Pena's Pose

Lakers Shirt

Oh man, I love it when our boy is in L.A, but something tells me he's gonna be traveling A LOT for the next few years. Loved seeing all the looks at Cannes, whether chic or casual. I just hope he remembered all the travel essentials....including me....

Gawwwwwd....get you a man who can do both. Pretty sure I can fit in that bag if I try....

*thanks @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! *Insta for the add-ons

@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

Moody Acacius

I've got to be honest. I'm avoiding my taxes. I got an extension, but this is preposterous. But #priorities...and #pedropascal...Also, this is apparently more historically accurate, so...you're welcome...

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!

Oh man, I tried to avoid Marcus Pike, but he's so absolutely adorable, even in heartbreak (the song recommendation was a perfect pairing). Thanks @whocaresstillthelouvre for this fun moodboard inspo, check out my previous Marcus Pike Post for the Charcuterie Challenge...I just posted a new Roll-a-Trope Challenge inspired by @burntheedges, Y'all are going to bring me to literary heights of avarice! Or just deadlines at least...

Oooh! I love the new moodboard request! Could we try Vibe/Marcus Pike/comfort? Like cuddle couch, blankets, candles stuff? Maybe beige or gray? Something easy...

Hi Pedge! Thank you for your support! I went very cozy with dinner and some good music provided by Marcus. 💕

Speaking of music I'm going to go with "Holding On" by War on Drugs. The lyrics are very heartbroken Marcus. Now I'm headed down a different road Can we walk it side by side? Is an old memory just another way of saying goodbye?

****Please do not watch the music video for the song if you don't want to cry.****

"What Happened to Belen?"

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Pedge and I have had a few ups and downs over here, but are managing okay! A couple WIP's, currently re-reading the Women's Rights book, "What Happened to Belen?" as recommended by Papi Pascal. Pedge's Bookshop has decided to tackle the important literature with Javier Pena at our side. Seems like he has plenty to say about it...

“Maybe…” you whispered, his face softening ever so slightly in response. The shift was incremental, but noted nonetheless. “You can’t always judge a book by its cover”, the words fell out of your mouth sloppily, but with sincerity nonetheless. He stood up slightly taller, considering your words and looking at the magazine centerfold once again. “Too true, hermosa, too true” he seemed to acquiesce. closing the magazine definitively and looking at you with a new appraisal. “What are YOU reading?” he pointedly asked, allowing his eyes to meander over the totality of your body, as though still looking at the magazine contents. You shifted with an annoying arousal that you couldn’t quite shake, noticing the buttons of his shirt dangling precariously open revealing a sun-kissed, tanned torso. Stupid PMS. “Uh…” your brain stalled like a sputtering car as he smiled sweetly at your unravelling manner. “Pena” he held his hand out, wiping it deftly across the backside of his jeans and extending it forwards into your halting grasp. “Javier Pena” he matter-a-factly stated, his Adam’s apple bobbing strongly in his throat as a small trickle of sweat cascaded down his sternum. Holy hell. It must be hotter in here than you realized.

Bloodsucking Witch

It's Spooky Season and Moody Max has been rarin' to go! I just watched "Blood Sucking Bastards" and have been enjoying so much Halloween material like Dracula, The Discovery of Witches and Interview With a Vampire, it seemed only preternatural to try my hand at horror!

Triggers: HORROR! All the things you'd expect; blood, witchcraft, vampirism, smut, allusions to death, mind control, dubcon all around, profanity, alcohol, questionable power dynamics (all set in the workplace), fingering, masturbation...gosh we really covered a lot. Pedge was feeling naughty...

In a lot of ways, this year had never been better. Sales had skyrocketed with your leadership expertise, company morale was higher than ever, and you had become nearly accustomed to being a vampire. Truth be told, the latter part of that arrangement had proven more challenging, but Max had provided a tremendous amount of professional support and personal direction. Granted, much of that mentorship had transpired through mind control, but you had no immediate complaints.

Living a life as a successful businesswoman and CEO had been taxing to say the least. It wasn’t until procuring Max as an exciting Chief of Operations, that you stepped into the full height of your professional prowess. It did come at a cost. No more lounging around at the beach. Difficult to do your make up in a mirror that no longer reflected your countenance. And the sex. The sex was mind-blowing, but you really wished you had more to contribute. Bossing people around for the majority of your adult life had always come naturally, but with tremendous isolation. It wasn’t until Max circumnavigated your willpower that your sexuality REALLY came into fruition. Put mildly, you had no idea that type of liberation was possible, until  Max completely overrided your ability to say no. It was hawt. No more manipulations or wondering about their intentionality. Max’s desires were perfectly clear, as he rummaged around the recesses of your own, and you found yourself in a strange intimacy that finally scratched the hidden itch you had never articulated.

But what could you give back? Max had provided company betterment, empowering sex and vampiric immortality. What was your contribution to this relationship? Was Max a better vampire, being with you, when he could have any other vampire at his fingertips? Your cold dead heart beat a little less, with the knowledge that Max had infused your life with the passion and vitality of murderous lust, and you longed for some way to repay him. Yours was a strange tale of enigma and voracity, but compelling nonetheless.

Sitting at your high rise office, you chewed nervously at a Bic #2 Ticonderoga Pencil. What to give to the man who has everything? You mindlessly stood, unbidden, at your desk, feeling the throbbing urge of control, beckoning you to Max’s nearby office. You sighed with contentment, no longer fretting away the office hours in doldrum. What new adventure would Max have on the horizon? Afternoon delight? Company firings? The new delicatessen on Third and Main? The options were endless, as you mindlessly breezed through the hallway, catching your non-reflection in the glass covered entryway.

Enter.

This was the most seductive of intercoms, and you didn’t even need an office memo. You straightened your gray business skirt, hoisting your breasts up voluptuously, hoping that Max once again ripped through your new red negligee, specifically worn for this occasion. Jerking the door open you found him forebodingly poised behind the massive mahogany office desk, with his feet propped lazily upon it.

Shut the door.

You smiled mischievously, unable to contain your excitement. If HR knew about your particular situation…it wouldn’t matter whatsoever. They were vampires too. You hypnotically floated towards his desk, sinking into the thick leather chair and crossing your legs temptingly. 

“Drink?” he finally intoned, motioning to the small bar available to his right. 

“It’s 11am Max” you drawled, dangling your red stiletto heel loosely off the tip of your toe.

“Who the fuck cares?” he jested. “Never stopped us before” he motioned for you to grab him a snifter, as you felt your body drawn upwards, gravitating towards the golden liquid.

“Am I just operating as your waitress today, or did you NEED me for something else?” you questioned, adding ice to the small glass and pouring a shot.

