#and then being like. ‘‘what she���s really Not helena?’’ if it doesn’t turn out they’re right

[carajilloplz]

i. cowboy like me ₊˚⊹⋆ billy the kid

warnings: none really lol, just 1870s bs and low-key flirting

The lace fan in your hand and the spring breeze did little to soothe the flush caused by the early afternoon sunshine, making a light blush crawl up to your cheeks and small beads of sweat pool at the nape of your neck. It was pleasant to be out on the terrace of your friend’s townhouse, basking in the pleasure of not having to fuss over much before the season starts, but the imminent peril of your debut kept your mind elsewhere from the untouched tea and pastries laid out before you.

“Ada, do you suppose your brother’s guest will be handsome?” mused Josie, slumped over her chair turning to look at Ada

“Josie! Hush, don’t say things like that, I’d never be interested in someone who’s my brother’s age.”

“I’m just saying that if he’s going to be staying in your house, eating your food, and disturbing your peace he might as well be nice-looking”

“Perhaps Josie has a point, Ada.” you reasoned “Do you really know who this man is?”

“I barely just learned this morning that my brother’s coming back to New York, give me a break girls.”

“What I do know is that his friend’s a cowboy at his father’s ranch in colorado and that he’s looking for a change of scenery for a while, so my brother’s bringing him up here.”

A cowboy? You’d seen what they’re like on your trips to Texas— rough, rugged, almost uncouth, but there was something that intrigued you about a man that could ride in the ranges all day and never get tired of the landscape’s expanse. You saw a bit of yourself in that. A cowboy’s the furthest you’d expect to have in new york, especially attending the events of the social season.

“Just cross your fingers it doesn’t turn into a shitshow, Ada”

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The rattle of the carriage’s wheels on the cobblestone streets did nothing to help the unease in Billy’s stomach as they headed to Ash’s house in a side of New York drastically unlike the one he used to be familiar with. Is this really a good idea?

"Billy, while the people here can be greay gossips, they probably won’t think too deeply. As long as you keep a low profile and not cause any trouble, you should be fine. In due time you can return south," reassured Ash

“I couldn’t be more grateful Ash, really. It’s just going to be real hard to lie about everything.”

The carriage came to a sudden stop infront of a tall brownstone that matched all the ones next to it, creating a cookie-cutter row of houses that ran down the street until the eye could see. Finely dressed people walked down the sidewalks, conversing or walking their dogs, seeing and being seen under the spring sun. Billy stepped out of the carriage with Ash, giving a grateful nod to the driver and going up the steps behind his host. The door was opened by a maid inside, who greeted Ash with a smile, and as he and Billy walked in there was a rumble heard on the stairs as three young girls stormed down and an older woman walked behind them.

“Ash!” exclaimed one of the girls, her face lighting up as she rushed to greet him, followed by the older woman billy assumed was his mother. The other two girls stayed on the staircase, offering ash a polite greeting and peering curiously at Billy. You particularly, wearing a soft cornflower blue dress with your hair pinned up caught his eye, but he knew it was rude to stare so he quickly bright his gaze back to his host.

“Everyone, this is my friend William Henry from Colorado. Billy this is my mother Helena, my sister Ada and her friends”

“Pleasure to meet you ladies, and thank you Mrs. Upson for allowin’ me to stay in your house for some time. I hope it’s not too much of a bother.” As he said this, Billy finally had the chance to take a look at you, his stomach flipping but now for a good reason. His gaze lingered momentarily, trying to piece together the intrigue you caused -- you were beautiful, undoubtedly so but there was lightness and grace about you that captivated him. You smiled softly and nodded as a greeting, and he couldn’t help but notice the lightly flustered blush of your cheeks or the small hairs fallen from your updo that framed your face and neck.

Mrs. Upson snapped him back to reality. “It is absolutely no trouble, Mr. Henry. Hattie will see to your belongings, but for now you can join the girls and I for tea if you’d like.”

Everybody moved to the terrace once more, Ash being whisked away by Ada to catch up, leaving Billy to sit with Mrs Upson, Josephine, and you.

When Billy had stepped through the front door of the Upson’s house, your breath left you for a moment. He was very much a cowboy, slightly rugged and stoic but a gentle demeanor about the way he carried himself that brought your breath back to your lungs. He towered over you just the right amount and his shoulders, which he carried with a humble confidence, were (weirdly) attractively wide. Josie was also right about something— Ash’s guest was absolutely handsome.

“So your father is a rancher, Billy?” Asks Josephine, sitting next to you and nudging you slightly, making you pay attention to the cowboy sitting before you. Josie’s bluntness made you blush, elbowing her and shooting her a warning glance. “I apologize, if you don’t mind us calling you Billy.”

“I don’t mind that at all, I quite prefer it actually.” He swallowed before continuing, a strain in his face that piqued your curiosity. “And yes, my father owns a few ranches along the Arkansas river.”

“How wonderful, must be a beautiful sight.” you mention absentmindedly, picturing the mountains and the rolling hills that you imagine as his home. A small smile breaking his face snaps you back into the moment and it makes your stomach warm and cracks a smile out of you too.

“It is, really. Y’all should visit sometime, it’s beautiful around this time of year.”

“That’s quite a nice idea, William we would love to see your father’s ranches.” remarked Mrs. Upson, “I know you must be tired from your travels, but will you be joining us at the soiree tonight?”

“I’d love to Mrs Upson, what’s the occasion?”

“The girl’s debut this season! It’s just something small with some family friends before the ball tomorrow.”

Billy was visibly confused, “Debut?”

“It’s a ball where the girls get paraded around in white dresses like cattle so they can get married off” interjects Ash, joining them. “Frankly it’s degrading, but it’s tradition.”

Your stomach churned. Degrading is the perfect word to describe it. You were not looking forward to the next few months of insipid suitors and the prospect of a proposal. It’s not like you were completely opposed to a proposal, but this culling process was not the way you wanted to approach it. Yet, as Ash said, it’s tradition.

“Sounds…grueling” Billy admits.

“Absolutely. The balls are quite fun though.” says Josie.

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Later that night, the Upson household was bustling with people laughing, drinks pouring, and conversation buzzing with excitement about the upcoming season. Poor billy looked like a fish out of water, dressed in one of Ash’s suits that he was visibly unnaccustomed to using. You looked at the interactions from afar, Billy charming but clearly feeling uncomfortable, as you could see with the tension in his sharp jaw. Josie, a little bit tipsy, comes up to you and leans in with a giggle.

“Have you noticed he’s been staring at you all night?” she whispers.

A blush creeps onto your cheeks and you try to hold back a smile “And what would make you say such a wild thing, josie? Is it the champagne?”

Josie placed her hand on her chest in fake offense “Gah! You offend me darling”

“What’d she do now, Jo?” Ada, also a few drinks in accuses cheekily.

“She doesn’t believe that she is the most stunning girl in the room and that Mr Cowboy here has been stealing a few glances.”

“Oh Josie is right, you’ve been the only one he’s looked at.”

You noticed that he had excused himself from the conversation across the room and headed to the drinks table where the three of you were located, a soft smile greeting you and making your heart flutter. You realized then and there that it was impossible to get tired of his deep, kind blue eyes.

“How’s the night treating you, Billy?” asks Josie. Billy lets out a small laugh and glances at you and Ada.

“She needs to start findin’ her way home don’t she?”

Josie scowls, and you and Ada are laughing at your friend’s cheeky behavior “Gosh, you’re no fun! I’m just getting started, Billy boy.”

“Oh she is, Billy. She always has a few too many glasses of champagne but she’s great fun” you say with a smile. You both meet eyes for a moment and you drop it after a second, a bashful blush painting your cheeks.

“All three of y’all seem like great fun, champagne or not. I’m lookin’ forward to my stay here.” he admits. Billy gives you a smile too, picking the eye contact back up and going to say something before Ada interrupts.

“We should cheers to that then!” she says, serving each one a glass of champagne and handing it to them. “To Billy’s fruitful stay in New York!”

You all clink your glasses together and you down yours mostly in a few sips.

“Josie, you should go play some music!” squeals Ada, grabbing Josie, who is also downing her glass and pulls her towards the piano at the other side of the room.

