#but i am still just opening google docs and screaming for several hours as i struggle to move this story forward lmao.

[juspeczyk]

me planning how i'm going to put these blorbos through hell:

me when the blorbos reach hell and i actually have to write multiple chapters of angst and pain and struggle:

[chloegong]

that semi-AU romajuliette + benmars fic

i need a permanent place to store this after dumping a random google doc on twitter so here it is, the author writing fic for her own book because people gave me headcanons and they were too good not to make use of

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the one where juliette and marshall go out for a night out on the town and roma and ben have to go along to supervise because one time they accidentally committed arson —headcanon from twitter user @leonidasvaldz

a semi AU where Benedikt and Marshall were hanging out with Roma and Juliette in those happy months R&J had together in 1922 before everything went wrong (aka you can take this as canon because it will fit the timeline but the characters won’t have memory of this in the actual published books)

Disclaimer: i wrote this in one go inside a starbucks please expect ao3 user chloegong and not Author Chloe Gong who does multiple rounds of edits on her books

Second Disclaimer: nobody go putting this on goodreads before someone on my publishing team kicks my ass (rightfully so, i’m on deadline rn and i’m writing fanfic instead of my real contracted manuscript)

Mandatory reminder that Our Violent Ends is available for preorder with all links here :)

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It wasn’t supposed to happen again. And yet, somehow, Benedikt was watching fire curl around the side of the building, the roof beams giving a loud groan before shuddering and caving in on itself.

He turned a look onto Roma. “Your girlfriend is a maniac.”

~

Five hours earlier...

Juliette climbed in through the window of Roma’s bedroom, careful to hug the burlap bag close to her chest as she landed on his carpet. The howling wind outside drowned out some of the clinking, but the glass bottles were still making a racket no matter how carefully she hugged the bag. She had gone full throttle for tonight; when no one was watching and her relatives were downstairs crowing over a game of cards, she had snuck around and robbed the liquor cabinets at the Scarlet mansion quite generously. Now she dropped the bag onto Roma’s floor with a huff, brushing a curl of hair out of her eyes.

“Where’s Marshall?”

Roma looked up from where he was reading, putting his book down and rising from the bed smoothly.

“Well, hello.” He strode toward her, stopping before her with his arms crossed. “Lovely to see you too. You do know it is my bedroom you just snuck into, right?”

Juliette pretended to jump in surprise, looking around wildly. “Do you jest? Oh, bother. Let me climb back out and go find my real lover. Marshall! Where are—”

With a huff that seemed to double as a laugh, Roma grabbed her wrist before she could turn around and leave through the window again.

“You’re hilarious,” he said dryly.

“I know.” Juliette reached up with her free hand, clasping her cold fingers right onto his neck. Though her palm was freezing from the bitter temperatures outside, Roma hardly flinched, he only shrugged his shoulder up to keep her hand there. He couldn’t fight back the grin. For several seconds, the two of them only stood there, looking like a pair of idiots smiling at each other.

Then his door opened.

“Are we interrupting something?”

Marshall bounded into the room, throwing the door wide open. With a horrified expression, Benedikt hurried in after him and closed the door quickly, listening for movement on the other side.

“Yes, leave the door wide open,” Benedikt said. “While any White Flower strolling the corridor can peer in and see the Scarlet heir standing there in a silly coat.”

Juliette stepped away from Roma, peering down at herself as if she had forgotten what she put on. “I didn’t think it was that silly. It’s my disguise.”

“You do look a little like a housewife,” Marshall said, considering the coat.

“A fifteen-year-old housewife?”

“I suppose that is exactly why you look a little silly.”

Juliette pulled a face, but refrained from arguing further. She was here tonight because Marshall wanted to see the new Scarlet club that opened along Thibet Road, and she had promised she could sneak him in. Unfortunately, Marshall was bad at keeping secrets, and the worst at keeping secrets from Benedikt. The moment that Benedikt heard Marshall was planning on entering Scarlet territory, he had decided that he would come in accompaniment.

Juliette supposed it was only fair. Benedikt didn’t entirely trust her, but he was nice enough. He tolerated her presence and always kept an eye over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t spotted on their territory if she poked her head in to see Roma. While Juliette didn’t know much about Marshall either, he was far warmer than his best friend, and for the first time last week, they had even enjoyed an outing with just the two of them. Juliette Cai and Marshall Seo—out and about in the border territories on a quaint evening.

That outing had ended with accidental arson though, so it was rather possible that exacerbated Benedikt’s desire to play chaperone. And of course, if Benedikt was coming along, Roma wanted to tag along too.

The arson was hardly their fault, Juliette and Marshall had maintained when the Montagovs asked questions. What kind of person left a stack of hay out beside a bar? And what kind of hay was that easily flammable just from accidentally whacking one of the lanterns on the awning onto the stack?

“All right.” Juliette hauled the bag up again. “Are we ready to sneak onto Scarlet territory?”

“Absolutely not,” Benedikt muttered, strolling past her for Roma’s window. “But is that going to stop either of you?”

Before anyone could answer him, Benedikt had already hopped the small gap between windows, climbing into their neighboring building for their route out unspotted.

“Great!” Juliette said. She passed the bag to Roma so he could do the carrying. What was the point of converting a rival gang enemy into a lover if not to lug around her heavy things? “Glad we’re all so enthusiastic.”

Roma sighed, clambering onto his sill and making the climb too. “The things I do for you, dorogaya.”

Marshall hurried after him. “I would argue you’re actually doing this for me, dearest Roma!”

With a snort, Juliette climbed out last, and pulled the window after her.

~

The Scarlet club had been a bust. Of course, Benedikt had figured that would be the case from the get-go, especially if they were sneaking in at such a late hour to avoid being seen by anyone important in the Scarlet Gang. At least Juliette had provided good alcohol, and now he squinted at the label of the wine bottle under the street lamps while they walked, taking the smaller main roads along the periphery of the city.

Up ahead, Roma and Juliette were whispering to each other, though they didn’t sound like they were talking in full sentences. Those two always communicated in looks and gestures, swapping languages whenever they felt like it and ending up with some incoherent tangle of words that no one else could comprehend.

“Is there anything left in that?”

Benedikt glanced to his side, shaking the bottle to show Marshall. “One last swig. All yours.”

Marshall took the bottle. He put it to his lips and swung up, his head tipped to the sky and the line of his throat bared to the night. Benedikt shivered suddenly, a line of goosebumps rising at the back of his neck. The season had turned cold and the wind that blew onto his face was biting. He wrote off his shudder to the chill, to the temperature dropping with the longer they spent outside at such an hour.

Suddenly, Marshall was squinting into the distance. “Hey.” His call summoned Roma and Juliette’s attention from ahead, who both turned around to see what the matter was.

Marshall pointed to the dark shape off the end of the road. “Isn’t that the abandoned factory we lost to the Scarlets?”

“Is it?” Juliette asked, a sudden glee in her face.

“Why would you say that?” Roma bemoaned. He didn’t bother trying to stop her as Juliette hurried ahead, eager to explore the factory. “Look what you’ve done.”

But Marshall was wearing a similar expression, his eyes scanning the factory as they approached closer and closer. Wordlessly, he handed the bottle back to Benedikt, and though Benedikt’s head was spinning from the drink, he still recognized the exact face that Marshall made before he was going to get himself into trouble.

“Mars—”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he insisted, tipping his chin forward. Juliette had disappeared into the factory. “You two be look-out. We wouldn’t want someone finding us here, right?”

Benedikt scarcely had a second to argue back. Marshall was already hurrying off.

~

Inside the factory, Juliette trailed her hands along the dark walls, her eyes wide. The machines looked strange in the moonlight, but stranger while sitting so idle. She was used to seeing rows and rows of workers in the daytime, trailing after her father as he ran inspections on the work of their trade partners. It might have been the wine in her system, but everything seemed to sway: sitting so inactive in movement that her eyes were imagining movement.

“Pst.”

Juliette almost jumped out of her skin.

“Christ,” she muttered, whirling around with a hand on her heart. Marshall slunk out from the shadows, both his hands in his pockets. “You gave me a fright.”

“Me? Frightening?” Marshall picked up a strange object on the table, inspected it for several seconds, then set it back down. “I am the least frightening person on the planet.”

“Yes, well, when it’s so dark, even a cuddly teddy bear would be terrifying.” Juliette felt around her dress. She thought she had tucked her lighter in here somewhere. There were little pockets sewn around the sleeves and armholes that she kept all her weapons, though if anyone asked, she would say she had the ability to materialize them out of thin air.

“Do you scream often at teddy bears?”

“Only when they sneak up on me.”

“I don’t see you screaming at Roma.”

“He gets a special pass. He’s only a teddy bear on the inside.”

Marshall snorted. He leaned down, trying to read the paper taped down to the table. At last, Juliette found her lighter—it was actually in her sock—and she brought it close, thumbing down the sparkwheel for a flame.

“Do not touch—for demolishing,” Marshall read under the new light. “Are the Scarlets going to build something new here?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Juliette replied. “My father doesn’t include me in his business meetings yet.”

“Hmm.” The shadows of the factory danced. Juliette thought she saw someone darting in her periphery, and she whirled around, but it was only Marshall’s shadow. Unfortunately, she had scared Marshall with her movement, and he bumped into her, asking, “What? What is it?”

The lighter flew out of her hands, landing on the paper.

“Nothing, nothing!” Juliette assured. “I was seeing things.”

But Marshall wasn’t convinced. He swiveled around. Peered hard into a corner. “Was it ghosts? I know this city has ghosts. All that death creates so many ghosts.”

Juliette tried to look where he was looking. She couldn’t see anything except the dark.

“There is no such thing as ghosts.”

“Just last week, I felt something walk by me and then there was no one when I looked. I swear to you, if it wasn’t ghosts then I—” Marshall stopped suddenly, turning around to look at the table. “Uh… is that supposed to happen?”

Juliette whirled around too. The whole table was on fire. “Oh, God.”

With a sudden pop, the fire sprung up and licked up to the walls. There had to be something sprayed inside the factory already to prepare for demolition, or else the flames would not be traveling with such intensive speed.

“Marshall,” Juliette said simply.

“Yes?”

She looked at him. “When the Montagovs ask, we blame the factory and say we have no idea what happened. Run!”

~

Benedikt and Roma kept watch in relative silence. Benedikt’s head was spinning, and his cousin looked like his head was doing the same if his swaying was any indication. Roma was humming softly under his breath, toeing the grass that grew around the abandoned factory.

Then, there was a sudden sound from inside, and the first tendrils of flames blew out from the topmost windows.

“Roma,” Benedikt said plainly. “I’m willing to bet my life savings that Juliette Cai just committed arson.”

Roma tilted his head up, his jaw dropping agape. At first, he could only stare at the growing fire, eating up the roof beams. Then, he said: “To be fair, it could have been Marshall.”

Benedikt threw his arms into the air. “Who looks more like the arson type, Juliette or Marshall?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“The answer was Juliette!”

Benedikt pinched the bridge of his nose. He was rapidly growing concerned, but before he could suggest they go in to search for the two, Juliette and Marshall ran out from the factory—laughing. The factory was burning down, and they were laughing, grasping at each other and spinning in circles right in front of the factory. They looked a sight: seconds away from collapsing atop of each other in utter delirium.

Benedikt turned to Roma. “Your girlfriend is a maniac.”

Roma was struggling to hold back his laugh watching her with Marshall. “I think she’s magnificent.”

Marshall stumbled, and Juliette squealed, reaching out to grab his arm before he could trip and land flat on his face. Benedikt almost—almost—let a smile slip. Before Roma could sight it and tease him for enjoying himself after all, he cleared his throat.

“What happened?” he bellowed.

“Faulty factory!” Marshall called back.

Benedikt shook his head, turning on his heel. They needed to get out of here before someone reported the fire.

“Come on!” he called back to the three. “Let’s go before the Municipal Police arrive.”

Upon Benedikt’s summons, Marshall left Juliette’s side and hurried to catch up. He slowed to a stroll once he was beside Benedikt, but Benedikt could feel Marshall watching him.

“What?” Benedikt asked. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure his cousin was following too. Thankfully he was, though it was mostly Juliette hauling him along, their hands clasped together and swinging while Roma kept looking at the fire.

“I think you enjoyed yourself,” Marshall replied smugly. “After all that complaining about sneaking into Scarlet territory.”

Benedikt reached out and rapped his knuckles on Marshall’s skull. With a shriek, Marshall darted ahead.

“You want me to enjoy myself?” Benedikt shouted after him, breaking into a run too. “Come back then! Let me throttle you!”

FIN.

[heartsck]

mischa & daci - late night feels

(this is a long thread we did on google docs so all under read more, also tw abuse, violence, death, daci having emotions on main)

@sodaparticles

daciana

A heartrender was meant to know her own body, her own mind, know it and control it such that she could then control others. It was one of the most fundamental tenets of her order, and something Daciana had always thought she was rather good at.

So why couldn’t she sort through the messiness in her mind now?

As she often did when she felt overwhelmed, although she would never admit this, she sought out Mischa. Wrapping her kefta over her thin nightgown, Daciana grabbed the bottle she’d been saving for saints knew what, and then followed the all too familiar path to his room. The halls of the little palace were empty, everyone tucked away for the night, but she didn’t care.

Daciana lingered outside his door for a moment, hearing his heartbeat like a metronome and the melody from his piano. She could picture it easily -  Mischa lost in the music with his long, graceful fingers dancing across the keys, perhaps his eyes were closed. He was probably at peace. She gave him one more moment of this, a slight twinge of something in her chest over her constant need to be the center of attention, and then pushed open the door.

He looked up at her, but she couldn’t say anything. Not now, not yet. The heartrender stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, setting the bottle down on top of the piano and slipping off her kefta with a level of care that did not match her current somewhat manic energy. She draped it over the back of a chair then rushed forward, joining him on the piano bench and kissed him - hard & desperate. One hand snaked around his neck while the other clutched at his shirt - too needy and too distracted for how she usually was.

It didn’t work.

After a moment, or maybe it was several minutes, she broke the kiss with a gasp that might have been a sob. Daciana leaned forward, pressing her face into his chest so he could not see that she was crying.

mischa

“Are you…. Are you okay?” he never thought he’d ask her this question. If anything, the roles would be reversed, and even then he wasn’t sure she’d be as he was. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling back just enough so he could see her face. Seeing the tears staining her cheeks, his chest suddenly felt hollow and his voice was soft and as comforting as he could manage. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Daciana?”

It was late, as late as it always was when he managed to gather the motivation to practice on the piano. It was always a constant for him, and he was grateful he was able to even have one in his room. Sometimes he thought he was beginning to become a snobby grisha like some of the others. Usually he wanted to forget everything about his past, but this was one thing he wanted to keep in the present. He could easily recall the nights he would play for his other siblings while they all danced or played with him, or it was background music for the bickering they would always do. Never a moment of peace in the Essen household. So he became Mischa Baluev, and became his own peace. Only it never really worked the way he wanted it to.

He sighed, messing up for what felt like the hundredth time. He was beginning to become frustrated, or tired; or both. Before he had the chance to completely give up and just go to bed, the door opened. He looked up at her, the other constant that had developed in his life. He forgot how he lived before her. Every moment she wasn’t around was a moment he was not in peace. He was always searching for her now, everywhere he went. Everything reminded him of her, and though most things went unsaid between them, he had a feeling that tonight would be different. She seemed different.

He stayed quiet as she took off the kefta, approached him, and sat on the bench, not wanting to ruin the moment with a stupid joke like he often did. As always, the silence between them was a comfortable one, but he could sense some type of tension radiating from her that was unusual.

When she kissed him, he tried to match her energy, but failed. Through furrowed brows, he placed his hands on her shoulders, almost pulling away before she did it for him. Confusion and horror mixed on his face as she broke from the kiss and still, said nothing. When she burrowed her face in his chest, he didn’t say anything for a moment. What could he say about something he didn’t even know was really happening?

daciana

She could not recall the last time she’d felt so untethered, like all of the benchmarks she’d built her life upon were suddenly gone and she was lost in some squallar’s storm. Daciana did not know what was worse, the conflicting emotions over her mother’s death or the utter helplessness from feeling so out of control. She hated them both.

She loved the way he looked at her.

Mischa looked at her like she was the only person in the room, even across a crowd. He looked at her like he saw every part of her - the good, the bad, and even those parts she kept buried deep behind all that hard glossy armor. He looked at her and she felt seen. She felt safe. But now, there was something else, concern ghosted across his face but he did not speak. Daciana felt the slight hitch in his breath, or maybe his heart, when she kissed him and she almost thought she’d gotten away with acting like everything was fine.

Until his hands moved to her shoulders, pushing her back in the same breath as she pulled away. Mischa knew her all too well, she’d forgotten that in her grief and confusion. His chest was warm, his heartbeat steady even though she could feel it ticking upwards with concern. When he spoke, she broke - the tears running freely onto his shirt and then her cheeks as he gently pulled her face up to look at him.

“I -” she fumbled for her words, she never did that, and her voice was raw, desperate. “My mother died. Or maybe he fucking killed her. And Sacha can’t talk about it, but I need to because I have no idea if I am sad or relieved or angry - no wait I am angry, I’m so fucking angry but I don’t know how to deal with it. And we have to fucking go back there and pretend to be sad and pretend she didn’t sit there passively everytime.” She let out a choked sob, then reached for the bottle of liquor she’d brought.

“Drink with me?” Daciana made sure her body still touched his, needing the reassurance of his steadiness, then uncapped the bottle and took a large pull. The heartrender grimaced, she did not drink often, and certainly not like this. She took another, then pressed the bottle into his hand. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Mischa.”

mischa

The way she acted scared him. There was no other word for it, and he didn’t know if he liked being scared when it came to her. Everything about her always screamed I got this, her confidence and ruthlessness was what drew him in in the first place. Mischa wasn’t used to this version of her. He was used to petty, distant remarks followed by the tip of her finger tracing his shoulder down to his arm with the flutter of her eyelids as she charmed her way into his heart. This stuttering, vulnerable girl was one he did not know. It scared him, but did not scare him away.

He could tell how hard she tried to keep her face stone cold with no expression. He could sense the lump in her throat as easily as he could sense it in his own, because seeing her this way made him just as upset. He would burn cities down for her, bury his own people for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to see her happy, or at the very least, normal.

Mischa thought he was hearing things as she spoke, trying to process everything before she was on to the next thing and shoving a bottle of alcohol in his hand. Sad, relieved, angry; emotions he didn’t know Daciana Zhirkova knew, but she proved him wrong again and again every day. She spoke so fast he didn’t know if he even caught all of it, but he still tried, noticing how she kept her body weight against him.

“Every time?” he dared, not used to feeling like he had to be careful around her. He tried to maneuver so he was looking her in the eyes, his hand instinctively pushing her hair back and smoothing it down in an attempt of reassurance. He didn’t know if it was futile, but he still tried. Mischa didn’t know how to help her, or reassure her. He didn’t know his parents, and he supposed he could just make up a story about them, but he didn’t want to lie around her. He didn’t want the relationship he wanted with her built around lies.

