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Oct. 15th, 2015


Love Me Once More

A/N 1: I started writing this one day after listening to “Just Give Me A Reason” by P!nk ft. Nate Ruess for the millionth time! Not even sure how I came up with this.
A/N 2: This instalment is a little CRAY! I have no idea how I ended up writing THIS. Please forgive me if it bored you to death.
A/N 3: I was so excited to upload it I haven’t even beta read it for mistakes. So all mistakes are mine.
A/N 4: THANK YOU to everyone who’s been voting and commenting on my work. Means a lot and I really mean it.


“If your demons
were wildfires
I would burn my hands
to conquer them.”

February 3, 2015
Master Bedroom
3: 04 a.m.

It was all pitch black and eerily silent, she tries to scream but can’t find her voice and then the noises around her start rising reaching a fevered pitch---she can’t stop them---she screams again, for Don, but he isn’t there—faint memories of him sleeping peacefully float by—and she slowly descends into the abyss—flailing and trying to save herself but her silent screams are futile and now the sounds become unbearable—she thinks her head might explode, the blackness fades a little---and she wakes up with a soft gasp, head throbbing wildly, drenched in sweat inspite of the February chill.

It’s pitch black around her except for the slim shard of light pouring in from the sliver of a gap in the cream curtains. It directly hits her eye and she turns her face away to the other side of the bed—cold—unslept. Don’s not come home again-for the fourth night in a row. She caresses the sheet beside her and shivers at its coolness. The constant low hum of the heater reminds her of her nightmare; she ignores it and picks up her phone instead. She hasn’t switched it off, like she usually does because she had been waiting up for him to return and had eventually dozed off. There are a million mails already, but a single message flickers:

“Hey, don’t wait up.
Work’s crazy, too tired to drive back.
I’ll be back tomorrow. Or day after maybe.”

Don had been working from Connecticut for the past few days and he’d been promising her every night that he’d be back home, but he hadn’t lived up to it till now. She had suggested going over but had been shut down with “Nah, there’s no need. You’ll get bored. I have work to do.”And that had been that.

She’s home now. She’s been off work for a while now. Generally, Meryl and Don would plan their vacations simultaneously so as to spend the maximum time with each other but this time it hadn’t worked out that way, Don was incredibly busy with a million commissions for Embassies and their city. It had always been easy with Don being an artist, he’d work alone all day long and come up to have lunch with her and eventually they’d spend the night together doing all the things that they did whenever she was home. It all worked well, really well. Except this one time. Just this once Don seemed to be busier than ever. When she’d started the vacation she had high hopes of doing all the things she loved – relaxing, reading, baking, cooking, knitting, taking care of the house, spending time with her kids but the foremost being getting to spend time with Don- spending many an evening wrapped up in his arms sipping on champagne and looking out into the New York skyline talking about the most unusual things in the world, feeding each other, taking care of each other and making love into the morning. She knew he’d be busy so she had reconciled herself to the fact that she’d only be entitled to her husband’s evenings and those occasional afternoons when she’d been a welcome distraction from work in his studio. And yet none of it had worked out that way.

She’d found her husband too busy and stressed to even have a normal conversation leave apart their usual intellectual conversations interspersed with trips to the museum and the theatre. It had been okay for a while---she took it as an opportunity to catch up with her friends and kids, but she soon realized it was nothing compared to spending time with her husband and eventually everyone else got busy leaving Meryl to her own devices.

That’s when it all started.

The sense of insecurity, abandonment, incomprehensible grief spiralling downwards into an abyss of self hatred and vulnerability. She’d hardly ever had such prolonged moments of individual crisis- Don was always there to take all of that away— every time she’d start eviscerating herself over her acting, parenting and loving abilities Don would always be the constant rock, the unwavering grounded anchor securing her ship in the devastating storm—reassuring her, loving her, taking care of her to make her believe in herself again. This time though it seemed asif he had failed and here she was sitting in the middle of her cold bed staring at her phone’s wallpaper—a picture of them from last December’s Kennedy Center Honors. It’s beautifully casual- she’s smiling for the photographers while he’s just looking at her as if she’s were a Goddess-it had been Don’s idea to make it her wallpaper saying ‘this is for those moments of self doubt of yours. Always know I love you and I’ll be there.' So where was he now, she thought as a lone tear trickled down the elegant slope of her flawless ivory cheek-bones.

She wipes it with the back of her hand, snatches the half finished bottle of whiskey from the side-table and makes her way towards the den. She’s still wearing the clothes from the evening when she’d gone to Kevin’s office to tell him she wasn’t interested in doing the next film she’d signed up for. Things had gone crazy with Kevin literally losing it over her doing the ‘I can’t do this’ drill all over again, except he thought she’d taken it a bit too far. He’d refused to cancel her contract saying she was out of her mind. She’d come to think of Kevin as a very good friend over the years and he’d witnessed many of her insecurity driven moments and he knew better than to take her seriously. He’d refused to take any decision without speaking to Don about it and getting her out of her ‘phase’ as he’d called it. At Don’s mention Meryl had strictly forbid him to contact him saying he was busy and had eventually left in a fit without coming to a decision.

After coming home she’d found herself drinking directly from a bottle of JD to forget all about her present state. She had skipped dinner again like she’d been doing she didn’t even remember for how long now.

For that matter she couldn’t remember when she had had her last proper meal and neither did she care.

As she sinks listlessly into the huge sofa, for a moment she has an urge to call Don right then and tell him all about how she is feeling and run to him and bury herself in his chest and cry him a river.

However she sees rationality (or irrationality) and decides against it and instead proceeds to finish her bottle of whiskey and starts her mind cycle of self deprecation, like she’s been doing for the past few weeks, ever since Don’s started distancing himself from her. Not for a second does the thought cross her mind that Don is trying his best to get all his job done as soon as possible without his wife distracting him (because oh does she distract well!) so that he can spend as much time as he can with her as soon as he’s done.

