Pedge's Bookshop The Calm

Pedge Tweets Afterglow

I love the throw down as much as the next gal, but I love the "Afterglow" even more. Excited to attempt this sexy time experimentation, writing for some of the Pedro Boys with variety in shorter snippets. Wanted a therapeutic outlet for our great and not so great "O"'s. Mostly self-indulgent intimacy writing, though Pedge is VERY excited...

Series Masterlist

*art by Vivek Gupta + Klimt

Moody Rockford

This marketing was so spot on for "Merge Mansion". I'd love to write for Tim Rockford someday, but in the interim, check out @inept-the-magnificent "Nebble Files" and @ghotifishreads "Tim Rockford Short". And hey. You don't have to take my word for it...

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!

A Sense of Pride

Hey beautiessss! I wanted to write something specifically for pride, entirely self indulgent, and based in my own limited experience. If this doesn't describe you, it doesn't describe you! But hopefully it speaks to inclusion, positivity and self love, in all it's forms!

Triggers: nothing big! a little self doubt, little profanity, mostly fluff a little implied smut, fictional exploration of orientation with our Therapist Pedge and loving support of the LGBTQIA+ community, I've also tried to write w/o gender pronouns so Therapist Pedge can love on us all...

“I brought Thai foooood!” Pedge sang out from the doorway of your apartment, balancing several bags and books precariously in his arms and dumping them unceremoniously on the ground.

“K” a voice responded from the living room.

Silence.

“Alright, not the tone of enthusiasm I was expecting…” Pedge rounded the corner to find the top of your head hovering behind your computer screen and assorted merchandise strewn haphazardly around the room.

“Whoaaaa…babe. Are we hosting the Pride Parade this year in the living room, cause we’re gonna need a bigger boat…” P grinned broadly, hanging a rainbow flag around his neck, and draping his arms around your shoulders.

You quickly slammed the laptop shut, looking around the room, slightly chagrined. “I may have gone a little overboard at Walmart while you were gone” you blushed.

“I mean, I’m LOVING the new decor” he nodded in approval “though, a little surprised! Feeling all the ally feelings? Are you a Leprechaun and you didn’t tell me?”

Silence.

“Tell me about your meetings” you stalled, setting the laptop quickly on the coffee table.

He took a heavy breath, plopping down on the couch and shaking his head. “I don’t understand why we have to take these meetings in person, in the digital age. The 405 is ALWAYS a disaster area. I ran out of Nicorette on the drive home…”

“I’m ace” you interrupted, holding your breath in anticipation “maybe?” Pedge sat, unmoving, un-reactive. Apparently, non-plussed at your blunt admission.

“Does that mean…I should have gotten vegetarian, instead?” he asked, with tremendous gravitas.

Your eyebrows shot up with irritation. “I’m not joking, P! I’m fucking BROKEN!” you wailed, lightly slapping him on the chest, and starting to unravel. 

“OW!” he pouted, grabbing your hand and rubbing it over his chest in faux reproof. “You’re not broken! What are you talking about? Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks!” he chastised, massaging your hand and smirking. “I don’t understand, but I’m curious. Bi-curious. Is this a new revelation…in the last couple hours?”

“No! I don’t know. I mean, you know…I’ve talked to you about…my background…and my…preferences…and I was looking up terms online…And then I got confused…” you trailed off, unsure of what you were trying to say.

“Honey, are you interested in less…touching? Or…maybe…not into sex…or…not into, ME?” he set your hand down in your lap with genuine interest, but trying to grab ahold of the very loose thread of understanding.

“Noooo!” you mewled, hugging him firmly around the waist and knocking the breath out of him. You grabbed him by the face, smashing your lips into his, sharing a long kiss. After a few minutes you both came up for air, you, lightly drawing your fingers through his hair and sniffling slightly.

“I gotta say, based on what I know about being ace, this doesn’t seem very on brand” he teased, with eyes closed.

You bit your lower lip in confusion, exploding in a cascade of confusing language, 

“Iwaswatchingthetelevisionshowsexeducation. Andtheyweretalkingaboutasexualityandsomeofitkindofappliedtome.ButyouknowILOVEsexthoughsometimesIfeelmorecomfortableenjoyingitalone.ButIdontwanttoBEaloneIjustdontalwaysfeellikebeingphysicalintimate. ButIthinkaboutemotionalandspiritualintimacyallthetime. AndeverybodyelsehasmoresexualpartnersthanIdoandImnotbigongenitalia. ButIdontwantyoutothinkIdontloveyou. AnddoesthismeanImandrogynous?  Thosecanthardlybethesamethings. Idontreallylikewatchingporn. AndIdontunderstandwhyImsojudgementalaboutthis? IthoughtIwasanopenmindedperson.ButmaybetheressomethingwrongwithmeandImruiningusandIllneverbehappy!”

“Okay, there’s a lot of interesting ideas to unpack there” he paused. “Did you just use the word, genitalia?”

Silence.

You both burst into uncontrollable laughter as he stroked your upper thigh hesitantly. After a few minutes, everything settled down as he sat back, gazing at you appraisingly.

“What?” you huffed, annoyed at your own theatrics and noticing the small rumble in your stomach.

