Javi Gutierrez - Blog Posts

i am NOT off my pedro pascal insanity yet. any time i watch anything he's in i feel like winona ryder when she's all "here he is telling me about his poor dead mother and all i can think about is his hands unbuttoning my dress." joel miller im sorry i was looking at your biceps when your daughter died. maybe you could call me 'baby' too... also sorry about gnawing on my knuckles and screeching in deranged hunger when you were torturing a guy. oberyn martell is talking about the tragic death of his sister and i am NOT listening. let's make out.

𝙥𝙚𝙙𝙧𝙤 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙨 :)

din: “𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥.” - mirrors by justin timberlake

javier: “𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.” - getaway car by taylor swift

joel: “𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱. 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯. 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.” - right where you left me by taylor swift

javi: “𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦.” - miss americana and the heartbreak prince by taylor swift

whiskey: “𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” - if this was a movie by taylor swift

they are both so miss americana and the heartbreak prince

What Taylor Swift album they love | Pedro Pascal characters

Din

This man is a lover stan IDC!!!

Absolutely blasts afterglow any second he can

That helmet has a built in speaker it’s a canon event

Does a small head bop with a straight face

He had the archer on repeat while Grogu was with Luke I know it

Joel

Evermore is the only answer

Cowboy like me is heard around the world every time his grumpy little boot takes a step

Right where you left me literally describes outbreak day

Ellie def makes him jam to 1989 with her and tells him to stop “being a grump”

Javier

Reputation (obviously)

“There were sirens in the beat of your heart” GETAWAY CAR WAS WRITTEN FOR HIM!!!

He’s the type to stare dramatically out of a window and pretend he’s in a music video (canon there’s no arguing with me)

Listens to don’t blame me whenever he sees a woman he finds attractive (this happens often)

Javi g

This man is in the top .01% of 1989 listeners on spotify

Constantly listened to you are in love and thought of Gabriella

Bad blood reminds him of his cousin

Screams the lyrics to new romantics everytime he drives down his favorite cliff

Would absolutely make an Instagram reel montage to any song on this album

whiskey

Okay hear me out, fearless (tv) but sometimes switches to his speak now era

He skips last kiss because it reminds him of his ex

Hangs out with Ginger then jams to that’s the way I loved you

SWEARS that he doesn’t like any Taylor songs but is a swiftie at heart

Hacked into a statesman computer to get free eras tour tickets

Pedro Pascal as JAVI GUTIERREZ in the IGN TUWOMT review trailer

I'm speechless

I love good angst but the best ones are just heartbreaking

The ending made me cry so much from how beautiful this is

<3

Golden - A Javi Gutierrez One Shot ☀️

Written for @perotovar 's Frith Writing Challenge. I adopted Javi G for this challenge, and he's paired with the Norse God Baldr. Gorgeous mood board created by @perotovar - thank you, Erin! 🖤 Read all the other stories in this challenge here.☀️ Read my other Offering of Frith story with Pero Tovar here.

Summary: He's always there, just like the sunshine, cutting through the fog. Even if you can't remember him, he makes sure you'll always find your way.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader (No name, confirmed age, ethnicity or physical description of reader, except a brief mention that they have hair. Otherwise, it's you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.7k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe. A little drizzle of angst.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Mentions of death and references to dementia.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: My silly sunshine man, I just love him! 🥹☀️ I personally didn't know too much about Baldr before writing this, but I leaned more towards the mythology about him where he guides you into the afterlife, so I hope this makes sense.

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVI GUTIERREZ MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Spring is here. Or at least, you think it is.  

There's a faint whisper of life humming in the air, though it feels hazy, just out of reach. The sunlight pours through the large bay window, its brightness pooling in familiar, golden honey patterns across the floor.

You squint, eyes watering as they struggle to adjust, a sensation both new and strangely familiar. There’s a sharpness to the light, a crispness that makes you pause, wondering if it’s always been this way, this intensely bright.

Outside, the world looks warm - pleasant, even. Trees sway gently, their branches crowned with delicate buds. You watch them for a moment, admiring the way the green seems to glow in the sunlight, though you can’t quite place if they’ve been like that for days or if this is the first time you’ve noticed. There’s a sense of renewal beyond the glass, a quiet unfolding of life, though the details are slippery, hard to hold onto.

You think you’ve felt this before - this soft warmth bathing you, this feeling that makes everything feel a little lighter. It’s familiar, isn’t it? Spring, that’s what this is. You’re sure of it, or at least you think you are. The sun looks like it does in the springtime, and the trees have that vibrant newness to them. But the clarity of the moment feels distant, as if it's been borrowed from someone else's memory, one you’re only half-remembering.

You glance again through the window, trying to focus on the outside. The light plays tricks, shifting in ways that make it hard to tell if it’s morning or afternoon. Time has been doing that lately - stretching, bending, losing its edges.

The distant hum of life beyond the walls feels muted, as though the world has tiptoed away without you. What time is it? Has it been morning for hours, or is the afternoon already fading? You can’t tell. The light that filters through the window is soft, timeless, offering no clues.

But it’s spring, isn’t it?

The warmth on the other side of the glass is unmistakable, inviting you out, calling you to feel it for yourself.

Yet, there’s a flicker of hesitation. It feels like spring, but the certainty of it wavers, like a thought that slips away just as you reach for it. The room around you feels still. Silent.

How long has it been this quiet?

You close your eyes, just listening to… nothing. The stillness presses in, thick like fog, and you try to remember if there was ever any sound here at all.

You glance down at your hands, clasped loosely in your lap, and for a moment, you stare at them, puzzled. They don’t look like you remember. The skin, thin and papery, stretches over knuckles that seem too prominent. Veins snake beneath the surface, tracing lines you don’t recall having seen before.

These hands - they feel like someone else's. But no, they must be yours. You can feel them, the faint, dull sensation as they rest against your knees, but they don't seem to belong to you in the way they once did. When did they change?

When did you change?

Something catches your eye on the sill. Petals, once radiant in their brilliance, now slouch in weariness, drooping with the quiet dignity of inevitable decline. Their smooth, silken forms have lost their youthful reach, folding inward as if yielding to an unspoken melancholy.

You try to summon a memory, something simple, like them holding a cup of tea or brushing your fingers through soft hair. But the images that come to mind are blurry, like an old photograph that’s been handled too many times.

You blink, shaking your head lightly, as if that will clear the crowd of butterflies that flit around obscuring your thoughts from something tangible, coherent.

A few, unable to hold on any longer, have detached themselves and have drifted soundlessly to the windowsill. There, they lie in gentle disarray, fragile vestiges of what they once were - pale spectres of fleeting grandeur. Their edges, brittle and curling, crackle faintly in the warmth, like the crumbling vellum of ancient manuscripts whose tales have long slipped from human grasp. 

The leaves, still clinging to their verdant hue but drained of their former vigour, the way they bend and curl is not frantic, but rather, resigned. Their movements, subtle and serpentine, suggest a quiet struggle, a dance with the inevitable.

You can't quite recall how long these flowers have been here, or where they even came from. They appeared one day, and you never questioned their arrival. Or did you? Did you thank the bringer of them? Who was it?

Was it you? 

You lean closer to the flowers. They’re neither fully alive nor fully gone, caught in that fragile in-between state. It feels as though they’re not just fading, but evolving - changing into something else. Something quieter, perhaps, but no less meaningful.

Their pale, crispy yellow petals, delicate and unassuming, have a softness that seems to speak directly to you, though you've never considered why. It’s a hue that feels timeless, like a colour that has always belonged to you, though perhaps you only realise it now. There’s a quiet warmth in it - a subtle radiance that doesn’t demand attention but gently insists on being felt.

Yellow. Yellow. Yes, it feels right.

It settles into your mind like an old, forgotten favourite, resurfacing just when it’s needed most. Comforting in a way you can’t put your finger on.

"Oh," comes a gentle cadence from behind, and it startles you.

You reach out to touch one of the petals, your shaky fingertips grazing its surface. It’s delicate, almost translucent now, but still holding onto some small semblance of what it once was. As you lift your hand away, a petal comes loose, drifting down to the sill below.

You watch it fall, weightless and unburdened, as if it’s always known this moment would come. It lands without a sound, settling amongst the others, and you feel an odd sense of peace.

You hadn’t heard him enter, but now he’s here, his presence announced only by the subtle trace of vetiver that lingers in the air between you and a sad sigh that escapes him.

"Oh wow, this is dreadful!" he exclaims, his voice laced with a mix of exaggerated concern and the soft click of disapproval.

His large hands reach for the vase, fingers brushing delicately against the brittle petals as if afraid they might disintegrate further under his touch. 

You can’t help but notice the way his bouncy curls tumble into his face, almost concealing the glint of his eyes, which seem to catch everything - even the details you always somehow miss.

His name escapes you, slipping away like so many other details lost in the haze, but his face - his face is always there, a constant amid the swirling fog that clouds your thoughts. Somehow, through the blur of forgotten moments, he remains a steady presence, a fixed point in a world that often feels untethered.

You blink, trying to place him. He’s in there, somewhere. You can feel him. He’s in yellow. The others are always in white, bland and so stark, but his shirt is always yellow. Yellow, your favourite, you think.

There’s something achingly familiar about him, a sense of recognition that hovers just beyond your grasp.

There’s a quiet reassurance in him, like the echo of a memory you can almost, but not quite, reach. He coaxes a smile from your thin lips. You can feel the corners of your mouth lift, a slow, tentative motion, as if your muscles are relearning the gesture. The sensation is strange - your skin stretches in unfamiliar ways, and your face aches with the effort. 

"Haaa-veee," you murmur, sounding out the name like you’re trying it on for the first time.

Your eyes drift down to the tag pinned neatly above his breast. Hello, my name is Javi, it reads, and just beneath it, a little smiling sun sticker beams up at you, its cheerful simplicity somehow cutting through the swampy fog in your mind.

There’s something about the image - so unassuming, so optimistic in it's holographic glimmer - that tugs more of a smile from your lips. 

"Yes. I am Javi," he replies warmly, his lips curving into a smile of his own that feels genuine and unhurried.

There’s something calming about the way he stands there, not rushing, not pushing for answers, just letting the moment settle between the two of you. His voice is soft but carries a sense of assurance, like he's been through this before, like he's used to being remembered only in fragments.

The room settles into a soft silence once more, broken only by the gentle rustle of withering petals as they shift with his movements. You find yourself pondering how many times you’ve uttered his name before, or how often he’s graced you with that disarming smile when you did. The specifics blur like watercolours running together, each detail fading into the turpentine as it strips it all away.

Yet, curiously, those particulars seem less significant than the warmth of the connection that lingers between you. It feels tangible, almost electric, a fleeting yet profound thread binding you together in this moment - reminding you that somehow, the details don’t seem as important.

It feels like you know him. He has a face that makes you smile and doesn’t frighten you. 

"Good morning, señorita," Javi says, cradling the vase gently against his broad chest. His voice is light, playful, and it pulls you out of your thoughts, if only for a moment. "Breakfast, I think, yes?" he asks, tilting his head slightly as he waits for your response.

You nod, though there’s a flicker of uncertainty. Are you hungry? You can’t remember if you’ve eaten already today. Maybe you have, maybe not - it’s hard to tell. The days confuse you like that sometimes.