She wonders what’s gone wrong this time – does he not find her attractive anymore, is she too whiney, too needy, too childish, too boring for him? Or is it that he’s found someone else---even the thought stops her heart for a moment and a physical pain courses through her entire being making her shiver involuntarily—she needs to stop or she knows she’ll drive herself crazy---she also knows that Don can’t cheat on her. Not her Don. Neither can he fall out of love with her, not him, because it’s them. It’s always been them. But she ignores all logic and continues her morbid thoughts, drowning herself in the bottle of whiskey and her never ending tears.


7:15 a.m.

She wakes up to her phone ringing and the worst headache she’s had in her life.

She looks at the caller ID and is actually concerned something might be wrong “Mames? Is everything okay?”

“Yup! Why wouldn’t it be..oh..you mean I’m up early. Ha.Ha. Good morning Mama.”

“Good morning sweetheart. Sleep well?” Meryl says trying to hide the exhaustion in her voice and accustoming her eyes to the morning light. She can hear her voice sound hoarse, and her mouth tastes like a mixture of the world’s most disgusting things concocted together.

“Yeah mom! Are you okay? You sound ill?”

“Yeah sweetie, I’m fine! Just a little cold.” Meryl lies.

“Oh your solitary friend!” they share a laugh as Mamie adds “Mom the thing is I can’t come for the play tonight. I’m actually heading to LA today, Mike wants me to audition for something, it’s come up all of a sudden! Can I take a raincheck?”

Meryl had totally forgotten about the plans she’d made with her daughter. She’s always happy to see one of her kids but she can’t be more grateful about the turn of events because she can’t even think of going out in her wretched mental condition. “Oh darling! It’s alright, work. It’s more important, we hardly get opportunities! We’ll go see the play some other time.” And they continue talking for a while about their lives and update each other about the rest of the family. Meryl evades Mamie’s question of ‘how’s Dad? God I haven’t spoken to him since the past 2 days!’ with a curt ‘He’s busy working, sweetheart!’ and decides not to mention that he isn’t back from Salisbury yet.

Then once she’s done talking with Mamie she decides to catch up with the rest of her kids and by the end of it she feels marginally better as she makes her way towards the bathroom to freshen up.

She takes in her appearance carefully only once she’s washed her face and she wants to turn her face away from the mirror as soon as she meets her own eyes in them. She looks pale, much too pale, a shadow of her former self. The dark circles under her eyes stand in stark contrast to her lily white skin and her cheekbones look even more pronounced against the bones of her face. She’s starting to lose weight—much too much weight. She sighs and puts all these thoughts to the back of her head and decides to take a shower instead.
February 8, 2015
11:32 p.m.

Don sighs as he opens the front door of their apartment and takes off his coat. Home sweet home, he thinks as the familiar warmth removes traces of the chilly New York night from his body. He’d spoken to Meryl and told him that’d he’d definitely be back tonight although he might be late, and so he was, given the ever-present New York traffic. He’d noticed her clipped answers to him over the phone for the past few days and had wondered how angry she was. However, he knew he needed to finish his work and he’d obviously ultimately make it up to her and all her anger would soon ebb away. He smiles as he realizes he can see his wife at last—oh how much he’s missed her—he nods sideways when he realizes yet again that he can’t live without seeing her for too many days on end.
Generally, whenever either of them would come back home after being away for a while the other person would always make it a point to welcome them in the most romantic manner especially ever since the kids had gone.  However, tonight doesn’t seem to be one of those nights—it’s all dark and eerily quiet and none of the aroma from the food or the candles are enveloping the place like usual.

Either she’s asleep or angry. It is late, he admits, but not enough for his wife to not wait up. He wonders if she’s really furious and he knows he’s in no mood to pick up a fight especially when he’s been away from her for so long. All he wants to do is to wrap her up in his arms and love her till the end of time and he hopes that’s exactly what he’s able to do tonight.

As he reaches the landing of the floor where their bedroom is located he sees that their bedrooms door has been left ajar, through it the yellow light of the bedside table pours out onto the carpeted floor. Maybe she’s awake after all, he wonders as he quickens his pace to reach the room.

As soon as he enters the room, the first thing that he registers is the strong smell of alcohol and soon after his eyes fall on the person who’s responsible for the smell. The room’s a mess but his eyes focus on the sole thing of his interest who’s sitting on bed wearing one of his oversized shirts and drinking directly from a bottle of Vodka.

“Meryl?!” he enquires tentatively and moves towards his wife.

At this she looks up from her half stupor like state and stares at Don for the longest moment.
“Oh! Look who’s here. Donnn Gummer. So, how come you’re home?”

“I told you I’d be back tonight. Why are you drinking? Is everything all right?” he goes ahead and holds his wife as she struggles to get out of bed. Once she’s up on her feet, she quickly struggles away from his grasp and laughs.

“Everything is granddd. What? I can’t drink now? You’re bored of me being me—sober Meryl, are you bored of drunk Meryl too?” she said and proceeded to take a swig from the bottle. Don snatches the bottle away from her and fumes. He’s never seen her this way

“That’s enough for tonight. Come, let’s go to bed.” He knows there is no point talking to her tonight, better to approach her tomorrow, so he starts guiding her towards their bed.

“Get away from me.” Meryl screeches and snatches the bottle back from his hand and pushes him.
As much as Don is angry at her he’s equally scared. He knows something is really really wrong with his wife but as his anger takes the better of him, in a rare occurrence in their house he shouts at her “Are you fucking insane?”

“Am I? I thought you were, fucking someone insane.”


“Oh, don’t play innocent. You haven’t been home for a week Don!” and then it dawns on him that his wife thinks he’s seeing someone else. Oh that stupid girl of his with her insecurities. How can he ever stop being in love with her. He’s about to open his mouth to erase all her insecurities away when---

“Sorry Don, your ‘this’ whore is too drunk tonight. Go back to her.” She drawls while gesturing.