“Babe…I like being with YOU. I like touching you, I like laughing with you. I like eating with you. And if you’re still okay with it…I like…eating…you” he lovingly pinched at your knee as you started giggling. “I’m excited to unpack whatever these discoveries are. And there’s nothing wrong with you or broken about anything you’re feeling. You’re just human, and humans have all different kinds of preferences. That Kinsey guy said everything is on a spectrum.”

You nodded silently, attempting to take everything in. “I was reading that some peeps don’t even think asexuality is a thing. Like I don’t even belong in ANY community…”

“I mean you know I don’t like using a lot of labels. I think sexuality is a pretty fluid thing. I’ve had lots of incredible…interactions with people over the years. Do you think I’M broken?”

“No, that’s one of the things I like BEST about you!” you blurted out. “You’re open-hearted! Sometimes I feel so closed off. How can I still be so confused?” you complained, throwing your hands up in the air.

He smiled, fingering your chin lightly. “Sex isn’t the price we pay for intimacy. Or love. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. I want to know you, that’s all.”

“Me too” you grinned, caressing his face.

Silence.

“Somebody said something about Thai?” you whispered, rubbing your legs together excitedly.

“I don’t think asexuals are allowed to eat Thai Food” he shook his head disapprovingly before you leapt onto his lap. “I read that on Google” he teased, pinching your stomach.

“So, like…if you’re bi…and I’m ace…together…we could be…bi-ased” you scrunched your nose at the disastrous attempt.

“Ewwwww” he laughed. “Race you to the Thai…”

Pedro's Holiday Feast Family Dinner

Hey folks! Welcome to our first Family Dinner! We're just starting easy with an appetizer, an entree and a yummy dessert. But don't forget to keep tagging @pedges-world and #pedrosholidayfeast for all of your yummy treats!

Appetizer

Our guy is a snack. Enough said.

*thanks Paula and Buzzfeed for this yummy treat!

Entree

You've made a delightful meal for your man, but the changing of the seasons has made you wonder if you've overstayed your welcome.

"Moody Joel" @pedges-world

Dessert

This is a part of a lovely series I invite you to check out! Dinner wouldn't be complete without a little dessert...

"As Easy As Pie" @inept-the-magnificent

*thanks @strangergraphics for the cool dividers!

Pedro-Tober #3

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, we have our hands full. Look at these amazing artists!

Series Masterlist

13.) Javi Gutierrez: Afterglow Fic (Phoenix Rising) @pedges-world

14.) Freebie! IG: @art_faraday

15.) The Materialists: @norththelemon

16.) Whiskey: @alyssamariag

17.) Arm Sling: IG: @amakuni_s

18.) Oberyn Martell: IG: @vanessadraws

19.) SDCC: IG @vanessadraws

Also, Pedge and I are "Trick or Treating"! DM me to play!

Crime and Punishment The Family

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

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

You felt like a complete idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, teenagers or life?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reallllly? What makes you say that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine”.

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

“Fine”.

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

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

Things were starting to get interesting.

@morallyinept @littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges

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

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

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

@copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @princesspurple75

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin

Pedge's Fave 2024 Things A Year of 1sts

@jolapeno Started a lovely end of the year wrap on some of our artistic contributions, and I want to play too! I mentor other artists, but I still have a hard time showcasing myself. Sometimes the whole thing feels so juvenile (#selfjudgement). But I get so much out of the writing process, and one of the big things I've been learning lately is the enjoyment of Love, that comes without entitlement or possession. Just experience :) So here it is! My first writing year on Tumblr, some of the projects that healed me, and the writers who inspired them. Let's keep expressin'! Baby's first...

Get to Know Me! (started writing so many fics I had to organize!) Make Your Own Kind of Music (fanart for The Unbearable Weight...) Pike's Place (we really popped the cherry on this one...1st collab.. 1st series, 1st trope challenge, 1st Christmas, 1st trailer...final episode New Year's Day, thanks @inept-the-magnificent) @burntheedges Summer Camp (Pedro Scouts was the bomb. These were my first Tumblr activities and I learned a ton...) @goodwithcheese My Darling Muse (Dieter Bravo combines art and poetry with his personal assistant, J...sparks ensue ) temporary hiatus...D is in rehab...again Over-Protective Mom (Bitmoji Mood Board) Afterglow Series (intimacy w/ Pike, Javi, Pena...who's next?) Pedge's Jukebox (writing inspo. for other writers, short fics about Pedro characters + music) Blood Sucking Witch (getting dark w/ Max Phillips for Halloween...) Unmasked (Christmas Disaster! w/ Din Djarin) @beefrobeefcal Thanksgiving Delights (praise kink w/ hubby Marcus Moreno) Pedge's Bookshop (Last of Us Canon, Joel and J deconstruct "Crime and Punishment"...with smut lol) Dead Dove December (SH and ideation w/ Joel, mature) @romana-after-dark

Pedge approves :)

Friendly Frankie

Ooooh, @auteurdelabre told me they are working on a SECOND coloring book for us!? I'm not even done with the first! An embarrassment of riches! I don't write for Frankie very often, but when I do...I seem to be gushing about it. If you're looking for something saucy, don't forget to check out my "Moody Frankie Fic". Coulda used him last night....Pair it with Frankie's Favorites for the full experience and enjoy :)

Dead Dove December: The Deepest Cut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Control”. 

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

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

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

*Resources for Anyone Struggling