The sound of squeaking wheels cuts through the room, and you watch as a trolley is pushed in. Javi busies himself with the vase, carefully placing it on the table with a soft thud. His fingers skim the wilting petals again, his brow creasing as he studies the dried-out flowers.

"Oh dear," he sighs, almost to himself, "too much sun and not enough water for the crocus, I think."

Without thinking, you mutter, "No such thing as too much sun," but the words feel distant, as though they belong to someone else. Your lips don’t quite feel like your own as they form the sentence, like they’re moving on their own accord.

Javi freezes for a moment, then his face lights up with a broad, delighted grin. "That's right!" he exclaims, clapping his hands together in an enthusiastic burst of approval.

His joy is infectious, and before you realise it, a laugh escapes your mouth. It’s a crackled, sweet sound, the kind that feels unfamiliar but comforting, almost like it’s coming from a part of you that hasn’t been touched in a long time. Delicate, easily torn. Your laughter feels all gummy around your tongue, your smile wide and easy, and for just a second, everything feels lighter.

Javi beams at you, as if your laughter is the best thing he’s heard all day, and in that small moment, the wilting flowers, the fading memories, and the fog in your mind all seem to recede.

"Let's see now, oh, dios mio! We have a feast this morning!" (My god) Javi announces cheerfully as he positions the trolley right in front of you.

He pulls the lid off each dish with a bit of flair, revealing eggs, golden pastries, yoghurts, fresh fruit, and something else - something that smells both tart and sweet, the scent so familiar that it makes your eyes light up. You can almost taste it in the air before you even see it - dusted with powdered sugar and topped with glossy, ruby-red fruit. The smell wraps itself around you, pulling you back to a place you can’t quite name but feel deep in your bones.

"Is that-?" you begin, the words catching in your throat as the scent envelops you.

It lingers at the edges of your memory, teasing you with its familiarity. The sweetness, the warmth - it brings with it a sense of ease, of laughter that flows effortlessly, of sunlight warming your skin as you throw your head back without a care in the world.

"French toast!" Javi coos, as though he’s revealing a treasure, his hands deftly tucking a napkin into the collar of your blouse with the care of someone who’s done this many times before.

You can almost feel it now - yourself, younger, lighter, sitting at a small café table, the air thick with the smell of fresh bread and cinnamon, your hands cradling a cup of coffee as the world bustles around you.

You remember the sound of laughter - yours, carefree and unburdened - and the way your fingers would brush over the edges of the plate, collecting a bit of powdered sugar that had fallen onto your dress.

You smile softly. "Gosh, I haven't had French toast since..."

"Since 1992. At least, authentic French toast," Javi interrupts, his voice gentle yet certain, weaving through the air like a soft melody.

His smile holds a knowing quality, like a cherished secret he’s delighted to share with you as you look at him in wonder. "Paris, if I’m not mistaken," he continues, his eyes sparkling with the joy of the memory. "Le Petit Café. Montmartre. You had it with a raspberry compote. Your favourite."

As he speaks, your mind flutters, trying to catch hold of the image in your butterfly net he conjures. You can almost see the cobblestone streets of Montmartre, the golden glow of sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk. You can hear the distant laughter of patrons, the clink of cutlery against porcelain, and the low murmur of conversation that dances around the cosy café. 

You’re there, you can feel it as you smile at the plate. Sipping your café au lait on the sun-drenched terrace, you savour the warmth of the morning sun. The air is rich with the scent of fresh pastries, and the decadent melodies of distant conversation. As you relish your French toast, you glance up and catch sight of a man across the street.

It’s the kind of smile that teases the edges of something thrilling, as though in this moment, time itself might pause, and you could slip away with him into something frivolous. A whirlwind romance, perhaps - of stolen kisses in shadowed corners, laughter spilling recklessly as rain drenches both of you in the streets of the city of love.

He leans casually against a lamppost, dressed simply yet stylishly, with tousled curls that dance in the gentle breeze. The sunlight catches his aquiline features, creating a soft halo around him that gives him an almost ethereal quality. For a fleeting moment, your heart quickens as his eyes lock onto yours, your breath stolen from your lungs.

He smiles, as if he’s holding onto a delightful secret that you’re just about to uncover.

You remember standing beside him, fingers intertwined, the air thick with the promise of forever, though even then, perhaps, you knew nothing lasts. Still, the memory remains, even if the details have begun to slip through your grasp. 

You can almost feel it - his skin, golden from the sun and warm under your touch, the subtle rise and fall of his breath as you press your nose against his neck, inhaling that familiar, intoxicating scent. Sea salt lingers in his skin too; heights that are jumped from hand-in-hand, cliff faces, splashes and giggles. Wild euphoria.

The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtering through half-drawn curtains, casting light pools on wrinkled bed sheets tangled beneath the both of you.

There’s the echo of laughter, intimate and carefree, punctuated by the rhythm of hands and lips and the headboard creaking - a love spoken in many languages that feels weightless and eternal. The last sunset you watched together flickers at the edges of your mind - golden light sinking slowly below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues that seem to blur now, like that watercolour paint bleeding into paper.

He holds your gaze for just a second longer, and you sense a shared understanding, a fleeting recognition that transcends words. Like he, too, can see your chapters together writing themselves in the air above you. Then, with a playful grin, he lifts his coffee cup in a silent toast before turning to walk away, disappearing amongst the crowd.

You blink, your heart fluttering with something unnameable, but as the throng of people swirls around him, his figure begins to blur. He melds into the lively parade of tourists and locals, each person absorbed in their own narratives, and suddenly, he’s just another face lost among the bustling streets of Paris.

You strain to recall his features, they slip away like sand through your fingers, leaving only an inexplicable sense of longing. The vibrant city feels both alive and distant now, a romantic kaleidoscope of colours and sounds that vibrate around you, yet the image of him remains just out of reach, like a dream you’re struggling to remember less and less each day you wake. 

Yet, just as quickly as the memory rises, it slips away with the taste, leaving you with only the warmth of Javi’s smile and the echoes of his words.

"Raspberry compote," you murmur, letting the syllables roll off your tongue as if trying to anchor yourself to the moment.

It feels significant, somehow - a thread connecting you to a past that exists just out of reach, woven together by the richness of experience and the gentle guidance of someone who remembers.

"Yes," Javi nods, his expression encouraging. "You loved it. It was a special day, full of laughter and sunshine. You wore that yellow dress with the white polka dots."

"I had a polka dot dress?" you inquire, the thought seeming almost absurd, as if it belongs to someone else’s story rather than your own.

"Yes," Javi chuckles, the sound warm and inviting, wrapping around you like a favourite blanket. "You had it just above your knees back then, scandalous.” He titters. “A cheerful yellow. It is your favourite colour.”

“It is?” You ask, flummoxed. 

"I’ll share a little secret, mi sol," (my sun) he leans in conspiratorially, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s my favourite colour, too." Javi smiles. 

"Yell-ow," you muse, letting the word linger on your tongue like a drop of honey. “I like… yellow. And raspberry compote. And Javi.” You beam.

The sun warms your skin as you savour the first bite of French toast, its texture pillowy and light. A dollop of raspberry compote glistens atop, the tartness contrasting beautifully with the sweetness of the bread. You can taste the delicate balance of flavours, the way the warmth of the dish complements the coolness of the berries.

"Precisely!" Javi exclaims, nodding enthusiastically, his expression brightening even further. "Now," he says, his voice light as he carefully slices into the French toast, cutting it into neat, bite-sized squares.

He holds up a forkful, offering it to you with a gentle smile. "Today is another very special day. Do you know what day this is?" 

But his question lingers in the air, pulling you back into the present, even as the memories and the taste swirl together. What day is it? You think hard, the answer just out of reach, hovering like a foreign word on the tip of your tongue. You try to grasp at it, but it slips away, lost in the haze that clouds so many things now.

You chew slowly, savouring the taste, and a quiet moan escapes your lips, the pleasure of it almost overwhelming. It’s as if the flavours unlock something deep inside - a feeling of comfort, of familiarity, of being cared for.

Of mornings spent with French toast served to you on a floral plate by strong hands and a smile as blinding as the sun. Crocus flowers gifted in a vase. A cardigan placed neatly on your shoulders, a kiss pressed to your cheek and temples. Walking with arms linked, your body wrapped up in a soft towel, and dancing. Always dancing. 

Javi watches you closely, not rushing, giving you time. His presence is calm, steady. Finally, you shake your head slightly, not trusting your voice.

He doesn't seem disappointed, only nods with that same understanding smile. "It’s alright," he says gently, cutting another piece of toast. "It’s Wednesday. The second of April. But more importantly..." He pauses, his eyes searching yours, as though willing you to remember, though he never forces it. "It’s the day we always have French toast together," he continues.

"We do?" you ask, the words hesitant, fragile, as though you’re unsure of their weight.

Javi’s smile softens as he responds, "Yes, mi sol. We always have it on Wednesdays."

He holds out another piece of French toast, patiently waiting for you to take it, as though this ritual - this simple act of feeding and sharing food - could somehow bring clarity.

"I can't... remember," you whisper after swallowing, the words sticking in your throat, thick with frustration and sadness. It's like trying to grasp at smoke, the harder you reach, the quicker it slips away. 

You chew slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last, the sweetness of the compote doing little to mask the dull ache of something missing, something lost. A hollow space where memories should live.

But they’re not there - at least, not fully. They flicker, shadows at the edge of your consciousness, close but just out of reach.

A dry cough escapes you, and before you can react, Javi is already there - handing you a glass of water, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. His touch is warm, grounding, though your own hand trembles as you take the glass.

You sip slowly, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat, but it doesn’t wash away the heaviness.

“You’re alright, mi sol. Just drink, slowly. Breathe.” He reassures. 

As your fingers grip the glass, another memory bursts to life, sudden and sharp. Not yours, but his - his sickness. The smell of antiseptic fills your mind. You see his pale, sweaty skin, feel the way his body convulsed as he coughed and retched, helpless in your arms. The image is vivid - the sterile hospital corridor, the muted beeping of machines, the tubes that surrounded him, keeping him alive.

You remember your own hand stroking his back in slow circles, trying to soothe him, trying to calm him, telling him to breathe too, though terror had already settled deep within you.

His fingers had gripped yours so tightly, as though letting go would mean something irreversible. His eyes, wide and terrified, had locked onto yours, pleading without words as they wheeled him down the corridor. Wheeled him away from you.

He hadn’t wanted to let go, and neither had you.

The glass trembles in your hand as the memory fades, leaving behind a cold, hollow silence. You blink, but the weight of that moment lingers, pressing against your chest. You glance up at Javi, who watches you with an unreadable expression - calm, steady, as if waiting for you to find your way back to him.

The memory sharpens - his eyes, watery and desperate, disappearing behind the doors as the metallic hum faded away. And then, the sound of your own voice, cracking with wails and screams, when he wouldn’t wake up. When you couldn’t pull him back.

When you couldn’t say goodbye. 

"It’s alright," he murmurs softly, brushing a stray curl away from his face. "You don’t have to remember everything. That’s what I’m here for." His words wrap around you, offering a comfort you can’t quite grasp but are grateful for nonetheless.

"Haaa-veeee. Javi." You smile up at him. The sun seems to shine from him, casting a glow that makes everything else seem less heavy. "Javi. My sunshine man," you murmur, and the words come easily, as though they've always belonged to him.

Javi's smile deepens as he gently wipes at your lips with a napkin, his touch light and careful.