Mischa sat quietly again, trying to think of the right thing to say. Was there even a right thing to say in this situation? He watched as she downed some of the bottle, taking a tentative sip after her. He wanted to be fully comprehensive for this. “Gonna go out on a limb here and say she wasn’t…. The best mother?”

daciana

Rationally, somewhere, she knew this was too much to unload on him at once. He didn’t owe her anything, certainly not the kind of emotional support she was asking of him. But Mischa did not tell her to leave, he did not pull away or act in any way that would make her feel unwelcome. Daciana wouldn’t realize how much she’d needed this until much later.

She couldn’t answer his first question, not right away, and only shook her head quickly. His hand was gentle against her face, that bit of affection nearly broke her focus - Daciana had to squeeze her eyes shut to focus all her power on stabilizing her erratic heart beat. She watched as he took a small sip, then grasped at the bottle again and downed two more large gulps.

Very few people (read: almost no one) knew this, but Daciana Zhirkova was an incredible lightweight. More than two drinks spread out over a few hours and it went straight to her head. It was why she did not drink much, if anything at all. But this was different, and somewhere she knew she was safe with him. The alcohol seemed to wrap her mind in a cocoon, pushing against that hard glossy armor and finding the weak points, the places she could let a bit of her hidden self through. It was the only way. Daciana stood up quickly and paced as she spoke.

“Father is a heartrender like me, and mother a tidemaker. It was just me and Sacha, always has been, and we knew early on the only way to matter was to be grisha,” she glanced at him, “and the right kind of grisha.” Running a trembling hand through her hair, Daciana continued to pace. “I’d been like, I don’t know - affecting myself and Sacha for most of our childhood even before I really knew what it was. He got it the worst, and he always stood up for me - took it for me.” She finally stopped pacing and took a heavy breath.

“Father said he knew before he could walk.” She pulled up the hem of her nightgown over her hip to point out a shiny burn scar across her ribs. “I think we were five or six, and he wanted to see if we were inferni. Sacha must have been too traumatized for it to manifest then, or we were too young.  There were other scars but I was able to get rid of most of them, or cover them up with tattoos,” she rubbed the back of her neck absently. “She never did anything, never said anything, never protected us. She only seemed to remember us when she was drunk and only when we were very little. Like I can’t even tell if those memories are real or wishful thinking.” All the fight seemed to leave her body at once, and Daciana sank backwards to sit on his bed.

“Bit more than you thought you were getting into, yeah?”

mischa

Throughout her entire monologue, he stayed quiet. He didn’t know too many things, but he knew when to be silent. Eyes glued to her the entire time, never once straying. Mischa changed his expression, keeping the pity out of his eyes. He’d hate it if someone pitied his story, and knew her well enough to know that was the last thing she needed at that moment. His heart stung, his body was hot with anger. She could protect herself, but saints did he want to protect her from everything the world made her in that moment.

Mischa didn’t know when the lump in his throat burst and a small sob made its way through his lips when she lifted her nightgown to show the scar. He looked away immediately, rubbing the palm of his hand over his face. The tears that swelled in his eyes were from anger, and he had to swallow it down because he knew Daciana didn’t need that either. He knew better than most that she was entitled to her secrets, Saints knew he had tons of his own, but the ones she’d told him almost made him keel over.

He stood from the piano bench once she plopped back onto his bed, laying back next to her. He leaned on his elbow, leaning over top of her to look at her-- really look at her, as she lay there. This was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her, and while it broke his own heart, it was nothing compared to what she had to be going through at that moment. Again, he brushed her hair away from her face, letting his fingers brush the stray tears away from her cheek and brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.

“You could have told me you killed a bunch of poor children and I’d probably still follow you around like a lost puppy,” Mischa said softly, chuckling just the same. Only for a moment, before his eyes returned to the seriousness they were moments before. All at once everything seemed to make sense. “What do you need from me, Daci?”

daciana

He did not look at her with pity, which was the one thing her frantic mind clung to as the secrets and shame spilled out from her lips. This was exactly why she did not drink, she talked way too much, rambled and spiraled and was utterly weak and she hated it. But now she did not feel the burn of shame that she expected, did not feel the need to knock him out and flee as far away as she could. Instead - she wanted to talk more.

“I don’t know why I can’t get rid of the burn, I mean it wasn’t even the worst of them just -” she paused, pressing her fingers into the scar and then winced slightly - too much. “And I’d rather die than ask a healer for help. I couldn’t deal with their pity.” She scoffed, a bit of her old cruelty seeping back into her voice, “Yuilya has probably seen all of Sacha’s scars, I doubt he told her the truth but I couldn’t stand it if she looked at me with that fucking self rightious pitying face.”

Daciana hadn’t been paying close enough attention to him to notice the shift in his tone, the slight sob or the tears - too wrapped up in her own grief and anger and trauma. But she saw how he rubbed his face, and for a moment feared she’d lost him. Still, Mischa stood and joined her on the bed, settling close and leaning over her with that protective, burning gaze she had come to rely on. A few more tears leaked from dark eyes but he brushed them away. Instinctually she leaned closer, her hand drifting up to clutch at the bicep of his hand now brushing across her trembling lip.

“The children had it coming,” she whispered, half laughing and half crying while trying to regain a bit of her old self - not this vulnerable trembling thing. She hadn’t been that girl in almost twenty-five years, not since she learned of her power and found her strength at the little palace. Maybe the suddenness of her mothers death and the conflicting emotions brought back the shy, weak little girl she once was - maybe had always been.

“I don’t know -” she whispered, fingers digging into his arm. “I don’t even know what I need from me. I just can’t be alone, I would fully lose it.” Daciana swallowed another sob then inhaled, holding her breath in until she felt even more lightheaded and exhaled. “Drink with me, please, and stop looking at me like I am made of glass.” She gave a half smirk but it did not reach her eyes. “I never drink like this, aren’t you interested in what other secrets I have?”

mischa

Mischa understood her, to the most basic extent. He had not learned all of her secrets, was not sure he ever would. He was content with this, because even if she never shared something like this with him ever again, he knew he was comfortable having her know him completely. He understood her intentions, though not always clear, it was easy for him to grasp. Even more so now that he knew some of her past, as much as it broke him to hear.

With the most innocuous intentions, Mischa leaned down and just barely brushed his lips against hers before leaving a trail of kisses across her cheeks to melt the tears away before laughing softly against her skin. “Those fucking kids definitely had it coming,” he joked back, leaning back again with a stupid grin on his lips. His thumb caressed her chin, the fingers on his other hand playing with her hair, smoothing it across his bed. He kept quiet and let the words of vulnerability she had spoken hang in the air for moments to come.

He laughed softly. “You’re not made of glass. You’re made of fucking titanium, woman,” he joked, shaking his head. With a few swift movements, Mischa pushed himself off of the bed and grabbed the bottle she had brought in with her, laying back in the position they were in before he moved. In another pathetic attempt to make her smile again because Saints, did he love her smile, Mischa brought the bottle up to her lips and tilted it so it poured into her mouth slowly before taking a swig of it himself.

Mischa sighed, smacking his lips together and leaning back on his elbow with the other hand flesh against the bottle, holding it against his chest, acting as if he were thinking deeply about what he wanted to ask her. Then, he shook his head. “Not unless you want me to know. I could tell you some of mine, maybe? Deep, deep stuff goes on in here.” he tapped the tip of the bottle against the side of his head playfully. If he wanted to be his honest, true self with her, then he supposed it was worth starting at the beginning.

daciana

Daciana let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he kissed her, even just lightly. Anyone else, she thought, would have pressed her further or would have coddled her and suffocated her until she couldn’t stand it. But Mischa was a soldier, a spy, just like she was. And one did not become skilled enough to survive in this line of work without a bit of trauma, a bit of history. She smiled.

“No, I am blood and bones and muscles and spite and cruelty and rage and everything else they say I am.” She moved her hand to his chin for just a moment. “Tell anyone of this weakness and you’ll never walk again.” Daciana innately knew she did not have to threaten him, but it felt more like her old self to do so - even if somewhere deep down they both knew she wouldn’t follow through.

“Yay,”  she opened her mouth obediently (she was only obedient in bed) and swallowed the alcohol with a shiver but less of a burn. Mischa took a sip himself and she nudged the bottle closer to him. “You have to catch up. It won’t matter though, another secret - I might be a lightweight.”

“Secret for a secret - it's your turn,” she nodded solemnly but suddenly realized she was invading his space, taking up his night, and unloading her trauma on him. In a rare moment of selflessness, Daciana reached out to cup his cheek. “You don’t have too, I bothered you with all my mixed up messiness. You don’t owe me anything.”

mischa

It was fair-- a secret for a secret. He knew it, but he had spent two decades rebuilding and rebuilding himself over and over through every person he met. He never thought he would truly be open and honest with someone about where he came from, how it shaped him into the man he turned out to be. The only person who knew who he was, where he came from, were his siblings and the general. With his siblings, he didn’t have to tell them anything. They knew just as he did the hardships that came with the life of being an orphan. And the general, well; the man was terrifying, and Mischa doubted he cared much where he came from as long as he did his job as a spy.

“Lucky for you, I don’t see it as weakness.” he said softly, a smile on his lips though it did not reach his eyes. Mischa smiled as she cupped his cheek, though it was a sad smile, and almost immediately he became detached. The softness in her tone didn’t shock him like it usually did. He was now too worried about being honest to think of how Daciana’s character changed slightly when she drank. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember anything he says in the morning, if he was lucky.

In a moment of fear, maybe even cowardice, Mischa sat up and kept his back to her. Maybe that would make it easier, but even still his heart pounded through to his ears and his limbs felt cold. He took a shaky breath, basically inhaling a long swig of the alcohol and coughing when he choked on it. He needed to take a minute, hoping he didn’t scare her away as soon as he opened his mouth. Here goes nothing.

“Baluev isn’t my last name,” a good starting point, no? Mischa shook his head, sighing frustratedly. His leg began shaking, a tell of how scared he was. He’d never really shown her this side of him, just as she had never shown him the side of her he saw minutes before. “I mean…. I chose it. It’s my last name, but not officially. The name on my…. Adoption papers says Essen,” he felt years of lies and storytelling fall off of his skin as if he were shedding it, though he knew in the morning it would only build up again, a new, shinier skin of stories he’d tell the first sucker to ask where he came from.

“I don’t know my real parents. They died in the fold, I guess, abandoned me when I was a baby. That’s what they tell me, anyway,” he shrugged, avoiding her eyes as much as he could. Was he shaking? He felt like he was shaking. “They left me, so I grew up in an orphanage. No one knew the extended family of a random baby left on an empty skiff.” he wasn’t the Mischa he knew anymore, let alone Daciana. He was back in the orphanage, being picked on by shitty little kids who would grow up to be otkazat’sya. “No one liked me there, hard to believe, I know,” though it was a joke, there was no playfulness in his tone. “That’s what the scar is from, on the back of my head. Surprised I didn’t bleed out on the forest ground, to be honest.”

He let the words hang in the air a bit, maybe giving her a chance to walk out and leave. When she didn’t, he continued with a sigh. “When I was 8 or 9, this guy came by the orphanage. Saints knows why, I guess he pitied me, the poor bastard. He took me in, Edmund Essen, along with four other straggly kids. Some of them are here, in the palace,” he dared a glance over to Daci, but scared himself into looking back toward the floor. “I guess I’m…. embarrassed? I don’t know. I make up stupid stories, fanciful backgrounds to….. Make people like me, I guess. Who wants to befriend a pathetic little orphan, you know?” the last few words died on his lips as barely a whisper, his eyes closing as he awaited the damage he’d just done. Mischa expected the worst, preparing himself to lose the one person he actually gave a shit about in this hellhole.

daciana

“Still doesn’t mean you can tell anyone,” she pouted, but it wasn’t all that serious. His face was warm in her hand, and she wanted to let it linger there a bit long, perhaps try to pull a bit of that fire into her own body. Daciana felt the shift in him before he pulled away, but stayed quiet. It was something she’d discovered in gathering information, people tended to speak to fill silences and if one was patient enough, the details would eventually come out. She tried not to think like that with him, but couldn’t help herself - anything he was this hesitant to say was something to store away in case she’d ever need it. At her core, Daciana was a selfish person and would always find a way to protect herself, her position, and her brother.

Before Mischa even spoke, Daciana felt his anxiety flood his body - his heart rate spiking and tremors that matched her own from before. She knew enough about the human body to recognize physical remnants of trauma, enough about trauma in her own life. Without even thinking the heartrender pressed her hand against the center of his back, slowing his heart rate and triggering what she knew to be calming. She’d always done this for Sacha when he was upset, trying not to show weakness in front of their father, stepping in front of her to protect her. It was a habit that now seemingly included Mischa.

He hadn’t mentioned much about his family before this, and she’d never pressed because she was the exact same way. But hearing him lose the confidant, cocky voice she was so attuned to and trust her with this truth jumbled her emotions almost more than her mother’s death. She was angry, fucking angry, that he’d lived so long without knowing how powerful he was. Her hand, now warm from his skin, drifted up his back and traced the scar she’d felt before on the back of his head but she wouldn’t try to fix it. Sometimes people liked their scars, or needed them.

“You’re not pathetic,” she whispered, sitting up behind him and pressing close, her head resting on his shoulder. “You never were. We aren’t responsible for the shit choices our parents make and the situations they put us in, it took me twenty years to figure that out.” Daciana didn’t speak above a whisper, not daring to give her insecurities any more power than they already had. Her arms slipped around his torso, pulling herself closer to him, focusing on the feeling of her heartbeat beside his. It didn’t change the way she saw him, he was still Mischa, her Mischa, all fire and flirtations and cocky smirks but also soft hands on her body and comfortable silence, a lightness and ease she found nowhere else.

Only now, and it would be a very difficult thing for her to admit, she realized she trusted completely and utterly like no one else.

“Was he kind?” she asked, “your adoptive father? I don’t think he pitied you, you have this like -” here she had to pause, moving around from behind him to crawl into his lap. Her fingers, cold again, closed around the bottle and she took another big swig, drunk Daciana craved touch. “This like thing about you, that makes people want to be near you,” she took another sip, the only reason she would ever consider saying what she did, and stared at him with somewhat glassy eyes. “Like charisma or something, warmth that people wanna be near even if you are an asshole sometimes. It wasn’t pity.”

mischa

For pretty much all of Mischa’s life, he’d built this facade around himself. It was all based on this inane idea that people would push him away or dislike him based on where he came from. He assumed that only because of how he was treated before the adoption; sneering side eyes and hurtful comments made about him when he walked by. Did he try too hard? Was he annoying? Not as annoying as all the other kids his age. Nonetheless, Mischa internalized all of it. How could he not? When you tell a child he isn't worth the effort, he believes you. When you tell him he talks too much about something he gets excited about, he believes you.

When he was adopted by Edmund Essen, Mischa was already six feet deep in that mindset. When you add trauma from your own life along with the trauma from the lives of four other kids, put them in the same house to grow up together, something is bound to set on fire. Or maybe they worked just well enough. It varied based on what happened to them during their lives. Sometimes Mischa wished he’d never been adopted at all, maybe then he’d have actually ended up dead by now.

But then he remembered the good things he’d achieved, without lying about his origins. He was one of the most skilled in combat, he was a spy for the general. Daciana. No matter how the two ended up, their relationship would always be one of his greatest acquisitions.

When she wrapped her arms around him, he flinched. He seemed to have forgotten where he was as he explained it all, his mind back in that dark place he was in all those years ago. When he came back, he was sitting on the bed, slouching over and the arms of the woman he loved was wrapped around him so tightly he thought he might dissipate if she let go. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, his own vulnerability still too fresh for him to really dissect, keeping his eyes closed as she offered him words of comfort he never thought he’d hear from her, knowing she most likely told herself the same words growing up. He wished he’d known her sooner.

He wanted to reply in the same cynical way he always did, but he wouldn’t shut her down the first chance he got just because she knew more about him than anyone ever had. It was scary, having someone know your entire truth. He didn’t know how to deal with it. When she found herself in his lap, his arms went around her like they always did. Mischa forced himself to look at her, the glassy eyed girl that had a personal space problem when she drank. He almost wanted to laugh.

“As nice as he could be when you adopt five kids,” he shrugged, laughing softly. As she continued speaking, his eyebrows shot up though he wasn’t as drunk as her, he still didn’t expect her words. “Daciana Zhirkova, was that your own personal way of asking me to marry you?” he teased, though the hollow feeling in his chest that he had just lost all of his own protection was still very comprehensible in his own mind.

daciana

When he flinched she nearly broke. And suddenly there it was, another crack in all that hard glossy armor. Sacha had always been one - her twin soul and shared heart, he knew her before she was even born and would always be a willing weakness & strength. Then there was the child she’d never truly gotten to be but always seemed to slip back into when she and Sacha were forced back to the house that would never be home. The perfect daughter, quiet & obedient, daddy’s little soldier who barely hesitated when he commands her to kill. She hated that weakness, that crack more than any.

But now, there was Mischa. The thought of him in pain, being hurt by others, was so foreign and unbearable she couldn’t comprehend. Mischa - who was one of the only people in the little palace who could actually hold his own against her, so quick witted with those biting comments to her own causal cruelty because they were always playing the same game even if no one else was. He was suddenly another crack, and one she willingly accepted.

His arms slipped around her and she felt like she had him back, having drawn him from the dark place in his mind with the sheer force of her will. Daciana smiled when he laughed and took another sip from the bottle. Saints she never drank this much, she shook her head lightly in an attempt to clear it then settled against his chest. She wouldn’t press him on that answer, not now at least. He’d tell her in time, and if not, well - he was still the inferni she relied on.

She laughed and it was the most genuine she’d had in a long time.

“Did I fuck up and give you too much dopamine or something?” She pulled back slightly, shifting in his lap to straddle him so that they were eye to eye. Daciana set the bottle down on the bedside table and placed both her hands on his cheeks, blinking slowly to try and focus through her haze. “This is why I don’t drink, I’m no good, I can’t focus.” She laughed again but it was harsher & almost cold, she was unable to even focus her power enough to read his heart rate for truthfulness, all she could feel was it's comforting rhythm.

“You wanna be stuck with me for the rest of your life? I’m not a nice person, Mischa, I’m not that girl and I could never be her. I’m cruel and cold and selfish. I’m a fucking monster, just like him, just like he made me.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and trembled. “I think that’s why my mother hated me, cause I have his eyes and his power and I was too young and afraid and desperate for approval that I let him turn me into this.”

“I was thirteen the first time he made me kill,” her hands dropped from his face and into her own lap, her eyes followed. “It was someone local to the town we grew up in, he was challenging father’s position. It was at the market in the middle of the afternoon, he threatened Sacha if I wouldn’t do it. And it was so easy to just reach out and fuck with the man’s heart, too easy.” She closed her eyes to keep from crying. “I didn’t feel bad at all, I was more angry over not being in control and terrified that he might hurt Sacha. How fucked is that?”

mischa

Mischa couldn’t help but feel that all the armor he’d built up over the years was broken into tiny pieces, spread out over the floor with no hope of being put back together. But it was his own fault, wasn’t it? He wanted complete honesty between them, he wanted her in his life forever, no matter the cost. And if the cost was to strip away all he was and give himself over to her, then so be it. That was what love was, what trust was. It hurt like hell, but he wanted Daciana more than he wanted to lie for the rest of his life.