Before Don even knows what’s happening he sees his hand coming in contact with his wife’s face and the sound of the slap reverberates through the eerie silence of their home and she staggers back weakly and falls onto the bed preventing her from further injury.

As soon as he realizes what he’s done he’s filled with guilt, remorse and has an immense urge to chop off the hand which was raised against his wife’s cheek. Oh God, how could he do this—never had he let his anger get the better of him, especially when it came to his wife, he’s never ever physically hurt her till tonight—and then as realization hits him—he proceeds to take her in his arms but then turns and makes his way towards the dressing table and smashes his hand into the glass of the mirror. The mirror breaks into a million tiny pieces and blood is spattered across them. His hand feels like it’s on fire but he can’t seem to bother.

From out of nowhere suddenly she’s at his side, examining his hand as the tears stream down the elegant slope of her cheekbones. Suddenly she doesn’t seem drunk anymore as she makes her way steadily towards the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. Don just stands there flabbergasted, unable to process anything anymore-except for the fact that he’d raised his hand to his wife.

She comes back and without a word guides him towards their bed and starts working on his wound. He stops her, takes her hands in one hand and uses the other to lift up her chin to meet her eyes but her eyes are down-cast and won’t meet his. “I’m sorry love.” He wants to fall at her feet for hurting his goddess, his life and love her forever but he knows she won’t allow that. She takes his hand again and puts an antiseptic on the cuts, the pain is unbearable but all he cares about is meeting his wife’s eyes but that seems impossible as his wife seems adamant to not utter a word.

“There is no one.” he offers, then a pause “I know you know.” a pause again “I’m sorry.” As he finishes he feels hollow on the inside, even his sorry sounds hollow for some reason.

This is not how he had imagined the night would turn out at all. He’d imagined a romantic night with his wife with home cooked food and some champagne and all the usual methods of making up for being away by making love into the morning. He wonders what has gotten into his wife-he wonders if it’s his fault that she’s feeling so insecure and the answer hits home immediately—the curt messages, their scant conversations and her absent laugh on telephone calls.

She finishes up bandaging his hand and promptly gets up, puts the first aid back in its place, takes her pillow and makes her way out of the room. Don swiftly gets up and grabs her wrist with his uninjured hand as a plea for her to not leave him alone.

At last their eyes meet and for a moment Don wants to look away—too much hurt in that blue-green whirlpool—too much pain and haplessness and add to it her precious tears.
She wrestles against his strong grip and Don lets go because he doesn’t want to hurt her even further. 
Without a single word she leaves, leaving Don alone in their seemingly huge and lonely bedroom.

For the first time in his life he thinks his marriage might actually be in trouble and as it hits him he falls into a heap onto the floor and cries for the longest time.

February 4, 2015
10:04 a.m.

His head seems to be splitting due to the lack of sleep and crying as he makes his way towards the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He’d been awake for the longest time last night playing the events in his head again and again until physical exhaustion had claimed him and he had fallen into a fitful sleep. Waking up he had seen no sign of his wife in the room and as he made his way towards the kitchen he wonders if he’ll bump into her. He thinks of a million different ways to say sorry.

His wife stands near the kitchen counter in front of the coffee maker facing the window, away from him. Listening to him approach the kitchen she fills his cup with coffee and turns to put in on the kitchen table.

That’s when he sees it. The angry red bruise across her left cheek running right down to her chin—it’s already turned blue-black at places and looks extremely painful. It stands out starkly against her pale skin like a tell-tale sign of everything that happened last night.

Don gasps audibly and tries to say something but can’t come up with words. Now, when he looks at her again taking her in, he senses something else is amiss-she’s taken off the shirt she was wearing yesterday and is wearing one of her own which hangs loosely from her frame—she’s lost weight and the dark circles around her eyes combined with the bruise against the pale skin makes her look hauntingly beautiful. How could she have lost so much weight—agreed she had lost some while filming a movie last fall but she looks too thin, fragile, pale and broken-her features schooled to one of indifference. Don wants nothing more than to just go and hug her and soothe her and take care of her but he knows that if her tries any of that now he’ll be met with pure ice.

Before he can get himself to say anything pathetic in terms of an apology she storms off with what Don suspects as unshed tears in her eyes. And that’s when it really hits him that he’s majorly fucked up this time and that he needs to make this alright, whatever it takes.

Looking back he realizes his folly---being away from home, being too involved in his work, being distant with her—obviously she must have felt vulnerable and unloved---he thinks of how beautiful his wife is and wonders why someone like her would have insecurities—but she does and he knows better than to let her wallow in those thoughts.

He doesn’t have a moment to waste. He needs to figure out the best way to win her back, to make her feel loved once more, to show her his love again.

He debates on whether to call Harry or Henry and talk to them about it and settles with talking to his son for advice. Henry picks up on the third ring

“Wow! Someone’s remembered he has a son.”

“Hank, stop. Not you too.”

“Oops! What’s wrong dad? Is it our favourite lady?”

“I fucked up big time son.” And with that he starts narrating the events from last night as his eyes fill with unshed tears.

“Dad. Stop. There is not time to sit and wallow in self pity and lick your wounds. She needs you more. Go and get her. Win her back dad. You’ve done it once, love her once more?”

“But son I do love her! I don’t think there is anything in the world that I do better than loving her.”

“Show her then. Nourish her with your love and affection. Shower her with flowers. Things you do dad, just do it more.”

“I won’t lose her, will I?"He asks sceptically almost like a little boy and his son’s heart breaks to his hero so broken.

“Nope, there is no you without her and vice-versa. Geez, I can’t believe I said something so cheesy about my parents. Dad, go. Do it. All the best.”