"Yes. That is me," he says with a playful warmth, and with a soft laugh, he boops your nose with the napkin and it pulls a giggle from you. "Come on now, eat up," he encourages, nodding toward the last few bites on the plate. "I have a great day planned ahead of us, mi sol."

Your eyes widen in surprise, the excitement bubbling up inside you. "You do?"

"Yes!" Javi grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief and promise. "We’re going on an adventure today."

Your heart skips a beat at the word, your curiosity piqued. "Where?" you ask, your voice filled with childlike wonder.

Javi leans in slightly. "Ah, well, that’s part of the surprise. But I can tell you this: there will be ice cream." He winks, and the sparkle in his eyes feels contagious, lifting your spirits.

"Ice cream?" you ask, the excitement rising in your voice. You watch as he jumps up and heads over to your closet. He rummages, searching through hangers.  

"Of course," he chuckles. "What kind of adventure would it be without a little sweetness?" 

"Do I like ice cream?" you ask, a touch of uncertainty in your voice.

Javi smiles warmly over his shoulder, without a hint of hesitation. "You love ice cream," he replies, his eyes soft with affection. "With chocolate sauce. Always with the chocolate sauce."

“A-ha!” He coos as he pulls an item from your closet. You look at it as he holds it up. A yellow dress with white polka dots.

His voice is so sure, so filled with certainty, that it feels like the truth - even if you can’t quite pull the memory forward yourself.

For a moment, you try to remember the taste, the cool sweetness of ice cream melting on your tongue, the rich chocolate sauce dripping down in velvety swirls. It’s faint, like a shadow in your mind, but Javi’s words make it feel real. You smile at him, trusting his certainty as your own.

You stare at it, the colour catching your eye, soft yet vibrant. It feels familiar, and yet it doesn’t. You tilt your head, studying the fabric, trying to make sense of the strange pull it has on you.

“Is that… mine?” you ask, your voice laced with genuine curiosity, as though the dress is a long-lost artefact from a life you’re not sure you lived. He steps closer, bringing it over, the faint scent of lavender clinging to it.

“Yes. Your favourite," Javi replies, his voice tender. “You used to wear it all the time. You said it made you feel like sunshine.”

You reach out tentatively to touch the pretty fabric, running your fingers over the soft cotton. There’s a flicker in the back of your mind - a flash of sunlight, laughter, the sensation of wind on your bare legs, and the feeling of warmth that wrapped around you whenever you wore it.

"Is it my birthday?" you ask, your voice carrying a quiet hopefulness.

For a brief second, you catch the way Javi’s smile dips - just a flicker, so quick it almost goes unnoticed. But you see it, and something in the air shifts, though only for a moment.

You can see the man smiling at you again from across the Parisian street. He’s so achingly beautiful. 

"No," he says softly, his voice gentle but sure. "It’s not your birthday. But..." He pauses, his smile returning, this time softer, more thoughtful. "It is a very special day."

"A special day?" you echo, curious but uncertain.

"Yes," Javi replies, his eyes steady on yours, as if to anchor you in the moment. "A day just for us. For adventures, for smiles, and maybe even a little magic." He tilts his head slightly, his grin widening again. "Doesn’t that sound like something to celebrate?"

It’s hard not to feel comforted by his words, even if you don’t understand all of it. The fog in your mind feels a little less dense with him here, and whatever this special day is, you trust him.

"That sounds wonderful," you say, a smile blooming on your face.

"I thought it would," Javi replies with a playful wink. There's something in the way he looks at you - like he knows just how to make the heaviness feel lighter, how to fill the space between the forgotten and the remembered with little moments of joy.

And it is a joyful day, one that has you laughing so hard your chest tightens, the kind of laughter that steals the breath right from you, leaving you gasping in the most wonderful way.

There’s an ease to the day, a rhythm to it, as if time itself has bent to the shape of your happiness. The air feels different - crisp, yet soft around the edges, as though the universe is conspiring to keep you in this bubble just a little longer. The dress, light and airy against your skin, flutters with your movements, as if it too is caught up in the laughter.

The sun is high, warm against your skin, and the world feels light, almost weightless, as though nothing dark could ever touch this moment. You can hear your own laughter ringing out, bright and full, mingling with the breeze.

It’s a sound that seems to come from a time when everything was simple and pure, when joy was something you could reach out and physically hold in your hands as it stroked you back.

“Just like that! Let the music in your heart guide you!” he encourages, his eyes sparkling with delight, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound ringing out like a bell.

He said there would be magic, and it is indeed magical - the way he has you up on your feet again, twirling and spinning with him on the pier after the delicious ice cream he promised you; the wooden boards creaking beneath your weight.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow that dances upon the water, reflecting the light like scattered yellow diamonds. Each step feels as if you’re floating, your worries fading into the breeze as Javi pulls you closer, his laughter mingling with the sound of the waves crashing against the posts.

The world around you blurs into a kaleidoscope of colour as he twirls you - blues and yellows, the cerulean sky mixing with the sun-soaked wood, and in this moment, nothing else exists.

“Up there,” Javi nods towards the cliff face, its rugged edges glistening in the sunlight, a chalky challenge painted against the clear blue sky. “We’ll climb it.”

“I can’t climb that, not with these knees anymore,” you grumble, an edge of frustration lacing your voice.

“Just hold on tight,” he says, his tone playful yet reassuring. “I’ve got you.” You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the strength of his embrace, and suddenly the daunting cliff doesn’t seem so intimidating.

But before you can voice another protest, Javi has already scooped you up into his arms, effortlessly lifting you as if you were weightless. You’re caught off guard, surprise bubbling up inside you, mingling with laughter.

The world tilts slightly as he starts walking, your heart racing not just from the unexpected lift but from the thrill of his unwavering confidence.

“How did you get so strong?” You ask admiring his arm around you and his shoulders, so broad.

“Years of practice,” he replies with a wink, a playful smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. “It won't be the last time I carry you up this cliff."

You chuckle, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It’s moments like these that remind you, the memories fluttering back in, of the countless adventures you’ve shared, the way he’s always been your anchor, lifting you when the weight of the world felt too heavy to bear and navigate through on your own.

Soon, you’re both sitting on the edge, feet dangling with the ocean below and his arm is still around you keeping you steady and nestled into his side. 

“You are just as beautiful as when I first laid eyes on you, mi sol.” Javi whispers to you, his hand gentle on your hip, but reassuring. 

You turn to meet his gaze, and in his eyes, you see a flicker of something timeless - a spark that ignites a flutter in your chest. It's as if he can see beyond the weakened, wrinkly surfaces of you now, past the layers of forgetfulness and uncertainty that have settled in like dust. 

And in his eyes, you’re not the old, forgetful crone you’ve become, but the young woman back in Paris, entranced by a man glowing like the sun, with chocolate curls and dark, excitable eyes that seemed to dance with life.

All the years slip away like shadows fading in the light, and you’re that spirited girl again - full of dreams, laughter, and who once danced through the streets of Montmartre, belly full of French toast and in love.

He takes your hand in his, and the touch feels both fragile and grounding - your fingers are once again papery and thin. The warmth of his presence is tinged with a quiet resignation as it settles between the both of you.

The world around you transforms; the cliff fades, the salty breeze becomes the fragrant Parisian air, thick with the scent of fresh croissants and blooming lilacs. You can almost hear the distant strains of an accordion playing a lively tune, the sound weaving through the air like a magical thread that pulls you into the past.

The cobblestone streets of Paris materialise in your mind, each stone a reminder of the adventures you shared with him - moments filled with spontaneous laughter, whispered secrets beneath the stars, and promises made with the enthusiasm only youth and love can muster.

“It is time,” Javi says, and though he smiles, the warmth doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are clouded with a depth of emotion that makes your heart ache.

A sense of impending finality hangs in the air, heavy and charged. But you’re not afraid. You study him closely, searching for any hint of reassurance, and as you do, you can’t help but feel a deep sadness welling up within you.

“You look sad,” you say gently, your voice breaking the silence that feels almost sacred in its weight.

“I am sad because I am really going to miss you,” he replies, and the truth in his words hits you like a wave.

You can see it in the way his smile falters, a flicker of something deeper dancing in his eyes - a longing that mirrors your own.

“Are you not coming?” you ask, and his brow furrows slightly as if the very thought pains him.

“No, I can’t,” he murmurs, swallowing hard against the tide of emotion rising within you. “I have to stay here. But I will see you again soon.” 

He shakes his head, and with that simple motion, your heart sinks. You feel the weight of his words pressing on your chest suffocating you.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, as if you’re being pulled in two different directions - between what you want and what you must accept.

Javi's hand lingers in yours, the warmth between you a fragile tether against the backdrop of the reality that looms ahead.

“But I don’t want to say goodbye,” you confess, your voice trembling as you grapple with the impending separation.

He holds your gaze, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face - sadness, acceptance, and a profound understanding. 

“Neither do I. Each time we do, it does not hurt any less,” he admits softly, squeezing your hand with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You have been my sunshine for such a long time.”

“Paris,” you murmur, the word slipping from your lips. “You were there in Paris. You've always been there with me, haven’t you?”

“Take me where?” you ask, a mix of curiosity and trepidation swirling within you.

“Yes,” Javi replies, his voice resonating with a depth that sends shivers through you.

"I... remember you, Javi. I remember that I love you. And that you love me, too." You say, and his eyes water, sparkly and big.

His hand cups your cheek delicately. “I have been equally waiting for this day, where you would remember again. And dreading this day, because I will take you forward myself.”

“To your next life,” he says, and the weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy yet shimmering with possibility.

His eyes hold yours, a deep well of understanding and promise, as if he’s offering you a glimpse beyond the veil that separates what is known from what lies ahead.

The thought sends a cascade of emotions through you - fear, excitement, and an overwhelming sense of inevitability. But more confusingly, peace. 

“I will hold your hand all the way,” Javi says, his voice soft yet firm, an anchor amidst the uncertainty swirling around you. “There is nothing to be frightened of. It will be easy, painless. We can just watch the sunset together, like we used to.”

“My next life...” you echo, trying to grasp the enormity of what he’s saying.

You can feel your heart quickening, as though it understands something you don’t quite comprehend yet.

You turn your gaze to the horizon, where the sun dips low, a hue that bathes the world in a warm embrace. 

“It’s really pretty. Golden,” you say, a smile blooming on your lips as the sky transforms into a canvas of vibrant oranges and soft pinks.

The colours dance together, a beautiful farewell to the day that has been indeed special. Javi helps you to your feet and stands beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon too, and for a moment, you can’t tell if the colours of the sunset reflect in his eyes or if they're simply just a part of him.

He looks serene, with his name tag fluttering in the breeze on his yellow shirt, as if he’s found his place in this world; a guide, a carer, a husband... and you can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over you.

“Thank you for this life, Javi,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, laden with emotion. “Thank you for loving me in every lifetime.” 

He turns to you, his expression softening. “It has been an honour to share it all with you, mi sol. Every moment we’ve danced, every kiss we’ve shared, it’s all been magic.”

You nod, feeling the truth of his words resonate deep within you. Each shared experience, each memory, feels like a thread weaving your lives together, rich with laughter and love - gosh were you loved! - even amidst the struggles of losing him over and over. 

“Even the hard moments?” you ask, seeking reassurance that the shadows were just as meaningful as the light. 

“Especially those,” he replies, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “They taught us how to appreciate the sunshine that follows.”