You and billy share a laugh at the antics of your friends, and you go to serve some more champagne for the two of you. The bubbly buzz of the champagne was getting to your head a little and you faltered a few drops onto your dress.

As you served some into Billy’s glass, you couldn’t stop yourself from commenting—“Your accent slips out a little more when you’re drinkin’ Billy.” you noticed. It was cute though, your time in Texas had made you fond of a southern drawl.

“Does it really? You’ve kinda got one too.” he points out with a laugh, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Do I? It’s probably the champagne, I apologize.” you laugh, a light smile covered by a laced hand spreads on your face and you look up at him. “I haven’t been down south in forever, I thought it’d gone away”

“You’ve been?” he asks furrowing his brow in question and developing a curious smile. He quickly dismissed the thought of how much he loved the way your eyes looked from below him. “Didn’t take you for a southern girl.”

You let out a shy laugh and looked down, “I am, grew up in Texas and moved here with my mother and sister when I was eleven. My father’s still down there. He’s got an oil field in the Panhandle and takes care of a few ranches in the prairie near Dallas.”

Billy nodded, slightly surprised but still, extremely curious and amused by your personal history. He’d wondered whether he’d seen the same prairies as you had growing up, fallen in love with the same nature.

“Well darlin’ I’m quite surprised,” his stomach churned at his lie— “My father’s ranches run along Colorado but I’ve been to Texas quite a few times and I can’t wait to go back.”

“Me neither,” you confess, staring wistfully at your cup. “My father comes up every once in a while but I haven’t been since I was fifteen.”

“I’d happily take you in as a guest if it’ll take that downhearted look off your face.” he said softly, taking your chin in his hand and bringing you to look at him with the most tender gesture, giving you the most comforting smile. All of this made your heart flip and your chest tighten the lightest bit in fear. You’d had one or two callers before that had caught your heart, but whatever Billy did to you was different. Speaking to him felt familiar and the slightly calloused feel of his hand on you was a commiserative connection back to the wild girl you had once been. Being in New York tamed you, but he had a look that took you right back home.

You couldn’t. With a polite smile, you leaned out of his touch after a few moments and tried to will the blush off your cheeks.

“I’d much like that Mr. Henry, I appreciate the invitation.” He nonned curtly in response, a little confused at your sudden distance. “I should catch up with my friends. Enjoy your evening.”

You walked away, your heart almost beating out of your ribcage as you made a beeline to your friends. Looking around discreetly to see if anyone had noticed your interaction with billy, you caught the curious eye of your sister and her fiance, giving them a dismissive stare and catching up to josie and ada, who were sitting at the piano.

The rest of the night you stuck to your friends, the drinks pouring and the conversation flowing through the bustle of people in the salon. As you stepped through the balcony doors to take a breath, remembering the feeling of billy’s touch and the way he made you feel, your sister followed you through. It was pathetic how he had affected you so much with a single touch.

Your sister, accompanied by her fiance Theo, stared at you teasingly.

“And what was that with Ash's friend?” She asks, “I know you have a thing for cowboys.”

With a rush of blood to your face once more, you dismissed her with a gesture of your hand.

“Stop it Clemmie, you know that stupid crush was forever ago, and there is nothing going on with Mr. Henry.”

“He looks awfully familiar, somehow.” Theo comments. “Feels like I’ve seen him before”

“Theo, my love, you know I adore you but just because we went back home last summer doesn’t mean you know everyone in the South.” Your sister says, giving her fiance a teasing tap on his cheek. “Well, from what i’ve heard through the grapevine he is truly an uncut gem so I say go for it”

You blush, impossibly even more, at her comment. “Shut it Clemmie, my debut is tomorrow and I cannot have you putting stupid things in my head.”

“But he’s quite darling isn’t he?”

Hesitating, you sighed, staring wistfully at the man inside, speaking with Ash and somehow stirring your heart from afar, “I won’t deny that.”

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a/n: HEY GUYS WELCOME so happy to be putting this out omg i've been working on this for forever i hope you enjoy :) part 2 is in the works but in the meantime if you have any ideas for any tom characters lmk jijiji i am very much taking requests (and look at my masterlist so you can see who else i write for !!)

[beatricethecat2]

"This is nice," Myka says, sipping her beer while surveying the bar.

"Consuming alcohol in a public house?" Helena asks.

"Yeah," Myka says, eyes angling down as she picks at her label. "Working with Pete...this wasn't a thing I could do much. Then Steve and I had a drink here, and I remembered what it was like. I used to go on my own in DC just to unwind. Feels like a lifetime ago."

“In many ways it was," Helena says, idly stiring the ice left in her drink. "Could you ever have imagined the company you now keep?"

"I don't think so," Myka says, shifting closer to Helena. "But I like it, a lot. Doing this with you feels...normal. Two people, spending time together, not a care in the world."

"You care for nought?" Helena says, fingers tracing a line from Myka's thumb to her wrist where her hand rests on her thigh.

"Ok, one care," Myka says, eyes flicking up to meet Helena's. "Hey, I know that look. We said we'd stay for the band tonight, not just hole up in our room."

"Is there not another band tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but we said we'd stay for this one." Myka slips her hand from Helena's.

"As you wish," Helena says, settling back on her stool, frustration evident in her tone.

"More drinks, ladies?" the bartender says. "The band's about to start."

"I shall need one," Helena grouses.

"Stop being dramatic," Myka snips.

"Fine," Helena snaps. "Bourbon. Neat. Top shelf, please," she instructs the bartender.

"Comin' right up." The bartender steps away to complete the order.

"Oh, we're getting drunk now, are we?" Myka quips.

"When in Rome..."

"I'd actually like to see that, a drunk H.G. Wells," Myka says, poking Helena in the arm.

Helena flinches. "You may very well if you keep behaving as such."

"Seriously though, when's the last time you drank enough to let your guard down, even a little."

"In the company of others? Not in recent memory. And you?"

"Same."

"Here you go," the bartender interrupts, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of Helena. "Another beer?" she asks Myka.

"You know what? I'll have the same." Myka waves her bottle at Helena's drink.

"Cavalier, Ms. Bering."

"We'll keep each other in check. We deserve to get super tipsy, at least."

"Color me intrigued."

The band strikes its first cord just as Myka's drink arrives. She tugs Helena's arm, and they relocate to a table near the stage.

-----------------

The Adventures of Bering and Wells ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 4 Title: New Orleans: Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Summary: Myka and Helena follow whim rather than duty, driving south, detouring around Washington DC, avoiding a second emotional rabbit hole so early on. After a wi-fi-free week in a cabin, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they feel ready to tackle urban density again. ("The Rockies are better," Myka declares. "We'll go there, too.) Vowing to stay as touristy as possible, the pair head towards history-filled New Orleans. But far too soon their carefree trip hits a snag and they're in need of Warehouse help.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

-----------------

***BONUS SCENE***

"Exactly how touristy have you been?" Abigail asks.

"Pretty touristy," Myka answers.

"Practically flâneurs," Helena says, grinning as Myka looks up at her with sparkly eyes.

"Well, that narrows it down," Steve mutters, typing into the keyboard. "Let's start with your hotel. Why'd you pick the carriage house?"

"The lack of adjoining suite and the king-sized bed."

"Helena!" Myka smacks Helena on the arm. "Because it's cute and charming."

"So this ghost isn't listed on their website? Wedding dress woman, Civil War soldier, dancing patio woman?" Steve asks.

"No. And the manager hadn't recognized the description I gave," Helena explains.

"So not all ghosts," Abigail says.

"If seeing them is normal," Myka says.

"Let's say the ones on their website are but H.G.'s isn't," Steve says.

"Are we to assume I've been 'whammied' then?" Helena says.

"You freeze in place. I have to shake you out of it," Myka explains.

"Perhaps I'm studying the phenomenon."

"You're never that still. It's creepy."

"Then I think we should consider it," Abigail says.

"Where else have you been?" Steve asks.

"Um, everywhere?" Myka answers. "That blacksmith's bar you and I went to. And The Gas and Lights Museum--"

"Such memories. So many details wrong," Helena gibes.

"On a carriage ride--"

"Highway robbery! Sixty-five dollars for a turn around the park. And not in the least authentic."

"You said it was nice!"