Hearing her belly laugh so genuinely only confirmed it. He would give up everything for her and all she had to do was ask. If someone told him all those years ago he’d find someone he wanted to be around 24/7 he would have laughed right in their face, yet here he was.

“I’m thinking you’re the one with a little too much dopamine right now,” he teased, the smile from hearing her laugh still plastered on his lips. When she straddled him, he only pulled her closer, then rested his hands on her thighs. At her question, Mischa’s face turned stone serious and looked her right in the eyes, his voice not wavering for a single second. “Yes,” and it was the truth. He’d fought this hard for her so far, he wasn’t giving up that easily. Could he see himself marrying her? In time, yes. The answer to that question came as easy to him as breathing did.

“You’re right,” he nodded, the serious tone still hovering over his voice. “You aren’t nice. Not even a little bit. You were forced to survive in an environment that was set against you since you were born. You are selfish, but you aren’t a monster. Not even close, Daciana, and if it takes me telling you that every single day for the rest of our lives for you to believe me, then I will.” his fingers lingered beneath her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“Despite the hatred you grew up around, despite being cruel and cold and selfish, you are so much more. You don’t need to have the entire world’s best interests at heart to be a good person.” Mischa knew it would be hard for her to believe, but he wanted her to hear them. And of course, it wouldn’t have been very much like Mischa if he didn’t immediately break out into a smile and replace the seriousness in his voice with a joking tone. “Now, with all of this being said…….. Will you marry me?”

daciana

She shook her head slowly when he said that she was the one with too much - too much alcohol for sure, but she found she liked how easy the alcohol made telling him things. Because part of her had always wanted to tell someone, to be fully seen and known and still have him look at her like that. Sacha knew her, of course, down to her marrow and knew her before she was even born. But that was different, he would always be there and had suffered the same. Mischa looked down at her bloodstained hands and took them in his willingly.

“Saints, maybe we are both mad.” She shook her head again, but let his fingers guide her chin up so that she was looking at him. Daciana didn’t know if she expected to find fear or pity in his eyes, but certainly not the burning look he gave her now. It melted a bit of the ice that had taken up residence between her ribs. She brought her hands back to his chest and lightly focused on the sound of his heartbeat - steady and true. “Or drunk, I’m drunk and you’re mad.” And maybe that was the reason she said what she did next, or a reckless pent up sort of energy that was a side effect of constantly feeling the need to be in control. Or maybe she just loved his smile.

“Ok,” she whispered, clearly shocking them both. Daciana leaned in and kissed him softly, almost too soft for her and without all the desperation from earlier. “But just for us, not a big thing, no fucking ordeal or whatever. We keep each other's secrets & always fight side by side. You keep me from spiraling and I won’t let you forget how powerful you are. Deal?”

mischa

Mischa was unable to help the soft laugh of disbelief that fell from his lips. Even as she kissed him, he couldn’t fully kiss her back-- was he going crazy? Did he hear what he thought he heard? Did Daciana Zhirkova, the most ruthless woman he’d ever met, renowned for her merciless ways, accept his marriage proposal? The one he wasn’t even serious about? Saints, she must have been completely wasted.

Of course, it was what he wanted, but not like this. A bad man would have taken her acceptance and ran with it, putting a ring on her finger and trapping her with him forever. Perhaps a worse man wouldn’t have joked about marriage at all when she was in as vulnerable a state as this, but Mischa never claimed to be good. He did, however, know Daciana. And he knew that if they were to really get married like this, unexpectedly, on the night Daci had gotten knews of her mother’s death, she would regret it. He knew if he took advantage of her vulnerability like this now, he’d lose the trust she had in him and maybe never earn it back again. He wouldn’t lose her so foolishly.

“No deal,” Mischa shook his head and pulled away, flopping back on the bed, leaning on his elbows and looking up at her. Of course he would make it seem lighthearted, but in truth he meant every word. He just hoped she was too far gone to notice the seriousness behind them. “Not like this. You don’t deserve a drunken proposal. Wouldn’t really be off to a good start, would it?”

daciana

He laughed at her, and the little part of her that had thawed at the idea of him wanting her froze over again. She shouldn’t have been this stupid, this fucking reckless. Her mother was dead, Sacha had sent a letter and her father hadn’t even bothered to tell her himself - yet all Daciana could do was hang on to Mischa and convince him to do things he didn’t actually want. Because he knew her well enough to know that this was rare, yes she was affectionate and touchy around him but she’d never been this raw and open. Had it been a mistake? Would he use this against her? Daciana’s mind raced as he hesitated to kiss her and then leaned away.

“Oh,” she didn’t move from where she sat straddling him even as he leaned back, only dropped her gaze back to her hands. The rejection stung more than she ever thought it could, heat rushing to her cheeks and turning them red. Fuck she hated this, she hated feeling so vulnerable - this was exactly why Daciana had tried to avoid feelings for most of her life. “Fuck, don’t hate me  I didn’t like mean anything.” She brought her hands up to cover her face, to hide the tears. “I’ve never felt this disconnected, I mean even neglect and abuse is better than nothing or absence. I don’t know how to react to this death and I’ve ruined, like, the only good relationship I have.”

“Don’t,” Daciana shook her head, tears still leaking from her eyes. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I’m fucking horrible we both know this, I deserve nothing.” She hated how much she felt at this moment, she hated the weakness and the pain and utter loss. Mischa would look at her differently, she knew he would see the cracks in all the hard glossy armor and not think she was good enough to be his partner. She let out a half choked sob and then leaned forward and rolled off of him, curling up in a tight ball on the side of his bed with her back towards him.

“I know I’m a monster,” she whispered through the tears, “but I didn’t think I’d lose you this easily.”

mischa

Mischa was used to messing things up, saying the wrong thing around her. He should have known, but how could he have known? He’d never seen her in this state before, he didn’t know how much differently his words and regular demeanor would affect drunk Daciana rather than how they affected sober Daciana. His heart sank, and a frown immediately molded onto his face. Shit.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, not knowing what else to even say. How could he process this? What was he even processing? He knew her words and ramblings were just showcases to what it was really like inside of her head when she was sober, she was showing him who she was and what years and years of damaging blows looked like. He hated how he struggled to find words of comfort for her as she rolled off of him and curled up on the other side of his bed. So instead of words, he let the silence linger and then rolled over next to her.

He didn’t move her, didn’t force her to look at him. He let her go through the motions, and began trailing small kisses up her arm and to her shoulder. He sighed softly, resting his forehead against her shoulder and mumbled against her back. “Do you know how much I want you?” he said softly. “You couldn’t find the words to describe how much I want you. All of you, all the time,” by now he had pulled back, placed his hand on her shoulder to pull her back so she was laying against the bed and he was looking directly at her on his stomach. “Agreeing to marry me isn’t even on the list of things you could do that would scare me away,” he chuckled, though his tone was nothing but serious. If he had to comfort her all fucking night, he would. If she didn’t remember the words they spoke on this night, then he’d remind her every day for the rest of their lives if he had to.

“I love you, Daciana. Every part of you, with every part of me. There’s no scaring me away. Monster or no monster, you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

daciana

This was what happened, this is what happened when one opened themselves up to another person - when one let weakness overcome self preservation and rational choices. Daciana wouldn’t let herself make this mistake again, she hated to even know that Mischa had seen her this vulnerable. Maybe he wouldn’t remember in the morning, hopefully she wouldn’t remember. But she knew she wasn’t that fucked up to not recall every second of this night.

For a moment, she thought he left. She was always too much, had always been too much - and so maybe he’d had enough and decided to just leave her alone in his bed until she’d gotten her shit together enough to pretend nothing had happened. But like she’d always been able to, Daci felt his closeness - his affection - before he said anything. She choked out another sob, her body trembling with more emotion than she’d permitted herself to feel in decades - it was almost painful. But she let him pull her back towards him, quickly wiping tears from her eyes.

“Make me that list then,” it was just a whisper, but it was all she could manage before the full weight of his words sunk in. Love. He loved her, all of her. It wasn’t something she was used to, something Daciana could even really understand fully. She loved Sacha, of course, loved him as she loved herself and he the same because he had always been a part of her. But the idea of someone else, someone who’s veins didn’t share the exact same blood as hers willingingly and openly carving out their heart and placing the vulnerable organ in her bloodstained hands - with utter trust and devotion.

“I -” Daciana swallowed thickly - what could she say? What could possibly be good enough to match I love you? Nothing - she could not offer the hollow, burnt out space between her ribs in exchange for his heart. It could never be enough. But part of her, maybe the little girl she once was who still hoped, felt something stir in that empty cage of her ribs. “I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved, I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears still burning in her eyes. “But I want to, and I trust you more than anything, and I’d do anything for you. I just - I can’t say it, not now. But I’d die for you, and to me that’s more important than love.”

[stillwinterair]

I have so much creative energy that, like clockwork, manifests in me almost every single day at around midnight, give or take an hour or two to either end (I also get it in the afternoon between like 2 and 4 but it's not as strong and not nearly as consistent). It's when I have my best ideas and can generally work the most effectively; I can very easily sit down and hyper-focus on a project.

Unfortunately, work really prevented me from taking advantage of that because I was usually asleep then. Quarantine was going to be the perfect opportunity to actually... create! To actually do the things I wanted to do in life, to write and outline and work on creative projects and run ttrpgs!

Except... my cat. My cat also, like clockwork, has a mode she enters every night at midnight, give or take an hour or two in either direction. It is her "scream and cry and demand attention, but only play a little bit, mostly I just want to sit in the same room as a person, but it HAS to be a particular room, and you HAVE to look at least vaguely in my direction the whole time, and at least one of your hands HAS to be empty or I will know you're not paying attention to me, and we occasionally have to get up and walk to another room for a few minutes, and then we can go back, and you HAVE to be touching me, except now you CANNOT be touching me, except now you HAVE to be touching me, and if you don't do all of these things then I will go so far out of my way to cause a ruckus and make as much noise as possible and wake up Ash who has to go to bed early because she has work early every morning" mode and it has prevented my creative juices from being able to flow almost every single night for the last year.

I do get a lot of reading done during the several hours per night where I tend to just... wander around the apartment at Lilith's whim. Usually it's not a problem for her, we just sorta walk around and I give her some fuss until she doesn't want fuss anymore but DEFINITELY still wants someone near her (but it HAS to be in the room that she wants it to be in, which is usually Ash's office).

But when I'm not using up that creative energy, it builds. And I have so much trouble using it at other points in the day. If I start trying to write at 1 in the afternoon, I can't do it. It doesn't work. But when the feeling hits, when I get in the zone? It's pouring out of me. I have so much creativity to spend, and for every night I don't have a chance to indulge, the night after is only more intense.

Sometimes I get around it a little bit by opening a Google doc or a note file from my phone, but it's just definitively not even close to the same. All I can do is write down my ideas in a bulleted list, but the act of trying to actually write from my phone is just a recipe for frustration. I've tried to being my laptop with me from room to room, but Lilith seems to hate that (she doesn't even like it when I'm reading a particularly large book, but seems okay when I have a paperback I can read in one hand).

So this leads to nights like tonight, where my creative energy is boiling over, and I need to spend it so I won't go crazy, but then I'm working on a project in 30-60-second chunks broken up by several minutes of fussing over Lilith because as soon as I leave her alone she finds something loud to slam on until it wakes Ash up.

I can't put her in any kind of baby jail like you usually can for cats because she is SO loud and SO stubborn that it basically negates the entire point of using one. She absolutely refuses to rest in the living room, which is where most of my stuff is that I use for creative projects, and she goes on and on for hours

Anyway. I love her very much. She has just been making it so incredibly difficult to make any progress on literally anything that I want to be doing lately. It's incredibly frustrating and has become so much worse since moving to this apartment and I don't know what to do about it. It's making me feel terrible because I've been in quarantine for over a year now and have accomplished nothing, and not even for lack of trying, but because the time of the day when I am the most able to produce content and absorb information, I just can't.

And I kept trying to start running new ttrpg campaigns over the course of the pandemic and I feel like I keep letting people down but I do so much of my work on them during this creative window of mine every night, so I keep getting halfway ready to run things and then I can't put any more work in because my cat is completely absorbing 100% of my creative time. I feel like I keep wasting my friends' time in addition to my own and it makes me feel guilty -- and then I feel even MORE guilty, because of how much of this I'm blaming on a cat!

I feel like I'm going crazy! I feel like I'm having an existential crises crisis every single night for 4-5 hours! Some nights Lilith is content and goes to bed early only to wake up at 4 and lasts until the sun comes up and then I just don't sleep. Some nights I prepare, put aside everything and do something idly that can be put down easily, and those are the nights she sleeps peacefully, every time!

I just. This was a non-issue for so long, because I'm so used to cats having weird quirks like this, and hers is generally easy to take care of: it's late, and she wants someone to sit with and very occasionally play with; I can do that, easy. I didn't have much time for creativity when I was working, anyway.

But a year into quarantine, and looking at all the projects I started, and have gotten so much farther in than I ever would have been able to before -- all the lore documents and scripts and outlines and fanfictions and novels and RPG rulebooks and design documents. All of these things paled in comparison to the whims of my cat.

It's so very silly when I actually lay it out like this. Like, this is genuinely something that has been a huge source of depression and anxiety and self-consciousness for months. And then I write it all out and I'm like... Really? A cat?

But, man, I really don't know what to do. I don't know how to train her not to lose her mind precisely when I need space to concentrate at my desk, without creating a situation that would be actively worse for my partner, AND for our neighbors, because boy, if I did the thing you're technically "supposed" to do with cats (ignore them and let them work through their complaints and realize they're okay on their own, potentially lock them in a room with food and water and a litter box until they calm down), she would wake up the entire fucking neighborhood.

I don't know, this whole problem is dumb but it's literally consuming my life. I just need this very particular atmosphere at a certain time of day in order to be creative, and it's been within arm's reach for a year now, but it's been unachievable because my cat is an unstoppable destructive force

I really do not know how to write any of this out without sounding completely insane but I am losing so much sleep and getting so much anxiety over it aaaauuugghhhh this is unfortunately what we get for naming our cat after a demon

[voltrontranscript]

VLD S8E8: Clear Day

Season 8 Episode 8: Clear Day

Transcribed by @dragonofyang

Summary: The crew on the IGF-Atlas spends some time on planet Drazan during Clear Day to unwind, meanwhile Allura stays onboard and discovers that nothing ever truly disappears, and that there is power still that can turn the tide of the war.

[Google Doc]

Allura: Tavo, I want to thank you for speaking with me.

Tavo: Forgive me, Princess Allura, but we don’t have much time.

Allura: I’m sorry?

Tavo: Please. Once Honerva discovers I’m speaking with you, it will be over.

Allura: Slow down. What are you trying to--?

Tavo: Listen to me. Now that she has Lotor, she will use him to destroy everything--

Allura: Tavo! Wait! I feel something.

Sam: Get them out of there! Reverse the magnetic polarity once the room is cleared. The impulse prism might just stabilize the foreign object.

[Scene change to Sam and Allura observing the dark entity in its container.]

Sam: This unit uses the ship’s crystal to energize the optronic vacuum casing. It was designed to contain diseases, but it should suffice until we find a more permanent solution.

Allura: Thank you, Sam. That thing, it was as if it was communicating with me. Whatever this is, it might be how Honerva connects to the Alteans.

Sam: Perhaps you should get some rest. It’s best if everyone stays away from this until we learn more about… Allura?

Allura: You’re right. Best to stay away.

[Scene change to the IGF-Atlas bridge.]

Garrison Officer: Captain, I’m picking up an abnormal signal from planet Drazan in the zeta-three sector.

Shiro: Open a hailing frequency. We need to find out what’s going on.

Veronica: Copy.

Shiro: This is Takashi Shirogane of the Voltron--

Burr: Well, if it isn’t the Voltron Coalition. And here I was thinking you were afraid to show your face after ruining the last Clear Day.

Coran: Yes, sorry about that. That was--that was on me.

Shiro: We noticed a lot of activity on your planet’s surface. Are you in danger?

Burr: Opposite! We’re celebrating Clear Day!

Coran: Hang on, isn’t Clear Day four movements from now?

Burr: Time dilation, you snarflaf! It’s right now. So unless you’d like to waste more of my time, I need to get back.

Shiro: Are you sure hosting a celebration is safe? This sector has seen a lot of hostile activity lately.

Burr: Oh, here we go. I knew this was coming. In fact, I just told my wife. I said to her, “Just you wait. You don’t know them the way I do. They promise to show up. You tell everyone that Voltron is coming to Clear Day. Everyone gets excited. Then Voltron never arrives, and you’re left with your top two paws stuck in the rocks!”

Shiro: We don’t wanna ruin your holiday, but we’re concerned--

Burr: We’re having Clear Day, and that is that! If you’re so worried about our safety, then how about you show up and provide security? Free of charge!

Shiro: Veronica, make an announcement to the Atlas. We’re going to Clear Day.

[Scene change to Allura’s quarters, where Lance and Allura are cuddling in bed.]

Lance: Are you sure you don’t wanna head down to the carnival? I’m pretty sure the Swathian Meerakeet won’t try to eat us.

Allura: I’m sure. I haven’t been feeling well, especially after what happened to Tavo. I need to rest.

Lance: Right. Well, I could stay here with you, keep you company if you want.

Allura: Please, go have fun. Maybe you can win me a prize. Something sparkly?

Lance: Yeah, okay. Winning prizes is kinda my specialty. I am a sharpshooter, after all.

[Scene change to several ships flying to the surface of Drazan.]

Shiro: I want you all to enjoy yourselves today. The celebration ends in five vargas. It’s important to remember that while the Atlas patrols the skies, we are the eyes and ears on the ground looking for any suspicious activity. These people are relying on us.

Coran: I pulled some strings and got each of you ten complimentary Clear Day tokens. Use them for games, foods, rides--

Pidge: Where’s Allura?

Lance: She’s going to stay back and rest. I just need to find something to bring back for her.

Pidge: That’s nice of you, Lance. I’ll help, too.

Hunk: Me three.

Keith: Let’s remember why we came here in the first place: to provide security for the event.

Pidge: Right. Well, I better go find the arcade and make sure it’s safe, yeah!

Lance: Uh, me, too!

Hunk: Me three!

Coran: Uh, wait for me!

Shiro: Keith, relax. Go have fun.

Keith: If we’re not here for protection, then what are we even doing here?

Shiro: Morale on the Atlas is low after what happened on Oriande. Who knows? A few hours at the carnival might just give us the boost we need to get back on track.

[Scene change to Allura laying in bed.]

Allura: Lance? What are you doing here?I thought you were going to the carnival.

Dark Entity (as Lance): That’s a beautiful flower. Where did you get it?

Allura: Colleen gave it to me. It’s a real juniberry flower. I assumed they had gone extinct.

Dark Entity (as Lotor): You should know better than anyone, nothing ever truly goes extinct. It’s good to see you again, Princess.

Allura: How? How did you get in here?