The sun dips lower, long shadows stretching, and you feel that sense of peace enveloping you again. 

“Close your eyes, mi sol,” Javi whispers, his tone soothing. “Take a nice long breath in and out, and then, we will jump, like we used to.” 

You smile, allowing the corners of your lips to curve upward as you close your eyes, leaving yourself with the final image of him - his dark curls catching the fading light, his smile radiant, as bright as the sun. 

“Will you find me there, Javi?” You ask, blindly.

“I’ll always find you.” He promises. You feel him press a kiss to the back of your hand.

Nodding, you take a deep breath. The air fills your lungs, cool and refreshing - expanding. You hold it for a moment, savouring the beauty of the life you’ve shared, the laughter, the love, the adventures that have painted your existence in vibrant colours.

All the shades of stunning yellow. Golden.

The last thing you remember is Javi Gutierrez - the man who loves you in every lifetime - standing across the street in Paris, smiling fondly at you. 

Then, slowly, you release it, letting go of all the worries, the uncertainty, the foggy shadows that have clouded the edges of your mind.

You wonder where he’ll be in the next life. How he’ll come to you again. How he’ll love you again. How he’ll take your hand and lead you into the afterlife again. You giggle and he laughs with you. 

And then, you jump.

Thank you so much for reading this offering of Frith. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and as always a re-blog is very much appreciated. Thank you! ☀️

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVI GUTIERREZ MASTERLIST

-> Read my other Offering of Frith story with Pero Tovar here.⚡

this is the way

Pedge Tweets PedgesCinema

Just playing a little catch up with Pedge's Cinema! I hope you will check out our upcoming fic for "Thelma and Louise" when Javi and J find themselves on an adventurous road trip across the Italian countryside. In the interim, don't forget to check out the Afterglow Series Javi Edition; Phoenix Rising. Pedge would also like me to remind us all to check out...anything with Nicholas Cage. Duh.

Series Masterlist

WIP: Thelma + Louise Trailer

I've started work on our new "In Cold Blood" Series for Pedge's Bookshop. It's gonna be a ten part series so we're feeling a little overwhelmed. Lol. Progress with my health journey, but lots of big feels over here. Pedge has finally come out of hiding after....THE EPISODE...but we realized that it's so comforting to join a television audience and fictional characters in our mutual mourning this Sunday at LOU. Feeling a little fragile over here, so I'm gonna get my "Thelma and Louise" on for Pedge's Cinema. Probably just a little 5k when Javi and J go on a road trip around the Amalfi Coast on a hunt for professional adventure. Gonna need something light after all this dark....

*thanks @dornish-queen for the UWOMT footage

Pedge's Cinema; All About Eve

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I have been doubly inspired, writing the sequel for Pedge's Cinema; All About Eve. It was fun to take this coloring page and overlay it on some of Pedro's favorite movie posters. There are several more installments on the horizon, I hope you will enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Javi's Afterglow

A huge thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book :) The last week has been so great for me personally. After six months of health challenges I'm finally starting to make some progress because of my own advocacy. But that also led to voicing uncomfortable conversations with friends and professionals, and that's tough. Lost a best friend. Paused a job. Pedge and I feel some stories ending, but I don't know which roads I'm excited to take alone. Maybe that can be the exciting part. With the end of every journey comes the start of a new one, and I've sat at home for long enough. Javi knows how to take the big swings, and so do I...

I've found elements of the POC Tumblr discussion very interesting, and as a queer Jewish woman there are some specific ways I want to celebrate and recalibrate. The first time I posted this artwork the color scheme was....off. It wasn't intentional, but somehow I didn't quite capture our Chilean sun-god and it kept annoying me. So I re-did it, and included one of my favorite Javi fics I've written for the Afterglow Series (#irony).

Let us all continue to fully experience Love to the best of our ability. And as Javi would say, "Whether you like it or not, you have a gift; and that gift brings light and joy to an increasingly… dark and broken world! And to turn your back on that gift is to turn your back on the… entire human race!".

And Pedge definitely feels that.

The Trailer; All About Eve

Trailer: Inspired by the @auteurdelabre VHS Club, we are going to deconstruct these favorite movies and write some analogous fics taboot. Javi will be our theatrical custodian, but other Pedro Boys might join us for cameo appearances....

Concessions Stand: Don't forget to grab your sweet treat before heading into Pedge's Cinema. Check out "The Unbearable Weight of Perfection" by @wardenparker which should fit the bill nicely....

Triggers: This was a lot more complicated than I realized; spoilers for "All About Eve" (dialogue usage), no smut but romantic situations, discussion of ageism/misogyny, male infantilism if you squint (?)...

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5k

The week of acclimation had blearily raced past in happy contentment, and most of that was due to your newfound friendship with Javi. Italy was a close second. Since that first fateful encounter at the local movie house, you and Javi had become fast friends. Setting up a happy rapport of tourism and conversation had motivated the entirety of your summer stay. Every single morning, Javi arrived with two espressos, occasionally befriended by the local pastry options and after reviewing the evening movie choices, Javi would whisk you to the first of many cinematic locations. Visiting Venice and hearing about “Three Coins In the Fountain”. Touring the Vatican and talking about “Roman Holiday”. And enjoying gelato while Javi waxed philosophical about the Italian centered Nicholas Cage movie “Time to Kill”…which was actually about Ethiopia. Your friendship was like something out of a movie, and you relished every morsel of it. But this had done nothing to prepare you for the start of your Summer Internship. Having flitted away this “week of preparation” you found yourself on the doorstep of your next excited academic exploration, with little to no idea of what it might entail.

“I think we should take the students to all of these important cinematic locations!” Javi exclaimed, plopping down on the living room couch and beating clouds of dust out of the nearby pillows. Coughing and sputtering in allergic response, you opened the nearby veranda windows to the sunlight of the day.

“Are you my newfound TA for these events?” you jested, sipping your espresso tentatively as Javi had already inhaled his.

“Absolutely! Would you like that for your first day of class, Principessa? You don’t have to tell me how nervous you are…” Javi pouted, drawing the pillow up to him like a baby he was trying to cuddle. You stomach lurched with excited anticipation. You WERE nervous to meet the students and begin classes, but you were also excited to be working with your colleagues and gaining artistic insight into the rich history of cinema and storytelling.

“That’s VERY sweet of you Javi, but I know you have your big meeting tomorrow. I don’t want you to miss it…”.

“Are you talking about my very important industry meeting with international superstar and personal friend, Nicholas Cage?” Javi’s smile delightfully curled at his lips as you sat across from him on the couch, playfully propping your feet up on his lap.

“Oh I’m sorry, are you friends with THE Nick Cage?” you taunted, poking him slightly in the stomach and watching him crumple with embarrassment.

“Don’t tease me Principessa, we’re just meeting on the Skype. Besides, I’m still waiting for you to read our screenplay. I want all of your thoughts on the narrative quality of our story. Of course, Nicholas Cage will star” Javi’s eyes widened to an imploring gravitas as you shook your head with incredulity.

“I AM excited to read it Javi, but you haven’t given me half a moment! We’ve been bouncing from one tourist attraction to another…not that I’m complaining” you observed, rubbing your calves mournfully from all the walking Europe seemed to motivate.

“Would you like for me to recite it, right now?” he questioned, reaching over to massage the base of your foot, before you dissolved into a fit of laughter at the tickling sensation.

“I kind of hate to say this, but I think you need to go away for the next few hours. I need to plan my curriculum, organize my collegiate schedule for colleague introductions and…apparently read a screenplay this afternoon” you launched a pillow good-naturedly at Javi’s head as he began to sulk.

“But we have not yet been to the Trevi Fountain!” Javi lamented, collapsing against the couch dramatically and closing his eyes forlornly. “Perhaps we should watch “La Dolce Vita” this evening for our cinematic selection?”.

“Ah, no, no, no! You promised me we could begin with my teaching curriculum, starting with the Hollywood classic, ‘All About Eve’” you threatened, poking Javi once again and eliciting a small growl of protestation.

“I DO like Betty Davis, though she’s no Nicholas Cage” Javi retorted, setting a heavy hand on your upper thigh, as you attempted to stifle an unbidden shiver. “Very well Principessa, I will leave you to your cinematic studies, now appropriately fueled by the caffeinated nectar of the gods. What culinary selection would you prefer for this evening’s festivities?” Javi stood abruptly, towering over you at nearly six feet tall.

“You better bring the martinis and milkshakes, I’m going to procure a pizza from the trattoria down the street” you salivated, looking towards the kitchen with skepticism.

“Milkshakes?” Javi wondered, jaunting towards the door and grabbing his jacket from the nearby chair. “I will endeavor to bring the gelato…” he jovially saluted you, emphatically pointing to his screenplay situated on your kitchen counter and bouncing out through the foyer.

Javi was a ray of sunshine that never seemed to dull, his energy and iridescence was quite contagious. You only hoped all of your relationships would prove so fulfilling during this summer internship. If there was one thing you knew from your love of a masterpiece like “All About Eve”, professional challenges seemed to be hiding around every corner, and no sooner were friendships found, then they were immediately questioned. You prided yourself on your ability to ascertain someone’s intentionality, but would your colleagues be just as welcoming as someone like Javi? Only time could tell. You took your espresso over to the counter and picked up Javi’s screenplay as a curriculum amuse bouche. Let’s get to work…

The day passed quickly as you assembled your talking points for tomorrow’s class and skimmed Javi’s rough draft. You were delighted to discover it was quite good. Slightly meta, and self-deprecating. It would give Nicholas Cage a delightful opportunity to poke fun at his eccentric self. You couldn’t imagine anyone but Javi playing the autobiographical role, but Hollywood would probably find some young 20 something to play the 40 something and call it a day. Pausing to grab a fresh margarita pizza from the local trattoria you caught Javi walking up to your villa, grocery bag in hand.

“Bona note, Principessa!” Javi sang out, as the children raced past, chasing a futbol down the cobblestoned street. “I have returned with flowers, gelato and vodka, the holy triumvirate!” he greeted you with the traditional European kiss across both cheeks as the blush heightened across your freckled face. “We have much to discuss!”

You smiled with anticipation as Javi immediately launched into a descriptive analysis of the screenplay, drawing your attention to several of the analogies you hadn’t noticed. You had just queue’d the dusty DVD to start playing “All About Eve” as Javi synopsized.

“And so you can see how the relationships ARE similar. The protege, desperately desiring validation. Surviving in a world of distrust, ambition and greed. Not knowing where to turn and feeling that youth slipping away like time itself…” Javi gestured dramatically before eyeing a few of his own sun-soaked wrinkles with skepticism. “So many insecurities in our 40’s…” he sighed, raising a glass of vodka infused gelato before settling further into the couch after dinner.

“You’ve really written something marvelous for Nicholas Cage to star in” you agreed, toasting Javi’s milkshake martini concoction with curiosity. “Is that how your friendship really came about?” you questioned, as the memorable soundtrack by Alfred Newman lilted in the background.

“That is for me to know, and you to discover! What is cinema, if not ILLUSION?!” Javi bellowed, pinching at your leg flirtatiously and smiling broadly. “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night!”

The voice of George Sanders intoned in the background,

“To those of you who do not read, attend the theater, listen to unsponsored radio programs, or know anything of the world in which you live, it is perhaps necessary to introduce myself. My name is Addison DeWitt. My native habitat is the theater. In it, I toil not, neither do I spin. I am a critic and commentator. I am essential to the theater. Margo Channing is a star of the theater. She made her first stage appearance at the age of four in Midsummer Night's Dream. She played a fairy and entered, quite unexpectedly, stark naked. She has been a star ever since. Margo is a great star, a true star. She never was or will be anything less or anything else”.