"I said it was familiar. The sound of it took me back," Helena says.

"I thought you'd like it." Myka leans back and looks up at Helena questioningly.

"I enjoyed the company quite thoroughly," Helena says, laying her hands on Myka's shoulders and grinning down at her fondly.

"Aww," Steve coos.

"Did anything about the carriage ride scream 'lady ghost will now appear at will?" Abigail asks.

"Not to my knowledge," Helena says.

"We also went to the Pharmacy Museum. And on a steamboat ride," Myka adds.

"Not that I'd have stepped foot on that death trap without proof of modern safety precautions. In my day, they exploded frequently," Helena explains.

"Ok...let's start with the Pharmacy Museum," Abigail says as Steve types. "Could this woman have afforded a doctor?"

"She often appears in her Sunday best, but also in, shall we say...less. She didn't strike me as particularly monied."

"Did she look sort of vampire-ish?" Steve asks. "I'm reading that people with consumption were rumored to be vampires due to how the disease aged them."

"I'm familiar with that premise, and no, this woman was not withering away."

"Could she have died on a steamboat?" Abigail asks.

"She doesn't give off that sense. There's a calm about her. She's not in danger."

"Let's try another angle. The neighborhood you're staying in, Storyville, claims to be the birthplace of jazz," Abigail says, reading over Steve's shoulder. "Maybe she's related to that?"

"Myka took me to hear this 'jazz,' and I can't say I was at all impressed."

"I like it. Steve does, too. You really hated it?" Myka asks.

"The bleat of the saxophone evokes vaudeville for me."

"Play her some Charlie Parker. Or John Coltrane. That might change her mind," Steve suggests.

"Does this relate to our ghost?" Abigail presses.

"I don't see a connection," Helena answers. "Her dress is previous to that of jazz, of an age closer to my own."

"Storyville was once a legal bordello district," Steve explains. "The whole neighborhood was shut down in 1917. So maybe she's from then?"

"That makes sense," Myka says.

"Do you see her inside or outside?" Abigail asks.

"Thus far, outside."

"But," Myka protests, "last night, when we were...t-the blindfold, you said 'just in case.'"

"Did that not heighten our activities?"

"That's not the point. I can't believe you--"

"Punish me later, darling--"

"Why don't you two hash this out, and we'll get back to you," Abigail suggests.

"Wait, is this her?" Steve asks.

Steve shares a black and white photo of a woman, seated outdoors, in front of a makeshift white backdrop, her hair styled into a modest, shoulder-length coif. Her linen top, trimmed with lace, hangs off one shoulder, and a string of pearls adorns her neck. Her lipstick, rendered as a middle grey, matches the kohl lining her eyes, giving her a soft, silent movie-era look.

"Hm, possibly."

"Here's another."

Helena leans further over Myka's shoulder, looking closely at the image. "Yes, I believe that is her."

"That's, um, really off the shoulder. Shoulders..." Myka says. "Isn't that kind of racy for the time?"

"Quite tame compared to some. Her expression is unusual, contemplative almost, recalling solemn greek statues rather than the usual fodder meant to titillate men's desires."

"How would you know?"

"One encounters all sorts of materials as a Warehouse agent," Helena says with a smirk.

"As an agent. Uh-huh."

"Listen to this," Steve interrupts, "these prints were made from a stash of glass negatives found locked in a desk drawer years after the photographer died. Many are of Adele, the woman you're seeing, but there are other women, too. They were shot in the 1910s, but these prints were made in the '60s. If there were any original prints, they were never found."

"May I see the images again?"

Steve cycles through and adds a few more, one depicting a roll-down desk with a shrine of photos arranged above, all of women, vignetted portraits and romantic depictions of the female form more typical for the time.

"Not sure if that last one is related. But it says it's by the same photographer."

"Could you send that one over? I'd like to look more closely."

"Sure."

Myka trades places with Helena, and Helena clicks the link. She enlarges the photo and inspects the array of images.

"I vaguely recall flicking through a basket in a shop with ephemera such as this. Perhaps this ghost woman was amongst it, but printed in a manner such as the images depicted here."

"So you're saying the photo in the shop might be a photo from this photo?"

"That is what I'm hypothesizing."

"So when you see her, you freeze like you're her photograph trapped in this photograph."

"Or perhaps I am her, caught in the decisive moment of the image being captured."

"That's really meta," Steve says.

"No matter what, neutralizing that photo should do the trick," Abigail suggests. "Heck, neutralize everything in the basket, just in case."

"Do you remember which shop you were in?" Steve asks.

"My recollection is hazy at best due to the copious amount of drink someone encouraged me to consume the evening previously."

Helena looks at Myka and scowls. Myka looks back, endearingly.

"I don't get hangovers."

"Lucky you," Helena quips.

"I hope you find it soon," Steve says, "because being happy looks good on both of you. You should get back to that."

"Thank you, Steve. And thank you, Abigail, for all your help," Helena says.

"Anytime," Abigail says.

"Have a great trip. Send some postcards!" Steve says.

"What a marvelous idea," Helena replies.

"Isn't flicking through postcards how we got here?" Myka warns.

"Shall you pre-screen everything I touch from now on?"

"Maybe I should--"

"We're hanging up now," Abigail says.

The screen goes blank as Myka and Helena devlove further into playful bickering.

*End Scene*

-TBC-

NOTES: "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" is Cajun French for "Let the good times roll." In season four, Steve and Myka go New Orleans and both say they like jazz, so I'm not making that up. I see Myka as more of fan of popular tunes - Billy Holiday, Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, etc., whereas Steve would know the genre through and through (and try as he might, never gets Claudia quite on board with it all). The photographer is E. J. Bellocq - I was going to incorporate that more, but the politics behind photos I mentioned is...complicated. I want this B&W show to focus on our ladies journey, artifacts are side-plot motivations. But if you're interested, look him up, and I suggest reading both Susan Sontag and Nan Goldin's essays for some clarity on why the images hold the status they do. From the research I've done, his images are plastered all over Storyville businesses, so if you've been there, you've seen at least one. Oh and I had a roommate once who could drink anything and never got a hangover. Some people are lucky like that.

[nettlestonenell]

Enola Holmes in Review

Gentle Readers:

1.       I did not plan to watch Enola Holmes

2.       I do not/have not watched Stranger Things, and my entire concept of Millie Bobby Brown as a human is encapsulated in the occasional errant tumblr post, and a line of eyewear she apparently has created, posters for which hang at my glasses-provider.

3.       I had never heard of the YA novels about Enola Holmes

There she is!

Yes, I do tend to enjoy nearly any incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. And, yes, I am often surprised by this fact. For some reason, Holmes, unlike, say, Chris Evans as Cap or Chris Hemsworth as Thor [instances where I can’t really imagine enjoying anyone else in the role] I am always interested to see someone else’s [writer and actor and director]’s take on him. *Subtle shout-out to James D’Arcy’s 2002 turn in A Case of Evil.

Mr. Jarvis! [and there was Vincent D’Onofrio and opium!!]

And yet, watching the Enola Holmes trailer [no doubt b/c of tumblr], and yes, admittedly not unmoved [we are not made of stone] by Cavill’s Curls™ the delight I felt in watching that advert led me to start informing my family that on September 23rd what I was going to be doing was enjoying Enola Holmes on Netflix [and anyone else was free to join me].

Someone important is missing from this picture

And what a delight it was. In the run-up to its debut I read more than a few reviews of the film [and, I think, every one of them written by men], some of which struck me as simply coming from a place of mean-spiritedness, yet none—even the positive reviews—preparing me for how ENJOYABLE this film is.

I’m not going to provide a full review point-by-point here, b/c the film involves cases to be solved (no, none of them are overwhelmingly complex—YA novel--, so all the more reason not to spoil any pay-offs). But I do have some things to talk about.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM – And what a nice, nice elephant it is! Henry Cavill as Holmes is, in my opinion an absolute delight of a performance. From the moment he first says Enola’s name (a perfectly-rendered reaction to the moment playing out) this Holmes fits into this Greatest Showman-like version of Victorian England, where no one’s too dirty no matter how poor, and where despite a flaming red dress, cut too low for daytime wear, young Enola is never once mistaken for a working girl. [Again, YA novel] As other reviewers have noted, HC is, well, Cut and Bulked Out, and in his highly tailored frock coats well, strapping is too light a description word. *not a complaint. Cavill’s Curls are out and proud and here to tell us that we are meant to be Having Fun, and Gentle Readers—THEY DO NOT LIE.