“We have a new exciting opportunity in the Oregon offices and I didn’t want to send any lackey for such an auspicious occasion. I’d go myself, but let’s be honest; the office would completely run amok without my hand’s on attention…” he arrogantly boasted, patting his lap for your curvaceous body to sit atop.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, stuttering slightly in his direction and plopping down atop his eternally hard length. “Are you ever satiated?” you growled, tipping the golden liquid into his mouth as his eyes hungrily devoured the contours of your neck.

“Not around you, Buttercup” he snarled, his eyes flashing a mysterious red tint for one millisecond before downing the shot in one languid gulp.

“Any special instructions?” you whispered into his ear, rolling your hips slowly over his slacks and licking at his icy cold neck into the angular point of his knife-like jaw.

“Try not to have too much fun without me?” his eyebrows shot up as he pursed his lips in a feigned innocence, reaching into his desk for the first class ticket to Salem. You noticed your black negligee from last week’s business meeting, clandestinely housed in his office drawer.

“My drawers in your drawer?” you teased, batting your eyelashes sensuously. He growled into your neck, grazing his fangs over the feather light sensitivity of your skin. 

“I can smell you from here” he moaned, aggressively pushing two fingers past the waistline of your skirt and digging into your hip.

“Max we don’t have time…” you pouted, already feeling the warm tentacles of his mind wrapping around your volition. 

“As the Chief of Operations I encourage all of our employees to make time for important preparation and business acumen. Plus, I really wanna fuck you on this mahogany desk again…” Max smiled into your sternum, lifting you up and depriving you of your skirt in one fell motion.

You leaned back on the desk, spread eagle before him, as he reached for the intercom. “Janet, hold all my calls for the next 15 minutes…” he smirked, dragging his icy digits across the lips of your heat causing you to buck sporadically atop the pile of manilla folders and notebooks.

“The delegates from Microsoft are waiting for you in the foyer…” Janet’s tinny voice garbled from the desktop intercom.

“I SAID HOLD ALL MY FUCKING RESPONSIBILITIES, JANET!” Max yelled, loud enough for Janet to hear through the walls, let alone the crackling intercom.

“Got it, boss” Janet timidly replied as Max ripped the buttons of your suit jacket, exposing your new red lace negligee for his lustful eyes.

“Fuuuuuuck meeeee” he sighed, grabbing your knees and aggressively shoving them to either side.

“That’s my line” you gasped salaciously, feeling every thought ebb and flow out of your littered mind. This was the part you liked best. Sex before Max had always been a mental obstacle course of confusion and conflict. Now the only internal conflict was that you felt guilty about not feeling guilty. Surrendering your body and mind to Max’s control, was the most liberating sexual experience you ever had. You wished he could experience the same delights.

Sound.

A sinfully loud moan escaped your lips as Max thrust two powerful fingers inside you. You barely registered the embarrassment, as your mind absolved itself of all choice.

Enjoy yourself.

An electric shock of desire throbbed through your entire being as your body responded to his galvanizing hypnotic urges.

You’re going to cum. And you’re going to cum hard and fast.

You felt your body careening out of your control, heaving and pulsing around you in ripples as he circled your heat and your clit with expert motions. It was no secret that vampires were fast, but this was unexpected, even for you. You screamed euphorically as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, jettisoning your body into his powerful grasp in a full spasm of delight. He pumped his fingers through you slower and slower as tears ran down your face sloppily.

I’m thinking sushi for lunch, right? his voice echoed in your mind, which you barely acknowledged, smiling lazily and collapsing into his embrace, nodding in the affirmative.

Ah, the perks of being a CEO.

You trotted down the fairway, bright red suitcase in tow for the red eye. How appropriate. Clad in head to toe apparel to avoid even the smallest hint of sunlight you arrived in Salem, Oregon for the business conference Max had arranged for personnel development. You teetered off the evening flight at 3am in the morning, spotting a gaggle of giggling youth, dressed in witches costumes and goth-like makeup. 

You grinned brusquely, remembering the time of year, and Salem’s claim to fame. Witches indeed, you reasoned, wondering what evening activities you might pursue, once your professional responsibilities were done. You spent the day alternating between Zoom sessions and indoor business meetings in the posh hotel located in downtown Salem. Prior to your metamorphoses you never would have thought vampirism to be maintainable, but Max had taught you the inner workings of the coven lifestyle, and you had taken to it remarkably fast. Never a morning person, and already partial to black, the only sacrifice had been your veganism which made a sad departure. As the day’s activities came to an end, you changed into jeans and a maroon top, eager to explore the mysteries of Salem night life and take in the cities charms.

You drifted into a lazy pub crawl, followed by a night tour of historical Salem locations. Looking around at the eclectic group, you saw more witches, ghouls and Halloween vampires, toting plastic jack o’lanterns and cheap broomsticks. The tour guide theatrically droned, “A majority of people accused and convicted of witchcraft were nearly 80% women. The belief was that women were inherently sinful and more susceptible to damnation than men were. Women's souls were seen as unprotected in their so-called "weak and vulnerable bodies". Some likely believed they had truly given in to the Devil, however some women might have confessed in order to spare their own lives. Women who did not conform to the norms of society were more likely to be the target of an accusation, especially those who were unmarried or did not have children….”.

You pursed your lips cynically. Check and check. A slinky black cat materialized in your path, weaving its slinky body between your ankles and trotting down the nearby alley. A flash of light caught your eye as you thought you observed a young, lanky teenage girl with flaxen hair beckoning to you conspiratorially.

You already had dinner, but you were intrigued. Watching the tour guide lead your small group in the opposite direction, you headed towards the darkened alley as the lithe, fairy like creature summoned you to a small apothecary like entryway. The cat’s feathery black tale disappeared inside the stoney residence, as a small bell cheerily chimed in welcome. Max had told you to enjoy yourself, and you were very good at taking direction. You hesitantly poised at the doorway, curious for where the evening’s events were taking you. Opening the door lightly you were immediately greeted by billowy plumes of lavender, soil, eucalyptus, and a myriad of fragrances you couldn’t immediately place.

The darkened apothecary was cheery in demeanor, as a bristling fire hummed at the hearth, and an old tape recorder from the 20th century was playing a frothing beat of Alanis Morisette. You took in the twinkling wind chimes and bowl of crystals, looking around the room in wonder. There was something vibrational about the atmosphere, and you wondered if vampires had found themselves in the previous trials and tribulations of Salem. The cat mysteriously re-appeared at the front desk, as the waif like teenager popped up from behind the cash register.