Dark Entity (as Lotor): You know, the ancients believed that all of life began with a single juniberry flower. I thought you’d be happy to see me.

Allura: What are you doing here? I demand to know!

Dark Entity (as Lotor): You and I desire the same thing. We both seek to destroy Haggar.

Allura: Haggar? Haggar is no longer. She’s Honerva now.

Dark Entity (as Lotor): True, though I could rename this a highlands poppy, you and I would both know what it truly is. The witch may change her name, but she will always be a witch.

Allura: Be that as it may, she’s too powerful. There’s nothing I can do to counter her abilities.

Dark Entity (as Lotor): You are mistaken. Everything you need is here.

Allura: How?

Dark Entity (as Lotor): This entity holds the power you seek. It is an ancient form of energy that predates time itself. It hails from the Quintessence Field. Entities like this gave Haggar the ability to conquer worlds and control the universe for ten thousand years. She recognizes the strength it provides her, and she uses it. If you can become one with the entity, then the powers you gain can defeat the witch.

[Scene change to a vision of Altea.]

Dark Entity (as Melenor): Allura.

Allura: Mother!

Dark Entity (as Melenor): I am so happy you’re here. You have arrived just in time.

Allura: Just in time? For what?

Dark Entity (as Melenor): To save us. Only you can protect us.

Dark Entity (as Melenor): I am so proud of you.

[Cut to Allura waking up in bed.]

Allura: It--it’s okay. It was only a dream.

[Cut to Pidge in the arcade.]

Arcade Game: I’m Coran, Coran, the non-truth telling man. Pick up that mallet and bomp me on the cranker before I can tell you a lie. Bomp me enough times and you’ll win a great prize!

Pidge: Yeah-ha-ha!

Arcade Game: Ah! No! Come on! See here! Stop it!

[Cut to a big-top tent as Shiro enters.]

Burr: Well, look who decided to actually show up.

Shiro: Good to see you, too, Burr.

Burr: Couldn’t help but notice the Blue Lion ain’t here. That’s fine. Can’t expect Voltron to completely follow through on their promises.

Shiro: What’s going on over here?

Burr: That’s the arm wrestling contest. It ain’t for people like you.

Shiro: Why is that? Because of my arm?

Burr: No. Arm wrestling is for the young and strong. You’re old, like me. Those kids would break you in half, mechanical arm or not.

Shiro: Is it too late to sign up?

Burr: Mm, I’m sure we could work something out.

[Scene change to a screaming Drazan on a stage.]

Host: Nice job, Glurry. Very respectable scores. Not bad at all. Now for our next contestant in the yalmor calling competition, please welcome Corin!

Coran: Right, then. Just do what Pop-Pop taught you to do.

[Scene change to Hunk sampling something on a stick.]

Keith: Look, guys, I just wanna know if you’ve seen anything suspicious.

Drazan Girl: Well, there is one weirdo who’s going around and bothering people about if they’ve seen anything suspicious.

Keith: Okay, that’s a start. Did you get a good look at… It’s me, isn’t it?

Hunk: Hey-o! Whatcha doing, Keith? Making new friends? Sweet. You know, it’s good to see you finally letting your guard down.

Keith: I wasn’t making friends.

Ride Operator: Next! Come on, you’re holding the line up! Let’s go!

Hunk: The line? Line for what?

Woman: Yeah, get out of here!

Man: What’s taking so long? Move!

Hunk: Oh. Uh, no, no. You don’t understand. I don’t like rides.

Ride Operator: Then, why were you in line?

Keith: We didn’t know it was a line!

Ride Operator: Likely story. Keep your hands and feet in the mouth at all times. You use ‘em, you lose ‘em. Have a blissfully burrowful time.

Mechanical Drazanites: [singing] We burrow every day! Underground is where we stay, waiting for the time to say, “Clear Day, Clear Day!”

Hunk: This is awesome!

Mechanical Drazanites: [singing] Clear Day, Clear Day, Clear Day! What do we say? Clear Day, Clear Day, Clear Day!

Hunk: Huh?

Ride Operator over PA: Sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll get this thing up and running in a tick. In the meantime, stay in your burrow buggy. And remember, have a blissfully burrowful time.

Mechanical Drazanites: [singing] What do we say? Clear Day, Clear Day, Clear Day! What do we say? Clear Day, Clear Day, Clear Day!

Keith: I gotta get out of here.

[Scene change to the arcade where a Drazanite child receives a purple lion toy.]

Drazan Child: Oh!

Lance: Voltron doesn’t have a Purple Lion.

Game Operator: Wanna play? All you gotta do is throw one of these rings onto one of them sticks. Win one for your special someone?

Lance: You got any Blue Lions? I used to be the Blue Lion’s Paladin and now my girlfriend is, so it’s--it’s kind of our thing.

Game Operator: Oh, is that right? Let me see. I happen to have a one-of-a-kind, collector’s edition blue mechanical flying feline.

Lance: Perfect! How much? They only gave us ten of these token thingies.

Game Operator: Oh, wonderful! Ten tokens is exactly how much it costs to play the game!

Lance: Did these rings shrink?

Game Operator: Oh, no, friend. They just look smaller in your strong, muscular hands.

Lance: Hm.

Game Operator: Oh! So close. Care to try again?

Lance: Oh, this game is rigged! And I don’t have any more tokens.

Game Operator: Well, perhaps we can make a deal.

[Scene change to Pidge at a counter with a mountain of tickets in front of her.]

Pidge: What’s the best prize you have?

Prize Counter Girl: Every prize is the best prize, and everyone goes home a winner.

Pidge: Okay, but say I was giving the prize to a princess.

Prize Counter Girl: For a princess? Behold.

Pidge: I’ll take it!

Prize Counter Girl: Sure, but you’re gonna need about twice as many tickets as this.

Pidge: But I don’t have any more tokens.

Prize Counter Girl: Well, in that case, you could get one of these shovels and use it to dig your way out of the hole you find yourself in.

Pidge: I’ll find a way to get more tickets.

[Scene change to a shooting game where the MFE pilots are playing then to the arm-wrestling contest.]

Shiro: May the best man win.

Alien: Who are you calling a man?

Man: Alright!

Man 2: Yeah!

[Cut to the Holts at a photo booth.]

Pidge: Dad, I ran out of tokens!

Sam: Well, that’s what happens when you waste it all on--

Pidge: Dad!

Sam: Okay. How much do you need?

Pidge: How much do you got?

Colleen: You’ll have to earn them. I want a family picture.

Pidge: I’ll take the picture, but I pick the costume.

Colleen: I get to add one accessory and you have to smile.

Pidge: Half-smile.

Colleen: You’ve got yourself a deal.

Photographer: Say “Clear Day”!

All: Clear Day!

Colleen: I want another picture. Katie isn’t smiling.

Pidge: Sorry! Gotta go do paladin stuff!

[Scene change to the dark entity’s holding chamber.]

Allura: It’s been here the entire time.

Dark Entity (as Lotor): Everything you need, the ability you’ve been seeking, within your grasp. Go ahead, Allura. Free it.

Allura: I can’t. I won’t.

Dark Entity (as Lance): It won’t do any harm. The entity will help you. It will save all of us.

Dark Entity (as Lotor): Take it.

Allura: No. No. This is not real!

Dark Entity (as Melenor): Only you can save us all. Release the entity.

Dark Entity (as Melenor and Honerva): Come home to Altea.

Dark Entity (as Honerva): Join us.

Lotor: Follow me!

[Scene change to Hunk and Keith in the ride.]

Mechanical Drazanites: [singing] We burrow every day! Underground is where we stay, waiting for the time to say, “Clear Day--

Ride Operator over PA: Looks like everything is in order. We apologize for the delay. Again, have a blissfully burrowful time.

Keith: Finally.

Mechanical Drazanites: [singing] Clear Day, Clear Day, Clear Day! What do we say? Clear Day, Clear Day--

Keith: That’s it! I’m getting out of here. You coming?

Hunk: Can we come back when the ride gets fixed? I wanna see how it ends. Aw, man. Alright, wait up! Oh… where are we?

Emcee: Ladies and burrowmen, this is it! Only two remain in the yalmor calling competition. Who will be our champion?

Keith: Is that Coran?

Coran: She’s done a twist on the Flogarian technique. She’s good, really good.

Emcee: Wow! A blagmore and two durgises. That score is gonna be hard to beat.

Center Judge: Just gorgeous.

Emcee: Three blagmores! The top prize for the best squoozle of the day goes to Corn-man Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe!

[Cut to a close up of a Blue Lion plush.]

Lance: And that’s the last one.

Vendor: Here you go.

Coran. Nice plushie!

Lance: Nice trophy!

Pidge: Look what I got for Allura. I bet she’s really gonna dig it.

Keith: Where’s Shiro?

[Scene change to the arm wrestling competition stage.]

Burr: Ladies and burrowmen, are you ready to crown an arm wrestling champion? First up is our challenger, former Paladin of Voltron and the current captain of the IGF-Atlas. Hailing from some tiny planet no one has ever heard of. It’s Shiro! And our reigning champion, who needs no introduction, let’s hear it for the Warden!

Warden: You!

Burr: Friend of yours?

Shiro: Not exactly.

Warden: You and your little friends took away my livelihood.

Shiro: You held an innocent person prisoner to help the Galra Empire. I’d gladly do it again.

Warden: Look, I know I did some bad things. The truth is, I thought you guys ruined my life, but, really, you saved me. After I stopped working for the Galra, I was at a low point, but then I found arm wrestling, and it helped me realize what’s most important in my life. Win or lose, thank you. Now, let’s put on a show!

Coran: Rip his arm off! Rip his arm off!

Pidge: You got this!

Warden: You’re alright, Shiro.

[Scene change to Allura, laying unconscious in the room where the Dark Entity was being held.]

Sam: Allura! Allura, are you okay?

End.

[pixieungerstories]

Darkness - 3

violence warnings

In the last two months, Brie had settled into a routine.  Weeding early in the morning before it got too hot.  The flower beds were looking awesome.  Brunch in her cottage around 10 when the sun was at its worst.  Followed by nap since she got up around five. Mowing or pruning happened after two in the afternoon.  The orchards were looking … better, but if she were honest that wasn’t saying much.  They had merely gone from awful to shabby.

She had yet to see any signs of life from the house, although keeping in mind Mr Lynn’s story about the owner, she had respectfully not looked for any.  She knew he was watching her, at least some of the time.  Any time she did anything near the big tree at the front of the house, she came home to find an email waiting for her.  It got to the point where she would let Mr Lynn know what she was planning to do near it and why the day before so she could deal with any objections that came up ahead of time.

Mostly she left it alone.  

She had found a stone bench in one of the orchards where she could stop for water or snack breaks.  It was surrounded by apple trees and creepy statues, but Brie was mostly able to ignore them.  

Artistically, they were very good, the problem was the subject matter.  There was a marble angel worthy of any museum, except he was engaged in sexual activities with tentacle monsters.  Prometheus and the eagle, traditional enough, but Prometheus had one hell of a stiffy and was arched back over the rock as though he were enjoying the experience, complete with the O face.  All the statues human sized and clearly enjoying themselves, it was just that they were engaged in all manner of taboo activities from the three men one high five away from an Eiffel tower to the three ladies engaged in cannibalism of a young man (complete with spilling entrails) as well as a fair amount of beastiality.  The bench itself was big enough to be a sarcophagus, but wasn’t a box.  It was a marble slab with vines carved into the edge resting on two pillars, which (in keeping with the theme) were a small naked man and woman bent double under the weight of it.

She supposed that when they were carved, they had been incredibly risqué, but these days a quick google search could find you much worse content.  In the meantime, she felt it was her job to clear the ivy away.  After all, maybe the owner would want to sell them at some point.  She was sure there was someone on the internet who would be interested.

Supper was always in the pub.  By then she needed some human contact.  The pub was a family business, even it was a an odd family, and had the slightly dorky name: A Wing and A Prayer.  The barmen were the three oldest brothers, who only ever went by their nicknames as they appeared to be named after turtles, Mike, Gabe and Rafe.  The waitstaff was sisters and cousins to the barmen, Dina, Manny, Joe, Tabby and, of course, Charmeine.

Tabby had taken Brie under her wing and was always encouraging her to try new things and consider some community college courses.  “C’mon, Gabriela!  You need something to fall back on we you don’t want to garden any more.”

Brie would just laugh and shake her head.  “I’m saving hard.  When I don’t want to garden anymore, I’ll figure out school then.”

But tonight there was no visiting with the staff.  The main road in town was getting new tarmac and the pub was full of road crew.  Brie was late getting in and all the tables were full.  Oh well, she could always sit at the bar.  The food was divine, as always, but her enjoyment was rather spoiled by the dust covered asshat sitting next to her.  She concentrated on ignoring him.  She just finished her dinner and her drink and wanted to leave.

        It was full dark out by the time Brie left.  She figured she must be really dehydrated because that one beer she had nursed through supper was hitting her hard.  She was glad she had brought her bike because there was no way she should be driving. 

She was barely out of own when she got off the bike to walk.  Her balance was shit.  Beer never hit her this hard.  By the time she had reached the corner of iron fence marking the edge of the property she was hardly able to walk.

That’s when the truck pulled up.

The loser from the bar got out.

“You almost got away on me.” he laughed.  ‘I’m surprised you are still upright.”

And just like that, she wasn’t.  She fell down over her bicycle and felt hands dragging her away from it.  She was laying on her belly on the dirt road and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.  The world was spinning.  She felt sick.  A boot was wedged under her shoulder and she was flipped onto her back.  The moon was full and way too bright.  She squinted, the light hurting her eyes.

Someone was undoing her pants.  Brie tried to bat the hands away.  She was barely able to lift her arms.  The man was silhouetted in the headlights of his truck.

Her pants were gone now.  He pulled out a pocket knife and flipped it open, slicing down her shirt and through her bra.  He pushed her knees up and apart.

Brie was barely able to roll her head to the side.  On the other side of the fence the woods were full of eyeshine.

The truck lights went out.

The weight from on top of her was suddenly gone.

Someone was screaming.  It wasn’t her.  They were screaming a lot.  The was a wet splat and the screaming got more desperate.  The screaming was replaced by someone pleading stop.

A large, warm, slightly damp and sticky hand cupped her face and turned her to face back at the night sky which swirled overhead like a Van Gogh. 

A face appeared in her field of vision.

It was the devil.  Big horns, red skin, glowing yellow eyes with wide pupils like a cats. Brie was dimly aware that wasn’t right.  She managed a pathetic whimper.

The devil clicked his tongue at her and grinned revealing sharp teeth.  He caressed her face, his claws gently pricking at her skin.

Brie shivered and closed her eyes.  The last of her clothes were pulled away, then she was lifted on the dirt road and cuddled against a warm chest.  The devil began to walk, she felt where he stepped easily over the iron fence.  That was wrong.  Why was the wrong? No.  NO! He shouldn’t be here.

A deep bass voice rumbled, “I am taking you safely home, my lady.”  She was pulled tighter against the chest.  She could hear a deep slow heart beat.

--------

Mr Lynn arrived at the scene only a little behind the police, but ahead of the ambulance.  He got to explain that it was his client that had heard the screaming and called the police.  He got to watch the junior constable be sick in the bushes.  He tried to ignore the man who had been disemboweled and whose entrails were currently decorating the fence.  He was quite surprised by that, the master must be in a generous mood.  Given the phone call he had received he hadn’t expect the man to still be alive.

He also got to identify the bicycle and women’s clothing as belonging to the grounds keeper.   He accompanied the second police cruiser to the cottage and found Ms Moreno curled up, naked, on her front step.  Mr Lynn narrowed his eyes, but the superficial scratches covering her body could have been explained by a naked sprint through the woods.

-----

Brie woke up in a hospital.  She knew it was a hospital by the smell.  Her head hurt and, after she slammed her hand with the finger heart monitor into her face, so did her eye.  Actually everything hurt.  Someone hurried over and pried open her eyelid to shine a light in her eye.  Rude!

“You wake, pumpkin?” Iggy asked.

“No,” Brie grumbled.

Another voice asked, “Do you know where you are, Ms Moreno?”

Brie shook her head, it was easier than talking just now.

“Do you know what happened?”

Brie tried to concentrate.  “I fell off my bike.  No… I fell off the ground and my bike fell on me.  There was screaming and the devil was there.”

The voices whispered to each other, “She is still drugged, but that might be all you get.”

“That isn’t good enough, we need a description of who did this.”

“Try again in four hours.”

“That’s a long wait, doc.”

“That’s a lot of drugs in her system, officer.”

“She still made it home.”

“You didn’t see how much gravel we picked out of her back.  She didn’t make it home on her own.  Someone took her home.”

“Right, her knight in shining armour strung up her attacker and brought her safely home.”

“Not entirely.  She had been dragged through the woods.”

Brie managed to pry her eyes open, “What happened?”

Iggy opened his mouth to speak but the constable interrupted, “You need to be able to give a statement before we can tell you that.”

“Hurts.”

“We can’t give you any painkillers until the drugs are clear of your system.”

“I don’t take drugs.  Hadda beer.  One.”

Iggy rubbed her shoulder.  That hurt too,  “We know, pumpkin, no one thinks you were taking drugs.”

Brie nodded and went back to sleep.

------

Iggy drove her home the next day, after she had given her statement.  She felt embarrassed and useless.  “The devil did it,” was not a rational thing to say, so she had just left that part out.

The man from the bar had confessed to drugging her.  He admitted he was planning a sexual assault.  He couldn’t describe the man who had attacked him either.  She was going to stay with Iggy and Tessa at least until the stitches came out.  The scratches that covered most of her body were already mostly healed, but there was one that was going to scar.

The idea that someone was coming for her was worrying.  The police could find no sign of the attacker.  Mr Lynn was very supportive.  Her anonymous employer was paying her wages until she was able to come back to work and promised her a severance package if she chose not to.

Her employer was very concerned for her well being, she was told.

Her family didn’t want her going back to Morning Side, and the whole week she was waiting for the stitches to come out Iggy lobbied hard for her to quit.  The townspeople came to visit, bring flowers and food and assurances that nothing like this had ever happened in their town before.

The thing she didn’t know how to explain was that she wasn’t afraid.  She knew she should be, but none of it seemed real.  The devil did not come to save her from her rapist. The only logical explanation was that person or persons unknown had come for HIM, wearing halloween masks, and she had gotten away while they were settling whatever score they had with him.

That was the story the police were going with. It was the only rational explanation.  Between the drugging and what had to be a halloween mask there was no way for Brie to identify them.  The incident was widely publicized, including a bad picture of her from a friend’s facebook page.   In the city people looked at her and whispered.  If she went back to her cottage, she wouldn’t have people staring at her.  She wouldn’t have to see the look on her family's faces every time they saw her.

She hadn’t told anyone she remembered being carried.  That made about as much sense as the idea that she was rescued by the devil.  But ultimately she knew that if the person who had gone after her attacker had wanted to hurt her, he would have done it.  She had been completely at his mercy.  And yet, she hadn’t been raped.  Or injured that severely. Most of the scratches were superficial and gone without a trace before she even got out of the hospital.  The last one was an odd unpleasant shape, but the doctors had assured her that with care the scar would fade and become unnoticeable.