“Betty Davis is quite nearly as big a star as Nicholas Cage” Javi whispered beside you, munching on the final piece of pizza. You smiled quietly, relishing his artistic obsession. You would have thought he would demand cinematic silence, but Javi’s movie enthusiasm was often as unbridled as his general lust for life.

“She must have learned a lot from his pantheon of work” you scoffed as Javi gently nudged you in the side with his elbow, shushing you ineffectively.

“Think me cynical, if you like, but the cynicism you refer to, I acquired the day I discovered I was different from little boys! Bill's thirty-two. He looks thirty-two. He looked it five years ago, he'll look it twenty years from now. I hate men” you moved your mouth in conjunction with Betty Davis as she lamented the joys of industry aging. “I'm not twenty-ish, I'm not thirty-ish. Three months ago I was forty years old. Forty. Four O. That slipped out. I hadn't quite made up my mind to admit it. Now I suddenly feel as if I've taken all my clothes off.”

God, you loved this movie. You looked over at Javi, his eyes shining affectionately as the screen flickered light across his joyful face. A fellow afficianado. “You know, if you wanted to come by after your meeting tomorrow I could use the help. I AM actually a little nervous” you admitted, looking down at your gelato hesitantly.

“Oh Principessa, I would love to!” Javi met your eyes with encouragement. “You are already supporting me in my cinematic endeavors, I would also love to support yours!” he beamed.

You snuggled up beside him, soaking in the exposition by Joseph Mankiewicz;

“The theatre. The theatre. What book of rules say the theatre exists only within some ugly buildings crowded into one square mile of New York City? Or London? Do you wanna know what the theatre is? A flea circus. Also opera. Also rodeos, carnivals, ballets, Indian tribal dances, Punch and Judy, a one-man band, all theatre. Wherever there's magic and make-believe and an audience, there's theatre. Donald Duck, Ibsen and The Lone Ranger. Sarah Bernhardt and Betty Grable, all theatre. You don't understand them all. You don't like them all. Why should you? The theatre's for everybody, you included, but not exclusively. So, don't approve or disapprove. It may not be your theatre, but it's theatre for somebody, somewhere.”

“Did you know that the Mankiewicz brothers were both famous for their literary ability?” you whispered, as Javi remained quietly at your side. “Herman Mankiewicz gained notoriety for Citizen Kane…”. You paused, surprised by Javi’s uncharacteristic silence. Eve Harrington, the antagonist of the movie continued on;

“If there's nothing else, there's applause. I've listened backstage to people applaud. It's like - like waves of love coming over the footlights and wrapping you up. Imagine, to know every night that different hundreds of people love you. They smile, their eyes shine, you've pleased them. They want you. You belong. Just that alone is worth anything”.

“You’ve got to give it to her, she is DEFINITELY passionate, if not unscrupulous” you teased, waiting for Javi’s retort and hearing none. You looked over at Javi to see if he had fallen asleep, but his countenance had taken on an uncharacteristic solemnity that concerned you. “Hey, you okay over there, Shakespeare?” you sat up slightly, watching his brow furrow with consternation.

“Oh. Um, yes, forgive me principessa, just….thinking” he muttered, gripping his knees fixedly and staring at the television screen. Had you done something wrong? Maybe he didn’t want to cuddle on the couch, but wasn’t saying so. You scooted a few inches away, drawing your hands into your lap with disappointment. Glancing at his side profile you watched his Adam’s apple bob tensely as he swallowed hard. What was going on? Betty Davis monologued,

“So many people know me. I wish I did. I wish someone would tell me about me, outside of my own notoriety. What’s in a name anyhow? What is it, besides something spelled out in light bulbs, I mean - besides something called a temperament, which consists mostly of swooping about on a broomstick and screaming at the top of my voice? Infants behave the way I do, you know. They carry on and misbehave - they'd get drunk if they knew how - when they can't have what they want, when they feel unwanted or insecure or unloved”.

“I have to go!” Javi bolted upright suddenly, as you confusedly paused the movie.

“Okayeeeee….are you alright? Do you need me to…?”

“Absolutely not! I mean…it’s time for me to go!” Javi grabbed his jacket lying on the coffee table and gave you a quick peck on both cheeks before nearly running out the door. If it wasn’t so concerning, it might be comedic, as he nearly tripped over his own shoes, farcically wrestling into his evening jacket and flinging the door open. “See you tonight! I mean tomorrow. Thank you for a lovely evening principessa…” and he was out the door.

How strange. You were often apt to conclude that you had somehow misread the situation, but your instincts told you that something had shifted. Was he suddenly embarrassed about his screenplay? It wasn’t perfectly formed, but it was quite good. Maybe you hadn’t offered enough encouragements. You shrugged your shoulders doubtfully, resuming the movie and trying to set your quandaries to one side. You were anxious about class tomorrow—maybe Javi was growing similarly trepidatious about his industry meeting with Nicholas Cage. You sighed defeatedly, trying to release the growing tension in your shoulders and neck. If only real life could be as straightforward as the movies…

Hearing your high heels echo in the lecture hall you tried to conjure the confidence and stage presence of Betty Davis as you read her scintillating observations of women in the performing arts industry,

“Funny business, a woman's career - the things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman. That's one career all females have in common, whether we like it or not: being a woman. Sooner or later, we've got to work at it, no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis, nothing's any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed, and there he is. Without that, you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings, but you're not a woman. Slow curtain, the end”.

Your voice hung in the air as about 20 students gazed back at you with enchantment. Betty Davis you were NOT, but you were delighted to see the cinematic enthusiasm of your summer students.

“And what do we gather from the character’s steely diatribe against society’s requirement of the female persuasion?” you asked, noticing a shadowy figure sneak in the back of the lecture hall and silently take a seat. Oooh, maybe it was someone from the administration, you’d better be on your best behavior. “I think it’s incredibly prescient, given its context in the "Golden Age", you formed quotation marks with your fingers “…and recognizing society’s grab for power, dominance and greed at all costs. Even to the exclusion of the personhood of the human” you debated, returning to your notes for the classroom agenda. “Let’s move on to the topic of social manipulation and professional ambition” you noted, referencing your power point presentation. You clicked on the graphic of the character Addison Dewitt,

“That I should want you at all, suddenly strikes me as the height of improbability. But that, in itself, is probably the reason. You're an improbable person, Eve, and so am I. We have that in common. Also, our contempt for humanity and inability to love, and be loved, insatiable ambition, and talent. We deserve each other”.

The figure in the back of the room shifted slightly in their seat with discomfort. You hoped you were making a good impression. “The character of Addison Dewitt is a literary metaphor for the dominating ambition that seems to drive, not only those in the performance industry, but in a capitalistic society at large” you tried to use as much flowery language as possible. This internship was a golden ticket of sorts, and you were anxious to demonstrate your academic prowess. You referenced the next clip, eliciting a vocal response from your audience as Addison slapped Eve across the face;

“-We are all busy little bees, full of stings, making honey day and night. Aren't we honey? -Sounds more like the mark of a true killer: sleep tight, rest easy, and come out fighting. -I’m sure you mean something by that, Addison, but I don't know what. -I am nobody's fool, least of all yours. -It’s important right now that we talk, killer to killer. -Champion to champion. -After tonight, you will belong to me. -Belong to you - why, that sounds medieval, something out of an old melodrama! (slap) -Now, remember, as long as you live, never to laugh at me - at anything or anyone else, but never at me.”

The class tittered with tension and awkward laughter. “The relationship between Addison and Eve is hardly romantic, but more so qualifies as a means to an end. How do you think that contrasts with the other relationships such as Karen and Lloyd; Margo and Bill?” Shifting to the next power point slide, the character of Bill reprimanded Margo in a lover’s spat,

“-As it happens, there are particular aspects of my life to which I would like to maintain sole and exclusive rights and privileges. Like….you. -That might be my cue to take you in my arms and reassure you. But I'm not going to - I'm too mad. Darling, there are certain characteristics for which you are famous, on stage and off. I love you for some of them, in spite of others. I haven't let those become too important. They're part of your equipment for getting along in what is laughingly called our environment. You have to keep your teeth sharp - all right - but I will not have you sharpen them on me, or on Eve! -You know, there isn't a playwright in the world who could make me believe this would happen between two adult people. -Perhaps I’m not a good enough director to salvage our scene, but you must be a good enough actress. There never was, and there never will be another like you.”

The hum of the projector warmed the already infused summer air as you wiped your forehead delicately, hearing the silhouetted figure clear their voice loudly in the background. You noticed their hand raised and delightedly called on them. “Is there any hope for her at all?” the voice rang out from the back of the lecture hall, bouncing off the walls and around the interior of your heart. Javi! He made it! You wondered how his industry meeting had progressed before responding…

“Well the cinematic ending is rather ambiguous, but I think Margo Channing has a vibrant life ahead of her! Finding romantic fulfillment with Bill Simpson and recognizing her individualized self-worth is probably the best revenge one could get…”

“I mean….Eve. Is there any hope for Eve?” Javi’s voice cracked as the class began to turn in their seats to locate the hidden voice in the background. You paused, somewhat concerned if Javi were okay, there seemed to be a note of tension in his voice. Perhaps he needed some encouragement after his Skype discussion.

“Oh! That much is up for interpretation. Addison does encourage Eve to place her accolades and awards where a heart should be. But the enigma continues as we see her potential protege, already usurping Eve’s meteoric rise to fame. Ladies and gentleman allow me to introduce my friend and colleague Javi Gutierrez. An aspiring screenwriter, cinematic aficionado and close friends with international superstar, Nick Cage!” you really laid it on thick, but wanted to support Javi however you could. The class immediately burst into applause as you finished the lecture. “In closing, let’s continue to analyze the ramifications of this cinematic classic. The way that it questions industry ambition, greed, power and the double standard brought about by professional misogyny. I haven’t even touched on the queer subtext, sophisticated campy dialogue or dramedy hybrid, but that will be another discussion for another time. Don’t forget to start watching our list of classic and contemporary cinema covered in the syllabus such as “East of Eden”, “Psycho”, “Fanny and Alexander”, “Deer Hunter” and more. I’ll see you next week, excellent work! Class dismissed!” There was a smattering of applause as the students excitedly talked and exited the classroom straining to get a better view of your enigmatic guest, as he walked down the stairs to the front of the room. You gathered your books and notes, the projector humming vibrationally next to you and casting dramatic beams of light around the room theatrically.

“You are a vision!” Javi exclaimed, kissing you across both cheeks and beaming with pride. But his eyes seemed to be shining with more than just satisfaction, as you caught a sheen of emotion dotting his countenance and a deep furrow to his brow.

“Aw, thanks Javi, it means the world that you made it today, I can’t tell you…” you ventured, squeezing his forearm with approval. “How’d everything go with the meeting? Was Nick pleased with your progress?” Javi’s face immediately fell with defeat, as he turned his back to you with a small whimper.

“Let us focus on your victory of the day, rather than my own…” his voice dramatically intoned, gathering up more of your books despite your protestations. “I am anxious to enjoy our dinner and movie selection of the night” and he immediately headed out the door amidst your confused looks.

What in the world was bothering him?