And with that the line disconnects as Don thinks what to do next. He knows there is no way she’s gonna talk to him.

So instead he starts writing her a letter.


I can’t begin to tell you the turmoil I’m going through in my whole being over what I did to you. There is no forgiveness for it and yet I ask that of you because if you weren’t to forgive me I don’t think I could go on living any longer.
Meryl, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved with my whole soul and ever since the day I’ve met you I haven’t found a single woman to compare with your grace, intelligence, wit and beauty. Everything, every being fails in comparison to you and so when you’re not there around me the world seems morbid and lifeless and all I want to do is rush back to your arms.
Oh Meryl, how could there ever be another woman to compare with you! How could I ever be with someone else when I can’t stop thinking about you.

I’m sorry that I’ve seemed aloof all these weeks, I was only trying to get my work done as fast as possible so that I could spend more time with you. I’ve missed you tremendously but yet I did it to make life easier for both of us, I thought.

I truly never meant to hurt you princess. You’re everything that I am and believe me I mean each one of these words, you know that right? Of course you know that.

Please forgive me this once. Please let me be with you once again. Please let me love you. Please let me love you once more.

Forever yours,

P.S. I Love You

He gets dressed quickly and leaves the house to look for the perfect bouquet of flowers, he settles for purple hyacinths to make the message of his asking for forgiveness even more emphatic.

He knows his wife is not someone who’d care the first bit about expensive clothes or jewellery, but he’s pretty certain beautiful flowers can lure her. So can other meaningful gestures—like meaningful words and kisses, quiet afternoons filled with love, candlelight dinners over a home cooked meal and simple joys of life—just not material things.

Once he’s accomplished his mission, he makes his way towards their guest bedroom where his wife seems to have taken up temporary residence and places the flowers and his letter at the foot of the door and knocks. When he gets no response, he decides to send her a text message instead and leave her to it, better not to nag too much ‘Left something for you outside the door.x’

He hides strategically behind a book-shelf, half a minute later the door opens, she picks up the letter glances at it briefly, smells the flowers and smiles—his heart melts seeing her smile and then she closes the door leaving him all alone once again.

7:06 p.m.

Don had thought that she’d come around pretty soon after the flowers and the letters but she’d skipped coming out for lunch and now it seemed she was going to do the same for dinner. So Don decides to take things into his hands once again, no, not that he knows cooking but he decides to order in from their favourite Chinese take out joint and once laden with a tray full of food he makes his way upstairs towards the guest bedroom.

He knocks once and then again but when there is no response he tries his luck with the door knob and miraculously it gives in.

Inside, only a dim lamp illuminates the room and the curtains are all drawn leaving the person on the bed bathed in a soft golden light. She looks resplendent even without make-up and the dark bruise marring her face which serves as a painful reminder to Don.

She still looks pale and tired and horribly fragile and Don can’t stop himself this time as he puts the tray down on the edge of the bed, moves towards her and envelopes her in a tight hug. She stays stiff in his arms for a moment before she relaxes. He buries his head in her hair and takes in the oh so familiar smell that he’s missed. He keeps whispering ‘Sorry’s against her ear and after a while he can feel her body shaking with sobs and he grips her even tighter and soothes her with small kisses.

He doesn’t say anything because anything would sound hollow and redundant at this point so he just lets her cry for a million years. Then all of a sudden, she detaches herself from his embrace and leaves the bed to walk across the room and stands next to the Victorian window, as her eyes trace the moving traffic down below.

The silence pervades for what seems like a million years and when it gets too much Don opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t know what but he’s released of the task when he hears a broken voice

‘Do you still love me? Because if you don’t---

She turns back and is about to say something when the world spins and it’s all suddenly dark. Don’s flabbergasted for a moment as he involuntarily shouts out her name-he recovers soon to take prompt action and runs towards the prone figure on the ground.

“Hey, Meryl, baby? Wake up darl!’ but her eyes only flutter but do not hold enough energy to look at the world.

He picks her up with the utmost care and lays her down on the bed. She trembles as Don sprinkles some water on her face and opens her eyes slowly, they’re glazed over and teary and Don’s never felt so helpless. His wife thinks he doesn’t love her anymore when in fact he can’t remember not loving her ever; right now all he wants to do is to make her feel happy and loved. So he does exactly that.

He bends down and kisses her on the lips. At first it’s chaste but she soon allows him entry and soon there is a battle tongues and warmth and ecstasy. He’s concerned about her well being and pulls apart to look at her but she pulls him back to her immediately and starts kissing him frantically, wherever she can. Don senses it and tries to calm her down—she’s too weak and needs to get food into her system before anything else. He calms her down with his soft kisses—on the lips, her eyelids, below the ear and all the way across her collar bones-soft, light lingering kisses, open-mouthed and warm.

‘I love you more than anything Meryl, please don’t ever think otherwise. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for having hurt you. Please let me make it up to you.’ He caresses her hair lovingly and buries his head in it inhaling the sweet strawberry smell.

‘Make love to me.’  Meryl says in a small voice and clutches his shirt tightly.

‘Yes sweetheart, yes. Soon. But first you need to get some food into this beautiful body of yours. I need my girl to regain her strength before I have her. Please sweetheart.’

She nods lightly and Don is thankful for small favours. He wipes away her tears with his shirt sleeve and pulls the tray towards them and starts making bite sized pieces of the food for her to eat. She eats quietly without much fuss all the while holding onto Don tightly while he makes silly jokes making her laugh.

Don can’t be more grateful for small blessings. He’s seeing her laugh again and that itself is driving him crazy with madness. It’ll be fine again, it’ll always be fine. He’s conquered his queen’s heart again.

Unlike her earlier request of making love Don finds she fast asleep by the time he returns from the kitchen after having finished their dinner.