“How might I assist, young one?” she melodically questioned, drawing her fingers across the purring feline and gesturing around the incense filled room. You quirked your head confusedly, wondering at her demographic. Young one? You were easily 20 years her senior, but there was a maturity about her that distorted the atmosphere around her. You stepped up to the counter, gazing at the cornucopia of enigmatic items sprawled out before you.

“You are special” she ventured, gazing appraisingly into your eyes and biting her lower lip. “Many lives reside inside of you…” she enigmatically prophecied, breathing deeply and looking over a small library at her fingertips. You swallowed dryly, feeling somewhat naked and observed as her fingers danced lightly over the various books and scrolls in the glass case. “Might I offer you some light reading material?” she asked, selecting a small black book that seemed to be archaic and from a bygone era. 

“Please” you rasped, becoming slightly intoxicated with the heady shop fumes and humming thrum of the black cat, butting its head up against your chest.

“It’s on the house” she inexplicably offered, her eyes flashing a millisecond of green before disappearing up the stairwell, the cat scampering after her playfully. You fingered the edges of the antiquated text with curiosity as Alanis Morisette sang,

“You're essentially my employee and I like you having to depend on me. You’re kind of my protege and one day, you’ll say you learned all you know from me. I know you depend on me like a young thing would to a guardian I know you sexualize me like a young thing would and I think I like it…”.

Tucking yourself into the nook of the first class recliner, you fingered the glowing incantations beneath your hand. You were delighted to discover their pulsing energy as you ran your fingertips over the delicate embossing. What did this mean? You tried to pronounce the Latin and French dialects under your breath, and felt a strange warmth emanating from your chest like a tether.

Almost immediately, the person opposite you in the aisle sat bolt upright, eyes ablaze and then sank back in their own recliner, asleep again. 

That was odd, you mused. What did that young waif mean by “many lives lived”? Was she referring to reincarnation? Did she somehow sense your vampiric energy? You had to admit, even during your collegiate years, you had always possessed a preternatural ability to sway individuals to your willpower. You had always interpreted it as leadership ability, and meeting Max had upended any previous assumptions about life in general. But was there more to your diverse and unique existence than anyone had surmised? Is there a world where you were both a vampire AND a burgeoning witch? You clasped the book tenderly to your chest. There was only one way to find out.

Relishing in the clickety clack of your stilleto’d heels you paraded into the offices for the evening shift. You were excited to regale Max with your Salem adventures, and curious if he would notice a difference in your general demeanor. You’d taken it as a good sign that several neighborhood cats had crossed your path upon arrival, but it seemed too good to be expected. Could one woman be so benefitted in their life, as to experience TWO supernatural events in one existence? Only time would tell, as you jerked the large door open and confidently strutted into your CEO persona.

The office was a flurry of activity as vampiric energy raged brightest in the evening hours. You had no sooner deposited yourself in your office, then a magnetic pull alerted you to Max’s desires.

Come to me.

Your heart fluttered in nervous anticipation, smoothing the gray pant suit that was covering a newly purchased pink negligee. At this rate, you would need to liquidate Victoria’s Secret if Max insisted on his unsatiated passions. No matter. Perhaps you could quell the tide, or at least give Max a taste of his own prowess. You languidly drifted down the hallway and paused at his office door.

Enter.

Smiling broadly, you found Max curiously unaltered, seemingly sitting in exactly the same position and in exactly the same suit, knowing that he wore the same apparel everyday to work. You poured yourself into the leather chair opposite him, noting a quirky expression dotting his eyebrows.

“You seem different” he bluntly stated, licking his lips dryly and flashing the smallest portion of his porcelain veneered fangs.

“I enjoyed my trip tremendously, and I’m excited to share some of the new professional skills I’ve acquired…” you began.

“Would you…?” cutting Max off at the onset you made a beeline for the bar, interrupting him.

“Would you like a drink?” you questioned, pouring one for yourself first.

Max bit his lip voraciously, eyeing the curvature of your fit, bloodthirsty body. “Thought you’d never ask” he quipped, enthusiastically leaping to his feet, and sidling up behind you seductively. He drew a line of tickling fancy with his nose along your shoulder blade, as you drolly poured two glasses of whiskey.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for the professional acumen and killer instinct you’ve instilled in me during our time together” you teased, offering him the liquid courage, and mentally refreshing your incantations.

“It was nothing” Max bantered, downing the drink in one rapacious gulp and digging his fingers into the meat of your ass. “I know a good opportunity when I see one” he boasted, lining his hips up with yours and bumping his length against your pubic bone.

Get on the couch.

You gasped slightly, his voice echoing particularly loudly in your ears at this close proximity. His eyes flashed bright red before dulling to a sexual glaze. This was it. If you had the ability to give Max some of the fortitude he had so richly provided you, your life was about to become even more varied than you could have believed. Sauntering over to the leather chaise you flung your high heels into the corner and began unzipping the back of your pantsuit. Max removed his suit jacket quickly, standing above you poised to pounce. Something about his demeanor looked particularly stressed, and you wondered if your absence had contributed to the force of his desperation.

Get on your knees.

Feeling the seductive threads of his hypnotic stare, you closed your eyes to focus your full mental willpower on your response.

You first.

You thought you heard the slightest trace of Max gasping, wondering if you had been remotely successful in your first attempt. Fluttering your eyelids slightly and gazing up at him with curiosity, you noticed his eyes dilate to full crimson lust.

“What did you say?” he whispered, pausing his sexual armada just long enough to undo his leather belt with a swift motion, holding it in one hand.

Get on YOUR knees, you countered, suddenly flush with the thrill of possible empowerment. You caught the slightest stutter in his gait as he braced himself against the couch indeterminately.

Max’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly, dragging a finger across your bottom lip imploringly. You felt the tendrils of Max’s mind control begin to thread through your personhood, almost as though holding hands with your newfound mental abilities. It was a curious wrestling match of intimacy as you mentally grasped one another tenaciously.

I said, GET ON YOUR KNEES, you thrust the full force of your mental acuity across the chasm-like mindscape, hearing the smallest of whimpers escape from Max’s throat.

A moan hovered at the entrance of his mouth as you closed your eyes and muttered the first incantation you had attempted earlier that day.

Hearing a soft thud, you opened your eyes to see Max’s shining countenance, hovering just below your face, from the floor below. His Adam’s Apple dipped noiselessly in his throat as he began panting doggedly.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, unzipping his pants slowly and furrowing his brow determinedly. “Is that you?” he begged, a small smirk teasing at the corners of his fanged mouth.

Pleasure yourself, you commanded, drunk with the power lust of newfound passion, and excited to finally give Max the equality he so readily deserved.

With lightning speed, he removed his length from his boxer briefs and began pumping with abandon, lolling his head back in pleasure and allowing you to hold his torso in place with his tie.