It had taken some coaxing, but on the walk back to your villa, Javi had slowly started to relax. You couldn’t be sure what was plaguing him, but after a steady stream of discussion and joking, he nearly seemed back to normal as you both entered the apartment laughing jovially. You were just about to suggest an evening movie when you caught Javi’s crestfallen expression as he fixed his eyes on his screenplay sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Alright, out with it!” you exclaimed, as Javi’s face crumpled with emotion, his lip quivering ever so slightly with concern.

“I cannot continue” he dramatically professed, histrionically dropping the books and flinging himself face first onto the living room couch with chagrin. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, picking up the screen play and carefully sitting atop his lower back as he sniffled quietly.

“It seems to me this couch could use some more padding” you tried to tease, as Javi’s weight shifted beneath you with embarrassment.

“Would you taunt a man whose very existence is dissolving into a heap of despair and angst?” Javi’s voice mumbled into the pillows disdainfully. You pouted with concern, moving to the floor and running your hands lightly through his curly hair. European men could be so dramatic, but something was obviously bothering him.

“Is this about the meeting with Nick?” you offered, before Javi pushed himself up revealing his red-rimmed eyes and crimson hue’d nose.

“YES this is about my online meeting with international superstar and close personal friend Nicholas Cage!” he nearly cried before collapsing back onto the couch with despair.

You bit back a smile of skepticism before starting to rub large circles over Javi’s back and nodding in support. “He didn’t like it?” you whispered, dreading the response. Javi paused before mumbling into the pillow;

“He loved it”.

You stopped your ministrations, sitting back on your heels with disbelief. “Well of course he loved it! It’s absolutely amazing!” you giggled, looking at the prostrate man before you. “Wait, so…what’s the problem then?” you waited with anticipation watching Javi’s back rise and fall with a tense breath.

“I believe…” Javi’s voice wilted under the oppression before meeting your eyes with gravitas, “…I believe I have become….Eve Harrington”. He threw himself back onto the couch as you blinked dumbly before him.

“I’m sorry….what?” you tried to stifle a laugh, fingering the pages of the screenplay in your hands. Artists were so delightfully hyperbolic.

“It is not funny, Principessa!” Javi declared, sitting up abruptly and kicking your foot with seriousness. You nodded solemnly, hugging the screenplay to your chest tightly. “You must understand the sincere anguish that is permeating my very soul in this moment.”

You quietly considered his admission. “How absolutely horrible, you must get confused for Anne Baxter all the time” you deadpanned, waiting for Javi’s explanation. FINALLY, his veneer cracked, as he sheepishly collapsed back onto his side with petulance.

“It is possible I might be over-reacting” he acquiesced, poking the screenplay with one large forefinger. “Did you actually like it?” he whispered, his eyes a sea of innocence.

“I absolutely did” you confessed, leafing through the pages with delight. “It’s campy and genre-bending. A total tour-de-force for Nicholas Cage, and a wonderful commentary on the self-referential nature of Hollywood and artistry in general. It actually reminds me of "All About Eve" in some ways…” you admitted before Javi’s face screwed up with anxiety. “But not because you’re turning into Eve Harrington!”

Javi sighed with uneasiness, as you sat down next to him, attempting to heft his body to an upright position. “I’m doooooomed for all eternity! I have sullied the iridescent name of cinematic powerhouse and intimate artistic comrade, Nicholas Cage, with my flagrant attempt to displace his greatness! As though that were even possible….” Javi whimpered with a flourish, collapsing his heavy weight against you and tilting his head to your shoulder.

“Oh my. This is really quite serious” you nodded. “I had no idea you had such gargantuan screenwriting prowess. On the surface, you just seemed like a loving fan who idealized their theatrical hero. And now, as per your observations, I can clearly see how maniacal you have become. It’s just too bad Nick Cage is not capable of seeing through your facade” you teased, taking Javi’s large hand in yours and stroking it tenderly.

He sniffled thoughtfully at your remarks. “Nicholas Cage is the paragon of dramatic virtue” he observed huffily, drawing your interlaced hands up to his chest and heaving a hefty sigh. “Perhaps you are right, Principessa. But what of the playwright Mr. Richards? He intimates that artists should know their place and avoid self-aggrandizement at all costs!”

You screwed up your face in remembrance, trying to access the referenced cinematic moment. “Javi, he says something about actors taking artistic liberties with words that are not their own. If anything, that quote refers to Nick Cage, not you the playwright…” you argued, as Javi apparently stopped breathing momentarily. “Maybe you could listen to the words Nick is actually saying to you, because they seem to be nothing but supportive”.

Javi turned to face you with a new beam of enlightenment gracing his sparkling face. “I am not attempting to usurp and displace theatrical legend and creative genius, Nicholas Cage?” he whispered, nearly nose to nose with you now.

“I’m not sure you could, sweetie” you offered, gripping his hand tightly with encouragement.

“I have not turned into an attractive but maniacal masculine version of the literary character Eve Harrington and forever damaged our burgeoning professional and personal relationship?” he blinked skeptically, looking for any minuscule traces of hesitation in your micro-expressions.

“That would be quite the talent, but no, I’m fairly certain not”.

Javi’s face burst into a radiant smile as he collapsed back against the couch, finally satisfied, and breathing a sigh of relief. “And you really thought the screenplay was good?” he cast his eyes downward, avoiding your glance before you dipped your head lower still to catch his gaze.

“I really did. And so did Nick Cage” you smiled, kissing Javi lightly on the cheek as he blushed a deep crimson.

“Eccellente” he mouthed, stifling a small giggle of joy.

“Now, I wouldn’t mind another one of those gelato milkshake concoctions from last night. Are we watching another selection from my curriculum series? I haven’t even attempted “The Candyman”…or maybe “Poltergeist”?” you questioned.

“Principessa, I have had more than enough horrors for the evening!” Javi joked, kissing your hand with bravado before heading into the kitchen for ingredients. “Incidentally, I believe you agreed to watch one of my favorites at your earliest convenience….” his voice drifted in from the background.

“Javi, we already watching Paddington 2…” you whined, kicking off your heels and settling in for the night.

“A giant in the world of dramatic arts!” Javi bellowed from the kitchen before waxing philosophical. “But, of course, I am speaking of National Treasure 2, starring international film star and personal friend….”

You mouthed with his expected response, “Nicholas Cage”. Smiling quietly to yourself you listened to the melodic hum of Javi’s voice as you watched the children playing in the golden light of Italian dusk.

There are very few moments in life as good as this. Let's remember it. To each of us and all of us, never have we been more close, may we never be farther apart.

*roll credits

*@dornish-queen footage + Alfred Newman Soundtrack

Dostoyevsky + the Slutty Knee

A big thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I really feel like I'm making progress with my health journey, but it's super slow going. The main thing that is keeping me creatively motivated is my art projects! I'm working on the final fiction for our "Crime and Punishment" series at Pedge's Bookshop, just in time for "The Last of Us Season 2". Don't forget to check out Joel's Jives if you would like the full participatory experience.

I think our next foray is going to be a one shot with Pena and J revolving around Pedro's recommendation, "What Happened to Belen?". And don't forget to check out our first fic for Pedge's Cinema "The Trailer" when Javi and J first meet. Grab your popcorn first however, the opening scene of "All About Eve" is soon to be started.

“Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.” “–and suddenly, in the midst of my laughing, I’d give way to sadness, fall into ludicrous despondency and once again start the whole process all over again

“You never reach any truth without making mistakes. Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I'll kiss you for it. And what are we doing now? In science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism, judgment, experience and everything, everything, everything, we are still in the preparatory class at school. We prefer to live on other people's ideas, it's what we are used to! Am I right?” “Break what must be broken, once for all, that's all, and take the suffering on oneself.” “Fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don’t be afraid - the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again.” “What do you think, would not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds?”

@littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva

@wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @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

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @zaniasky @quicax3

Pedge's Cinema The Trailer

Concessions Stand @iamasaddie is getting us ready for a true snack! See some of the fics we are going to be covering with Javi this awards season...

Triggers: profanity, alcohol consumption, lite flirtation, disastrous attempts at Italian, easy peezy we're just getting started...

Words: 2.6k

The landlady handed you an archaic looking key that was easily the size of a small brick. You half expected her to give you bottles that said “eat me” and “drink me” in Italian, but she merely snickered tossing her hands up with exasperation. “Idiota americano!” she muttered, not wholly under her breath, closing the ornate door behind her, leaving you alone in the somewhat crumbling apartment.

Guess you didn’t need Google Translate after all.

You looked down at your myriad of belongings, heaped into two large suitcases, and the somewhat dilapidated but charmingly rustic Italian apartment that smiled before you. You had arrived. After about 15 hours and one too many espressos, you found yourself at your Italian residence, anxious to start your teaching internship, yet even more enthusiastic about taking a shower. Finding yourself in your mid-forties, embarking on a summer adventure of this scope seemed an implausibility, as you rubbed at your lower back wincingly. As you shuffled slowly down the narrow hallway, you were exponentially grateful for the study abroad program at the college you had recently gained tenure at. Things were finally starting to amount to professional and personal solidity, so why did you still feel so lost? The bumbling taxi drive hadn’t helped, as you felt for the stale bag of airplane peanuts in your pocket. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. You’d been working with students your entire life and we’re finally exploring the international ways to bring creative techniques to life. But maybe your artistic eyes were somehow bigger than your metaphorical stomach. What were you even doing here? You opened the first door on the left, expecting it to be the water closet and were greeted by the imploring eyes of….a pigeon.

A bona fide pigeon. You blinked back and forth at one another curiously until an unexpected shriek from you caused your temporary flat mate to flutter haphazardly around the room, seeking immediate solace through the nearby open window. Sigh. Expect the unexpected. And, no toilet paper. Obviously. You felt around your pocket for the discarded cocktail napkin. Score. You could do this. Your path might not be clear, but you had earned your summer of adventure. All that remained was to take full advantage of the opportunity, and try to enjoy yourself in the process. Besides, weren’t pigeons a sign of Italian good luck? Maybe they needed to poop on you first. Heading him off at the pass, you quickly locked the window for good measure, taking stock of your surroundings. The shower was a dubious looking pipe that awkwardly found its way to a free standing bath tub. The ceiling of the water closet hovered about two feet above you, as you finally expressed gratitude for your diminutive stature. Finally, being short was working to your advantage, once you figured out how to use the faucets. You returned to your quest, shuffling down the hallway to the first door on the right, finding a queen sized, decorative bed frame showcasing the boudoir and more open windows. Luckily, there was no flora, fauna or fowl this time, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the picturesque view. Dragging your fingers lazily across the veil-like linens you gazed at the idyllic panorama before you. As though mirroring your cinematic dreams, the small Italian town stretched out before you, a winding fantasy of artisan shops, coffee, clotheslines and cobblestone.

What a view. Maybe you weren’t so lost after all.

Savoring the afternoon air, you sat cautiously on the pillowy mattress, a very thin layer of particle dust billowing in the sunlight. But nothing could stop you, as you nestled into the linens for your first nap. Any pigeons were welcome to join you.

