockford had yet to learn of, which you weren’t anxious to regale him with.

“Till death do us part?” Tim’s playfully beleaguered expression elicited another round of laughter from you as you set the box on the passengers seat and doubled over with a fit of giggles before quieting down as the reality hit you. “Look I might be city folk, but I’m no turkey…” Rockford held out his hands in supplication before straightening his tie resolutely. “I’ll just be sleepin’ on the floor is all…” he nodded, as though deciding for you both, as you leaned against the car door with fatigue. Your eyes glazed over with defeat, huffing quietly as the evening air started to chill. You certainly weren’t going to have him sleep in the Ford Falcon. You took a deep breath before stealing yourself for the next leg of your adventure.

“Alright sweetheart, I’m not making you carry me over the threshold, but you’re gonna be bringing all of these boxes in yourself” you sarcastically joked, slamming the car door and taking in Rockford’s relieved expression.

“You got it, doll…I mean, Red” he chuckled, a wry smile curving the corner of his mouth mischievously.

“That’s Mrs. Rockford to you” you teased, grabbing the key from Tim’s outstretched hand and heading towards the Windsor Hotel. You offhandedly wondered if he were watching your curving figure as it sallied away from him. 

Till death do us part.

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

Mister Fantastic

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Oh man, we are EATING this week. It's a feast! An embarrassment of riches! I confess Pedge is a little over-stimulated and has needed lots of down time, and Reed Richards is here to provide...

Afterglow A Different Happy Ending

Hey y'all, this is a part of the "Afterglow Series" that delves into more intimacy than usual. I wanted a safe space to explore our sexy time activities that are unexpected or confusing.

Triggers: mentions of experimental M to F pegging (F receiving) and aftercare, lite profanity, mostly a lot of talk and crying (always crying)...our heroine is intent on expressing her needs and Marcus Pike seemed the most accommodating Pedro Boy to listen...

Series Masterlist

Your eyes shot open in bleary confusion. Something was up. Perhaps a bad choice of words as the evening’s events cascaded into your memory from a blurry, dark reaching corner of your body, as you started to take stock of your immediate situation.

You gently rolled over, hissing with discomfort and swallowing dryly. Marcus lay on his side, placid expression, breathing deeply as you smiled at his peaceful countenance. You rubbed your legs together as a pang of arousal and pressure shot through you like a lightning bolt. A pathetic whimper escaped your lips as Marcus blinked rapidly, joining you in the land of the living. His eyebrows immediately furrowed together as he rasply asked, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” you answered a bit too quickly, shifting away from his transparent expression and attempting to hide your chagrin. It was your birthday, and you had been begging, pleading even for a sexy time adventure slightly different than the straightforward and delectable classic vanilla that Marcus excelled at. Marcus didn’t leave you wanting in any way, but the gals in your Pilates class just couldn’t stop talking about some of their sex-capades, and you wanted to experiment too. I mean, with enough lube, ANYTHING was possible you had reasoned, and brought your birthday request to the man himself.

You weren’t surprised to discover his hesitancy, primarily because of his concern that he would hurt you, but you were determined to bend your body and every orifice as much as your heart would allow. Seems that while your heart was malleable as fuck, your other rose had puckered to tightened heights. The euphoria of the previous evening washed over you, even as you gripped your thighs together, wriggling uncomfortably. Damn. All that talk, and it seems you had enjoyed yourself a bit TOO much. You looked down at your midriff to see bruised fingerprints splayed across your hips and etched into your thighs from his vice of a grip. You smiled at your bodily trophy, but already aware of the deleterious effect it would have on your bedmate. This would not go well if you couldn’t play it off as the momentary speed bump it was. 

“Did you enjoy your birthday present” a seductive hand wrapped around your stomach as Marcus began kissing at the back of your neck, adding more pressure to your…pressure. You cleared your throat with embarrassment, trying to steady your breath.

“Oh yes, it was everything I dreamed and more!” you tried to sound breezy and flippant but you were starting to become concerned. Did this mean he wouldn’t experiment further? You were such an idiot, thinking you could keep up with the twenty somethings at the gym. Marcus paused for a moment, trying to get a read on your tone of voice. Damned if that man wasn’t a mind reader of some kind. Always concerned with YOUR pleasure, YOUR orgasm, YOUR needs. But in this moment you were silently praying Marcus would lose his telepathic abilities.

Resuming a trail of kisses down your back and getting dangerously close to your discomfort of the moment he continued on unawares, “Does the birthday girl get a morning surprise?”. You felt his hardened length bump against your ass as you twitched slightly, willing your body to quiet down.