More sound, you growled internally hearing a desperate cry of euphoria escape his liberated lips as he pumped more furiously. “Thank youuuuuu” he droned, giving in to the orgasmic energy pulsing over his exhausted frame.

Cum for me, you commanded, uttering a quick incantation under your breath for added effect watching his delighted reaction coupled with moans and cries of exuberance. You pulled his body into your embrace, waiting for him to catch his breath and steady himself. Feeling his body finally relax against you, you sighed with relief as he nipped the smallest of bites at your neck, drawing a trickle of blood down your sternum.

“Did you like that?” you batted your eyelashes, gazing into the red of his pupils blown wide with desire. Lapping up the honeyed sweetness of your blood he moaned emphatically into your neck, as you bit at his shoulder blade.

Hissing with pleasure he shuddered in your embrace, pulling back with newly discovered respect and admiration. “Professional development is so fucking essential for workplace morale” he observed, flashing his fangs attractively and smashing his lips into yours with a passionate kiss.

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers

Pedge's Bookshop The Dream

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. I just finished reading Pedge's rec for "Crime and Punishment" and it's a doozy. Joel has a lot...or very little say about it.

Triggers: y'all I was in a MOOD for this one, spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", "Last of Us" canon, injury/violence/murder/abuse/nudity, spiritual concepts, nightmare scenario, crying...geez...maybe read this later...

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1k

Joel stared resolutely at the stairwell, heading into the hallway and was met by the flickering fluorescence of the hospital corridor. His head was pounding with a dull throbbing, which he was all but oblivious to, as the steely taste of iron permeated his senses. He had to get to Ellie. It might already be too late. The childlike paintings and mildewed toys added a bizarre foreboding, as he carefully and quickly moved down the hall with the gun concretely nestled in his shoulder. He had lost count of how many bodies fell under the weight of his quick precision, as he continued, unblinking, towards the main Operating Room. Only stopping for a moment to reload, he quietly entered the darkened environment, quickly observing three individuals.

Without a moment’s hesitation he dispatched the surgeon, hearing the scalpel clatter helplessly to the floor. On the operating table, he saw the delicate feet of the small body, limp and lifeless. The nearby nurses were screaming for mercy, but it was hush under the din of blood rushing to his ears. 

Ellie. 

He gestured for the nurses to step aside as he neared the table with an almost sacred anticipation.

Sarah. 

Joel froze in longing terror as the angelic face of Sarah stared up into his face, arms outstretched and reaching for his touch. An unbidden cry escaped his mouth as the nurses vanished like phantasms and a burgeoning circle of blood blossomed across her abdomen. 

“You let me die” Sarah neutrally observed, blood now covering the expanse of her surgical gown, as Joel dropped to his knees in placation.

“Babygirl, I tried, I tried…” he whimpered, drawing both hands to his face in abject horror, opening his eyes to see the unfeeling and lifeless face of the surgeon on the floor before him. The surgeon’s eyes opened gravely, a strange smile spreading across his face, much like a Cheshire grin. His body began to convulse with laughter, a maniacal mirth dripping from the tones of his otherwise melodious voice. Joel reached behind him for the hunting knife housed in his belt, stabbing the surgeon in the chest. But the surgeon continued to laugh, tendrils of infection now spreading around Joel’s wrists drawing the knife forward and back repeatedly.

Joel fearfully looked up, noticing that Ellie was sitting up on the hospital gurney, watching him voraciously. He ripped the knife from the vice-like grip of the surgeon, and scooped Ellie up in his arms. “Let’s get out of here…” he muttered, stepping over the body of the doctor and heading for the hospital doors. Reaching the hallway, Ellie was no longer in his arms, but a row of doors opened on either side, each one housed with a familiar face.

The occupants held an eerie awareness, staring unflinchingly at Joel as he walked down the hall towards a silhouetted figure at the end of the walkway. He saw his brother’s visage gazing skeptically, and Maria perched in another doorway, holding her stomach. On the left hand side was Tess, covered in infected tendrils, and to the right Marlene had a gaping wound in her abdomen, and was fingering a hand held revolver at her side. Joel quickened his pace as he walked towards the lit figure, hoping against hopes that Ellie had somehow escaped from this medical nightmare.

Nearing the hooded figure he breathed a sigh of relief seeing your face revealed to him in an almost ethereal glow. You were standing before him otherwise naked, but he couldn’t look away from your eyes. They were radiating with a compassionate warmth, glistening with tears and awash with empathy. Joel fell to his knees helplessly, reaching out for your supple form and gulping back his own tears.

“I couldn’t save her, I couldn’t save her…” he repeated over and over again, sinking lower and lower still into the floor. Returning to meet your gaze he was horrified to see the looming figure of Levi towering behind you, dragging a foreboding palm across your bare midriff.

“Get away from her…” Joel growled, reaching for the knife once again, but finding himself completely devoid of weapons other than his own fists which balled aggressively at his sides.

“She was mine first” Levi drawled, twisting your head to the side and licking a long stripe of lust across the upward turn of your neck. Joel saw blood red as he lunged for Levi’s legs, tackling him to the ground in a feral rage. Tendrils of infection blossomed out of Levi’s mouth, but Joel paid it no mind. He was pummeling Levi again and again, oblivious to his own well-being, a creature of violence and murder. Again and again, his heart pounded in his chest, no longer aware of Ellie or Sarah or you…only focused on the singular goal of overwhelming vehemence. This was beyond choice. Beyond awareness. There was a road of destiny and Joel was fated to follow it. At some point, he looked down at his own bloodied and mangled hands, only to discover that he was beating the wooden floor, splintered and shattered, but all that remained was his own self-destruction.

Your beautiful silhouette was now poised at the opposite end of the hallway, as Ellie and Sarah stood at your sides. Joel shakily stood to his feet, feeling the blood drip onto the wooden floors. The hall occupants were continuing to stare in judgement, as a great chasm began to deepen at the center of the walkway, but Joel was paralyzed with indecision. He was completely rooted to the spot, unable to move and unable to articulate a single word. His body was a frozen skeleton of rigidity and helplessness as his hands hung like weighted anchors at his side. He opened his mouth to scream, but floating and delicate bands of infection cascaded forward, tickling his throat and wrapping themselves around his neck and jaw.

He tried to scream your name until…

Joel awoke, covered in sweat and gripping the sheets desperately. His chest heaved with a heaviness he hadn’t allowed himself to fully feel in years. Muscles aching with the imaginary weight of nightmarish terrors, his face was covered with the dry salt of tears long since cried. His throat was raw and dry with the winter’s chill, as he sat upright, feverishly clawing at the back of his neck.