A blurry feeling of disorientation greeted you, along with a melodic Italian argument, punctuated by puttering vespas. You blinked lazily at the dusky horizon, propping yourself up on your forearms. Your stomach immediately gurgled in response. You had given yourself several days to acclimate to your new Italian environment, before attending classes and symposiums, but hadn’t really considered what your first order of business would be. The stale bag of peanuts was holding little appeal, so you willed yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to tidy up. The apartment was slightly dilapidated and breezy, but the summer charm was already beginning to work its magic. You laid out your wardrobe on the bed before enjoying a luxurious shower, gazing forebodingly at the ceiling, as though it were about to crash down upon you. Just some getting used to. You looked around the small kitchenette, but only found a teaspoon of dried coffee grounds and what appeared to be some dried olives in the cabinet. Tomorrow’s task; find the nearest farmer’s market.

You had gone to inordinate lengths to make your phone internationally ready, but were already encountering difficulties. Other than a smattering of musical terms, you weren’t seriously proficient in Italian and were looking forward to honing your skills, as Duolingo had proven only conceptually effective. But that’s what this entire experience was about! Dipping your toes into the adventure of travel and mystery. You had tried to research this area of town, but could only find the local cinema listings which seemed to feature at least one movie in English. Clutching your chatty stomach with annoyance you slipped into a silky blouse and comfortable jeans. Stop overthinking and head out the door! Grab your Alice in Wonderland sized key and start exploring, woman! Smiling to yourself with chagrin, you checked for your Euro, passport and key, took a deep breath and closed the front door behind you. Ciao Bella!

It had been several decades since you had been to Italy, but your memory did not disappoint. Floating down the cobblestone streets, you were once again thankful to be wearing sneakers as you gazed at the nonnas bringing in their dried laundry and shouting at one another across the way. You were sure you stuck out like a sore thumb as you used your cell phone as a divining rod to arrive at the local cinema art house, patting yourself on the back. Surprised to discover your very limited geographical intuitions had actually served you, as you noticed the only English Film available blazing against the darkening sky;

PADDINGTON 2.

Alright, it wasn’t “La Dolce Vita”, but you were determined to give your stale packet of peanuts a run for its money, if this Italian cinema had anything resembling the Western definition of a snack. As per usual, the Italians were eons ahead of the United States, offering a sampling of pasta, wine and confections, which you unabashedly stocked up on. You sheepishly entered the small movie house, balancing an array of popcorn, snacks and wine, the latter of which was offered from a soda-like dispenser. Your international travels were already getting off to a GREAT start. You gazed around the room appraisingly, surprised to discover that you had the movie house COMPLETELY to yourself. 

Bellisima.

Indulgently plopping down in the absolute center of the room, you nearly squealed like a little girl when the projector clicked to life and the room darkened in response. This was only partially stifled when another figure peripherally entered your vision and began ascending the stairs. You weren’t overly concerned. Having visited Italy nearly 20 years ago, you had received more than your fair share of attention, but now, at 45 you were fairly certain you could blend into the background. It wasn’t until the curious stranger sat in the seat next to you that you glanced sideways with slight annoyance. Your heart immediately dropped at the sight of the standard Italian god that greeted you; well coifed, colorful, a curly mop of hair gelled into submission and a potent, but not disagreeable cologne that mixed with the heady smell of buttered popcorn. You weren’t sure why he had selected the seat immediately next to yours, but were momentarily distracted by his matching box of indulgent snacks. His face broke into an immediate grin as a handful of popcorn fell into your lap with his jostling.

“Popcorn, principessa?” he muttered, jamming a handful into his own mouth and licking the butter from his fingertips playfully. In another lifetime, you might have been irritated, but there was something immediately disarming about this man’s demeanor. You stalled, at the realization that he might not be Italian after all. Thankful he couldn’t view your blushing cheeks, you sputtered, 

“Oh I’m all set!” before wondering if he spoke English, and then realizing he was in the same movie as you. “Uh…par…parlare inglese?” you bumbled, spilling some Golia licorice into his lap in turn and grabbing at them haphazardly before flushing a dark shade of pink. “Scusi…”.

“Si!” he blurted out before wiping his hand embarrassingly over his face with chagrin. “I mean, yes!” He awkwardly grabbed your hand, shaking it emphatically and spilling still more popcorn over the floor and both of you. You both laughed good-naturedly as the movie was preceded by several Italian commercials you didn’t understand.  Settling into the gravitas of the cinematic experience, you quietly chewed your snacks, attempting to be demurely polite, but quite frankly you were starving. You were also immediately charmed by your unexpected movie date, as he uproariously laughed at the smallest jokes, nodding in agreement at the the most poignant dialogue. The snacks eventually discarded in satiation, you hadn’t expected the well of emotion towards the end of the movie, but that was nothing compared to your seat-mate. He was sobbing vociferously, his body quaking with emotion, when you finally reached over to tentatively pat him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“I…fucking…LOVE…this…movie…” he sniffled, between big gulps of air as you smiled knowingly to yourself. God, European men were so much more beautifully emotive than some of their Western counterparts. No wonder you had found yourself currently single in the States. You chanced a quick look at his left hand and found his wedding ring finger unoccupied, but internationally, did that even mean anything? Come on, woman, this isn’t “Only You”; get a grip. Just enjoy your new friendship and move on. You swiped at a few stray tears of your own before the lights gradually increased, leaving you both alone in the lightened movie house.

“Is that not the BEST movie you have ever seen? Without cinematic film star, Nicholas Cage, of course…” he oddly presumed, staring at you with saucer shaped eyes of warmth, a slight tinge of red dotting his cheeks at the corners.

“Uh…well, yes. Quite good, Much more emotional than I was anticipating” you admitted, shuffling your feet awkwardly.

“I feel the same way. It made me want to be a better man. I would even place it above towering films of cinematic greatness like “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari”….or maybe even “National Treasure 2”” he observed dryly, taking in your inquisitive expression.

“National Treasure 2?” you repeated dumbly, blinking with curiosity at the tenure of your conversation. Who the hell was this guy?

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly bore you with my encyclopedic knowledge of the greatest actor, and my personal friend, Nick Cage” he blushed shyly, rubbing at the back of his neck with humility.

“You know Nick Cage?” you brightened, stumbling upon a fellow afficianado. You worked with artists all the time and loved discussing the creative process. That was the exact reason for your internship.

“Do you know him as well?” he turned his body to more fully face you, the fragrance of cologne intoxicating you slightly in response.

“Oh…certainly not. But I know OF him, he’s quite talented, and eccentric I believe…” you started before he launched into a cinematic info. dump.

“I find his artistic choices to be quite outlandish, but in a very stylized and curated execution…” as he began to wax theatrical for the next 20 minutes. You tried to remain focused on his discussion points, but you were equally distracted by his animated and appealing aesthetic, as much as the lateness of the hour. It wasn’t until you stifled a yawn and shivered slightly that he paused in his information monologue with a look of lamentation. “Oh, principessa, you are quite tired of my ramblings. Please, may I walk you home?”. He stood impressively above you, holding out his hand in inquiry.

You cleared your throat with some embarrassment, as the wine fueled evening crawled up the back of your neck with a seductive tickle. “Oh, certainly mister….?” you inquired, stumbling ever so slightly to your feet as he grabbed you protectively around the waist.

“Javi! You can call me Javi!” he intoned. You weren’t sure, but you thought he brushed a small, affectionate circle at your lower back, turning you towards the exit and guiding your steps. You weren’t one hundred percent sure it was a good idea to lead this stranger right to your door step, but you were even less sure you could make it there on your own, the inefficient osmosis of popcorn and wine happily buzzing inside you. Jet lag didn’t help. But the streets of Italy were warm and inviting, as children continued to play late into the night, and old men sat smoking cigarettes and drinking grappa.

You wrapped your arm warmly around his as he gripped you solidly around the waist. The combination of wine, jet lag and cobblestone streets was proving a challenge, but your newfound friend didn’t seem inconvenienced. If anything, he kept chirping about his favorite movies and inquiring about your own theatrical tastes. It was like something out of a movie, and you decided to give in to the romantic idealism, however short lived it might be.

“This is me” you blinked lazily, arriving at your apartment and happy to return to your queen sized bed. And doubly grateful for your new and unexpected friendship. Javi.

Javi beamed, a dazzling smile dotting his face as you unlocked the door hesitantly. “What time can I call on you tomorrow?” his question immediately poked you in the stomach as you nearly tripped over your own doorway.

“Wh-what?” you sputtered, butterflies immediately erupting in your abdomen and cascading into your fluttering heart. He looked back at you curiously, as you swayed slightly in the night air. “Uh…noon please” you found yourself saying, equally delighted and confused at the surprising turn of events.

“Excellent, we can continue our cinematic discussion, and I will bring my screenplay for your perusal” he stated matter-a-factly before leaning in confidently and kissing you just to the side of your lips, which curled in delight. You blushed at the welcome bristle of his beard as it tickled your face, before he pulled back slightly and inhaled pointedly. “Buona notte, principessa” he whispered before purposefully turning and jaunting down the cobblestone street, his arms swinging happily from side to side, as he disappeared round the corner as quickly as he had entered your evening.

You stared after him, not entirely convinced he wasn’t some sort of cinematic illusion himself. It wasn’t until noon the next day, as you blearily considered the friendly knock at the door that the realization began to dawn on you. Squinting into the sunlight, you gulped dryly at his reappearance, two espressos in hand, as he stood once again, on your doorstep. He seemed to lustfully drink in your disheveled head of hair and naked legs which peeked from beneath the large white t-shirt you had haphazardly settled into before bed.

“Javi?” you rasped, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and smiling dopily. It seemed your cinematic dreams had temporarily come to life.

“Buongiorno, principessa!” Javi beamed, shoving the espresso emphatically into your hand and downing his own in one shot. “What movie are we seeing today?” he beamed, removing his glasses and smiling broadly.

This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship….

*Thanks @dornish-queen for the cool footage!

@littlemisspascal @wannabe-urs

@beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva

@wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @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

@harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @zaniasky @quicax3

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 :)

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

WIP Wednesday Pedge's Bookshop

We are going to begin "Pedge's Book Shop" which features Bookstore AU and a discussion of all things....literary. Looks like Joel is our grumpy shopkeeper!

Pedge Tweets!

Thanks @inept-the-magnificent for the tag, I've been wanting to do some Instagram worthy characters for a while! I might occasionally incorporate real tweets or photos, but it's mostly just me....and Pedge...

PedgeIsPunk PikesPlace MyDarlingMuse AfterglowSeries PedgesBookshop PedgesJukebox NewYorkNewYork PinkiePiePedge PedgesCinema

Here's the template to try yourself!

Hey beauties, you are officially invited to "Pedro's Holiday Feast" for the month of November! Every Sunday we will sit down for a family dinner, enjoying the cornucopia. Things to be grateful for--

First Family Dinner

Second Family Dinner

Final Family Dinner

Thanksgiving Day Reveal!: Pike's Place; Love Actually

*thanks @bernardsbendystraws 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!

Pedge's Bonfire

Pedro Scouts was my first Tumblr activity ever and it was a GREAT summer activity to participate in! Things have been winding down with Fall responsibilities, but Pedge and I needed to get away and garner a couple more badges! Ah, nature....All of my reblogs are found on my second account @pedrotease!

Endured the Storm: Blossom Beauty, Blossom A Very Special Episode of PB + J Fantasy: Good Girl @aurorawritestoescape Trope Off-Sex Pollen Din Djarin One Shot @auteurdelabre The Correspondence of the Contagious @crowandmousewritingco Touchstone @sawymredfox Road Trip: Are You Alright, Honey? @javigutierrez Knuckles Deep @ozarkthedog Knuckle Deep in the Backseat @cxrsed-angel Changed Username: I lurked on Tumblr for almost a full year before I started writing! I used to be @shadowcupcakewitch but she is no longer. Now we are all Pedge, all the time...