He smiles seeing her curled up to one side, her golden hair falling in wispy strands all over her face. The scar's still very much visible against her pale skin but it looks less angry now and there is a slight rose tint to her cheeks. She looks calmer and relieved. Don marvels at her incomprehensible beauty and prays to whoever there is to keep her forever happy and promises to never hurt her again even unknowingly.

He pulls the duvet over her sleeping body and brushes the strands away from her face and kisses her forehead lightly. She stirs a little but does not wake up. He turns down the bedside lamps and decides to stare at her for this one night, drink in all her beauty. He's already missed too much these past few days. Not anymore.

So while she sleeps he stares at the form of his wife, this other worldly beauty and is overcome with gratitude and happiness and he decides to not take it for granted for even one second.

After that night they'd made love every night. She'd been utterly broken and fragile in the beginning but Don's soothing and loving words, his gestures and compliments, the endless bouquet of flowers had slowly revived her and brought her back to her former self. His rose had bloomed again-shed started eating and sleeping again.

Every day he saw a little of the self confidence coming back and their love making had gone from being needy and frantic to sensual and slow. A sign of her better mental health.

So one evening, two weeks after the nightmarish ordeal Don comes home from his studio to a home filled with oriental aromas and soft candle lights. He smiles and marvels at how his life is perfect again- his beautiful, strong wife with her insecurities and frailties is singing in the kitchen and he cant remember a happier moment.  Then as he enters the dining room his eyes fall directly on the vision in black setting the table. Her beauty is breathtaking and he cant but audibly gasp at the wonder that is his wife. She looks up to isolate the source of noise and their eyes meet. Don dies a little again as her beauty hits him for the umpteenth time but hes never felt happier-tonight her eyes are filled with warmth and happiness, a tinge of naughtiness and innocence and endless amounts of loveall the insecurity and sadness is gone, there isnt a single trace of it anymore. All is well again.

Welcome home. She mutters as their eyes find solace in each other. All is said and done.


“I once read that in any good marriage, one partner is the gardenerand the other is the garden. We take it in turns to be either”
-Meryl Streep

P.S. I might actually be tempted to write a fic where Meryl and Don are actually stuck in the elevator, depends on our revies! ;))

Aug. 10th, 2015


Colours of the Sun

( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )

Jul. 7th, 2014


Serendipity: Update

A/N 1: Surprise bitch! I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me! Lol! I have something up at last! I’ll be very honest here, I started writing this after the MH 370 thing as a tibute to all those who became citizens of the sea but it has turned out to be something completely different. I haven’t written in a million years, so I might have totally lost the touch!

A/N 2: Yup, I took some liberty to tweak details of the event as it took place, of course for the sole purpose of humouring my muse, like always. Uhm, even the person they’re bitching about is completely a figment of my deluded mind!

A/N 3: Umm, so if by chance happen to read the whole thing, you’ll probably be like ‘What the frilly heck’ by the time you reach half of this extremely convoluted piece of my deranged and fevered mind. I don’t know what compelled me to write this, but I had to. I’m not too happy with the outcomes though, it’s probably because I have struggled with it for toooo long!

A/N 4: I haven’t even had the time to proof-read it, so a hundred sorrys for wrongly placed commas, full-stops, grammatical errors and blasphemies. I really really hope you like it, inspiration has been running low but I just needed to write something to ‘Let It Go’! Let me know if you like it! Thanks!

Rated: M

Amor Vincit Omnia

‘Omnia vincit Amor; et nos cedamus Amori.’
-Aeneid, Virgil

'Yes sweet-pea,..Collapse )

Apr. 24th, 2014


Not an Update

So, umm, I've been debating on whether to address this issue or not. Seeing all the tumultuous and extreme decisions and conclusions that people have reached in the past few days, I decided why not make my stand clear too.

It's true I haven't been able to write Strummer for a quite a while now, however, the only reason for that is the paucity of time in my life and the absence of a clear relaxed mind. Real life can really kill you at times, and that's what's been happening to me.

I have unfinished drafts on my computer that I'd really like to finish as soon as I can, but I am just incapable, a lot of it is writer's block maybe, idk!

Anyway, so my primary purpose is to let you guys know that I WILL keep writing Strummer. I respect each and every decision that you guys might have taken although I might not concur to it, so either way, I'm glad you could make up your mind!

Again, to address the issue of what Meryl was pissed about, was the whole deal about people who make fake accounts. Strummer is probably not a whole deal better for her as such, to see people conjure up different extremely hypothetical stories about her life!

However, for me, writing about them, is like writing about a love story and glimpses from the lives of two people named Meryl and Don. I do this in no way to ridicule her or humiliate her relationship with Don, which I think is beyond sacred to them.

I try to be as respectful as I can of their relationship, love, life and marriage and also don't want ANYONE to get offended by it.

Still if you think that I have offended her relationship/marriage more than once in my stories message me on anon that way I won't even judge you or smthng. You can leave a message on my tumblr, here!

Okay, this turned out to be longer than I intended. Anyway, wish all of you all the happiness in life!


P.S. I stand my ground of continuing to want writing Strummer!

Dec. 25th, 2013


Secret Santa Fic- Goodbye Again

A very Meryl Christmas to all of you lovely people out there. I’m so sorry for not having the time to upload until now. Christmas makes you crazy busy right? All I’ve done is nothing and I still am exhausted! Honestly!

Thank you to the being in heaven who just is really kind to me and I’m really grateful to him for all that he’s given me this year and that includes getting to know all of you people and everybody that I've met online.  Your work has kept me going and I had tremendous fun ‘Streeping’ with ‘Streepers’ on Tumblr.

Okay, I’ve babbled too much, without much ado then.

strummer_reader this is for you. I know I’ve not been too good of an SS but I promise to try harder next time around. I hope you’re having the most wonderful time because you deserve to. I wish you all the happiness in life and may every Christmas be better than the earlier one. Stay blessed.