No, not a priest’s collar where he is undercover (though I had thought so)

In fact, you could absolutely write your thesis statement on this film, that it’s really a fraternal, familial love story between Sherlock and Enola. Sherlock is the character during the two hours that actually changes. [Yes, Enola comes to an understanding about herself, and her circumstances change repeatedly—but it is Sherlock who experiences a Change of Heart/Reversal]. 

Raise your hand if you’re totally here for significantly older brother/significantly youngest sister family love!

HOW I WOULD DESCRIBE IT – This might in no way be helpful, but, Enola Holmes is basically The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles...

Where have you gone, Sean Patrick Flanery?

a YA historical storyline that’s written adjacent to [there, famous people] here, enduring fictional characters. It’s adventurous and pleasantly immersive, historical morays are given a slap-dash portrayal, rather than a fully-accurate representation, there’s adventures to be had, and side-characters to be converted into caring about the title character as much as we, the audience, do.

LUCY HONEYCHURCH – Yes, that gorgeous girl from Windy Corner. The timeline doesn’t jibe, but I daresay Helena Bonham Carter (back in a corset—though she may have worn those for Bellatrix) as Eudoria Holmes *IS* what Lucy Honeychurch might well have become beyond A Room with a View’s end. Bonham Carter looks absolutely at home here (period films have sorely missed her! –she had a part in 2015’s Suffragette), and still wears the trappings of Victorian England like a second skin. 

Not to mention that she now join my personal comfort-list of on-screen mothers with the likes of 1997’s Little Women Susan Sarandon and Cinderella’s Hayley Atwell.

FAMILY ISSUES OR PLOT HOLES? 

It’s a fair question. There’s a lot going on in this plot, some of which...seem solvable. Why has it been so very long since the Holmes brothers have seen their own mother? And sister? How could the woman we come to know as Eudoria raise a Mycroft? [see also, Molly Weasley?] Why aren’t people who seem to care about Enola more engaged with saving her from all the dangers London throws in her way? Why does Enola accept several acts of violence aimed at her, why does she in certain instances Do What She Is Told? Rather than chalk these up to plot holes or convenient devices, I’m siding with the Holmes family being dysfunctional [who knows what dad was like? We’re certainly not told here]. 

[clears throat]

The conversations between Mycroft and Sherlock barely skim the surface of any subject they interact on. Classic dysfunction: distancing one’s true self from human interaction b/c keeping the peace supersedes all else.

Enola accepts certain treatments b/c if we really do watch her relationship with her mother, there is an element of something amiss—as I will declare the later abandonment shows. Enola is a child used to being elevated and celebrated on one hand, and shut out and isolated on the other. Her parent has informed her about so much, but essentially locked her away in a false reality, where Enola is not taken to see the world, nor taught how to interact in it (which is explicitly stated). Perhaps it is not so surprising that the Holmes’ brothers have not cared overly much for visiting their remaining family. And when repeatedly confronted with a minor child (and yet a child likely though old enough or about so, to be married off) being forced to endure things diametrically opposed to her will—the brothers’ reactions are stoic, the system they accept as to how life must be lived immoveable and morally right simply by its very existence.

MILLIE BOBBY BROWN – THE STAR – In what has to be an Emmy-nomination-deserving turn, MBB is nothing short of wholly in charge of the screen. She never overpowers the story. She’s as loveable as Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping, and as ready for her closeup as Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games. As another review mentioned, she handles the 4th wall breaks in such as way as we look forward to the next time she’s going to talk to us. We ache with her sorrow for her lost mom, and rage with her at the adults in her life choosing wrongly for her future—or simply not choosing at all.

A random observation, but one that feels important to me: her HAIR. Yes! They’ve managed to make a late Victorian-era film where the heroine’s hair looks like real hair that someone really styled (or in some scenes, didn’t). And yet, where the hair looks proper for the time. [wild applause]

COMPLAINTS: Well, in honesty there aren’t any. If you want to complain that there isn’t any dirt, that the evil of the world (I mean, c’mon, this is narrowly post-Dickensian London, here) is neutered, that the adults in question seem neither alarmed enough or emboldened enough at either their mother or sister being missing and possibly out of their depths in a dangerous society without protection, and in Enola’s case real-world skills--? Well, I’m certainly not going to disagree with you. This is YA Victorian London, after all, not Ripper Street. There is also neither a hint of or actual threat of sexual violence at any point in the film. But the lack of that has preserved us from having to sit through that, as well as no doubt lectures about how Enola’s virtue might be spoilt and she might become useful to no man.

The relationships are appropriate, too. Despite strides between Enola and certain adults in the film, by the time the credits roll they’re not showing physical affection toward each other (a move that would have seemed over-the-top), and teen relationships are shown progressing at a reasonable and mutedly awkward pace.

Now, Netflix, green-light me five more films (or more). There’s still a new version of John Watson to meet, after all!

[pochapal]

I hate doctor 11 but ive never been able to explain why in like words lmao. He feels like such a mary sue character imo and like theres something about his characterisation that was always just really ineffective (like the stuff about fishfingers and custard or whatever it was). Imo i'd love to hear you give top 5 worst things about the 11 era because i rlly just love when it gets torn apart

i hold nothing but a seething contempt and loathing for that man. every time he appeared on screen i felt ready to snap like a riled up chimpanzee in my enclosure. i am frothing at the mouth and overcome with a desire to start flinging heavy objects. this might be incoherent and inconsistent but i started this rewatch in feb 2020 and only finished this week so i got through 11′s episodes last august/september time and i refuse to revisit it to jog my memory or fact check anything i’m saying here because this man does not deserve the space in my mind for that.

the first thing is i can’t fucking STAND the quirky whimsy timey wimey bit he has going on all of the time. i can’t even say this is because this is a kids show and i was a teen and then adult when i first properly watched him but actually!! when i was eleven years old i’d sleep over at a friend’s house most weekends and it always coincided with the airing of a new season 5 episode and i remember we watched the finale with the dumb time hopping to get out of the box prison that was never explained and didn’t make sense and i thought at the time “this is really stupid”. and before that my only other doctor who exposure was watching the david tennant christmas specials with another friend and throughout childhood my only opinion on doctor who was “this is a tv show that is not for me but is one that all the boys i am friends with like so i will put up with it to maintain our friendships” but at least those episodes were both suspenseful and engaging enough to keep me watching all the way through. like who the fuck does an end of the world sci fi plot and approaches it with an “oopsy woopsy i am a funny little alien man who is going to stop you all by making you do a hecking silly” like it’s unneeded and self-parodies an already cheesy show to the point where it becomes unwatchable and makes it impossible to ever take this man seriously.

next thing that downright sucks ass so badly is the stupid fucking overwritten constantly escalating plotlines. like everything from season 5 up until his regeneration at the end of season 7 is meant to be this grand interconnected cosmic plot about how...the doctor trying to bring back his planet will end the universe or something so all the top powers across all of reality tried again and again to stop him from doing that except he doesn’t know what’s going on so he keeps thwarting these people who supposedly mean good?? i mean i sure don’t fucking know what they were trying to say!! like for some reason we never get the doctor suddenly becomes this superdemon that threatens everything so these people (whoever they are) decide to, in sequence: suck him through a time rift to erase him from existence, trap him in a prison and remake a universe without him, take his companion’s baby and turn her into a perfectly trained doctor killer, form two(!!) secret societies to hunt him throughout history that are only stopped by his companion splintering herself across his personal timeline to protect him, and repeatedly cause reality collapsing events because it’s a kinder outcome for the universe than what he will do. this grand and terrible event turns out to be...he spends a few hundred years chilling by a rift that leads to his home planet and protects a few generations of children from monsters which convinces them to give him infinite regeneration power then fuck off back to their pocket universe. and it’s like!! what is the point of anything that happens in this man’s era when everything is always “the darkest moment” or whatever the fuck!! i don’t care!! we never get a compelling reason to believe this bumbling clown of a man could ever be a universal threat!! the whole thing is so dumb i hate it!!!