He had to tell you. There were so many things you didn’t know about Ellie, and the unquestionable things he had done to protect her. What he would do to protect you. What he would do to anyone that threatened the people he loved. He didn’t know how you would respond. He just knew you were a kindred spirit. A companion in his solace of suffering. A beacon of hope in a world that grew increasingly dark. For so long, he had questioned his capacity to love and be loved, but in that moment, he knew that it didn’t matter. Maybe suffering was the spiritual bond that engages man to Divine Love itself. Joel sank back on the bed, willing his heart to stop pounding as though racing out of his chest. Maybe he didn’t know how to love. But if suffering was his key to eternity, he was assured that he could follow his heart all the way to wherever it led….

Pedge's Bookshop The Wound

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this literary collection from @obscurexsorrows "Recommendation" before heading into the Bookshop...

Triggers: profanity, Last of Us canon + references, MAJOR spoilers for "Crime and Punishment", hospital environment, death, wounds, blood, spiritual concepts

Series Masterlist

Words: 3k

Your heart throbbed painfully in your chest, gripping your windpipe with a searing knife-like burn and you felt the icy pinpricks of the wintry air stab at your cheeks as Ellie raced behind you. Did you even dismiss the class? You suddenly realized you weren’t wearing your winter coat, having run out of the classroom blindly, and were still several hundred feet away from the infirmary.

Joel was hurt.

And truthfully, there wasn’t another substantial thought in your mind as your boots gripped the recent snowfall tenuously. What had Ellie said just a few moments ago? Only ten men had returned, and Levi wasn’t one of them. You didn’t have an iota of care for that man, but it only added a cloud of concern and fear to the already tense situation. What had happened?

Would Joel be okay?

You barreled through the infirmary doors, immediately feeling the shift in temperature and tone as pure chaos descended. There were men sitting on the floor, covered in blood and dirt. The limited pool of the commune’s medical resources were already strewn haphazardly around the small building as your eyes took in the scene before you. Every eye seemed to emanate guilt and anxiety, as you searched frantically.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Stopping abruptly you were greeted by the doleful countenance of Tommy who was locked in heated conversation with Maria. You and Ellie rushed towards him, ignoring the subdued voices contrasted by medical yells of urgency. “Where’s Joel?” you bluntly questioned, interrupting Maria mid-sentence, immediately noticing the blanket of blood covering Tommy’s jacket. “Is that his blood? What happened? Did Levi do this?” the questions poured out of you like a tumult as tears streaked down your face. You were crying. When had you started crying? You didn’t care.

You had to get to Joel.

“He’s dead”.

The world stopped for a moment, tilting on its axis, as you stopped breathing.

“Levi is dead” Maria quickly clarified for Tommy as a small cry escaped your lips, unbidden. Your knees buckled slightly as the group steadied you with supportive hands.

“Where’s Joel? Tell me what happened to Joel…” you croaked, pleading with Tommy helplessly.

“It was a mess. An absolutely ambush” Tommy’s eyes glazed over tiredly. “Levi’s men scattered everywhere when we found the infected. Or THEY found us…” Tommy shivered slightly as Maria gripped his arm tenderly. “It’s my fault…” Tommy’s voice cracked in defeat as Maria shook her head defiantly. “I had the sightline, and I stood up, and Joel…” he swallowed harshly as you looked to Ellie who was uncharacteristically silent. “Joel got shot”.

Your breath came out in haggard rasps, looking desperately around the building. “Where…is…he?” you hyperventilated, prying yourself out of their grasp and meandering shakily. Ellie gripped your arm, heading towards the only examination room that existed as voices blurred around you. All of your senses were somehow merging into a myriad of confusing sensations and images. The people around you took on a bizarre, inhuman quality; their features distorted into a hall of mirrors. Sounds were amplified as though blaring through a sieve, and your skin was a heightened maelstrom of sensitivity and dulled awareness. Moving with the unadulterated force of a bullet you plowed through the separating sheaths of fabric until you found him.

He looked so small.

Your spirit was immediately arrested as all your senses came rushing back with the precision of a scalpel. Smell of iron. Cotton clean. Rusted blood red patches of cloth thrown on the ground. Joel was curled into the fetal position on a low cot, gripping his stomach protectively as Tommy and Maria followed unsteadily behind you. A slew of medical attendants were coming and going, and you immediately noticed a solitary bag of medicine precariously connected via IV. Resources were extremely limited, so the situation must be as serious as it looked. Joel’s shirt had been ripped open, giving you a clear view of the gauze that had been quickly wrapped and immediately soaked in his blood. It was a gut wound, and you knew from books how excruciating those could be. It was a miracle he was even conscious at all, and you wondered what IV the commune had access to.

“The prospects are good, but you know we don’t do surgeries very often…” Maria’s voice held a small quiver, possibly considering her own health concerns. The Jackson Commune would have a limited supply of antibiotics, penicillin and other medicines, but it was obviously for emergencies only. Living and dying had always been a messy business, but the apocalypse reduced everything to one or the other.

“Please, can I touch him?” your voice drifted out of you as though from another country, as the only doctor in the commune raced into the room to check Joel’s vitals.

“Make it fast, Teach…taking him in any second…”.

As though moving through quicksand, you found yourself outstretching your hands towards Joel, afraid to touch him. As though he were made of glass and could easily shatter at any moment, you touched your fingertips lightly to his face, watching his eyelids sluggishly flutter open. What pretty eyelashes, you obscurely thought, now mostly unaware of every other flurry surrounding the room.

“Hey Teach” Joel choked, his fingers twitching quietly over his abdomen, as you circled your thumb over his patchy beard. Dirt and grime had seeped into every crinkle, highlighting his sun-kissed wrinkles, but his eyes held the youthful fear of a young boy. “Tommy tell you I need an extension on my homework assignment?” he smiled tiredly, closing his eyes once again.

“Absolutely unacceptable” you whispered. “The moment you get out of surgery I’m subjecting you to a pop quiz”. You joked tenderly, reaching for Ellie’s nearby hand and pulling her into the conversation. “You don’t want this one to surpass you, right?”. Joel’s eyes shot open with a new awareness, immediately flooding with a host of tears.

“Sarah” he rasped before closing his eyes once again. Tommy lowered his head solemnly as Maria’s eyes widened in acknowledgement. You squeezed Ellie’s hand with encouragement.

“Go on honey, he’s just confused” you offered, catching the intensity of Ellie’s stare as she hesitantly stepped forward. Joel’s eyes fluttered open again with confusion.

“Tell ‘em…” Joel mumbled, his fingers quivering softly in front of him as you brushed a feather-light kiss over his lips before they took him down the hallway.

“Ellie, please…” he continued “Tommy already knows. Please. You gotta tell ‘em” his words started to slur slightly as you gazed helplessly around the room looking to the doctor.