Since who ever it was hadn’t hurt her at the time, she believed that there was no point in him coming back for her later.

There was a peace she had found in the cottage.  The quiet. The trees.  She missed it.  Missed her home.  Missed her garden.  And it was her garden.  She tended it.  She never saw anyone else in it.  It would be good to have something to keep her busy.

[nistvurara1974-blog]

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[bones-and-tomes]

Nightmare Part 2

(The egos discuss what happened in part one)

“I just don’t get it.” Dr. Iplier muttered as he leaned across the kitchen isle, “Has anyone seen him like that before?”

After being locked out of Dark’s room, the egos tried to persuade the demon to reopen the door for hour or so before giving up. Now they were all, with the exception of the Jim twins, King, and Yan who had all been sent to bed, congregated in the kitchen.

“Anyone? Anyone have any clue?” The doctor’s voice rose an octave as he looked around at the others. All of them were carefully keeping their eyes lowered, some instead becoming far too interested in their drinks. With a growl, the Doctor slapped his hands on tables surface, “Christ! I thought we were supposed to be a family. How in God’s name do none of us have a clue?”

Ed Edgar rubbed his hands over his eyes, “Doc, give us some slack. That man has more secrets than a dog has fleas.” He moved his hands down his face before he locked his arms firmly over his chest, “Besides, you have no more a clue than us, so don’t go be getting high and mighty.”

A few egos nodded at that, but most looked just too frazzled to really have much to say.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He just didn’t know what to do. He was a doctor, more than that he was an ego that was a doctor, a being literally created to want to help people. Right now though, he had no clue how to. “But not even you Host? You know everything. And you, Warfstache, you and him have been around for about the same amount of time. You have to have some clue.”

The Host, who had been entirely silent until this point, clinched his hand around his glass, “The Host tells Dr. Iplier that there are some things he does not look into, and in other cases, things The Host avoids entirely.” He moved his drink to his lips and took a sip, “The Host informs the doctor that Darkiplier is a man of power, who has many layers. The Host learned long ago not to look where he was not wanted.”

So that meant The Host had tried to take a peek at Dark’s back story, and had been shut down in a major way by the demon.

Everyone now shifted their attention to Wilford, who unlike the rest of them, who had huddled together, seated himself away from the group. He sat in the window stile, staring out into the night, seeming almost oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

“Wilford. We are awaiting your explanation.” Google’s eyes were focused intently upon the man, “You are acting uncharacteristically silent. This implies you have more information than you have previously let on. It would be in your best interest to impart this knowledge.”

Wilford let out a chuckle, lolling his head towards the other egos, and locked eyes with Google, “Try to sweet talk it out of me, why don’t you?”

“So, you admit that you do know something.”

With a sigh, the pink ego stood and brushed his cloths clean of non-existent dirt, “No Googs. I don’t.” He shifted his gaze to the doctor now, and Dr. Iplier was struck with just how tired the normally inexhaustible man looked, “Doctor, you know how mixed up I am upstairs. Some days I wake up and don’t know my own name.” 

Wilford closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead before giving it a few resounding smacks, “I know I should know, I know it’s important. I know it is. I know it is.” He opened eyes again and scanned the other egos faces. “But I can’t. I can’t remember, I just can’t.”

Almost everyone in the room seemed to slump a little father into their seats. Bim smiled wanly, trying to reassure the older ego, “It’s alright Wil. We all know you’re trying.”

Wilford nodded quickly, and turned as if to leave. Before he could get very far though Google asked a question that stopped him in his tracks.

“One more inquiry. Do you know anything of Evelyn?”

Wilford seemed almost frozen for a moment, like someone had paralyzed him. Stiffly he turned back to face Google with an intensity that had been missing before, and he tone was filled with something that almost sounded like pride, “She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect thing in the world.” He blinked a few times and seemed to come to a shuddering halt. Wilford grit his teeth, his face scrunched up tightly, as he lay a few more blows to his temple with the palm of his hand.

Wilford’s words came out almost franticly, “That’s all I’ve got, that’s all I have of her. I just can’t think.”

Dr. Iplier let out a sigh through his nose. So, much for that. “Thank you, Wilford. You’ve done marvelously.”

The oldest ego smiled briefly, “Thanks Doctor.” He straightened himself, and glanced at a clock eyes widening, “My, My! Its almost three thirty, if I want to get any rest I ought to be going now.” His eyes reglazed into their usual madness. “I have a lot of interviews in the morning gentlemen. Might even have snagged one with the Easter Bunny.”

Silver Shepheard, who was laying his head on the table, grumbled, “Very nice Wil, we’re sure it’ll turn out amazing for you. You do always know best.” Shepheard over his years as a superhero had learned exactly how to placate the criminally insane, or so he said. Dr. Iplier had a sinking suspicion he just had a soft spot for the pink mad man.

As expected Warfstache preened at the complement, “Ahhh, Shep, you always know just what to say to a guy.” He grinned madly at all of them before skipping down the hall, and disappearing.

“Was it wise to let him leave? Even if he is having difficulties remembering he does hold our answers.”

Dr. Iplier looked over at Google, “You know as well as I do we wouldn’t have gotten anything out of him. His semi-lucid moment was over.”

Google stared at him for a few moments, before giving a brief nod, “You are correct. I simply wish he had been able to give us answers.”

“He did give us answers.”

Everyone’s head swung to stare at Ed Edgar who watched them as he picked at his teeth. He looked at each of them in turn, before letting out a deep sigh, “Ah, come on folks. I can’t be the only one that saw it.” When he received only blank looks, he let out a laugh, “Boy, it sure does feel nice to be the smartest one in the room for once. If you know what I mean.”

Google narrowed his eyes, “Then by all means Edgar enlighten us.”

Ed instead of fallowing Googles command, seemed to try and sook up a few more moments, of having figured out something before the others, “Why don’t you figure it out? Ya’ll are so much smarter than me, I’m sure you will figure it out soon enough.” He placed his hands behind his head, gloating to himself over this achievement.

“The Host reminds Ed Edgar that this is not a game that he has won. The Host further reminds Ed Edgar that whatever he has learned is potentially important to maintaining Darkiplier’s mental health.”

Ed’s grin melted of his face, “Shit. You’re right Host. Sorry about that. I got caught up in the moment and forgot the big picture.” After a moment, Ed leaned forward and spoke clearly, making sure every ego in the room would hear him, “When Googs asked him about that Evelyn girl, we were clued in on part of who she was. The only time a man talks that way about a girl is when he’s talking about his own flesh and blood. Whoever the Evelyn girl was, I know for sure she was Wilford’s daughter.”

Shocked silence rang throughout the room, and with Shepherd’s cry of, “What?!” The room broke down into complete madness. Accusations were being thrown left and right, voices laying over each other till they reached such a tremendous volume Dr. Iplier was nearly certain that the human world could hear them.

He had had enough of it all most immediately. The Doctor slammed his hands down on the table, “Quite!” in an instant the room had fallen silent again, as the doctor voice reverberated around the room. Dr. Iplier waited for each ego to turn their full attention to him before he spoke, “Thank you. Now Ed, please explain further. As you can see we are all quite confused.”

Ed nodded, “Well as most of you know, I’m in the business of children,” several egos shifted uncomfortably at that, “And by default that means I’m in the business of parents. I hear how they talk about each other nearly every day of my life. On top of that. . . I’m a father. Even if my son and I think pretty poorly of each other now days, I’m still his father. And as a father, I know how another Father sounds when he talks about his child.”

Silence fell across the room again, Google this time, sounding almost hesitant broke the silence, “Wilford Warfstache is well known for his sexual promiscuity. It is likely . . . that one of these encounters could have resulted in a child.”

Bim wrung his hands slightly, wetting his lips, “Okay let’s say that’s true. Let’s say Wil does have a daughter, why did Dark wake up at one thirty in the morning screaming her name? That doesn’t make since. Right? It doesn’t, right?”

“Maybe Dark had a thing with the kid.” Silver suggested, even though he said the words as if they tasted funny, “Maybe he and Evelyn had an affair . . . Wilford didn’t like it . . . and she got killed somehow.”

Ed considered this for a moment, “That would explain the tension between the two of them. I know I’d never be relaxed around a man getting it off with my baby girl. Especially if he got her killed.”

Google pursed his lips into a thin line with his brows furred. Dr. Iplier could practically see the gears turning in his head, “With our knowledge of Darkiplier this does not seem likely.” Bim nodded immediately, looking relieved someone shared his view.

“I agree with Google. I cannot picture Dark ever getting involved in something like that.” Bim bit his lip, shooting a nervous look down the hall that lead to the bedrooms, “Also all we really heard through the door was the name Evelyn, and that’s not much to go off of. I just think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. Besides did you see Dark’s face? He- he was crying, and he looked so lost.” Bim shuffled in his seat and he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t think a love affair would make him look like that. I just don’t.”

Ed threw his hands in the air, “Well do you have any other ideas?”, when no one spoke up Ed continued, “Then shut your mouth. At least we’ve made some progress in figuring this out. What do you say tomorrow we poke around the bush, and see what we get? Maybe if we give Dark the hint we know his dirty laundry, he’ll tell us something more concrete.”

And with that final comment, Dr. Iplier already knew tomorrow would be a horrible day.

Part 1 here https://bones-and-tomes.tumblr.com/post/170385120203/nightmare-celine-wakes-in-the-night-to-her-baby

Part 3 https://bones-and-tomes.tumblr.com/post/170417948348/nightmare-part-3-the-next-morning-it-was-difficult

Part 4 https://bones-and-tomes.tumblr.com/post/170455614303/nightmare-part-4-dr-iplier-was-thankful-his-small

Part 5 https://bones-and-tomes.tumblr.com/post/170498914423/nightmare-part-5-for-the-first-time-in-his

Part 5 1/2

https://bones-and-tomes.tumblr.com/post/170650199613/nightmare-part-5-½-dinner-was-much-quieter-than

Part 6 https://bones-and-tomes.tumblr.com/post/170663439958/nightmare-part-6-dark-woke-to-the-sound-of

[thelittlestkitsune]

Take-Backs. [smut]

A/N;  I don’t have the words to tell you how proud I am of this. All I can really ask is that you read it and enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. love lau xoxo

Pairing: StuartxReader

Author: thelittlestkitsune

Warnings: Smut.

Word count: 7,575.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HAVE THIS ON REPEAT. 

Clothes littered your bedroom floor, bottles on the sideboard as your alarm rang, pulling you from your sleep. You groaned rolling over in the bed, the space beside you empty. Memories of the night before ran through your mind, the way his lips had felt on your skin. Your mouth was dry as you sat up, bruises scattered over your skin. Flashes of heat panged over your skin as you writhed in your sheets, your body stretching out knots that seated themselves deep in your muscles. You still felt embers of his hands on you, ghost like shadows of a feeling running through your body. Your head spun as you tasted liquor on your lips; eyes unfocusing as sunlight streamed through your sheer curtains. Your alarm clock blared from beside you, reminding you of your responsibilities. You lay there for a moment, clearing your head of the fog; before swinging your legs out of bed. A cool breeze hit your heated skin as you shivered; running your fingers through your tangled hair. You sighed, toeing on your slippers as you headed through to the bathroom, running the shower as you gazed over the marks he left on your skin. Scratches marred your shoulder blades, deep purple bruises accentuated your collarbones, a visible trail of the night before. A smile played on your lips as you stepped into the water, a play by play running in your mind from the night before.  

Steam billowed around the bathroom as you scrubbed at your skin, nothing dampening the fire that still burned within you. Your hands ran over your legs, shivers running down your spine as you remembered the way he ripped your stockings from your body. Your lip caught between your teeth as you wrapped your towel around yourself, your body still tender from the night of drinking. Your fingers wrapped around the handle to your room, the steam and cool air rushing together as you readied yourself for work. You sat almost in a stupor as you tried to cover the marks he left on your body, your eyes glazed over as you towel dried your hair, wondering where he went to so early this morning. Time rushed by as you stood in front of your wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear. Clouds hung low in the sky, overcast as you dreamed of curling up in bed, your head on his chest, the same way you had done for years. But nothing had compared to last night.

“Come on, don’t be such a Debby downer!” you called out, your voice barely making a sound in the packed bar. “I can’t drink anymore, I don’t want to be hungover tomorrow, we have that big meeting remember?” Stuart slurred, his glasses low on his nose, eyes glazed over as he slumped over the table. “Don’t look at me like that Twombly, you knew this would happen, we can’t just stay in the house!” You pouted as you looked at your housemate, your lips pressed together as he sighed. “Fine, one more! Then I’m calling it. Chetty’s going to kill anyway for that proposal last month.” You cheered as you flagged the bartender, your body rising out the bar stool. You flirted slightly, pressing your arms tighter against your chest, almost falling out the tight red dress you had expertly picked earlier that night. “You know he has a giant crush on you y/n-” Stuart started as you nodded, your eyes blinking slowly. “I know, but how else am I going to pay for this whole tab.” You laughed, joking with the dark brunette boy next to you. “Google pays us more than enough you know, you don’t have to flirt with him just to get cheaper drinks.” You shrugged, settling back into your seat as you leaned over to Stuart, your nose nudging against his beanie clad ear. “I know.” You whispered, your body perilously close to his as you smiled.  

“How long have we been roommates now y/n?” He asked as you counted the years. “About three? Why?” You asked, gripping your freshly poured vodka and coke. “Cause in all that time you have had the worst taste in men.” He joked as you looked at him; your mouth hung open in shock. “Stewie!” You mock slapped his arm as he smirked, his cheekbones protruding further out as he nursed his drink. “You can do so much better. That’s all I’m saying.” He shrugged, his long fingers tapping against the glass on the bar. Deep down, you knew you could, hell you were looking at him. But he would never think of you that way. Even if you felt that way for him. “Well, maybe I just want to have fun-” You sighed, your mood deflating as you licked over your lips. “Hey, we have fun, right?” He joked, his elbow connecting with your arm as you gave him a lopsided smirk. “Of course, we do, even if you are a Debby downer.” You rolled your eyes as you sipped on your drink, the buzz you had deepening with every drop. “Someone has to be!” He laughed, the sound vibrating through you as you smiled. “Look, I’m going to head back home, I can already feel the hangover kicking in.” His hand rested on your shoulder, his fingertips burning into you as you nodded. “Don’t be home too late or you’re going to break another alarm clock.”  

You laughed as he leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek as you stared at your glass. “See you back home.” He smiled, standing to pull his cardigan over the crisp grey shirt he wore. “See you then!” You waved as he downed the last of his drink, adjusting his glasses as he left the bar. “Your boyfriend’s leaving early?” You heard a male voice over your spinning thoughts. “Not my boyfriend.” You sighed, the bubbling brown drink your only vision as you looked to the source of the voice. The bartender that you shamelessly flirted with stood before you, his eyes tracking over your skin as he wiped a towel over a dripping glass. “Well that’s a shame-” He started, his blue eyes catching yours as you smiled. “-for him at least. Name’s Alex, let’s get you another drink.” He winked as he walked away, leaving you alone at the bar, Stuart’s empty glass beside you. “To hell with it.” You spoke quietly, downing the glass in your hands. “Maybe I will break another alarm clock.”  

You blinked slowly, realising half of your wardrobe was in your wash basket, your severe lack of clothing becoming apparent as you shivered. You sighed as you crossed the room to your phone, messaging your roommate Stuart as you gripped your phone, trying not to shiver. You sighed as you sent him a message, chucking the handset onto your unmade bed before heading out your room. You marched across the hardwood flooring in your hallway, your knuckles rapping on his bedroom door. When no groan came in response you tried the handle, sighing as it opened. His room was a mess, abandoned coffee cups on his desk, posters of musicians littering the walls. The same way it always was, you toed around his bag on the floor as you walked to his closet, screaming internally as his was just as bare as yours was. You glanced around, trying to spy anything that you could fashion into some sort of outfit. You sucked at your teeth as you spotted his grey shirt from the night before, groaning as you picked it up. Returning back to your room you picked out some underwear, pulling the lace bodysuit over your still damp skin. You layered his shirt over the top, the hemline barely grazing your thighs as you grabbed a black skirt from your dresser, praying that it was clean enough.  

Finally dressed you checked your phone, your text unanswered as you grabbed your handbag, running down the hallway to the front door. Your hair hung loosely around your shoulders, the strands still damp as they soaked into the shirt, a darker grey patch over your chest. You groaned, your mood dipping from the mornings happiness as you prepped a coffee for the walk to work, thanking that you and Stuart lived close enough to the office. Heels did not help in the walk though, your feet burning as you walked up to the glass building, the neon lettering glowing in the overcast weather. You waved to co-workers as you made your way to your office, the do not disturb already hanging as you shook your head. You sipped at your coffee as you sidled through the door, a coy smile on your glossed lips. Your team smiled, diving back into the conversation as Neha walked over, bringing you up to speed. “Hey Y/N what took you so long? You’re like an hour late?” She asked, concern in her eyes as you shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything to wear. Sorry, what did I miss?” You asked, taking a seat at the acrylic table, your legs crossing as you leant in. “Not much, just talking about a new potential app. I see you’re wearing Stuarts shirts again.” She quirked her brow, giving you a pointed look. “I really need to do laundry. Hey, how did you know this was his?” You asked, your own brow quirked, your coffee still in hand. “The dude only owns like 5 shirts. I’ve begged him to let me take him shopping but he’s a hard ass-” Chetty coughed as Neha slumped back in her seat. “Nice of you to finally join us Miss Y/L/N-” He spoke, his hands latched together over his laptop keyboard.  

“Sorry Mr Chetty, I won’t interrupt again.” You gave him a half smile as you pulled out your laptop, signing into the shared Google Doc for the meeting. You tried to focus on his words, your fingers running over the back of your neck, your thoughts distracted. You shivered as you licked over your lips, your mind wandering to the night before once more.  

“So, if he isn’t your boyfriend, who is he? Your brother?” Alex asked, his biceps almost popping out of the tight white shirt he wore, his tan from the California sun accentuated by the light colour. You shook your head, a small smile on your lips as you raked in the sight of him, his slightly dishevelled blonde hair falling in his eyes as he wiped the bar down. “He’s my roommate and my co-worker.” You grimaced as you shucked some of your drink, the vodka emboldening you as your buzz returned. “So, he’s gay right? Cause there is no way he can’t resist hitting that.” He laughed, pointing to you as you blushed. “Nope, not gay. I think. Just not interested I guess.” You laughed awkwardly, suddenly feeling inadequate. “No wonder dude needs glasses.” Alex joked, your head nodding slowly. “So, if you’re not with him then what are you still doing? Hoping to hook up?” You shook your head, your hair sticking to your lacquered lips. “Just wanted to unwind after work. I was in meetings all day, I got chewed out by my boss and I have a meeting to go to tomorrow and I’m stressing about it.” You gazed into your drink, the stresses of the day melting away with each glass you drank.  