thing number three i hate is how the eleventh doctor is ALSO characterised as this abrasive egotistic male supergenius to the point where he becomes genuinely indistinguishable from bbc sherlock. genuinely who enjoyed seeing this guy constantly tell people their tiny human minds can’t comprehend what he’s doing and then basically just wave his magic wand to solve whatever problem each episode is facing. 2012 is the year of human sin because this fucking shitsmear character archetype somehow became both a redditor role model AND a tumblr sexyman and it’s like!! nobody is enjoying this stop making this seem cool! him saying timey wimey thing any time he does anything is frustrating and dumb and locks the viewer out of giving a fuck about anything that is happening! smartest man in the room syndrome is a disease and the eleventh doctor is terminal with it. like remember how they established river as an accomplished scientist (when she wasn’t being a child soldier or a time paradox or whatever the fuck) and every time that came up mr doctor eleven man was like “oh this thing is obvious because i’m a genius and you didn’t realise because your brain is tiny so get out of the way and let the grownups think” or that time it turned out amy had been replaced with a slime clone for half the season and the doctor chewed rory (audience surrogate) out for somehow not realising this fact we didn’t know right from the start and like. this served no purpose other than to draw into severe question why the doctor is also this super beloved magical figure implicitly trusted by all children everywhere like. mr steven moffat is totally allergic to writing and solving mysteries in his tv show and fuck you for wanting to figure things out as you go along based on the new evidence you uncover at strategic plot intervals just let this asshole man use magical thinking to reveal he knew the answer all along and you’re a fucking idiot for not also realising this thing which had no basis or precedent anywhere else in the show.

speaking of dumb things let us not forget the absolute shitshow that was minority representation in this era. i’m not even talking about the low hanging fruit of how genuinely unironically sexist amy and clara were written where each episode moffat either seemed to loathe them or was incredibly horny over them and they had no character growth or arc or fucking anything. i’m talking about how fucking shit terrible the incidental representation was. god remember how every single fucking gay person who appeared in this era was written as one incredibly fucking stupid joke and how the women were all either sexy dominatrix, feeble girl in love, or Mother (or all three in some really terrible cases) and i’m not qualified to talk about this but also how incredibly white this era was and how on two separate occasions we had monarchs reimagined as sexy girlbosses with a gun played by black women who the doctor leched over. nothing about any of this was good ESPECIALLY coming off the back of rtd who was surprisingly forward thinking for 2005 and did a really good job of positing travel with the doctor as queer allegory. in comparison moffat gave us THE MOST heterosexual shlock i’ve ever had to endure. amy and rory could have been interesting characters were they not hemmed into this domestic bickering young straight married couple bullshit that was in no way changed or altered by traveling with the doctor except for the quasi incestuous river song reveal that was dumb and bad and stupid.

the last major mega gripe i have with the series is moffat’s fucking jingoistic boner for british military aesthetics. this carried over throughout his entire tenure as showrunner but was super terrible vomit inducing in eleven’s era. the unironic admiration for ww2 britain and winston churchill is downright wretched. are you incapable of telling a second world war story outside of churchill’s london and plucky blitz fighters. shit gives me hives so badly. and then!!! that weird church owned army that features in the future that end up being bad not for the concept of what basically amounts to an imperialistic intergalactic rendition of the fucking crusades but because they’re part of the nonsense go nowhere puzzlebox narrative that says the doctor is a not good man who will do bad things to the universe :(. remember how rtd’s doctor was a freshly traumatised man hot off the war criminal press who time and time again vehemently refuses to engage in military violence, but who tragically inadvertently turns every one of his companions into soldiers in his own personal army, and he has this moment of complete horror at the realisation and it is this which causes the downward spiral that ends in 10′s regeneration. and then how there’s this cringe line about how there’s a force of people who are “the doctor’s army, always ready to fight his battles when he’s not around” or some shit and then it turns out this is actually massive literal military operation and we’re meant to celebrate this. fuck off.

bonus round because this needs to be said but i have never hated anything like i hated that fucking human tardis episode. everything about it induced violent anger in me from the sickening overindulgence of that softgoth dark whimsy helena bonham carter tim burton aesthetic to the bafflingly terrible evil carny stereotype of those junk scavengers to the overblown sudden tragic shipbait romance of human tardis and the doctor. every word out of her mouth was trite shit and the fact that the death of her body was presented as this super emotional dramatic scene despite there being no buy in or incentive to care and the fact that every single person on tumblr in 2012 ate that shit up like it was fucking gourmet. i loathe every single thing about that episode so much.

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 28: Orphan Black 2x06

Fell over the ground today on my way home from work and scraped my knee up pretty badly but other than that, not a terrible day.

Somehow already on episode 6 of S2 of Orphan Black.

This was an excellent episode. I enjoyed all of the story lines without exception and the only thing missing was Cal, tbqh. I especially enjoyed all of the unusual pairings and relationships.

What I most remembered of this ep was the sestras road trip, and in particular the shot of them curled up on opposite sides of each other like twins in the womb. But as I was watching, I also remembered the bonding over singing in the car. I was actually surprised by how little Helena and Sarah there was, because I thought that was most of the episode, but it’s really mostly just the beginning scenes. Still cute, though.

Again, I’m trying not to let Helena grow on me but her transition from serial killer to sestra/protagonist is just too compelling. They never changed her characterization, is the thing, they just put her in a better environment. What a redemption arc should be. She’s still violent; she’s still feral; but she’s no longer being used and abused for others’ ends. When she’s left to herself, she wants a sister, she wants a boyfriend, she wants babies, she wants to go on vacation--normal wants, in a wild mind. It’s endearing and touching and funny and sweet.

Her romance was Jesse was adorable, also. I know they knew each other for 0.05 seconds but it’s true love and I believe in them. She can call him boyfriend. He watched her end a guy and try to take his eyeballs out with her thumbs and he was STILL like “She has done nothing wrong in her entire life you Honor,” I am not even exaggerating.

The sestra road trip ended a lot faster than I remembered but I guess Helena does have to get back to her “babies.” I can already see her and Gracie bonding. I think Helena respects her for the murder attempt and sympathizes with her because of their similar histories of abuse. But there’s another twist coming I assume, because Gracie ends up pregnant with Helena’s babies at some point, I seem to recall.

Sarah’s adventure in the archives was prime spooky season material. What you see will stay with you.... macabre images and weird noises in the basement...

I’m not sure I entirely get the whole Duncan & Mrs. S history tbqh. I suspect it doesn’t matter as it will be retconned a few more times. As of now I think it’s something like: the clones were a military experiment that got shut down (or did it?),then the Duncans moved to Dyad; they weren't the masterminds, just one of the teams working on it; they lost their original daughter bc Amelia ran away and then got Rachel instead; then they started feeling weird I guess and were going to tattle, so Leekie killed them and burned their stuff and took Rachel, but then Ethan got away, and he joined up with Mrs. S's group, who already had one of the clones themselves and were looking for more info I guess?

My mom and I were also talking about what exactly Mrs. S and her friends do and we decided they’re ad hoc vigilantes whose work is entirely about improving conditions for individuals on the ground, not, like... protests or demonstrations or whatever. Like, they hear about something fucked up and they’re like ‘how can we disrupt this?’ There are experiments on children going on? Let’s get those children! They’re very organized in their use of people and resources and hiding spots, but not in their overall ideology. I like this chaotic energy for them but I ALSO suspect it comes from their organization being more Vibe than Story. Like, could the show have fleshed them out more? Yeah, it would have had the time if it hadn’t gone down like 20 different alternating layers of conspiracy.

I do enjoy Leekie returning as a Villainous Figure. I just... I really like Leekie.  like him as a potential ally. I like him as the ultimate mastermind. I like him as the ideologue who turned the benevolent (lol) Dyad Corporation into his own little philosophical playground. I just like him.

A few other quick notes:

Scott was a little annoying in S1 but now I’m remembering why I liked him so much overall. He’s so smart! And rather cute. “I figured out it’s clones... now can I see one?” Lol.

How did Leekie get Kira’s baby teeth stem cells anyway?

I don’t know exactly what Art and Felix were doing today but they ARE the BroTP I didn’t know I needed. Art just making himself at home, like everyone else. “Oh he’s moved in.” “Then why is your hand on my ass?” Etc.