A/N 1: It starts on a sad note, but things get better. Honest.
A/N 2: I really don’t know if you’ll like this coz I'm out of touch you see!
A/N 3: Merry Christmas again!!

Goodbye Again
Pairing: Meryl/Don
Summary: It’s Christmas but work calls. Does love triumph after all?

It seems a shame to leave you now, the days are soft and warm
I long to lay me down again, to hold you in my arms
I long to kiss the tears away, and give you back the smile
But other voices beckon me, and for a little while
It’s goodbye again.

-Goodbye Again, John Denver

25th December, 1990
5:30 a.m.

You were still sleeping or pretending to, whichever, when I got up to get ready for the flight.

Now, as I walk out of the washroom, my eyes fall first on our bed. It says a million different things in its own way. Every morning it tells the world a new story. Today, the sheets are only slightly rumpled; the pillows are far apart and not haphazardly strewn, both duvets have been used contrary to a single one, a far cry from the usual picture.

My travel bag is lying on the floor near my side of the bed, the red of it shining like a neon signal portending my impending departure.

As I turn towards my left to look at the frost ensconced bay window my eyes fall on you. From here I can only see your side profile, as my eyes travel up your body; it first rests on your abdomen where there is the slightest swell, only a slight rise, hardly visible. My heart fills with this tremendous warmth and unexplained reverence for you. You’re carrying another fruit of our love, our lives, a testament of all that we are and all I want to do is to hug you and kiss you and look after you, because that’s the right thing to do, because you deserve so much more.

My whole body hurts physically when my eyes wander to your face. You’re staring out of the window at the darkness slowing fading into daylight, with misery etched across your features. You raise one hand to wipe off the tears which you’re trying to hide hopelessly while the other hand rests momentarily on the swell of your abdomen.

I’m ashamed to be the reason for your tears and all that I want to do is take you to bed, hold you tightly and kiss them away. You don’t need all this stress, this fighting, especially now. You need rest and sleep, but here you are, awake and waiting to see me off.

You turn when you feel my presence and for a moment our eyes meet. Yours are dark, glazed over with tears and dull, a whirlpool of emotions swim in them. I don’t reckon mine are any different. You smile a sad smile, an effort towards putting last night’s fight out of the way. I take a step towards you but you retreat backwards.

It’s probably because you know, like I know, that if we touched each other now, everything would crumble. You’ll cry me a river and never let me go, and strangely the thought makes me feel secure. Loved.

You move even further away, nod your head sideways, look down  and utter almost inaudibly, “ Go, go. I love you, go.”

Just like that, and just like that, I pick up my bag to leave. I whisper I love you too, twice over, one for you and one for our love growing inside of you. I wonder if you heard me. I wonder why we fought last night. I hate it when we fight, especially now, that I’m going to be away from you, even if it’s only for four days.

I stop outside the children’s room and contemplate looking in on them. We’d said our goodbyes last night itself. These tiny people are the ones that hold me back, that make it difficult for me to leave. Them and their mother, my life.
It’s Christmas, but work calls and so without much ado I make my way outside to the waiting taxi before it becomes too difficult.

It’s only when I’m halfway across town do the words from last night start making sense. Your tear stricken yet lovely face haunts me and your words come crashing back to me.

24th December 1990
7:00 p.m.

‘Woah Don! Are we going for a trip I don’t know about? Are you finally taking me to that exotic island that you’re gonna buy for me?’ Meryl joked as she entered the lavish bedroom of their Beverly Hills bungalow.

‘Umm..M, sweetheart---how are you?’ Don said as he moved forward to capture his wife in his strong arms and plant a chaste kiss on her lips.

‘Oh God! I’m fine—just tired—I’m glad it’s just us for Christmas this time; I don’t think I could have managed to cook for a million people! I’m already dead on my feet and I’ve just only finished shopping! I have promised the kids too many things; I wonder whether I’ll manage. I CAN’T BELIEVE tomorrow is Christmas! Gosh, and things are so God damned expensive, my God what kind of a place do we live in!----’

‘Well, you wanted LA, didn’t you?’ Don said in a more serious tone.

‘So I did! So that I’d not be witched out.  However, I have other problems now. I’ll be 90 by the time I can get back to work again!’  she said while tracing abstract patterns over her abdomen.

‘Well, I didn’t ask you to get pregnant?! Although it would do us good if you were working instead’ Don said in a gruff manner which caused Meryl to gasp.

‘How dare you?! What do you mean! You---you----oh—are you saying you regret this baby?’ Meryl said with tears starting to pool in her blue-green eyes.

‘What? No, no! I didn’t mean that! I mean, if you were working, maybe I wouldn’t have to go all the way to Japan on Christmas and earn a living?’ Don said while putting the last of his clothes into the travel bag and zipping it up.

‘What---go---where? Ja—Japan? What are you even saying Don? You said you’d cancelled it.’

‘Yes, I had! Apparently, Christmas is not big deal there, just a holiday! They’ve decided to cancel my commission if I don’t have the structure installed in their office by New Years Eve.’

‘Well, let them cancel it! Don, it’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake! Nobdy works on Christmas. It’s our last Christmas as a family of five—hopefully! Besides, you promised to help the kids with snowman! Forget about this commission, you’ll get a new one!’

‘Well, I’m not missing the first Christmas as a family of six, right? So gimme a break, alright! The kids will understand. I need to get this done, I don’t have any other commission in the recent future, and since you very well remember we’ll soon be a family of six, so clearly, we’ll need to tighten our belts!’

‘Oh please Don! We have enough!’ Meryl huffed, clearly not at all pleased with how things were proceeding.

‘Oh I’m not too sure about that! Wait till the kids start throwing tantrums that Mommy can’t get them super cool video games and Dad’s not good enough to get it!’ and with that he knew he had crossed the line.

‘Ohw---I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that. You’re insinuating that I spoil the kids!’ Meryl said, her face beet red.