“Well if you need another way to de stress I get off in a half hour.” He winked as he walked to the other side of the bar, your lips downturned as you swivelled in your seat. Reaching for your clutch, you grabbed out your phone, your head spinning as you tried to focus on the dimly lit screen. You checked your messages, sighing in defeat as you realised Stuart hadn’t texted at all. You burped, the smell of vodka filling the air as you opened your chat with Neha. The world spun as you typed, your mind fuelling all your focus into crafting the perfect message.  

y/n; Random hookyp or should I jyst go home lnley agin?

Neha; wait, you know you should just go home, you’re in no state to make a decent decision. Call a cab or get Stuart to take you home.

y/n; ok mom, thnks.  

“Y/N? Are you listening?” Chetty spoke towards you as you pulled yourself from your reverie. “Yes of course, sorry. Busy morning.” You laughed awkwardly, reality crashing around you. “So, any thoughts?” You shook your head, your lips pressed together in a hard line. “The plan seems pretty solid as it is, I don’t think we need to change anything.” You bullshitted as he nodded, his hands unclasping as he placed them palm down on the table. “Well, I guess that means we’re done here. Good meeting today you guys, you have the plans there, now let’s get going!” He smiled, a rare occurrence from your boss as you all packed away your things. “Y/N, can I talk to you for a moment?” Neha asked as you nodded, tucking your laptop back into your handbag. “Sure, fancy grabbing something to eat?” You asked as she nodded, her black hair swinging as she picked up her messenger bag. “You sounded like you’re going to need something to soak up all that you had to drink last night.” She laughed as you blushed, your skin going hot. Stuart passed by Neha, not making eye contact with you as he headed to his office space, his head staring at the floor. Neha watched as he passed, her eyebrows knitted low over her eyes. “What’s up with him?” She asked, circling to you as you shrugged, your own face as perplexed as hers. “I don’t know, brainstorm with a bagel?” She nodded as you headed out towards the cafeteria.  

You placed your phone back into your bag, turning to drink the last of your drink as you found your glass empty. Sighing you signalled Alex, his lips turned up in a smile as he walked over. “So, what can I get you?” He asked as you shrugged, your shoulders falling heavy as your lids drooped. “How about, a shot of tequila for the road? I need to be up early tomorrow.” You pursed your lips as you rubbed your hands together, watching as Alex’s muscles rippled beneath his shirt. Something lit within you, your chest rising and falling as he placed the shot glass in front of you. “Are you sure I can’t do anything else?” His eyes glinted in the dark bar, something playing on his lips as he poured the amber liquid into the glass. Thoughts of amber eyes played in your drunken stupor. You held your breath as he grabbed the bottle, his fingers tapping at the label, the small sound drowning in the din of the bar. You pushed all thought of Stuart to the side as you locked eyes with the hot bartender, licking a stripe on the back of your hand. His eyes flickered to your tongue as you grabbed the salt, dusting it over where your tongue was. “One more shot.” You flirted, brazenly lifting the shot glass to your lips, downing the sour liquid. “You did that one wrong.” He spoke quietly, leaning over the small space between you. “You can lick it off if you like-” You trailed off, a smile playing on your lips.  

“Oh, I have something else in mind, wait here.” His eyes were dark as he pulled away from you, turning tail as he waltzed to the other side of the bar. “Sorry Rich, clocking off early for the night, just take it out of my tips.” you heard his voice through your haze. You wobbled to your feet, your fingers gripping onto the bar for support. “Your place or mine?” He whispered as he laced his arm around your waist, his fingers gripping onto your dress. “I live closer.” You smiled as you stepped forward, leaving the warmth of the bar as you headed out into the clear night.  

“What happened last night?” Neha asked as you sat down, your tray perched on your hand as she took the seat opposite you. “Well, I was so stressed about the meeting we had with Chetty, you know the one where he basically said he has no idea how we got hired?” Neha laughed, her head nodding slowly. “Even though he’s the one that gave us the job?! Yeah, I remember.” She took a bite of her bagel as you pulled your leg up beneath you, struggling to get comfortable in the wire chairs. “Anyway, I wanted to blow off steam but Stewie was being a butt about it.” Neha didn’t utter a word as she looked at you mid bite. “But, when isn’t he? Yesterday I couldn’t help but feel a bit unwanted and useless and Stu-” You paused, searching for the right words to say. “-was just being Stu. I ended up in that bar near our apartment, you know the one with the super-hot bartender?” She nodded, letting you talk as you picked at your fries. “I got all dressed up because fuck it, you’re only 24, once right? So, Alex AKA Hot bartender dude started hitting on me and that’s when I text you.”  

Her eyes narrowed as her head cocked to the side. She swallowed quickly, placing her food back down as she turned towards you. “Please tell me you didn’t-” You grimaced as you looked to your food, ignoring her judging eyes. “I didn’t-” She cut you off, an exasperated sigh leaving her lips as she leaned back in her chair. “I thought you liked Stuart?” You fiddled with the napkin on your tray as you looked up finally. “I do, but wait there’s more.”  

Your hands gripped onto Alex’s arms as he walked you to your apartment, his long legs propelling the both of you forwards. “So, will your roommate mind that you’re bringing a guy back?” He asked as you shrugged. “I don’t think he cares what I do, not like I’m his girlfriend.” You laughed, your voice loud in the late hour. “Well then, I hope he has earplugs.” Alex’s voice was husky as you walked up the steps to your apartment. “Oh, he does.” You smiled, your lip catching between your teeth as you unlocked the door, crashing through it noisily. You grabbed Alex’s hands as you headed down the hallway to your room, your heels clicking against the hardwood flooring. A sliver of light shone through the crack beneath Stuart’s door as you pressed your finger to your lips. “Shhhh, I think he might still be up.” You whispered, a hiccup punctuating your sentence. Alex mimicked your action, his lips pressed together as you walked into your room, closing the door fully behind you. “Now, I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to hear us now.” You spoke, your words slightly slurred, even after the sobering walk home. “He’ll be able to hear us if I do something right.” Alex spoke, closing the space between you.  

His lips found yours as his arms snaked around your waist, his palms flat against the arch of your back. You moaned slightly into his lips as his hands pressed down, smoothing over the curve of your ass. Your body moved closer to his as you laced your arms around him, intrusive thoughts of a certain bespectacled brunette. Your tongue rolled over Alex’s lips as he pulled away, his head dipping into the crook of your neck as he walked you backwards, your shoulders hitting against the cool plaster. His breath fanned over your skin, igniting something within you as you sighed, your nails raking over his shoulders, fingertips raking at his shirt. A moan left your lips as you breathed, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. “Stu-” You breathed, your eyes flying open as you shut your mouth, the damage already done.

“What do you mean there’s more?” Neha asked, her eyes boring into yours as you sighed, your skin clamming up as you picked at your food, your appetite lost. “Just, I clearly can’t do random hook-ups.” You admitted, brushing the comment to the side as Neha pressed for answers. “I brought Alex back to the apartment, and things were going great. Well a bit better than great but then I ruined everything. I messed up-” Neha’s eyes tracked up behind you her eyes widening. “Stuart! Hey, what’s up?” You swallowed your words as Stuart put his hand on your shoulder. He leant down, his lanky frame over shadowing you as his cologne filled your senses. “Hey Neha, you don’t mind if I borrow Y/N for a moment, do you?” Neha shook her head as you shot her a pleading look. “Go ahead.” She smiled as Stuart gave her a smirk, his fingers grazing over your bare skin. “Y/N we need to talk. Privately.”  

Alex loosened his grip on you, his head dipped as he pulled away, his mouth in a scowl. “What did you just call me?” He asked, his eyes avoiding yours as you pressed your fingers to his chest. “I wasn’t thinking-” You mumbled, incoherent as you scrambled to make a sentence. “You weren’t thinking of me at least. Look, I think I’m done here. I don’t want to be second best to a scrawny nerd.” He adjusted himself as he reached for the door handle. “You’re hot, but you’re not worth the baggage.” He frowned as he left, leaving you as you sunk to the floor. You heard his footsteps echo down the hallway as he left, the door slamming shut as the whole apartment shook. Tears began in your eyes as you wiped at them, refusing to let yourself cry over some guy you barely knew. But you knew you weren’t crying because of him, he didn’t mean anything to you. Not like Stuart did. A sob wracked your chest as you picked at your heels, undoing the small clasp as you threw them across the room.  

“Y/N?” You heard Stuart speak, his voice thick with sleep as he opened your door, his floppy haired self-appearing in the crack of the doorway. “What’s wrong?” You opened your mouth to speak as he came in, his blue sleep shirt hanging loosely from his body. No words came out as tears spilled, frustration and alcohol hitting you hard as he crossed to where you sat. He crouched, pyjama bottoms hitting against the carpeted floor as you buried your head in your hands. “It’s stupid-” You started as you heaved, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat. “Come on now, I bet it isn’t?” He cooed, his fingers rubbing over your stocking clad legs as you lifted your head to look at him. “It’s all your fault.” You sighed, anger building in your small body as you pulled away from him, struggling to stand. “What do you mean it’s all my fault?” He asked, his face painted with confusion. “You. You’re my problem Stuart, always getting into my head, stopping me from being happy.” You prodded at his chest, your nails digging against hard muscle as he stepped backwards. “You know I just want you to be happy?” He spoke, his glasses low on his nose, alcohol still on his breath. “Then why won’t you be happy with me?” you broke, your fist falling limp against him. “I am happy-” He started, his hands covering yours as he pulled you to him.  

His arms wrapped around you; warmth encompassing your cold body as you sighed. “You don’t understand do you?” He shook his head as he leant his chin against your hair. “You’re not with me. I like you Stu, I have for a really long time.” You admitted, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your chest. “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, chuckling as he ignored your confession. “Not nearly enough. But enough to finally feel brave enough.” You swallowed your better judgement, pulling from his arms as you reached up to place your lips against his. He stood stunned, his body harsh against yours before he relaxed, his lips meshing with yours.  

“What’s wrong Stu?” You asked, your eyes searching for his as you crossed your arms. He pulled you by the wrist to a nearby office, abandoned as he leant against the desk. “You know what’s wrong.” He stated, his amber eyes dark as he looked over you, his eyes drawn to the shirt you stole from him this morning. “You’re wearing my shirt.” His words were harsh as you felt a chill in the air. “Yeah? What’s the problem? I always borrow your shirts, you know I look better in them than you do.” You laughed, his face stony as you let your laughter die down. “I don’t remember saying you could?” He leaned back, his hands gripping at the edge of the desk, his khaki clad legs crossing as he looked over you. “You’ve never had a problem with it before?” Your lips pressed together as you paced the small room, confusion and hurt flowing through you. “That was before last night.” His words were sharp, almost cutting through the air as he avoided your eyes. “Nothing’s changed Stewie?” You reached for him as he pulled away, something glinting in his eyes as his lips set in a hard line. “But that’s what you don’t see Y/N, everything has changed.”  

It felt like an infinity had passed since you kissed him, your lips meshing with his as you held your breath; air finally flooding your lungs. His arms wrapped around your body, muscles encompassing your small frame as he scooped you up, his hands running over your thighs. A groan passed his lips as he smoothed over your ass, hitching your legs around his hips as his tongue rolled over your lips. He staggered forwards, your back hitting against the bed, cushiony down billowing around you. He tore away from you, his touch ghosting over you as he stared at you, a reflection of light in his thick rimmed glasses. “We shouldn’t be doing this-” He started as you propped yourself onto the bed, watching as he paced the end of the bed, his hands on his hips as the hemline of his shirt rode up. “Why?” You asked, your eyes wide as he looked at you, his fingers pressing against his lips, a half drunken look in his eye. “I can’t think when you look like that Y/N.” He whined, your body half exposed as your dress rode up. “Then don’t think. Just do.” You pouted, reaching behind you to undo the zipper.  

You stood confidently, sure in your footing although alcohol still coursed through your veins. Your fingers tangled with the zipper, your arm contorted as you stood in the dim light, Stuart’s eyes stuck to your figure. He went to speak, the words not coming as he closed the space between you, his hands turning you away from him. Your eyes closed as you felt his breath on the back of your neck, warmth spreading through your body as he pushed the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his lips pressing chaste kisses to your skin. You sighed, a breathy moan escaping through your parted lips as his hands fumbled over your shoulder bones. Teeth sunk into soft flesh as he sucked purple marks into your skin, a fire igniting deep within you. Rough fingertips grazed over your zipper, tugging at the metal as your dress came loose falling to the floor. You shivered once more, no longer cold as you kicked the dress to the side, turning to look at Stuart. Neither of you spoke a word, sharing a look that said it all as he pulled you to him, his lips needy against your own.  

His hands roamed over your body, gripping at your waist pulling your hips flush to his as you fell to the bed. Your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed down your chest; your hands pulling at his shirt as you arched against his touch. He didn’t stop, his glasses fogging up as he snaked down your body, lips trailing against the curve of your bra, his teeth snagging on the simple lace. You sighed as you reached behind you, undoing the clasp before ripping the hindrance from your body. Stuart paused, staring at you beneath him, his lips caught between his teeth. A small smile stretched across his mole speckled face as his hands flattened over your ribcage, tickling a spot that had you writhing beneath him. “Y-” He started as you latched your legs around his waist, need growing in your core as you lay back fully. “Don’t speak, just do-” You whispered, his tongue flickering over your chest.  

“It’s like you’re not even listening to me Y/N” Stuart brought you back from your thoughts, your fingers absentmindedly twirling your necklace. “This is what I’m talking about. You don’t get it.” Stuart almost shouted, frustration hinting in his amber eyes. “What do you want me to say Stu?” You asked, your voice thick as you stared at him. “I don’t know.” He sighed, defeated, his body slumping slightly as he looked at you through thick lashes. You let your arms fall to your sides, exasperated as he scowled. “Well then what do you want me to do?” You asked, closing the space between you, your hands reaching for him shakily. “I don’t know that either” he spoke in a small voice, his lip trembling as he looked up at you. “I didn’t want to lose my best friend” Your heart panged at two simple words. Best friend. “You didn’t lose me dumbass, why do you think you lost me?” You asked, your words filling the room as he looked away. “Cause now I can’t look at you the same way, I can’t be close to you in the same way.” he mumbled, his fingers tapping against his arms as you let out a groan. “Why because we slept together?” The question was laced with confusion, his eyes softening as he turned back to you.  

“Because we made a mistake.” You felt your heart drop as you stepped back, staggering slightly as you processed his words. “Stuart-” You gasped, tears pricking at your eyes as he stared at the floor, standing slightly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore Y/N” He whined as you leant against the door, his long legs carrying him through the room in a few bounds. “I just need to think, can you let me out?” You shook your head, your resolution made as you started to unbutton his shirt, the grey material hanging from your arms. “Y/N stop. I need to leave before anything else changes.” He begged, his voice thick as you refused to stop. “Just let me-” you started as his hand grazed over yours, stopping the trembling. “Stop-” He asked again as you pushed on his chest. “Just take your shirt back.” You cried, the tears now falling over your heated skin, air brushing over your bared chest. You thrust the crumpled material towards him, pressing yourself further into the door. “Y/N” he pleaded, his eyes misty as his nose reddened.  

Your head swung back as he licked over you, his teeth barely scratching at your sensitive skin. “Stu-” you moaned breathily, your fingers threading into the tendrils of his hair. He paused, looking up at you as you focused on him, looking through hazy lids at his swollen red lips. “Say it again” He asked, more of a demand as he returned to you, his tongue flickering against your hardened nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you took a shaky breath, his lips sucking your nipple between them as his name cascaded from your lips once more. Your legs itched against his as you felt yourself grind against him, his cock already hard between your legs. Eyes rolled backwards as he explored your body, his lips sucking red marks across every inch of flesh that you had, your breaths becoming more laboured as you lost yourself.  

“I can’t take it back.” He continued as you brushed your hair from your face, sniffing slightly as you shook your head. “Neither can I.” you whispered, his hand reaching beneath your chin as he forced you to look at him, your skin on edge as you swallowed. “What can’t you take back?” He asked, his amber eyes searching your own for answers. “I can’t take back what I said last night.” You admitted, blinking back more tears that threatened to fall. “I don’t want you to.”  

Stuart shifted, pushing you up the bed as he breathed, his warm breath rolling over you as you smiled, something burning deep within you. You bit your lip slowly, revelling in the way he felt on you, the rough pads of his fingertips over your hips as he hooked them beneath the elastic of your panties, a moan leaving his lips as he pulled them down your legs. His lips pressed together as he let out a breathy sigh, his hair flopping over his forehead as he stood up quickly. You lay there, nothing but your stockings on as he pulled his shirt over his head. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but now in this light you really could appreciate him. Light shone off his pale skin, shadows forming in the crevasses of his muscles, a dark trail of hair leading down beneath the band of his blue boxers. His hair was pushed back, barely any gel in it for once; his hands trembled as he played with the drawstrings on his pyjamas, hesitation in his movements. You smiled, the corners of your lips turned up as you sat up, pulling him to you as you pushed his hands to the side, your fingers tucking beneath the band as you pulled his boxers and pyjamas down in one.  

He looked at you, some embarrassment on his face as a shy smile spread across his cheeks, his hands pressing against your shoulders as he kissed you, his body hovering over yours as you leaned back into the bed. His hands grabbed at your skin, ripping the stockings as he pulled you around him, his cock already pressing against your dripping pussy. “Stu-” You choked as his head rolled over your clit, sparks igniting a flame that already licked at your throat, threatening to burn everything in its path. Fingers laced together with yours as his forehead rested against yours; your eyes half lidded as he pressed forward, a look of contentment crossing his face as he buried himself within you. Moans fell from your lips in sync with his hips, his cock burrowing into you as he rolled, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the small space between the two of you.  

His lips gaped open as the two of you moved in tandem, your bodies singing as toes curled. Your mind grew foggy, all your focus on the sound he made, the air growing thick as you spoke. “I love you.” The words left your lips as he silenced you, his nose brushing yours as he pressed forwards, a silent reproach to your statement. “Say it again.” He asked as you smiled, your fingers twirling with his. “I love you Stuart”

“I don’t understand.” you frowned, your skin growing hot as confusion and frustration ebbed within you. “You do, deep down you know what I’m saying.” Stuart gripped the shirt you had forced into his hands as you thought it all through, your mind combing through everything that had happened. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” He asked, his voice soft as he closed around you, his lips perilously close to your cheek. “I didn’t want that to happen-” He paused taking a deep breath as you panicked. “-not like that. I wanted for us to be together, I wanted you to be my girlfriend, not just my roommate. I don’t regret sleeping with you, I regret not making a move sooner.” He whispered as you pulled him to look at you. “You what?” You asked, your eyes searching his face for any hint of a lie. “I love you. Have for so long now it’s stupid. I would never say anything because you showed no interest in me. What kind of interest would you have in a scrawny nerd like me.” His eyes dipped away from yours as you shushed him, the words Alex had spat at you the night before echoing through the empty office.  