Similarly, Alison and Vic are a BroTP I kinda did know I needed. I hate liking Vic because he absolutely was terrible when he was introduced and now he’s like... comic relief? But he’s entertaining. I feel like this whole working with DiAngelo thing is going to contribute a lot to Alison’s paranoid feelings.

Also I continue to love Alison The Most. Today’s highlights included her threats to Donnie’s balls, every time she told Vic not to say Namaste, and the little way she hit Donnie when he tried bowing to Vic.

“Science is what scientists do” is a great line.

I’m also a fan of “anger is a tool and we use it on problems, not people.” Good advice.

Next is an Alison-centric episode with some Siobhan and Leekie action (not like that), which sounds fun!

[wordsoflittlewisdom]

Birds Of Prey characters in online school

I haven’t done one of these in a g e s. (the ol’ asks should still be open if anyone has any requests)

Harley: always has the weirdest stuff going on. weird picture. weird background. weird outfit. what is she doing. teacher leaves it alone because she’s got the highest grade in the class.

Helena: only turns on camera/mic if it’s required. always seems to be sitting in the dark. also doing pretty well in the class for being a complete non contributor. if asked a question shes sometimes awkward and always Right. “am I muted?”

Dinah: camera on, has a nice setup—cozy but cute outfits, sits at her desk by a window. Legitimately focused. She’ll participate if asked to. probably takes pretty notes.

Renee: looks tired. will call the teacher out if they’re wrong. takes notes aggressively. no one can quite make out where she is. drinks STRONG black coffee.

Cass: zooms from fast food places because she’s using their wifi (wearing a face mask of course). doesn’t talk much in class. notes look messy but she knows what they say. Should probably show up to the zoom more often than she does.

Roman: everyone thought that the big fancy room behind him was just a really good green screen background until he got up and went to the back to get something. The whole class (understandably) went wild.

Victor: camera off mic off. the one time he had to turn the camera on he flipped a knife between his fingers for like an hour straight and everyone kinda just decided it was better when you COULDN’T see what he was up to

[a-simple-imagine]

Meet the Parents

Requested by anonymous:  “Could you maybe do one where her and reader are on a mission and reader gets a call about a family emergency and the reader brings Helena and they’re still in their clothes from the mission and Helena meets the readers family for the first time?”

Requested by anonymous:  “hi, I’m the anon asking about you writing for Helena, could you possibly do where she saves reader and she takes care of reader and they end up falling in love??”

Pairing: Helena Bertinelli x fem!reader 

Words: 3.2k+

A/N- I combined both requests to make them longer, I hope that's okay. 

Warnings - swearing, injury mention, stabbing, and blood. 

"You go that way." She instructs quietly, pointing past your left shoulder. You glance in that direction and then back at her as she points the opposite way. "I'll go this way. Find an advantage point then wait for my signal okay? We don't need a repeat of last time."

You roll your eyes. You messed up one time and she's never let you live down. "What about Dinah? Shouldn't she be here? This doesn't seem like a two-person job."

"We'll be fine," she assures you but you're not confident it will be. "Now go." Reaching out, you grab the woman's hand before she has a chance to walk away; pulling her back against you.

"Don't die," You don't expect her to, she was a trained assassin after all. If anything you were more likely to get hurt than she was but you'd grown used to saying that before a mission. Your lips collide in a quick unplanned kiss. She tasted oddly like coffee and you wonder when she had a chance to stop off and get some. Pulling gently on her bottom lip as you pull back, you do as instructed. Disappearing off to the left as she went right. Creeping silently behind large creates of what you assume are guns but could very possibly be drugs or anything else. Some criminals couldn't pick a particular trade; they just had to dabble in a few of them. You spy a dozen or so men stood around. The leader was obviously your target and he stood dead centre shouting about a shipment. The buzzing in your pocket catches you off guard and you panic as you pat yourself down. Shit. Luckily nobody else seemed to hear it and you let out a breath. It was just a text from your mom but the contents leave you conflicted. Spying Helena across the way, she meets your eyes with a disapproving frown. You hesitate for a second, pulling your eyes from the other woman and back to your phone before abandoning your post. This was important; surely she'd understand. Rushing outside, your hit by the cool mid-afternoon breeze. You suddenly felt very hot and suffocated in that large warehouse. Helena joins shortly after. You prepare for a lecture but she seems more confused than angry.

"What's up?"

"I..." You feel guilty now but you shouldn't. It was just one job. "can we do this another time? I gotta go."

"What do you mean?" She asks, taking a step closer as you take a step away. "Go where?"

"Home-" That's not right. You share an apartment with her and have for a while now. "I mean my parent's house. Would it be suspicious to get an Uber from here?"

"...yeah." She stated plainly. It probably wasn't wise to request one to an old creepy warehouse full of criminals. "If you tell me where it is, I can take you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," She nods, brushing some stray hair out of the way. The woman waves her hand dismissively. You had expected her to demand more of an explanation; you would but you were grateful she didn’t. "Yeah, of course. These assholes can wait."

Your parents only live a few hours away but you don't visit often. You're much too busy and frankly, you just never wish to do so. It's not that you dislike them, you love them very much, you're just not all that close as a family.

"So, are you gonna tell me why we dropped everything to come here or?" Helena trails off as you both walk up hand in hand up the front path. She was trailing just a few steps behind you.

"My grandma got rushed into hospital so my parents summoned me." You explain softly. "They're not always the most complimentary so please be nice, I've never brought anyone home with me before."

Face to face with the door, Helena ends up being the one to knock and she gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be okay."

The door swings open and you find your father staring back. He hasn't changed much; he just looks slightly older. You could see the grey among his brown hair. The wrinkles that were just about there. "If it isn't my favourite daughter."

"I'm your only daughter, dad."

He offers up a smile as you brush past. "And she's brought a friend." As if on queue your mother appears in the living room just as you walk into it. It takes everything in you not to let go of Helena's hand. It wasn't that you were embarrassed, they just didn't know.

"Helena, these are my parents," you take a deep breath. "Mom and Dad, this is Helena Bertinelli, my... girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Your mother questions.

"Bertinelli? Like the Bertinelli massacre?" Your dad asks and your eyes go wide. You turn to check on Helena but she seems fine.

"Jesus, dad." You scold, surprised by just how quickly he brought it up. The massacre of a massive crime family gets around but he didn't need to bring it up the moment they meet.

"You... don't have to answer that."

"It's fine," Helena assures you. "Yes, that Bertinelli."

"I expected a girl but this definitely wasn't what I pictured- no offense... what was your name again? Helen?"

"Her name's Helena, mom." You huff.

Why are you both dressed like they're having a sale at the fancy dress shop?" Somehow that was both accurate and an insult. You had come straight from a mission, there was no time to change and your parents didn't know about the whole crime-fighting thing.

"Oh, we came from... work?" You explain with an awkward chuckle. "Is grandma okay? Or did you just bring me here to insult my outfit?"

It was like all the air in the room had been sucked out. Both parents went silent. Helena moves a little closer to you. "You should probably go see her," your mom mumbles quietly. "Your dad can take you."

The car ride to the hospital was filled with 80's throwback music and zero conversation. You sat in the back, Helena next to you with your father behind the wheel. Your mother stayed behind. Your grandma wasn't even awake when you went in. It was just dark and clinical. The beeping of machines all around. You couldn't stay there long; it was all just too much. You basically run out of the room, collapsing against the wall. Helena walks up alongside you. "Here," she holds out a plastic cup of water. You graciously accept, thanking her before taking a sip. "Are you okay?" You think about what she has asked. Of course, you weren't but you nod a little. "Look at me." You keep your eyes down. "Look at me, Y/N." Her voice was firmer this time and reluctantly, you glance towards her. "You don't have to be okay." You hold her gaze for a moment, she has such beautiful eyes. Swallowing hard, you wrap your arms around her and pull her close. Helena squeezes you tightly; tighter than she ever has before. Her hand smoothes over your back. She eventually pulls away, taking your hand instead and leading you towards the waiting area. It was empty.