‘No Meryl, it’s not always about you. I’m not insinuating that. I’m saying I’m not good enough for my family. So, let me for once be good enough and do my job, so that you don’t have to feel the way you feel---like the breadwinner of the house, without whose help we’d go to the dogs.’ And with that he undid his wife.

‘That’s not true—an—and that’s not fair! We all know you can than take care of us, in more than one way. You can work all you like, but don’t say such things. Untrue things. Ugh, how can you not know what I feel about you? I would never be able to do what you do and---and--’ with that she broke down, she reached out for the side table for support and then went on ‘Go if you must, or if you have to, but never think I’ll be able to replace you. I know even if I stopped working and never get a job again you’ll take care of me and the kids. You will and you can, I know. Never will the kids feel deprived.’ She said, wiping away her tears and steadying herself.

‘It’s Christmas tomorrow and I want you to be happy because I love you.’ the sincerity in her voice tangible enough to make Don break. ‘Do what you have to, to make us happy, because I know that that’s what you want.’  And with that she left the room and made her way downstairs.

Christmas Eve dinner turned out to be a doleful affair-the kids were pretty bummed about their Dad not being there because he makes the snowman, plays little games with them, tears the gift wrapping instead of unwrapping them delicately while Mommy whines and cooks and bakes.

As night fell on the Gummer household everything fell silent, except for the faint intermittent sobs of a certain woman coming from the master bedroom.

As they lay on either side of their king sized bed sleep evading them, the words exchanged during the fight kept coming back to Don.

He wanted so badly to console his wife knowing he was the sole reason behind her tears but also knew how unfeeling and cruel he had been with his words last night and that kept him from touching his wife who was by far the most beautiful and brilliant person he’d ever known.

25th December 1990
6:00 a.m.

Now, reason dawns on me. I have hurt my wife. The woman who would give everything up for our children and I, that woman who lighted up my existence, the woman with whom I have shared my soul. I feel like drowning myself, my brain wants to explode. How could I be so materialistic?

Her words keep coming back to me.

It’s Christmas tomorrow and I want you to be happy because I love you.

It’s Christmas tomorrow and I want you to be happy because I love you.

It’s Christmas tomorrow and I want you to be happy because I love you.

‘Hey man! Can you turn the cab? I forgot something at home.’

And with that I realize no matter what love and joy and happiness are the things that matter. People matter. Family matters. Money is superficial.

‘Dust thou art, and to dust returnest.’

If Meryl is surprised when the bell rings at 6 in the morning she is even more surprised to see me on the other side of the door.

‘Merry Christmas. I have a lot to catch up with, can I start with kissing my wife under the mistletoe. I love you Meryl. I’m sorry. The commission can go to hell and who said you can ever replace me; you can’t make a snowman even in a 100 years! Can I come in now?!’

She looks at me with something akin to wonder and joy.

‘Welcome home.’ She says

Christmas feels like Christmas again. Happy, joyous, cosy and complete.

I do not care about my commission anymore, I ignore every call, every memory of work.

It’s Christmas and all that matters is right here, with me. There was no other place I’d be, where else would I be treated to the site of my beautiful children laughing and throwing snowballs at each other while my one and only lays on my chest breathing softly and humming a Christmas tune.

Thank you God.

“Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”
Hamilton Wright Maybie

You’re all special. I love you.

Dec. 4th, 2013


Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Hello Changelings!

I know, I know, I might as well go into hibernation.
I've been away for too long busy addressing more pressing issues like university exams! :P
I can't tell you how relieved I am that they are over, it's been a hell of a crazy ride. I missed all of the Strummer gooeyness and happiness. So, I'm going to make up for it soon.

Okay, I know we're all super busy with the holiday season right around the corner, I for one am crazy excited about Christmas and the New Year.I hope all of you have grand plans!

So, inspite of all that I've decided to jump into this hoping ALL of you will jump along with me.
Here's the thing:
We all know what Secret Santa is and we have all played it at some point in our lives. Since, our comparative advantage lies in writing that's what we shall take advantage of.

Rules of the game:

1. Each person who decides to participate will get another person's name to whom she will play Secret Santa.
2. So, the first task to accomplish this would be to let somebody know who all want to participate. All those who want to have some fun, message me (don't comment, coz the whole secret purpose goes away! :P) with a little note like  'Secret Santa' by the 7th of December.
3. Once I get all names, I'll release a list of numbers with one person assigned to each number (Remember I will only release the numbers)
4. Comment on the post on a first-cum-first serve basis so that you might get to pick a number of your choice. Two people cannot choose the same number, once it's taken.
5. Once you choose a number, I will message you the person's name for whom you will be writing the fic.
6. Restrictions on the fic: There will be no restrictions whatsoever on what pairing/genre/movie or whatever it is that you wish to do, except that it should be related to Meryl and Christmas somehow.
7. On the 25th of December each one of us will post our offerings and dedicate it to the person whose Secret Santa we are.

I hope the rules are fairly simple and workable. The only purpose of doing this is to make people feel loved, coz you know it's Christmas and we all need the loving. Also, I can completely understand that it might not be able to complete the fic given all our prior commitments, so an extension of the deadline should be in order!

I am so VERY VERY excited about this already. I don't know how many of you will want to jump in, but I really hope ALL of you take up this little thing to make someone else's life better through your writing which will be solely done for them

P.S. While writing the fic you might want to write what you feel your person will like. That way the whole approach will be more personalized and we'll all end up feeling special! :D

P.P.S You will have updates of Serendipity, Doomed Destinies and other one shots soon!! ^.^

Oct. 23rd, 2013


The Goddess Of Dreams

( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )

Oct. 7th, 2013


Update : Serendipity

Hello you fangirls.
I know it's been a lifetime since I last updated. I've been so crazy busy, I'm not even kidding! I'm really sorry for all this delay. I really really really ardently hope I haven't lost any readers. It would kill me, because I write only for you guys.
That said, I will not deny that writing is the only thing that keeps me sane these days.