You gulped loudly, feeling the blush creep up your neck unceremoniously. This swirling vortex of emotion was starting to get out of hand. You couldn’t even pick apart everything happening; embarrassment, arousal, annoyance, concern, fatigue. But maybe there was still hope! That gnawing thought in the back of your mind threaded its way into your consciousness as you definitely wanted to experiment more. New sensations, new abandonment…and total submission. Out of the mind, out of the ass, out of the heart. Cum on. Butttttt….Marcus immediately stopped with your silence, a growing awareness clouding his morning ministrations until you heard his voice drop about an octave.

“Oh my God”.

You rolled your eyes anticipating the emotional wreckage, “Baby, it’s not that big a deal…”. You awkwardly shifted back to meet the roundest, warmest saucer shaped eyes that have ever existed. He looked like he had stopped breathing, and tears were already threatening to spill from those chocolate-colored orbs swimming before you.

“Oh my God” he caught sight of the light purple bruises peppered across your hips, covering his face with both hands. “Baby, gawd! You told me to keep going!” he whined, sitting up quickly and laying a feather light hand across your stomach. “What can I do? Advil? Water? Do we need to go to Urgent Care?”

Your mouth dropped open in comical surprise, taking his face in your hands. “Urgent Care? Honey, they’re bruises! This isn’t that scene from “Twilight”, you haven’t broken anything…”. His face didn’t register any shift at all, and you wondered if your words had even penetrated….nope…another bad choice of words as you winced slightly at the new seated position.

“Oh my God. I’m calling my sister…” Marcus reached over, hands trembling to grab his phone, as you deftly removed it from his hands and dangled it above his head.

“No thank you Romeo, I do not want the entire Pike Family up in my business as much as you were last night…” you heaved a heavy sigh of remembrance, trying to ass-certain how you might convince him for future sexy time experimentation.

“How can you make jokes at a time like this?” he pleaded, drawing his hands around your shoulders as though you were a porcelain doll. “I’m gonna draw you a bath. Can you walk?”

You started to chuckle with incredulity until you wondered if his question wasn’t altogether ridiculous. You bit your lower lip before it started wobbling out of control. You and Marcus had been together for a while, but you still wanted him to find you attractive and exciting. This was hardly a page out of “Sex and the City” if you couldn’t even walk to the bathroom after a birthday celebration YOU had demanded.

“Um. I think so” your voice seemed to disappear as you noticed more plumping bruises across your ass and breasts. This was all your fault. “Gosh, I was just having so much fun, maybe I got a little carried away” you said, almost to yourself.

“Well, I’m glad THAT part of the celebration went as planned” he sighed with a bit of relief, cupping your face with his hand. “You are taking it easy today, young lady. No work. Only movies. Ice packs. Advil…” he rubbed his lower back, getting out of bed and stretching for a moment. “I’m gonna look online for over the counter remedies, and draw you that bath…” he kissed the corner of your mouth with a nearly infinitesimal amount of pressure. “AND WE’RE NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN” he smiled with solidarity and headed into the bathroom.

Everything he had said sounded good to you…except that last part. Your heart shattered into a million pieces as you sucked in a desperate breath. My body, my rules, you thought. It obviously takes two to tango…or however you would describe what you tried last night…and you would never want Marcus to be uncomfortable. But you wanted to make sure he understood your desires. Despite the bruised fingerprints to the contrary, you had offered more than an enthusiastic YES, and it had only peaked your curiosity, not dulled it. But maybe your request was…unreasonable? Marcus wouldn’t hurt you to save his own life. The tears threatened to reappear as you thought of all the ways Marcus took care of you; pancakes, flowers, post-it-notes, hand made lunches. And here you were, the Scarlet Woman, debauched and depraved, hoping your boyfriend would rail you into the mattress until you broke. A lump started to form in your throat as you blinked away the tears. Pull it together, pull it together, pull it together. A small pain throbbed in your nether regions as your breath began to hitch in your chest and tighten. Come on woman, it’s your birthday, you rationalized, but that thought only pushed you closer to the emotional precipice you were already balanced precariously upon. And then you couldn’t help but wonder; what if Marcus never touches you that way again? What if he never touches you at all?