"Were you close to her?" Helena asks softly, sitting down beside you. "You've just never talked about your family much before so-"

"I'm not really close with any of them," you interrupt softly. "But I was when I was younger- with my grandma, I mean. It's just... difficult when it's sprung on you, y'know? I don't know how I'm supposed to feel."

"I'm sure she'll be fine but even if she's not, you're not alone in this."

"I don't have that kind of relationship with my parents." You admit almost sadly.

"I didn't mean them," Helena replies, she places a finger under your chin pushing you to look at her. She wore the most gentle of smiles. "I know what it's like to lose family. I was so angry at the world but I will be here for you, every step of the way."

You can't help but smile back, resting your head on her shoulder. Your girlfriend puts one arm around your shoulder and you just sit there together; listening to the world around you pass by.

"You two ready to go?" You nod in response to your father's voice as he walked into view.

"Dad?" You call from a few steps behind him.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if we stay the night?"

He hesitates, looking back at the both of you but continuing the journey to the car. "Of course not, We can make up the guest room."

"Is that okay with you?" You realise you forgot to ask Helena what she wanted. Of course, she could leave any time, it was entirely her decision. She nods a little in agreement and you're happy she does.

It was later than expected when you finally pull up outside your parent's house. It didn't feel like you had been gone that long but clearly, time was running a marathon today. At the kitchen table you're sat watching your girlfriend help out - or more so engage in a conversation - with your father. He'd basically forced her into it but at least she seemed to be enjoying herself. Your mother was sat across from you, silently filling in the crossword puzzle from today's paper.

"You got yourself a good one there," The comment from your mother was surprising. They could be incredibly judgemental and Helena wasn't always the best when it came to other people. You appreciated her trying. "She seems to really care about you."

"Hey Y/N." Your attention is drawn from your mother to your father. "Set the table would you?"

"Sure." You do as you're told, collecting the plates and cutlery; setting four places around the table. A silent look of concern from your girlfriend, you give her a small smile.

"So, how did you two meet?" Your father asks when you're all finally settled down for dinner.

"Well... it's a little complicated." God, it felt like a lifetime ago now.

***When you left the house today you never expected to end up in the middle of a fight. You also didn't expect to get hurt. Your arm was aching, your chest heaved. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. You managed to stay conscious enough to see someone grab you. It was a girl with a crossbow. She was giving you a ride somewhere; hopefully to a hospital but that was not the case. Probably a good thing considering you did not have the money or insurance to cover the visit. Instead, you were lying on an uncomfortable couch in a rather expensive looking apartment. The same girl comes marching over with a first aid kit, sitting down beside you. With soaked cotton wool, she attends to the injury on your arm. You can't help but flinch at her touch.

"Stay still," she growls. As much as it stings you manage to stay pretty still. It was only a scratch you could get through it. A tight bandage is wrapped around your upper arm. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

You nod slowly; hand shaking as you reach to take pull off your protective layer. The woman ends up having to help you; she gets your jacket off and pulls up your blood-soaked shirt. "Holy shit," She seems surprised. "Why didn't you tell me about this one first?"

"Sorry," you mumble weakly, eyes beginning to drift. "it's... it's my, uhm, first time being stabbed."

"Jesus." The woman slaps you clear across the cheek; you blink in shock.

"What the fuck?"

"I need you to stay awake until I'm done, okay?" You groan as you let your eyelids close. "I'm serious."

Staying awake was more difficult than it seemed to be. The pain was very much helping in that department as she tended to the wound but you just felt so tired. The world around you seemed to be fading. You bring your non-injured arm up to rub at your eyes. The woman applies pressure to your wound that earns a loud Yelp in pain. "I said stay awake."

"Hurry up," you whine.

"I didn't have to help you," she fires back sharply. "I could have left you to bleed out on the street so if I was you, I'd keep that mouth shut, okay?" You swallow hard, laying silently until she's seemed to be done. "Still tired?"

"Mhmm."

"Do you remember what happened?"

You thought back to the events and they were hazy but you could still relive them. "I... got in the uh... I got in the way so some dude stabbed me and then like... he shoved me aside. I hit my head on the floor when I collapsed."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Hand shoved in your face, you count the fingers.

"Three."

"Do you feel sick?" You shake your head.

"Just very sore." There are no more questions so you snuggle against the cushions and drift off to sleep.

You're entire body is screaming in pain when you finally wake up. Sun streams through a crack in the curtains. You attempted to push yourself up but the pain was too much and you collapsed back down against the couch. "Good, you're awake. I wasn't too sure you were gonna make it."

"The hospital would have been a good start."

"Yeah, no." She doesn't even attempt to give you an explanation.

"I feel like shit." You cough a little as you struggle to roll onto your side. "Where are we?"

"You hungry?" She's stood in what you assume is the kitchen area, leaning back against the counter.

"No," you shake your head. "Who even are you?"

"Take these," she walks over and hands you a glass of water along with some pills. You hope they're pain killers. "I'm... Helena."

"Helena," you repeat, popping the pills into your mouth with a gulp of water. "That's a pretty name."

"Uh, thanks," she turns away from you entirely. This woman - Helena - she was pretty in a non-classical way. She seemed tense around you but that was probably because you are complete strangers.

"I'm Y/N." You tell her with a smile. "Thanks for helping me."

"It's fine." Her shoulders rise in a little shrug. "I'd recommend staying put for the next couple days. Unless you got somewhere to be then you're free to leave."

"Couldn't even if I wanted to," it'd hurt too much to get up never mind find your way back to your place where you lived alone. Glancing down, the patch she had put in place was stained deep red. You know you shouldn't but you can't help but press a finger against it; teeth gritting at just how intense the pain was. "I hope I get a scar."

"Why?"

"It'll be a cooler story if I have a scar." You explain. It's more believable if you have a scar too.

"Do you mind?" She points at your wound. You frown but let it go ahead. She peels back the gauze and cleans up the wound a little. You can't help but retreat from her touch. The very stern look you received in return very quickly brought you to a stop. A cheeky smile on your lips.

Helena was rather awkward to stay with. In the sense that you were both complete strangers and she clearly wasn't used to dealing with people. She was nice though. She brought you pain medication when you asked and food whenever she could. She even let you sleep in her bed while she slept on the couch. You told her it wasn't necessary but she insisted. The thing was that even being in such close proximity with her, you didn't learn much about her other than she was a very closed off person. She liked to keep to herself. Days turned into weeks and you were slowly but surely beginning to feel better.

It was still early; Helena was softly snoring away on the couch. You had everything prepared but you were too awkward to wake her up so you just waited patiently at her dining table. Popping one grape after another into your mouth.

"Good morning. What time do you call this?" You tease when you finally notice her begin to stir. It was only like nine a.m. but you'd been up since six so it felt much later. Days felt longer when you got up early. “I’ve been up for hours.”

"Hey," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes softly. "What are you doing?"

"I made you breakfast. It took twice as long because everything hurt but I got it done," you declare proudly. "By the way, you're now out of eggs and orange juice so you need to go to the store." Helena's lips curl up into a tiny smile as she joins you at the table.

"This is... nice. Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Now that she's here you finally feel like you can start eating so you pick up a fork and dig it into a piece of scrambled egg. "It's to say thank you for looking after me." Helena's smile grew just slightly before picking up the fork and digging in too. "I was thinking I should probably go home at some point." Helena nodded along. "But I was hoping that maybe... if you wanted to... we could like grab a coffee or something once I feel better?"

Helena freezes, meeting your curious gaze. You immediately regret your decision. "Or not. We don't have to if you don't want to- I just... I thought this was nice and I wanted to see you again but if you don't want to that's fine. Totally cool- forget I even said anything."

An awkward silence followed but after a few seconds, she spoke again. "I would like that,"***

"You got stabbed?" Your mum quarried, clearly surprised by your story. Your father, on the other hand, seemed more than amused

"Yeah, while ago. I have the scar of you wanna see? Without this one, I probably would have died."

"Guess we should thank you for keeping our girl alive." You dad adds.

"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm glad I did it." Your hand finds her thigh which you gently squeeze under the table.

Family dinner was nice. It was the first time in forever you had just sat down and had a nice meal. You watched a movie after before deciding to call it a night early. Today had been one hell of an emotionally exhausting day. Now you lay in the darkness. Helena was next to you but you weren't sure if she was awake or not until she turned onto her side to look at you. "How you holding up?"