This is where it all started:Looky

A/N 1: So, there is no intent of plagiarism in this story. However, you might find undercurrents of 'P.S. I Love You' in the initial part of the story. Well, blame my muse. It was her idea to steal!

A/N 2: I first got inspiration to write this story after listening to Mirrors by Justin Timberlake for the umpteenth time, So a particular mirror plays a very important role in this story. Give the song a listen before you start maybe. It's good, I guarantee you--especially the lyrics!

A/N 3: I am really lacking in writing skills these days. I hope this isn't a disappointment and doesn't look rushed. I haven't even read the whole thing, so I am really really sorry for all the grammatical errors/ weird things that might make an appearance. All mistakes are mine.
Darlings, I will really need your comments on this one. I am so low on all this right now. I have too many ideas but have no time to execute them. I haven't even had time to read any of the fanfics these days, so sorry for the lack of comments on them. Okay, I will shut up now. Tada.

“If you ever feel alone and
The glare makes me hard to find
Just know that I'm always
Parallel on the other side

Cause with your hand in my hand and a pocket full of soul
I can tell you there's no place we couldn't go
Just put your hand on the glass
I'll be tryin' to pull you through
You just gotta be strong

It’s been hard. Really, really hard. And cruel. She can’t deny it, as much as she might want to. She tries to hide it, the pain, almost haplessly, in an attempt to hold onto sanity for dear life. So she showcases what she does best-act and act and act. Fake smiles, hollow laughter, mirthless giggles, poker faces, perfect speeches and crafted interviews. They know what to ask her and what to avoid like the plague. That’s what Leslie makes sure of. To make her public life a little better, more bearable. However, ever since, ever since her ‘after’; the paparazzi have been mercilessly relentless- they’re everywhere-the parking lot, the grocery store, all over Laight Street- to capture a glimpse of her grief (which she keeps well guarded through years of theatrical practice) –flashbulbs clicking, haphazardly timed, emanating silver orbs of brilliant light which pierce her eye. It’s gotten a little better over the last month, only a wee bit though.

She manages all this and more, alone. Alone. Yes, she is solitary. Singular. Married. A widow. She’s getting better at it- the icy exterior, the emotionless facade, the game of pretence. No, she will never allow the world to see and experience what she is going through. Never will she give them that pleasure. She doesn’t want the sympathy, the kind words. It stifles her, leaves her bitter. The world seems to close up on her-day in and day out. They don’t understand. They never will. Not them. Not God.

Don’s gone. For good. Forever. It’s been almost six months now. To her, it seems like a million years have passed. A lifetime, one too many lifetimes have passed.

Meryl Streep has neverCollapse )

Aug. 11th, 2013


Update : Serendipity

Okay, so as promised to you yesterday, I have an update. True, it's short and abstract, nevertheless something is better than nothing.

For earlier parts and disclaimer refer to:http://evilangels26.livejournal.com/2013/06/13/

A/N 1: I have lost track of which part this is.Maybe it's the 8th, though it seems like the 1000th. Also, I've taken a little liberty with the characteristics and occurrence of the different seasons but I think that is allowed

A/N 2: I hope you don't doze off while reading this. I promise to MAKE UP for all the missing sex tales in this update. I just needed to put my thoughts on paper

A/N 3: As always, thank you to all the people who comment. YOU, yes you are the sole reason why I write, because I know that someone out there is reading all my ramblings. So please please please keep up your comments. Tell me what you'd like to see or read. I'll try my best. Ah yes, enjoy! :)

Colours of the Wind

“And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

When you sit down on this balcony chair with a cup of coffee on a quiet evening, alone, you often ruminate on your ‘apparently perfect’ life. To the world, your name is synonymous with everything paradisiacal- incomparable career, worry free life and unblemished memories. Very few, a handful maybe are lucky enough to peek into the strongly shielded life of yours, secured in a locked treasury chest well wrapped in velvet and muslin. The ones who do get the opportunity, know, that your life is as normal as theirs and yet inexplicably more mystical than others.

So, when the winds blow past the veranda and kiss your cheeks, tinting them with a rose coloured hue you compare each wind to the people and memories of your life.

SPRINGCollapse )

Jul. 28th, 2013


Update : Serendipity

So this one's really long. Sort of to compensate for the earlier one. Hope you like it.

Nope, only a link to the previous one:

A/N 1: Well, I always have too many notes. So this one's a wee bit longer than the others. Unlike the rest, this one is broken up into two parts. The first one is Nadir and the second one is Zenith. Well, now I only have Nadir for you, you'll get the second part in a while. So again, I've tried my best to portray what I thought could be a good storyline. You be the judge, changelings!

A/N 2: Oh yes! My muse just got out of rehab, so she needs a lot of encouragement to not relapse and go back. Comments are the healthiest doses of love for her. So I..err..she will be eternally grateful for them. Thanks a ton to the ones who already feed her. Happy reading! :)

To The Stars

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
― Anonymous, Holy Bible, Corinthians 13:4


10th July 2010
Villa d’Este:Villa Cima
Como Lake, Italy
7:30 p.m.

Don Gummer paced the lavish bedroom of their temporary lakeside villa as fast as his newly operated knee and the restricting cane would allow him to. He hated walking with the black stick which his doctor and wife had so emphatically stressed upon using, considering his still slightly wobbly knees inspite of the recent knee replacement. However, his knee or any other body part was the least of his concerns at his moment.

The object of his concern was lying across the room in their bed, still as a stone and hooked up to an IV drip. It had been difficult to find a doctor in a resort where people came out to swim, golf, party and relax. After much ado, the hotel had found a doctor on their guest list and had sent her right up to their villa.

Dazed and star struckCollapse )

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