Your face wrenched up in a contortion of immediate distress. This was a bruise completely unseen but burying itself into your imagination. You started to squeak like a small chew toy, perseverating on this most ridiculous thought and hugging yourself around your ribcage. A small sob escaped your lips as you heard the bathtub roar to life and Marcus’ voice drift in echoing, “Okay, do you want lavender or eucalyptus epsom salt?”

You bit down hard on your lower lip, irrationally determined to stop the overflow of emotions, but tasting salty tear after salty tear that annoyingly dripped down your cheeks. 

“I think I found a bath bomb!” he melodiously intoned, but stopped abruptly upon seeing your small nervous breakdown. He rushed forward, kneeling at the bedside and grabbing his phone again, “I’m calling my sister”.

“Stawwwwwp!” you whined, throwing the phone across the bed and starting to hyperventilate. Unfortunately every hiccup radiated through your lower body with unnerving sensitivity as you gulped and winced and laughed at your own predicament.

“Baby, please, how can I help?” Marcus went into full puppy dog mode, lightly rubbing your leg and lower back. “I’m so sorry”.

“No, I’M s-s-orry!” you wailed, growing more distressed as the moments passed. Marcus shook his head, continuing to rub your back. “I was h-h-having so much, f-f-f-fun…and it was such a g-g-good b-b-b-irthday…” Marcus reached up to wipe a trail of snot from your nose as you unraveled. “And n-n-n-ow you’re never gonna t-t-t-ouch me again!!!” you cried, throwing up your hands in despair. There. The Scarlet Woman, debased and unhinged, mockery of society and bedroom sexcapades, humiliated for all to see.

“Take a deep breath for me please, birthday girl. And let’s take that from the top, with feeling” he mused, wiping another tear away and tucking an escaped hair behind your ear tenderly. You took a big breath, holding it in your mouth theatrically as he counted to five, and puffing it in his face surprisingly as you burst into cautious laughter. Wincing slightly at the lamaze-like activity your hiccups started to quiet down as he rubbed large circles across your back, smiling broadly.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that…for some inexplicable reason…you…enjoyed our celebrations last night, and want to make sure I’m not over-reacting?” he tentatively pondered, as your nodded emphatically in the affirmative, hiccuping and wincing some more. “Alright, and maybe in a couple days, AFTER you take your Advil, and AFTER we watch “Casablanca” and AFTER I make us some pancakes you wouldn’t be opposed to…an encore of some kind?” he ventured, nodding in agreement with your bobbing head as your sniffles quieted down. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering your request and dragging a finger slowly down the front of your body and pausing at the top of your clit tentatively. “I have a complimentary request as negotiations proceed” he whispered watching your pupils dilate with lust and watching his finger hover over your heat expectantly. Not hearing a response he continued, “I’m going to need a lot more prep time, giving you the attention you deserve if you expect me to split you in half on every birthday”.

You swallowed loudly, surprised at his uncharacteristically lewd comment, but hopeful that he meant every word of it. You nodded slowly as he tapped your clit VERY lightly eliciting a small jump from you and a giggle of affirmation. “Yes please” you managed to get out as he stood up from the floor, ghosting his lips over yours tantalizingly.

“Ummm…can you carry me to the bathroom please?” your nose wrinkled up with embarrassment, not entirely sure if your legs would carry you themselves.

“Your bath awaits, m’lady” he drolled, hooking an arm softly under your backside and pulling you into an embrace...

*thanks @samspenandsword for the cool dividers!

Pedro-Tober #2

Inspired by @alyssamariag and @norththelemon I've decided to feature curated pics/art, juxtaposed with fics and AI inspired Bitmoji. So much artistry to celebrate this October, look at these amazing artists!

7.) @norththelemon

8.) Corona Commercial Spot

9.) IG @amakuni_s

10.) IG @floballestra

11.) Max Phillips; Bloodsucking Witch

12.) IG: vannessadraws

Pedro-Tober Masterlist

Moody Dave

LOVE this movie. HATE this character. Pedge says he was in his Rageful Era, but come this Halloween I want all my options available, and this Pedro Boy is one of the scariest. It's a little creepy...but I like it...#murdermedaddy

Disability Visibility

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book and @romanarose for the Disability Visibility Prompt, if anyone would like to participate. At least for me, the anchor point I connect with on this front revolves around chronic illness. My father has a mental illness, and I'm going through another round of doctor visits and procedures that I don't want. But somehow I feel like Ezra gets it. I haven't written for this character yet because his syntax is so Shakespearean, so I thought I'd pair it with one of my favorite, perhaps applicable, sonnets for anyone who needs it...

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Let us continue to look on Love, which is boundless.