“We gotta take him” the doctor stated, gesturing to the volunteers in the room who grabbed Joel’s cot by both ends gently.

“I’ll be here Joel…” you called after him, leaving the group standing impotently silent, the din of chaotic voices suddenly cascading in from the foyer.

“What did he mean by that?” Maria asked, looking to Tommy for understanding as you gripped Ellie around the shoulders bracingly. Tommy kept looking at the floor as Ellie maintained a tight lipped reservation in response to your probing gaze.

“He’s got to be okay” Ellie stated desperately, rubbing at her forearms with anxiety.

“He will be” you lied. In this moment, you were hanging on by the thinnest of threads, but were determined to offer whatever confidence you could muster. “He’ll be fine because he has to be”.

The group stood poised in silence until Maria broached the subject once again. “Tommy…what did he mean?” Tommy refused to meet her eyes, but glanced quickly at Ellie for confirmation. You gripped Ellie tightly around the shoulders, uncertain as to how to support in the best way possible. You knew he was medicated and nearly delirious, but his words seemed sincerely motivated.

“I…” Ellie halted, looking around the small room, as though expecting a myriad of clickers to come cascading through the doorway. “How much did Joel tell you about our escape from the Fireflies?” she muttered, nearly under her breath. You held your breath with nervous anticipation. This was it. This is what Joel was trying to protect. WHO he was trying to protect…

“Not much” Maria offered, a tinge of betrayal spiking her tonality. “Tommy won’t tell me any of the details, just says I should keep my mouth shut…” she grumbled, looking to Tommy with slight annoyance. Tommy and Ellie knowingly locked eyes, as you observed her clawing and voraciously itching at her forearm, as though trying to tear it off. A cry of anguish from the foyer jostled your group out of its tumultuous reverie, as Ellie shook her head with defiance.

“Just leave me alone…” she muttered, wrenching herself out of your grasp and heading for the exit. Maria breathed a sigh of frustration, clutching her abdomen protectively.

“I pushed. Pushed too hard…” she observed, throwing her hands up in supplication. “Damn it. Tommy why the fuck do you ever let me talk out loud!” she tried to jest, contemplating sitting on the floor and finally giving up with frustration. “I need to take a walk…” she grumbled, heading out the door before slapping Tommy across the back of the head, eliciting a small smile of acknowledgement. Tommy’s eyes stayed locked to the floor.

“Women” he smiled, one small tear falling to the floor and dotting his dirtied boot. You grabbed his hand lovingly, nodding your head. Emotions were running high, including your own. You genuinely believed that Joel would pull through, besides which you couldn’t stew any longer in your own anxiety.

“You’ll be here?” you asked, watching Tommy shuffle his feet awkwardly.

“Not going anywhere” Tommy stated matter a factly, before giving your hand an exhausted squeeze.

“Okay, let me talk to her…” you offered before casting one final glance in the direction of the surgery room, willing Joel to sense your telepathic concern.

Joel. Fight. Fight like a motherfucker. I can’t lose you. Not yet. Fight. We need you. I need you.

You turned on your heel and headed out the door, knowing the one place Ellie would go for solace. Trudging through the cold and rain which had turned the previous snow to a dirtied sludge, you were quite a distance from The Bookshop. Finally alone with your thoughts and overwhelming emotions, one reality bubbled to the service with stark clarity;

….Levi was dead.

You weren’t exactly pleased, but wondered at his unexpected demise. Is it possible that Joel had something to do with it? You batted the thought away with annoyance. But with Levi’s death came the completion of a chapter of life that had long since ended. You were thankful for the closure, and desperately wanted to talk with Joel. IF he was able. You winced painfully, shoving those intrusive thoughts out of your mind as quickly as they appeared. Nearing the Bookshop you already saw the telltale signs of the woodburning stove and pacing tom-cat. It just wasn’t Rascal this time, it was Ellie. You approached cautiously, the bell at the door muffling a somber sounding ‘ding’ as you pried the door open tentatively.

“Can I come in?” you ventured, spying Rascal the Cat who was similarly peeking its head from behind the bookshelves. Ellie didn’t respond, just continued her cyclical pacing around the room in a flurried fashion. You shut the door behind you, backing up against it so as not to frighten her unduly. Ellie made another loop around the totality of the Bookshop as Rascal eyed you both suspiciously. Whilst obviously aware of your presence, Ellie seemed undeterred from her meditative flurry as she muttered something under her breath.

“Endure and survive, endure and survive, endure and survive….”

It took you a couple passes to gather what she might be repeating as she continued to scratch at her forearms, so you decided to take up residence in the foyer armchair, wrapping the quilt around yourself protectively. You were thankful to be distracted by your care for Ellie, otherwise you might have crawled out of your own skin waiting for the surgery to be successful. After a few minutes you decided on a different tactic.

“Have you arrived at the confession yet?”.

Ellie’s circular path halted, placing her behind a bookshelf, effectively hidden from your sight. You had struck a chord. Maybe if she couldn’t immediately make her own confession, you could arrive at via literary resources.

“Of course, Rascal tries to make his confession multiple times before he finally succeeds with Sophia…” you continued as Ellie’s mantra resumed, albeit at a slower tempo.

“Endure and survive, endure and survive…”.

“When Rascalonikov finally confesses, he moves from a place of human isolation to Divine consummation. Much like Lazarus, he begins to participate in his own rebirth; his own moral resurrection, rejoining the community via his own suffering and eventual redemption…”. Ellie quietly stopped pacing as Rascal the Cat nearly bumped into her calves and stared at you with a fixed intensity. “Just don’t tell Joel, I don’t think he’s read to that part yet…” your voice finally wobbled with emotion, allowing the smallest thread of reality to seep into your periphery.

Rascal the Cat slowly began stalking in the opposite direction, as Ellie attempted not to trip.

“And when he eventually does, a lot of it is steeped in anger and bitterness…”. Ellie remained undeterred in her pacing, but the words dulled to a non-existent roar. “That’s one of Dostoyevsky’s main points, regardless of society’s aversion to it, the true human of conscience can’t escape their own Divinity. Morality becomes it’s own punishment…and salvation…”. You were just winging it here, but how many lectures were born out of spontaneous desperation? Pouring your fervor and anxiety into the one beneficial thing you could helplessly do, was less of a decision and more of a reaction. Rascal the Cat had finally ceased his opposition and trotted merrily behind Ellie in her slowing circle of perseveration.