“You heard him.” You stated, your fingers reaching for his face as you smoothed over his cheek. “I hear everything. When you said my name, the way you sounded; it made me brave. You make me brave Y/N, ever since the internship.” He smiled, his lips crooked as he chucked the balled up shirt in his hands to the side, favouring the curve of your waist instead. “Your walls are as thin as paper.” He joked, his hands flattening over the lace of your body suit. “Well he was wrong. You don’t need to listen to anyone like that.” You pursed your lips as he nodded. “I’m sorry Y/N. I’m sorry I left you alone this morning. I just didn’t know if it was the alcohol that played games with my mind, or the disbelief that someone like you would like-” You pressed your lips against his, cutting off his words as you pressed yourself to him. “-love-” The word was barely a whisper as he took a shaky breath. “-love someone like me. I just wanted to do it right, not the way it happened. I want to be with you, take the dive with a clear head.” He trailed off as you blinked slowly, your eyes flickering down as you noticed your state of undress. “I’m clear headed now. Ready to take the dive?” Your lips caught his as wood pressed against your back, the door supporting your waist as he hoisted you around his hips.  

“I just want to be sure, no take backs.” He whispered, his eyes glazed over as his lip caught between his teeth. “Don’t say anything, just do.” you repeated your words from the night before, your lips tracking over the slope of his neck, teeth grazing at his freckled skin. You kissed over the column of his neck, your tongue rolling over him as he groaned; a guttural sound that shook the both of you. He pulled from you, readjusting you on his hips as he snaked his hands up the back of your thighs. “I want to do this right-” He stammered, your heart slamming against your ribcage as he spun, locking the door with one hand as he walked you over to the desk. You fell to the wood, your body shaking as he ripped his shirt from his body, his eyes dark as he adjusted his glasses. He paused, staring over your chest as he admired the bodysuit, his fingers trailing over the delicate material as he pulled it from your shoulders; the straps hanging loose around your arms. He dropped to his knees, his hands pulling at the material of your skirt, fingernails pinching to grab it before pulling it down your legs.  

You looked over him, your tongue stuck between your teeth as you pulled the last of the straps from your arms, his hair tickling at your thigh as he kissed the sensitive skin there. Your head rolled back once more as he pressed his hands to your hips, anchoring you in place as your legs parted, his head growing closer to where you needed him most, a fire building with every kiss. He smiled as he unbuttoned the lace, his eyes widening as he looked over you, lust burning between heavy lids. Not a word was spoken as he pulled you flush against him, his stubble scratching at your inner thigh, a burning sensation running through your veins. Every nerve was on edge as his breath fanned over you, your back arching as you pressed yourself against him, a shaky moan leaving your lips as his tongue ran over you. Stars exploded behind closed eyes, your legs hooking over his shoulders as he licked again, his tongue flattening against you as you mewled. Muscles tensed as his fingers splayed against your skin, nails cutting into you as he moved slowly. Each breath you took felt like a lifetime, his mouth moving over you almost agonisingly slow. “Stu-” You breathed, his tongue moving to a point as pleasure washed over you, a wave of euphoria shaking your whole body.  

His tongue circled; half moons and figure eights dancing over your skin as you sighed. Your fingers fumbled with the last of your body suit before you sought out his touch, every part of you wanting to be closer to him. Your fingers found his as his tongue dipped, teasing inside your entrance as you caught your breath. “Stu-” You whined, your body rolling against his mouth instinctively, pure instinct taking over your body as your toes curled. The pressure within you built, reaching its peak as he sucked your clit between his lips; your body curling as your orgasm crashed over you.  

Your eyes screwed shut as curses filled the air, your voice ricocheting off the walls as your mind let go, everything washing away as he surfaced again. Your body went limp as he wiped over his mouth, unbuckling his belt as you smiled at him. You battled to control your breath, your lungs aching as the flooded with air after what felt like a lifetime. Stuart stood before you, almost a daydream as you reached out to touch him, almost pinching yourself as he moved towards you. His lips were red raw, a glisten still on his lips as he dipped his head to yours, your fingers looping into the waist of his khakis. Your tongues battled for dominance as he pushed you backwards, the clink of a belt falling to the floor as you bit your lip, stifling a moan as his fingers rolled over your clit. Already sensitive you mewled, your chest rising and falling as he rubbed figure eights over you whilst pumping his cock in his other hand.  

Your body tensed as he pushed forwards, burying himself to the hilt within you as you both let out a shaky breath, your hands entangled in one another's as you paused. “I love you Y/N” He spoke quietly as he brought you to his chest, your head burying into his skin. “I love you too Stuart.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he careened forwards, rocking forwards as he filled you, his cock hitting deep within you; the feeling of him only intensified by your shared words. Your nails raked at his back, tracing between the constellation of moles that splattered on his shoulders. His lips sought yours as he picked up speed, your need growing stronger as his hands found your jaw, long fingers cupping at your cheek. Your tongues danced together as you felt yourself lose control, waves of pleasure rolling through your tired body. “Stu-” His name caught in his mouth, his lips silencing your moans as his hips snapped against yours.  

His moans vibrated through you as his lips left yours, chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks as he buried his head in the crook of your neck. He sucked at the over sensitive skin as he spurred you onto your peak, your body already on edge as he sped up, his groans filling the air as he gripped at your skin. “Y/N, I’m going to cum, but I need you there with me okay?” His words were punctuated with breaths, a whine almost as you nodded. “I’m right there with you.” Your words cracked as your head fell back, his lips stilling against your neck as he slammed forwards, his orgasm crashing over him as he stammered your name. Your legs tightened around him as you tensed, your walls clenching around him as you came, a high-pitched scream falling from your swollen lips.  

Your bodies fell against one another's; each of you gripping to the other as you battled for your breaths, heartbeats slamming against your chests. “Y/N?” He spoke, his glasses fogged up as he brought you to look at him. “You want this right? All of this.” He gestured to the two of you; your legs still slung around his hips. “I need this, Stuart, I love you.” you smiled as he pulled from you, his cheeks flushed a light pink, sweat sheening on his forehead. “I was just making sure.” He smiled shyly, so unsure of himself as he dressed again, passing you your forgotten clothes. You smiled as you pulled the lace over your skin, sweat rolling down your bare legs as you buttoned up your skirt. “So, about the shirt.” you grimaced, pointing to the discarded item, your fingers shaking as you adjusted your hair. “It’s yours, anything of mine is yours.”  

“Are you sure? No take backs?” You winked as he smiled, his tongue rolling over his teeth as he chucked you it, watching as you buttoned it up loosely.  

“No take backs.”  

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[lauracaskey]

My SNL ‘standby’ experience: 4/14/18

So this weekend I lived out a dream I’ve had for more than 15 years -- I waited in the SNL standby line for tickets.

Back in December, my friend Kristi and I decided we were going to try for SNL standby in the spring season. Since the schedule is not set in stone in advance, to help us choose the date I created a Google Docs spreadsheet (I’m obsessed) with a list of the most common Saturdays to have shows for the last 10 years. We settled on the second weekend of April since (see chart) there has been a show on that Saturday every year. We booked our flights/bus tickets, chose an Airbnb, took days off, and then waited.

About two weeks before we were set to go, NBC announced that John Mulaney would be hosting on April 14 and I literally screamed. (I was in a meeting at work and Kristi texted me, and I let out a small scream. In a meeting.) It felt like fate. 

I have been an SNL fan for a good portion of my life and have seen basically every episode since the 2003-2004 season. Along with that, I have always loved John Mulaney, beginning with his Update appearances, his work with Bill Hader ( ❤), and, of course, “New In Town” which has been one of my favorite standup specials for more than five years now. I missed his show in Charleston, SC, earlier this year and figured I would need to wait a few more years for him to go on tour before I’d get a chance to see him.

So, for us to have picked a random date and to have him host on that random date felt perfect (It also helped to heal the burn from the fact that Bill Hader hosted two episodes prior, and I missed planning my trip for that date.)

Being a hardcore SNL fan for the last 15 years, I knew what the standby process entailed. Long waits. Sleeping outside. The possibility that even after all of that waiting we still might not get in. I was prepared.

Kristi and I bought and borrowed all of the camping/backpacking gear necessary and easy to travel with (by plane for me from SC, and by bus for her from MD). We got into NYC on Thursday, and Thursday night I monitored Twitter and the SNL Reddit page for updates on the standby line. We decided to check the line at 9:30 a.m. on Friday and if it was more than 30 people, we’d go ahead and put our stuff down.

For those unfamiliar with the process, the SNL Standby line is on 48th St. between 6th and 5th avenues. It starts approximately beside the Nintendo Store and stretches down 48th toward Times Square, wrapping around Rockefeller Center towards the “Tonight Show” entrance. Depending on the host, people can start lining up as early as the Wednesday before shows. (In this case – since John Mulaney is a pretty big draw for SNL fans – the line began late Thursday night.)

The standby tickets are given in order beginning at 7 a.m. on Saturday. You get the choice of dress rehearsal (which is what we chose) or live show, and the NBC pages give you your number for both before you choose your tickets.

We got there a little before 9:30 a.m. and there were already 28 people waiting in front of us. We decided not to risk it, and set our space up and began the wait. (For anyone familiar with the area, we were directly across from Sean’s Bar. Let’s just say the sight of that giant Guinness became a familiar one over the next 22 hours.)

We couldn’t have asked for better weather to wait in. It was sunny all day and during the afternoon it reached about 75 degrees. We both had on t-shirts and leggings and didn’t have to put on jackets until about 2 a.m. It stayed warm and pleasant for most of the day.

The weather definitely affected the number of people in line. By that afternoon, the line reached the end of the block and had already begun its turn around the building. Later, we heard from the security guards that the line reached the 300 person max they allow and that they began turning people away from waiting at 4 a.m. on Saturday.

The location is also great for waiting. There are plenty of restaurants, you’re not too far from Times Square, and there are two nearby Starbucks where you can use the restroom and charge your phone. We likened it, on that day, to being at the beach. We had sleeping bags, chairs, and an inflatable camping couch, with the great name of Chilbo Baggins, that made the whole experience incredibly enjoyable and comfortable. (I can provide my entire supply list for anyone interested.)

We also had some pretty great line neighbors who we were able to talk to for most of the day. Growing up in rural South Carolina, it was surreal to be surrounded for the first time in my life by people who were just as obsessed with SNL as I am.

The one issue we ran into, and completely didn’t understand, was line sitters. There are several line sitting companies in NYC that allow people to pay them to wait for them in line. For a process that seems to be based on rewarding people with free tickets for taking their time out to wait, it seems incredibly unfair, and I’m not sure why NBC allows it. We had two line-sitters in front of us who were gone for five hours at a time, while the rest of us were basically informed we had to take short, infrequent breaks or we would lose our places in line. Multiple people spoke to the guards and pages about the situation, but they ignored our complaints. On top of never being there, they also held loud business meetings right beside us during the night, and at 4:00 in the morning one of the line sitters from further back came up to the two sitters in front of us blaring an alarm on her phone and yelling about people cutting in line.

It was also angering that we waited 22 hours for tickets, and the people who paid for people to “wait for them” (not really) were able to show up well-rested and perky at 5 a.m., and got in before us. (The couple in front of us even had the nerve to complain about how sore their legs were from waiting those last two hours.)

The worst part of the night is definitely that stretch from about 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. where it starts to get cold and you’re getting tired. Also after 10 million times, it gets really old to have people come by and ask “What are you guys waiting for?” and for them to have absolutely no idea who John Mulaney is. Thankfully, I had a little bit of foresight and made a sign before going that really helped us out.

A little after 7 a.m. on Saturday the pages came out to distribute tickets. When they got to us, we were numbers 10 and 11 for dress rehearsal and 20 and 21 for the live show. I know that usually close to 50-60 people get into both, but since I cared a lot about John Mulaney – and Kristi was super tired and staying up late another night almost seemed out of the picture – we chose dress since with such a low number we were pretty much guaranteed to get in and it’s a longer show.

After grabbing a quick breakfast at Chick-Fil-A (you can take the girl out of South Carolina…), we headed back to our Airbnb in Washington Heights and slept into the afternoon.

We ate an early dinner in the Village and got back to Rockefeller Center around 6:15 p.m. The ticket says ticket holders should report to the NBC Store to check in. I’ve heard they’re usually pretty strict about letting people line up early, but we were able to go ahead and get in our spots in line in the NBC Store when we arrived. They put you in line in groups of 10, so I was at the end of one line and Kristi was at the beginning of the other.

Around 7:15 they began bringing us all upstairs to the second floor and then to the elevators to the eighth floor. Because I was number 10, I was one of the last ones in the elevator, and therefore in the front of the elevator. When we hit the eighth floor, they quickly pulled us out of the elevator, filed us through the halls and then rushed us into the studio, meaning that I was in the first few people to be seated.

I was placed in the front row of the balcony almost in the EXACT center! Because it is a live, working set, there are no “perfect” seats with “perfect” views, but I feel like I got pretty dang close. I was able to see both the cold open and the monologue very clearly, along with a good portion of the sketches.

After going back and watching the live show, I noticed a ton of differences between the live version and dress version we saw.

In addition to the two “cut for time” sketches posted on YouTube, there was another sketch cut with John, Cecily, Kyle, Kate, Alex, and Mikey about 1920s novelists. John was trying to become a new member of the famous Stratford-on-Odeon group of writers and proceeds to insult everyone in the group. Kristi and I both noticed in that sketch (and in others), John was was saying completely different things than those that were written on the cards– kind of doing a reverse Stefon.

There was also a bit from Update cut with Alex as Conor McGregor.

John also had some extra jokes in his monologue and in the “Switcheroo” sketch.

As other accounts have noted, the biggest highlight of that night was the complete disaster that was the dress version of the “Lobster Diner” sketch. At the beginning, they had trouble getting Kenan’s tank through the door and the laughing from Pete, Chris, Kate, and Kenan was even worse. If you watch the YouTube version of the sketch, they actually took some cuts from dress and put it into that version. The part with Pete laughing is from dress, along with the ending number. The audience was dying.

I also really enjoyed the “Wedding Singer” sketch and would have probably chosen that over the “Horns” sketch. I can hear myself laughing in the video they posted on YouTube at the parts where John interjects.

I felt a little emotional throughout the show, just because SNL has always meant so much to me. Just to be there, in that studio. Hearing “Live from New York…it’s Saturday Night!” and the theme music start up while I’m sitting right there; it was overwhelming. When they wheeled the Update desk and background out I was just in shock. I also spent the commercial breaks just taking in the experience of being in Studio 8H. There were lights above me with the old 1960s/1970s NBC logo.  I was thinking of all the people I admire who have been in that studio–the original cast, my favorite cast members (like Dana Carvey, Bill Hader, and Jimmy Fallon), my favorite musicians (Paul McCartney, Paul Simon, George Harrison), my comedy heroes (Steve Martin, most of the members of Monty Python). It was crazy. And also to see Lorne Michaels in person, working down on the stage was just surreal.

At the end, they filed us all out back into the hallway where we were able to see the famous photos of former hosts and former sketches. Also, as I’ve heard others note before, the hallway (where I assume the writers are) smelled extremely strong of pot. Michael Che was also in the hall (possibly related? Haha).

We exited through the NBC Store, which was the only place still open in Rockefeller Centre at the time.

In all, this little adventure in NYC was the best trip I’ve ever taken in my life. I talked to some of the “old-timers” around me who have been doing this for years, and one told me that she could tell that I was going to do this again; that I had “caught the bug.” Which is absolutely true. I’ve definitely “caught the bug” and despite all the waiting, the stress, and the just overall exhaustion involved in the SNL standby process, I can see me doing this whole thing again very soon.

Another side note: I also attended Seth’s monologue rehearsal on Thursday, and he is the sweetest with the audience. That was so much fun, and because it was Thursday, SNL was in rehearsal and we got to see Pete Davidson and Kyle Mooney in the hallway. I was also standing beside the SNL stage, waiting to go into Late Night, and through the curtain I was able to see John, Luke, and Heidi rehearsing the “Horns” sketch.

[crushingonrazz]

Positivity

I’ve noticed a lot, over the course of my own writing and interacting with other creators on Ao3 and Tumblr, that people seem to have a hard time looking at their own writing and actually loving it. I think that’s sad as hell. There are amazing writers not only in this fandom but all over the place that think they can’t write at all, and have a hard time finding positive points in their writing.

So I got in contact with a bunch of writers I know and read, and asked them all to go through their own works and find their favorite lines, their favorite pieces of writing, and to put them on a document so that I could post them here! 

This document ended up being 19 pages long on Google Docs.

So instead of posting all of them here, I’m going to just link the Document (definitely NSFW warning, but they are clearly marked, so just be careful), and I’ve put my favorite entry from every writer that participated under the cut. Thank you so much to @queenofbiscuits​ @weirder-than-you-know-blog-blog​ @gallifreyan-pal​ @undertailsoulsex​ @idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh​ @mercy-run @knowmeknot101 @sesurescue @accidentalfeelfest @purrfecktlysinful and @0netype (why can’t I tag half of you, who the heck knows) for participating in this! 

Please, hop on board this train of loving the things you’ve created! Reblog with your favorite lines of writing, your best art, no matter what fandom you are in or your “popularity”. You are all amazing creators, and I have to say, I’m very excited to see what you guys add to this one.

CrushingOnSans

Razz nodded stiffly, then paused, his fingers rubbing through the silky material of Blue’s scarf. Then, with a well-practiced motion, he reached behind his head with his free hand, untying the knot in his own neckerchief and pulling it from around his neck. He tossed it uncaringly onto the table he had been supporting himself on earlier, then, much more carefully, he straightened Blue’s scarf, tying it in place of his old one efficiently, smoothing the ends as he closed his eyes again, breath hitching in a manner dangerously close to a sob.

SansyFresh

I’m 283 years old, I raised your ungrateful ass when I was 102. I can’t fucking do this again.

Ollie_Oxen_Free

Cream: He left a while ago while you and my brother were chanting “shots” in our kitchen. Did you not notice? Stretch: what?? why didnt he tell me??? Red: he did Red: several times Red: “hey papy imma go get some ass tonight hell yeah” Red: and you totally agreed Red: “oh sure thing baby bro make sure you use protection” Red: and then he skedaddled the fuck outie to get some mad pussy

GallifreyanChild

The antivoid was white.

A color that many believe resembles purity, cleanliness. Of course, they’re not talking about actual white, because a pure, unadulterated white would be impossible to look upon with the naked eye. They’re talking about a color, something with a slight hint of grey, of yellow, of pink, of something colored that makes it bearable to see. Because white isn’t something nice. White is cold. White is harsh. White is loneliness. White is absence.

And when the antivoid was described as white, rest assured, that word was used with that exact definition in mind.

Undertailsoulsex

“WHAT OTHER NAMES COULD I EVEN GO BY?”

Papyrus smirked. “I COULD THINK OF A FEW.”

“LIKE WHAT?!” He grinned brightly and leaned across the table. It looked as if he was waiting on pins and needles for his new nickname.

“WELL, HOW ABOUT ‘CREAM PUFF?’”

There were a few moments of still silence before his other self burst out angrily, “YOU ARE NOT CALLING ME ‘CREAM PUFF!’ I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM TOO STRONG, TOO MANLY, TOO –”

Papyrus cut him off with a burst of laughter. The other him appeared affronted, but Papyrus couldn’t stop himself – it was truly hilarious how his clone was acting. His chest ached with glee as he lost himself to the hilarity of it all. It wasn’t long before the other him was joining in and the kitchen was filled with a loud chorus of “nyeh heh hehs.”