I'm also celebrating 100 reblogs with @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope Challenge reblog of "Pike's Place"! Thanks @inept-the-magnificent for the cool rec's and encouragements on this Slow Burn Winter Series, final installment on Christmas Day. Now, Pedge and I better get back to camping, we only have one sleeping bag, whatever will we do?

Pedro Fandom Bingo Finale

I love these kinds of activities! Here's the last update, it's been a great year of Tumblr 💖 I have a separate reblog account so check out @pedrotease for all the deets! And thanks to @burntheedges for the fun prompt! Finale Bingo, thanks to the writers for all you do!

Dave York No One Has to Know What We Do @guiltyasdave Down Bad @schnarfer The Roomate Agreement @auteurdelabre Melt @sizzlingcloudmentality Dieter Sweet Dee @yopossum Devotion, Self Care w/ Dieter + Jett @morallyinept My Darling Muse Mr. Ben Visiting @ladamedusoif Ternion @exquisiteserotonin Joel Miller All Good Things @criticallyacclaimedstranger Oberyn Unshelled @inept-the-magnificent He Will Slay You With His Tongue @iamasaddie Hurt/Comfort Trope (Joel Edition) Somewhere to Run, I Know Who You Are @punkshort Nothing Hits Quite Like That First Kiss @backtothefanfiction Javier Pena Kinktober 2024 @flightlessangelwings Afterglow Marcus Pike Is It Real? @f0rever15elf Pike's Place Pero Tovar Drabble #4 @toomanystoriessolittletime General Acacius Soak @juletheghoul Din Shower Sex @pedropascallme Javi Gutierrez Slow @morallyinept Phoenix Rising Agent Whiskey Glorification @morallyinept How Much Does Devotion Weight? @anabdaniels Marcus Moreno Thanksgiving Delights Cock Warming @flightlessangelwings Frankie Morales You're My Stranger in the Dark @lady-of-glass-and-bone Moody Frankie New Pedro Character Little Dove @palioom Unmasked Tim Rockford The Detective and the Agent @604to647 Husband Material Max Phillips Blood Sucking Witch Ezra One Stop Shop @morallyinept

Moody Max

Am I currently working on the exciting Marcus Pike "Roll the Dice" fic inspired by @burntheedges and @yopossum? No. Am I adding to my "Afterglow" Series with a new Pedro Boy? No. Am I writing the 3rd installment for The New York, New York Series with "Purple Rain"? No. But here's a Mood Board for a potential Halloween Fic for a character that scares me from a movie I haven't yet seen. Cause #PedroPascal...

Afterglow Phoenix Rising

This series is not for everyone, so please imbibe accordingly. Pedge is not a registered therapist, but enjoys the many nuances of deconstruction and pleasure. This seemed like a fun, varied way to interpret how the Pedro Boys might react to different scenarios and an interesting literary device to unpack the complexities of our great and not so great "O"s!

Triggers: smut, edging, self-denial, use of toys, attempt at Spanish, crying (there's always crying, let's be honest)...

Series Masterlist

If your eyes had been open you would have seen the thin sheen on Javi’s forehead, as he bit down on his lower lip with tumult. You would have seen his doe eyes blown wide with lust and wonder, watching you unravel for the last hour+.

You would have clocked his trembling hand as he alternated between fingers and vibrator, licking his digits clean, pausing just long enough to let you catch your breath in exhaustion.

But your eyes weren’t open. You were so far embedded within your own labyrinth, you had ceased to register time, movement or anything other than pleasure. Pleasure. And pleasure. You were wound so tight, you were the seed of the Universe itself. Drawing in on itself, smaller and smaller and smaller until everything ceased to exist.

“Pobrecita….” he pleaded raspily. “Don’t you want to come? It’s time to cum…” he begged, cupping the back of your neck as you writhed beneath his ministrations. 

“Can’t…cum…no…no…” you stuck your tongue out languidly, eyes rolling back in your head. You had babbled, pleaded, begged, squeaked…unraveling like a beautiful gift for yourself, leaving Javi a mess of nerves and hyperventilation.

“Hermosa, it’s….so much…you can’t do this again” he swallowed hard, watching you buck beneath him as he turned the vibrator up yet again.

Your eyes shot open in newfound delight as he hit THE SPOT. Over and over and over. Your face burst into a cheshire grin as you crested, and crested, and crested…and….

Body breaking in half you seized in a tight full body muscle spasm, finally crying out in delighted anguish as your body split into a million molecules of light. Working you through your pleasure, Javi coo’d encouragingly as he finally dropped the toy and passionately grasped you around the waist, stroking your back as you cried.

“Que hermosa mi amor, ¿Por qué te torturas? No puedo respirar…” he sighed, delicately massaging the back of your head and laying you down on the bed gently.

Lost to your euphoric oblivion, you barely registered his absence until he returned with some water and a warm wash cloth. You smiled dopily, enjoying the salty remnants of your well-earned release and stretching, cat-like. You gently blinked out of existence for a while, moaning into your re-emergence and finding Javi watching you dolefully with red-rimmed, chocolate-colored eyes.

“Oh” you sulked, cupping his face with one hand, surprised that your extremities still worked. “What's wrong my love?” you sniffled, bringing your body to alignment with his as your eyes threatened to close with every blink.

“Are you okay?” he asked in hushed tones, bringing his hand to your lower back and pulling you closer still.

“Oh yeeeees my love” you moaned, kissing into the stubble of his beard and humming contentedly, willing your liquid like arms around his neck with abandon. You felt Javi shudder and gasp as he began to cry in your arms. Surprised at his emotion, you gripped him tightly, wrapping your legs around his torso and wriggling your fingers up through his curly, chestnut hair.

“I don’t understand!” he cried, shaking like a small child and nearly cutting off your breathing with the force of his embrace.

“My love!” you squeaked. “What’s happening?” you blearily asked, cupping his face with both hands and kissing salty tear after salty tear.

“Why would you torture yourself like this? I could make you cum so much faster! Mi corazon esta partido en dos…” he lamented, drawing you up in his arms placatingly.

“Darling” you pouted, stroking his face sweetly. “I wish you had told me, we don’t have to do this anymore if it bothers you…” you began, as he shook his head profusely.

“I’m hurting you!” he cried, lower lip wobbling in anguish.

“You are NOT hurting me!” you exclaimed, sitting up precariously, emphatic with your intentions. “No man has EVER been so patient with my desires!” placing your hand over his heart comfortingly.

“Are you sure?” he begged, gazing imploringly into your eyes, looking for any sign of wavering or hidden meaning.

“Absolutely!” you sank back into his arms as he held you for a long time, relaxing a bit with relief. After several minutes he whispered tentatively, “If you could help me understand, maybe I could…enjoy…what you are enjoying…” he ventured.

“Of course” you ruminated, wondering if you could articulate your experience. “When I was younger, sex was so easy, so quick, so…utilitarian” you licked your lips, trying to formulate the complexity of your passions. Javi hummed in response. 

“The passions of youth are feverish and fiery” he mused, nodding his head in agreement.

“Yes, excitingly simple” you continued. “But…with maturity…” you chuckled self-deprecatingly. “With…some seasoning…”…

“Very spicy” Javi rocked you from side to side a bit as you giggled.

“With some seasoning…I’ve been re-introduced to….the complexities of myself”. Javi stilled in sacred listening, barely breathing. “I…burst into flame…like a phoenix rising…And the power. It’s like when iron sharpens iron, but the sword is…myself?” you snorted with temporary chagrin. “With you…she’s beautiful, and powerful, and worth the wait” you pondered, struggling to articulate the enjoyment of the moment. “She takes so much longer to unravel, it’s like a beautiful negotiation of self” you settled on that description, unsure how to convey the nuances.

Javi hummed in approval, resting his chin on the crown of your head and gathering you closer still in his embrace. “So…you are the phoenix who bursts into flame?” he sighed, smiling with newfound understanding.

“Aflame for you, my love” you grinned, looking up at him with adoration. Though, your mouth went immediately slack as you heard the tell tale vibrations of the toy buzz to life again.

“And you like this negotiation of self?” he teased, massaging the toy in languid circles as a sinful moan escaped your lips.

If your eyes had been open you would have seen the smirk transversing his sultry countenance. But they weren’t. Your lids had fluttered shut into the happy, pleasured existence of your own oblivion....

*thanks @samspenandsword for the cool dividers!

Happy Birthday!

Ah, our beloved Joel just had a little birthday on the 26th and Tumblr is alight with his beautiful gifties! Pedge wants to give something back, does anyone need a little special attention from Joel Miller?

Pick your color scheme and occasion and Pedge and I are going to craft you a special greeting card! As always, Pedge is a self made man (if you count Bitmoji...). I'm going to keep this request open for the rest of the year for anyone who needs it!

Don't forget to include your color scheme and what occasion we are recognizing. It doesn't have to be one of celebration if you are experiencing a loss, or a bad day or just want a quickie (#ahem encouragement). Pedge is not opposed to sexy exhortations either. Ope, Pedge has already dusted off the crayons and scissors I better get back! PM me for a little pick me up!

Moody Javi

Awwww....Paddington Bear Javi is the moodiest of them all, in the best way possible. Look at those big brown eyes! Putting together some mood boards for the Pedro Boys for an upcoming project...Frankie is on the horizon next...

Afterglow Series

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...

Phoenix Rising (Javi Edition) A Different Happy Ending (Marcus Pike Edition) Workplace Benefits (Javier Pena Edition)

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

Sexy Series Masterlist (RPF)

Let's Stick Together!

Art Projects Dieter's Art Studio; My Darling Muse

Afterglow Series Dead Dove December; The Deepest Cut

Pedge's Campsite

Fun With Mood Boards!

Pedro Boys

Pedro Posts, Polls and Prompts

Pedge's Juke Box

Pedge Tweets!

Pedge's Bookshop

Pedge's Cinema

Pedro Scouts Beat the Heat

Pedge and I have been having an amazing time with @pedroscouts Summer Fun, though steadily getting hotter. Excited to hear our upcoming Sunday badges, Pedge and I are several steps from the next ranking! But we are ready to rough it. Happy Summer Fun my fellow Scouts. Let's keep it hawt!

Ice Cream Social Sweet Treats Posted a Poll Pedro Party Bookshop AU Snooze @tightjeansjavi A Lover's Pinch @hier--soir Miller's Book Nook @whocaresstillthelouvre Whump Ouch! @joellastofus Take a Moment to Breathe @tightjeansjavi Too Young to Die @starry-eyes-love Javi Gutierrez Are You Alright, Honey? @javigutierrez Poolside @joelscruff Slow @morallyinept Marcus Pike Charcuterie Challenge Lost In Our Vices @thetriumphantpanda I'll Crawl Home to Her Second Chances @pedroscurls Angst Limits @randofantfic Teacher's Pet @javiscigarette Cinnabon @strang3lov3 Midnight Kisses @bluebeary-jay Platonic Love Nobody Else But You @writersblog20 Accidentally Discoursed The One With Pedge and Jett Be Good to Yourself and Be Good to Others @morallyinept Found Family Mr. and Mrs. Miller @mrsmando You Make Loving Fun @javierpena-inatacvest