“If you had the power to save Levi’s life…would you?” she rasped, Rascal plopping down on the floor lazily and beginning to play with Ellie’s tangled shoestrings. Your mouth fell open dryly as the pit of your stomach dropped to the floor abruptly. An unexpected bout of tears immediately sprung to your eyes as the room stilled with a newfound, pulsing heat. You grasped helplessly at emotions you obligated yourself to, contrasted by the confusing substantiality of what was. Waiting for your response, Ellie delicately walked towards you, seating herself at your feet and looking out the main foyer window pensively. “If somehow you had the power to save, even the worst of these…would you do it?”.

You closed your eyes with consternation, Joel’s small, pained form seared into the recesses of your mind. Could both seeming dichotomies be true? Were punishment and salvation so inexorably entwined that humanity could never distentangle them?

“I think…” you cleared your throat from the emotion-filled rasp that greeted you. “I think…I somehow hated Levi enough to WANT him dead, but would do almost anything to keep him alive. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. But that doesn’t make it any less true…”. You collapsed back into the chair with exhaustion as Ellie laid her head against your leg with a restless, contentment. Rascal jumped into your lap, settling himself for a catnap as the snow began to drift lazily across the cold, foyer window. And that’s how you stayed, until the bell rang loudly at the Bookshop Door with Maria’s rushed entrance. You didn’t know when you had all fallen asleep but the specks of whitened snow were now dotted against the darkened, evening sky.

“Joel’s out of surgery!” Maria’s voice jarred you from your tumultuous reverie, as adrenaline kicked your heart into a flurry of activity.

Joel was awake.

Running into the infirmary, ghosts of the previous chaos hung lightly in the air, as you noticed a handful of men, sleeping quietly in corners or speaking in hushed tones. Piles of bloodied rags and emptied IV bags were piled haphazardly outside of the walkway, as Tommy barreled towards you and Maria. “He’s asking for you both” Tommy sighed with relative relief, holding Maria’s hands and stifling a wash of tears. “They removed the bullet, and if we can hold off infection, he should make a steady recovery” his voice trembled with emotion as Maria nodded her head with encouragement. “It’s good that we’re both the same blood type” he smirked with chagrin. “‘Seems only fitting if I got Joel nearly killed out there, that I should have something to do with his recovery”. You smiled with gratitude, grasping Tommy’s forearm and then heading tentatively into the make-shift recovery room.

Seeing Joel’s skin in a grayish hue, but his otherwise serene expression, dotted with a slight sheen of perspiration was a mixture of solace and concern. But he was safe. Ellie took your hand shakily as intently watched Joel’s chest rise and fall in steady breath. The four of you stood poised at Joel’s bedside, somber and quiet. It was quite a bit of time before Ellie’s voice tentatively emerged.

“I have to tell you…” she whispered, barely audible, as Joel’s eyelids fluttered sweetly in medicated sleep. Maria pursed her lips stubbornly, determined to protect the fragility of the moment.

“Tell us what, honey?” you swallowed, not taking your eyes off of Joel. None of you wanted to disrupt the intimacy of your connection. You were alive. There was something about death that made living all the sweeter. Ellie slowly reached down and peeled back the sleeve of her flannel revealing the puckered and veined laceration of an apparent infection. Without meaning to, you dropped her hand reactively, bringing your hand up to your mouth with revulsion. Tommy closed his eyes and dropped his head to the ground, while Maria gasped in quiet surprise.

“Ellie, are you?…When?…” Maria’s voice was pinched and cautious as Tommy shook his head quietly, holding her fixedly in place.

“Let ‘er talk first…” Tommy’s voice graveled, as you grabbed her hand again in forced solidarity.

“Are you sick? Are you infected?” the words tumbled out of your mouth as Joel stirred slightly in the bed.

“I thought I was…” Ellie’s confession now poured out of her without hesitation or limit. “But I’m immune. Joel knows. He’s known for a while. That’s what we were trying to do with the Fireflies. We were trying to find a cure”. The words hung awkwardly in the air as Maria’s brow crumpled in disbelief.

“That’s what you’ve been hiding?” Maria looked to Tommy doubtfully as he remained stoically in place. Ellie swallowed dolefully, her eyes widened to saucer-shaped orbs of apology.

“There are others” Ellie blurted out, as Joel stirred once again, his fingers quivering at his sides helplessly, unbeknownst to you and the group. “I’m not the only one, but it’s dangerous for anyone to know. There’s no cure. At least none that we could find. We got out of there as fast possible once raiders descended on the hospital. Joel saved me. He might have saved us all” Ellie reflected, looking back at his stilled form on the gurney. “I’m sorry Maria” her voice broke with defeat. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up…for you…and the baby. But no one can know…” her shoulders sagged with overwhelm before Joel’s voice rumbled low and quiet against the stillness.

“Hey Teach…” he smiled tiredly, reaching a hand out towards you and Ellie as you both quickly moved towards him. “When’s that pop quiz you promised me?”. The five of you laughed with relief before Joel winced in relative pain, clutching his abdomen tenderly. You made quick eye contact with Maria and Ellie in knowing acknowledgement of discussions yet to be traversed. But not now. Now, was the time for healing and rest.

“Come on Joel” you sighed with reassurance. “Let’s get you home”.

Joel Sits On You Peach + Apple Pie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moody Frankie

Ohhh I needed this. I've never written for Frankie, but I can see the Pedro Boys are going to need more of my attention if they are going to be so...attentive to us.

Triggers: smut, friends to lovers trope, fingering (f receiving), quick exit (friends with benefits?), slight profanity...

There weren’t words for description, but you were quite the sight for sore eyes. Ponytail hidden beneath his oversized hoodie, sweat pants, smeared mascara and finger poised, hovering just above the doorbell. You and Frankie had a standing date every Friday night to watch wrestling. Well, it wasn’t a date. You were friends. Good friends. But tonight was different. You sniffled awkwardly, a ball of emotions, cinematic masterpiece, standing in the rain. The rain for f@cks sake. Jesus Christ. What are you even doing? Your hand trembled slightly as you considered your options: quietly run back to your car, text Frankie that you had a searing headache, claim that…

“You’re late, chica!” The door swung open abruptly catching you wide eyed and unprepared, as Frankie stared at the flickering television screen, beer in hand. Swallowing dryly you quickly stepped inside, relieved that he hadn’t made eye contact with you. One look and the jig was up. Frankie was the friend you had always wanted. Somehow he didn’t treat you like one of the boys, but also never made you feel uncomfortable for being one of the girls. Of course, there was that one time at the bar, playing pool, when his hand had grazed your ass “accidentally” after a few too many beers. But that was just fun and games. Tonight was anything but. Tonight, you were unhinged, but Frankie was unaware. As usual. You wondered how long you could keep up the facade.