As their laughter died away, Papyrus realized just how much the exertion had hurt his cheekbones. It has been far too long since he had laughed so hard. And despite the pain in his face, the exertion had felt… good.

idontevenknowugh

“Listen to your sub first and foremost.” Black offered as advice. “Unless they suggest something truly idiotic,” he added wryly, making Slim chuckle.

Mercy_Run

“buddy, you came to the wrong universe with stats like those.”  The voice was his own, but not identical.  There was a low, gravelly quality to it, “you’ll be dusted within the first hour.”

He frowned at the implication.  Though, Sans really couldn’t fault the other monster for jumping to that conclusion.  At face value; his stats would mark him an easy kill for someone with the right intent.

“i don’t need to kill anyone to be good at fighting.”  He answered and the other skeleton’s expression shifted into something incredulous.

KnowMeKnot

“hey grillbz, what’s the weather like when you show up? hot and sunny,” Sans had made a gesture to fan himself, accompanied with a wink.

“i see steam every time i look at you.”

"i like my monsters like i like my peppers, orange and sizzling.”

SesuRescue

It was around the time for their lesson and Papyrus was feeling antsy. He tried asking for advice from his best friend Undyne, but ‘OPEN THE DOOR NAKED AND SUPLEX HIM ONTO THE BED’ didn't quite seem like the best advice to him.

In_The_aroace_brigade

Sans grinned back. “Yeah, I just don’t see how you are going to beat last year’s gift of supplies to help me clean up and organize my room. Especially the feather duster, that one really tickled me pink.”

“SAAANNNNSSSS, I SWEAR I WILL THROW YOU IN THE SNOWBANK.”

Sans kept his grin even as he replied “Well, I guess I’d make quite a deposit.”

PurrfecktlySinful

As he lay in bed, shirtless and surrounded by his sweaty blankets, Fell was suddenly alerted by the sound of his brother shouting and someone striding purposefully up the stairs. Those were not his brother’s footsteps. Where they being attacked?

Fell sat up and attempted to ready a bone attack. The constructs wavered into existence, coughed, sputtered, and then decided they had better places to be, disappearing with a disappointing fizz.

Fuck.

0neType 

And that’s dangerous, because it feeds something black and wholly unfamiliar somewhere in the pit of his soul. Something inky and dense that sucks away every good feeling like a black hole would do light. And Sans has been dealing with new issues on the daily because of this… thing he’s allowed to take root between them but he’s never hated so deeply. He’s never hated himself with this relentless, clawing dread that screams up from inside him till he’s begging it to just shut the hell up—

[viscountessevie]

America Singer Week Day 2: America & Family

Someone Like You Pt. 1

A/N: I am giving Kota the redemption arc he deserves, worry not America appears in this and I have incorporated in one of her birthdays into this and there is a tribute to her at the end of this fic. It has come to a long amount of pages and words on Google Docs so I’m splitting it into several parts. I hope you enjoy reading this as much I enjoyed writing it!

I've always known Kota Singer. Back when the Singers could afford tutors for their children, Kenna and Kota Singer were sent to my parents' home for their general education. I studied along them and a few other childrens in the neighbourhood. Another prominent person who comes to mind is Aspen Leger who was Kota's best friend. Not only have I always known Kota, I've observed him over the years. He was the only student who came to my parents for tutoring who was worth watching. He was a rather interesting character. I have never seen such a strong drive in anyone. He was also wildly ambitious. He never had to say anything about it but if anyone watched him carefully would see he'd always carried himself a little taller than his family. The hunger was also ever present in his eyes. Not to mention, in every test, quiz and assignment he would compete with his sister and other children with such tenacity. He has always wanted to get out of his caste. So it was no surprise when he struck the gold mine when his sculpture was sold to a Two and he gathered fame. I was truly happy for him when I first heard. When I went to congratulate him, his family told me he had left. Which confuses me greatly, I never pegged him to be disloyal to his family; I've seen how hard Shalom and Magda Singer worked for their children. After that, all the admiration I've held for Kota Singer disappeared. We may have been close in our classes together; I was the only one evenly matched with him. He used to joke about that, saying how having my parents as my tutors gave me home advantage. He used to be such an amusing and clever boy, my amusing and clever friend. What happened to that boy? I would soon find out years later. It was amazing how differently things could have turned out if I had tried harder to be in Kota's life. I could have convinced him to share his fortune with his family and his sister wouldn't have felt pressured to enter The Selection. Now look at her, Princess- soon to be Queen America Schreave. I wouldn't have anyone else - other than the lovely late Queen Amberly - leading this country. I never knew her personally but she was a natural born leader and I had followed bits and pieces of her Selection journey. Her plan to demolish the castes is genius.   I was on my way to the screening of her official coronation as Queen at Carolina's Town Square when I passed by an art studio. Something about it seemed familiar. Then I saw the signage. Kota's. It was odder still to see that it was open. Why wasn't he in Angeles at the actual coronation? I know they had their fair share of fallouts but surely they must have tried to mend it? I have no idea what came over me but I found myself going in. The bell rang, indicating a new customer for him. Before we even saw each other, I heard his hostile tone from the other room. "Get out! I'm closed!" I follow the sound of his voice to an isolated room. I put my hands on my hips as I see him staring out the window, wallowing in his own self pity. "That's not what your sign says." I say nonchalantly. He turns to me slightly taken back. He thought he had scared me off. When he finally recognises me, he stands up slowly and blinks rapidly. 

"Lee?" He sounded like he had seen a ghost. I'm sure I was the Ghost of His Past. I simple raised my eyebrows as if asking him to figure out for himself whether I was real or not. He only gets a reaction out of me when I see the cigarette dangling from his lips. I march over him and rip it from his lips. I threw it onto the floor and stomp it out. "That stuff will kill you, Koko. Each stick takes 6 minutes off your life." His childhood nickname just slipped out. We both smiled fondly at the nicknames we had still preserved for the other over the years. After standing about in silence for a few minutes, Kota sits back down by the window and pats the space beside him. I dust it off before joining him. Clearly he wasn't going to say anything so I cleared my throat and spoke up. "Don't mind me asking but why aren't you in Angeles? With your family where you're supposed to be." I cocked my head slightly waiting for a response. I only received a scornful scoff. "She didn't want me there and made sure of it." His tone was as bitter as my morning cup of coffee. "What happened, if I'm allowed to ask?" Momentarily I didn't recognise the Kota sitting beside me. He seemed at a loss for words. Kota Singer always knew what to say and I have always admired him for that. Now he didn't quite know where to start. I prompted him by asking him to start from the very beginning if he had to. "I just wanted out. You knew that, Lee. I didn't want to be trapped by my caste. So when the time came for me to shine, I knew I had to leave and make a name for myself. Call me selfish but I couldn't do what Kenna and America did for our family. I did not want to resent my family even more for holding me back. I promised myself once I achieved what I needed to, I'd help out. I was all too consumed, I was mad enough to want to buy my way into the upper castes. I was a foolish boy and when America suggested the caste elimination, I was outraged. I brought that rage and resentment for my parents for cutting my education short from way back then, back to the house when Father died. I was awful and yet still I don't regret it." He goes on to tell me how he is remorseful but can't bring himself to apologise. She gave up on him and so did he. It was truly heartbreaking but after he was done recounting all the horrid things he had done and said to his family, I whacked the back of his head. "You admit you are foolish yet you are still being an idiot. It's great that you feel bad, Koko but DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!" He frowned at her while rubbing his head to soothe the pain of her sharp blow. "Was that really necessary?" He asked annoyed. I nodded stubbornly and urged him to fly Angeles himself and apologise properly. He protested, claiming that it's not his fault they gave up on him. I groaned frustrated. I stand up and walk out. Before leaving, I call out to him, "When you feel like doing the right thing for once in your life, come get me. You know where I live." I spend the afternoon watching his sister get coronated in awe. *** Every day for the next three months, I watch the door. I wasn't the type of girl to wait around for a man, so of course I went on with my own life. As soon as I came of age, I took over my parents' tutoring business. Kota wasn't the only one trapped by his caste and family but he doesn't see me being a prat about it. Even while I continued with my everyday life, tutoring and copywriting for my parents, I kept a watchful eye out for the door. Just hoping the doorbell would ring and he would be there standing, telling me that I was right along and that he would go to Angeles to apologise to his family right now. I've had multiple variations of this daydream, most of which ends in him asking me to marry him. It's awfully silly. Of course I know not everyone can have a fairytale story like America and Prince- King Maxon. It was bordering on the fourth month since I last saw Kota when he finally came. Funnily enough, the doorbell never rang when he came. He came through my room window like he used to back when we were extremely close. He would initially come over to get extra books for studying but he would end up staying and we would talk for hours about anything and everything. I was in my room preparing for my next lesson when he jumped in through the window without any warning. I screamed and started hitting him not having seen who it was and assuming it was a burglar. "Lee, Lee, Lee! LEAH IT'S ME!" I dropped the textbook and started apologising profusely. He was starting to bruise. I swipe the first aid kit from one of my drawers and sit him down to treat his bruises, especially the soon to be black eye forming. I dab the area with antiseptic cream to soothe the pain and prevent infections. He winced as it slightly stings. Without thinking I reach out to gently caress his face to distract him from the pain. He leans into my touch and we stay like that comfortably for a while. The spell is broken when my mother calls up to tell me that my students have started streaming in. I get up to leave when Kota clasps my wrist to stop me. I turn to him with a single raised eyebrow, somewhat asking him the silent question yet at the same time daring him to make me late for class. He knows how I hate being late. He lets go but stands up to face me and clears his throat nervously. Kota Singer being nervous, now that was truly a sight. "Lee I will always regret not staying in your during our later years and I no longer want to waste more time, so would you like to go out on a date with me?" He was so cute and meek but I knew what my answer was and he was not going to like it. "No." I said plainly. "No? Do you know who I am? I am Kota Singer!" I shake my head at him disappointed. "It is saying shit like that, that made your family give up on you. I will not go on a date with you until you sort things out with your family. You have a family who loves and supports you. I bet they didn't even actually hold you back, they wanted you to be happy so the least you could do, you impossible boy, is to support them in return." When he was just sullenly looking to the floor instead of responding, I left him be, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach." I didn't see him for another week; this was so typical. I was however pleasantly surprised when he showed up by the end of the week at the front door with cornflowers in hand. I was never a particular fan of flowers but cornflowers were my favourite. Father answered the door and Mother followed behind. They called out to me telling me I had a guest and of course I had no idea who was waiting for me downstairs. As I descended the stairs, my lips formed a little 'o' at Kota's presence. "Kota tells us he'll be taking you out tonight." Mother seems happy, she's always lamenting that I never go out. Father was seizing up Kota until he realises this was the Kota Singer. I couldn't very well turn him down in front of my parents, that was very sneaky on his part. I was adequately dressed and all I needed was my purse which I quickly grab from my room while applying a little makeup before going to greet my date. He holds out his arm and I take it gratefully. I can hear my parents whispering happily behind us before they close the front door. Once we were a considerable distance from my house, I turn to him and he smiles at me sheepishly. "I am not mad." I say simply and he seems surprised at this.   "You aren't?" I shook my head at him.   "I admire your ability to think out of the box far too much to be angry but that being said I won't be as forgiving in the future if you ever put me in a spot like that ever again." He nodded solemnly before taking my hand in his and leading me to a nearby restaurant. When we entered the restaurant, I shrunk into myself. I considered myself to be a confident person who was sure of herself but I was severely underdressed. This was also the moment I realised exactly how well off Kota was. He noticed my reluctance, pulled me closer by his side and rubbed soothing circles at the small of my back.

“Don’t worry, darling, you look perfect.” Darling? That’s new. I shrugged to myself as I leaned closer to him, taking in his scent. He just had a touch of cologne that went well with his natural musk of oil paints and sculpture rubble. I was too consumed with the ambience of the restaurant to listen to Kota speak to the host. Several chandeliers sparkled from above, giving the room an extra touch of glamour to it. The rounded tables were arranged in a perfect manner, dressed in silk table cloths with champagnes flutes and silverware arranged impeccably. The whole setting felt as fancy and classy as a wedding reception would. With my plain silvery governess dress, I really felt extremely underdressed. When we were seated - Kota being a gentleman and pulling out the chair for me - I hissed at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me we were coming to a place like this?” He frowned.

“What’s wrong, love? Don’t you like it?” “I am not your love! Are you kidding me? I’m definitely not dressed for this place!” I was trying to stay calm but I couldn’t tell if Kota was trying to humiliate me or not. I will not allow myself to be his charity case. He sensed my bubbling anger and reached out for my hand. Instantly I calmed down, I look at him quizzically. How did he do that?

“You look astounding so don’t you worry about how you are dressed. Everyone else is simply overdressed.” I snorted, that was a little funny.

“Next time, a fair warning would be nice.” He agreed and we went about with our dinner. It’s been too long since we properly talked - not since we were 14. I missed having him in my life, you never quite realise how prominent someone’s presence is in your life until there is an absence of it. Like old times, we conversed about anything and everything.

“How is Aspen Leger? You used to be best friends with him, right?” I asked, remembering that name out of nowhere. Kota let out a bitter laugh. I raised an eyebrow in inquiry. I wonder what happened.

“Turns out he was after my sister.” My eyes widen, was America with him while competing in The Selection? He nodded, answering my silent question.

“At least that’s what I gathered, not mention when I blackmailed her about at the funeral, it evoked a reaction.” I pursed my lips at the mention of him blackmailing his sister. I wanted to point out once again that this is why he has been estranged but he seemed torn up about Aspen even though he was trying to hide it behind his scorn.

I suppose that’s why despite all the horrid things Kota has done thus far, I could tolerate him. He does them for a reason but he just hides it under his façade of being jerk but I always see right through him. He needs someone like me to keep him in check as for me why did I need him?

Well the answer was quite simple, though I’d never admit it to anyone even if they held me at gunpoint, I have been in love with him since I was 8 years old.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Metal Jam: An Introspective on "Brittle" Diabetes

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/metal-jam-an-introspective-on-brittle-diabetes/

Metal Jam: An Introspective on "Brittle" Diabetes

A friend in the health business recommended this book. (Thank you, Matthew!) I googled it, and found it was written back in 1985 and fits this description:

"A young Englishwoman grapples with a singularly unstable type of diabetes."

Based on those few facts, and mainly on the title, I was expecting a helping of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll with my diabetes reading for a change. Turns out Metal Jam is named after the metallic taste of the marmalade they made for diabetics in the UK back in the mid-'80s. OK, so no Spinal Tap action. But what I found in this book was something almost equally captivating for a PWD: an introspective from someone as "as spirited and quirky as her condition is exasperating and erratic," as one Kirkus reviewer puts it. I couldn't put it down.

The book begins with Teresa's diagnosis while in her '20s, an intellectual student and lover of cricket who was off to India to "work off her conscience" helping in one of Mother Teresa's hostels. She tells her story of dragging around in a zombie-like state of exhaustion, drinking and peeing to excess, until her ankles swell up purple and she lands in the hospital. Over and over again. Even after she gets home to Britain, where doctors are supposed to understand diabetes better.

Some little windows on another time and place made me smile: she repeatedly leaves the hospital on her bicycle.

Teresa retells, in her quintessentially British dry-humor way, how she doesn't fully understand the implications at first, has to hit rock bottom to fully grasp it, and then begins over time to suffer scary, dangerous bouts of severe hypoglycemia — or "the beast," as she calls it.

She's clearly a cheerful person, lacking in self-pity. But the way she describes near-death experiences of waking up half paralyzed, only able to move her mouth to barely scream for help are enough to make any PWD shudder. Thank the Lord that we live in the current era of medical tools Teresa could have barely dreamed of, a mere 20+ years ago. She lived in the era of a strict routine of injections — with huge needles — that had to be taken 30 min. prior to eating. And we all know how that can go. She had no way to test her glucose at home, and even hospital tests took hours to return results.

When it comes to hypoglycemia, I've personally been fortunate so far (knock on wood). I've gotten quite fuzzy and even panicky at times, but never had a low that shut my brain down completely. Yet I know this happens to many in the DOC, who've lived with "the beast" much longer than I. It's just that I always thought you get irrational, and then you just pass out. Unconsciousness doesn't sound nearly as terrifying as the purgatory Teresa McClean describes: lying consciously immobilized with your mind scattered, sinking into misery as you struggle to call for some sort of assistance you cannot grasp.

And still, she remains upbeat, describing herself as a "lover of life" who appreciates it all the more after every ugly hypo episode.

Some other things that struck me about her tale:

* How much has changed — Teresa describes visiting a diabetes clinic:

"You queue up in a line of other diabetics... You hand a urine specimen across the counter for a girl to test for sugar. Then you climb on the scales and wait while they slide weights up and down the arm of the scales until in clangs down like the guillotine and they proclaim your weight maxima voce to the assembled multitude."

Geez, so much for privacy. Makes me appreciate HIPAA.

* How much has stayed the same — Teresa asks a Pharma company why insulin is not packed in shatter-proof bottles, at least coated it plastic to protect this expensive resource. The Pharma rep's reply?

"He shrugged... Maybe it suits the manufacturers for bottles to get broken, so they can sell more, but it seems to me a needless and expensive waste."

* Interesting diabetes trivia:

Did you know that famous writer H.G. Wells founded the original British Diabetic Association (BDA)?

"In January 1934 twenty-four doctors and diabetics met in Wells' London flat to form the BDA, which was the first self-help organization in Britain and model for many more."

* Insights into public perception of diabetes vs. what it can do to even the sunniest of psyches:

"The public face of diabetes is made up of diabetic foods and forbidden foods on the one hand and diabetic personalties and the BDA on the other, with the horrors of insulin murders, suicides and therapy appearing every so often. But the dreary everyday prison of diabetic restraint and watchfulness remains a wasteland known only to insulin-dependent diabetics and the beast who lives there with them."

Still, she writes: "I have a huge capacity to be happy and despite the diabetes, despite the beast, I quite often am."

It's an old book now, out of print. The copy I have is marked in the front and back flaps with the word "DISCARD" — which itself made me shudder. Oh, the irony!

But so worth reading, if you don't mind wading through a bunch of British-isms (bedsit, etc.)

St. Martin's press, January 1985; USED copies are still available on Amazon for about $9 for a hard copy.

The DMBooks Giveaway

Once again we're giving you the chance to win a free copy of our latest book reviewed. If you'd like to win a (used) copyof the 1980's patient narrative Metal Jam, here's what to do:

1. Post your comment below and include the codeword "DMBooks" somewhere in the comment (beginning, end, in parenthesis, in bold, whatever). That will let us know that you would like to be entered in the giveaway. You can still leave a comment without entering, but if you want to be considered to win the book, please remember to include "DMBooks."

2. This week, you have until Friday, April 6, 2012, at 5pm PST to enter. A valid email address is required to win.

3. The winner will be chosen using Random.org.

4. The winner will be announced on Facebook and Twitter on Monday, April 9, 2012, so make sure you're following us! We like to feature our winners in upcoming blog posts, too.

The contest is open to anyone, anywhere. Best of luck, Dear Readers!

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

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