“That was TOTALLY illegal!” Frankie bellowed from the doorway, slamming it shut and jamming a beer into your hands. “Sorry it’s lukewarm” he stated matter-a-factly, eyes trained on the television and shoving magazines and pillows off of the couch for your convenience. “How was work?”

Here you had encountered a problem. Words. Frankie was expecting words. And you were all worded out. The day had gone colossally wrong. You HAD been plagued by a searing headache, yelled at by your boss, attempted to circumnavigate the Friday existential crisis, and found yourself red-rimmed and hiccuping at Frankie’s doorway. Frankie. His oversized hoodie draped over your hands as you fidgeted nervously with the beer bottle. Maybe if you just kept quiet the wrestling match would keep him occupied long enough to pass out on the couch. Just a little longer…the silence seemingly stretched into eternity.

“Helloooo?” he chattered, slapping your knee good heartedly and turning down the volume slightly. “I haven’t ordered pizza yet, but we never seem to go wrong with pepperoni” he reached up to tug at the hoodie and froze mid sentence as he took in your disheveled appearance. “Dude. Are you…?” he caught you mid hyperventilation as you stilled, attempting to blend into the couch like camouflage.

“J?” he muted the tv and leaned into your personal space, splaying his hand across your abdomen. You bit your lip painfully, twisting your head to the side in discomfort. Don’t make a sound, you thought ruefully, your hand twitching at your side. Wouldn’t know what to say anyways, you chastised, somehow delusional that you could keep up this act for much longer.

He grabbed the collar drawstrings with a gentle tug, turning your head back to center. “What the…?” he paused taking in your smeared mascara and wobbling lower lip. “Talk to me” he intoned, grabbing your knees with one hand and pulling them towards himself.

You opened your mouth but only produced a small, pathetic whimper as no words materialized. Paralyzed with indecision. What were you even doing here? 

Frankie’s countenance immediately softened, his brown eyes somehow growing warmer still as you looked around the room for escape. You sobbed, mouth closed, trying to appear less unraveled than you already were, but the day had completely bulldozed your resolve. You grasped the edges of the hoodie sleeves, hanging on for dear life. 

“Have you been drinking?” he asked lowly, gently taking the beer from your hands and setting it on the coffee table.

You shook your head from side to side profusely. Wouldn’t that be nice for an excuse. Nope. This was all you. Deranged. Disheveled. Unraveling at your Friday date. That wasn’t a date. Sobbing during wrestling.

“Okay” he acquiesced, leaning back slightly and taking in your full deregulated vibe. “It’s like a guessing game” he mused, trying to lift your spirits slightly. You tilted your head onto the couch  drawing your knees to your chest in exhaustion, willing him to telepathically interpret.

"Work was a shit show” he smiled dolefully as you nodded with placation. “Your boss continued to be an asshole” he nearly chuckled as a small smile tinged at the corner of your mouth “and you had another migraine” he guessed, drawing one finger across your forehead compassionately.

Your smile shattered into a thousand pieces as he guessed EVERY SINGLE DISASTER OF THE DAY, burying your head into the sleeves of his hoodie and drinking in the fragrance of cologne and beer.

His eyes widened in concern seeing the distress of the day in real time, gathering you up into his arms and placing you neatly on his lap as you dissolved into fits and sobs.

“Okay, okay, okay” he nurtured, rocking you back and forth slowly, bringing his hand up under your knees in a basket hold. “This was NOT what I was expecting for Friday Night Fights..” he joked, bringing a hand to the back of your neck and shushing you quietly.

You were too embarrassed to say a word, but tried to steady your breathing. NONE of the guys could know about this. What a f@cking mess. You couldn’t believe how out of line you were, but you felt yourself melting into his embrace, incapable of offering excuses of any kind. The two of you must have stayed that way for 5 or 10 minutes, in complete silence as you tried to reason your way out of this predicament. You needed him. Right now. This was about more than the day’s disasters, this was an accident waiting to happen, and you needed it to happen NOW.

You tilted your head up, locking eyes with him imploringly, wondering how far his telepathy extended. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob hungrily in his throat as his eyes darkened with lust. He chewed his lower lip in a moment’s hesitation. “Do you need more?” he rasped, wrapping his hand dangerously around your upper thigh, fingers dangling precariously close to your need. A primal grunt throbbed in the back of your throat as you nodded quiveringly. Frankie licked his lips, pausing to consider the ramifications of his next actions as your eyes widened to doe-like saucers, pleading, pleading, pleading.

Without another hesitation, he aggressively reached up past the elastic waistband, digging his fingers into the arousal soaked lining of your sweatpants. Groaning with desire, he notched his fingers at your entrance, touching his forehead to yours. “You sure?” he questioned one last time, feathering his fingers around your folds and teasing your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as it lolled to one side against his shoulder. “K” he decided, a near military precision to his actions, sinking two fingers quickly into your heat.

Something between a moan and sob escaped your lips as he scissored and circled your heat in practiced strokes. Your body seized up in immediate pleasure, writhing and crying with need as he grasped you underneath your legs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you” he repeated over and over again as you lost yourself in the repetition. “You’ve got me, you’ve got me” you silently mouthed the words over and over again as wave after wave crested over you with a powerful comfort. You couldn’t believe how quickly you were coming in his arms, weak from the day’s exhaustion, mascara’d tears dripping sloppily down your face. “There you are…” he croaked, circling his hand to a better position as you clenched and throbbed around his fingers, dripping down his wrist. “Feel that?” he pointedly asked as your eyes shot open in surprise. Oh yes, you most definitely felt that. A hot pressure cascading through your body that was quickly overtaking any stresses you had brought with you until 3…2….1…

You cried out in euphoric anguish, gushing over his fingers and hand, not able to register any embarrassment in the shadow of the overwhelming warmth and ecstasy flooding through your body. 

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie…The thought swirled in your mind, keeping time with the circular ministrations of his fingers, over and over and over again. He continued rocking you in a basket hold as the television lightly flickered in the darkening room. You drifted into a contented haze, safe in his arms and humming contentedly into his neck. At some point you felt yourself floating onto the couch, draped with a blanket and kissed lightly on the forehead. You tried to respond in gratitude but words continued to elude you. 

Hours later your eyes sleepily drifted open to see empty beer bottles, magazines, a half finished pizza and…post it note? You cleared your throat, sitting up sloppily and gazing around the room. Frankie’s tell-tale hat was missing as you blinked rapidly, trying to make out his haphazard writing:

Work emergency. Gone for a week. Drink water. Talk soon.

You sniffled messily, rubbing your eyes with irritation and clocking the small water bottle sitting at your feet. You chuckled with chagrin, astonished at the night’s developments.

Talk soon, you thought, jamming a cold piece of pizza in your mouth for breakfast and nibbling at the corners. Talk soon.