"I'm okay," you decide, turning your head to look at her. "I just keep thinking about what you said in the hospital. It really helped."

"I'm glad," she declares. "I'm always here for you, Y/N. No matter what."

"I know," you nod, turning your entire body to her. "And I love you for that. I'm glad you're here."

"I love you." The girl taps you very gently on the end of your nose. "And I'm glad I'm here too."

[russianredassassin]

Huntress NSFW A to Z Headcanons

This was kind of requested but also not. I got a message about can I please write more Helena and another message asking for something NFSW about Helena so here it is and I hope you all enjoy :) 

(Also, I haven't written NSFW before, but someone requested it so I hope the person who requested it liked it and everyone else too) 

Warnings - NSWF Content

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

At the beginning of your relationship, she was very awkward so after sex she would just look at you shyly smile at you and just stay silent. But when she gets more comfortable she is more confident in being in an relationship, she would ask you if you needed like a drink or food or anything and make sure you ok before wrapping an her arms around you to keep you safe.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of their partners)

Their favourite body part of their yours would be your whole face. She just loves gently cupping it before and while having sex with you, caressing your cheek with her fingers and just staring into your eyes and just wondering how beautiful they are. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

A dirty secret she has is she has a fantasy of fucking you while she has her full Huntress costume on and doming and using you all night but she’s too shy to tell you about it. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) 

Helena doesn't have that much experience, from being the only daughter to one of the richest mafia families and seeing them killed which caused her to then dedicate her rest of her childhood and teenage years training so she could take revenge on her families murderers it didn't leave much for relationships. So you will have to lead somewhat. Especially at the beginning. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) 

Any position where she can look at you in your eyes, and where she can touch you, specifically your face. For example, you lying on the bed with her on top and her hands cupping your cheeks and lovingly looking into your eyes. Because of this its obvious that she likes to be on top, but its only partly because of comfort and preference, its also because she feels in control and she can protect you. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) 

Helena isn't very humours in the moment because she quiet often takes it very serious in the moment and because she is too focused on pleasing you and making you feel good to be humorous or funny. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) 

Considering she is a full time vigilante Helena is well groomed because again, she takes the relationship serious.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Helena is very romantic especially in the moment, she doesn't do anything unless she has asked you cause she wants to make sure you are feeling good in ever way. Helena tries to make every time romantic and special sometimes candles or music to set the mood, nothing is too much for you in her eyes. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanons)

Helena does masturbate but not alone, mainly because it’s just something she doesn't really do, but since meeting you she has become a lover of Mutual Masturbation.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

One of Helena's kinks are: 

Mutual Masturbation - Mainly because Helena didn't really masturbate all that much but now its the only way she does it. 

Dominance/Rough Sex - For about 90% of the times you and Helena have sex, it is slow, soft and romantic but every now and then mainly when Helena comes back for a night fighting criminals, high on adrenaline, she just needs to release some tension. So she will be rough where she’ll take complete control. But will not extremely hurtful to you. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The only place she likes to do it is in either her or your apartment in the bedroom. Simply because it’s where she is the most comfortable and able to focus on you and only you. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) 

The one thing that can get her going is if you give her a shoulder massage. Its an easy way to get her going in no time. Or massage her scalp is another way to get her motivated.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that would cause you extreme pain such as burning or using electricity  because the last things she wants is to hurt you. Even the things she does as a dom would be considered soft.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Helena is happy to give you oral, but she won’t just do it. She would look in your eyes with a look as if saying ‘May I?’ But after you say it’s ok, she’s eager to begin. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual. Because Helena has hardly ever been in a relationship before she wants to savour every moment with you. That and she just wants to make sure you are comfortable and experience all the pleasure you deserve. But every now and again she goes fast and rough with you to, let off some steam. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies are something Helena isn't really a fan of because when she has sex, she has to focus and dedicate plenty of time to it and she feels she couldn't do that with quickies. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

It would honestly depend on the type of risk and experiment. For example, if you were experimenting with something that would hurt you then it would be something she doesn't like. But if there are things you want to do, she will consider it and if she’s comfortable with it then she will be more than ok to try them out with you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Helena is has been trained by assassins and carries on that training everyday, so lets just say she has the stamina to go on and on and on.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bless Helena, she tires to tease you and she would like to. But she is simply too awkward to do it, so all the teasing comes from you. Now that she or you minds all that much. She’s is so cute when she gets all flustered when you tease.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Helena isn't all that loud during sex, no moaning and shouting incredibly loudly but she does make grunts and growls.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Something Helena does while having sex with you is she’ll sometimes speak in Italian, but it'll be random words that makes no sense.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) 

Helena doesn't have a massive sex drive, but don't take that to mean she doesn't want to, cause she does. Almost anytime you want it she’s more that welcome to have sex with you. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Helena doesn't fall asleep after right after sex, even after she has made sure your ok. She will wait until your asleep then she’ll slowly but surely nod off. 

(One last thing I haven't written NSFW before, but someone requested something NSFW with Helena so I hope the person who requested it liked it and everyone else too) 

[vanessakirbyfans]

Vanessa Kirby remembers the exact moment she realized what acting might actually be. That it occurred during a performance of a “probably terrible” all-girls’ production of “Hamlet” is beside the point.

“I was playing Gertrude, probably in my mom’s clothes—complete crap,” she says with a laugh. “I remember being in a scene and then walking out into the school. I was walking up and down the corridor before going back on for another scene, and it was the first time it ever happened where I suddenly was thinking [Gertrude’s] thoughts. I was thinking, in the present moment, her actual thoughts about what was really happening. And then it made the scene coming next so much easier, because there was a blurred moment where this idea of [a] character being outside of you or someone that you have to become disappeared in a way.

“I just realized,” she continues, “Oh, it’s inside me.” Kirby has been chasing that lucid high ever since.

You may get it for just two seconds in the entire production of a film, she concedes, and longer only if you’re lucky. But she believes that its attainment should always be the actor’s primary objective: reaching that liminal space where you no longer have to think of yourself as the character and you can instead—speaking of “Hamlet”—just be. Kirby describes getting “into that zone” where you are inside the character as much as they are inside of you.

“I always think about it as this really strange process of finding the person, because the person kind of exists in the abstract space, I guess, between you and the words on the page,” she says, “which also have come through a writer and their own experience. And so there’s this third space in the middle that you have to sort of get inside, and it takes a lot of time.”

For her new film, Kornél Mundruczó’s “Pieces of a Woman,” which earned her the Venice Film Festival’s Volpi Cup for best actress earlier this year, Kirby, by her account, had to “get inside” three separate elements. The first two, being pregnant and giving birth, are experiences shared by women the world over. But the third required her to tap into something more hushed, a sort of sad sisterhood that she thinks isn’t spoken about enough: “what it actually feels like to lose a baby just after it’s born.”

“That involved finding and spending so much time with the women who had been through that, which was a massive privilege, actually,” she says, noting their bravery. “They pretty much all said it’s so difficult, because society doesn’t want to hear about it. These women haven’t had a voice, really, in their experience of that level of grief or loss, because society doesn’t want them to talk about it.”

She cites model-entrepreneur Chrissy Teigen, who recently shared her experience of pregnancy loss online and was immediately subjected to charged responses across the spectrum, from adulation and gratitude to utter vitriol. “It just goes to show that a loss like that is really hard for people to hear about,” Kirby says. “I felt really honored to be part of this film in that way, because I think it speaks to grief universally.”

As she chats via Zoom just before Thanksgiving (though that likely doesn’t matter much to Kirby, who’s British), it’s fitting—and appropriately disarming—that the conversation begins with subject matter as heavy as infant and pregnancy loss, since the film does, too. Written by Kata Wéber, the Netflix feature (which will stream starting Jan. 7, 2021) almost immediately showcases a 25-minute labor and delivery sequence unlike any you’ve seen on film before—an intimidating prospect that was also part of the appeal for Kirby. She confesses, however, that her initial response to reading it was a more visceral “Oh, God.”  

“We see death so many times onscreen, and we don’t really see birth in this way. I also can’t remember seeing a film that dealt with losing a baby so head-on,” she says. “Doing the film has really set a kind of benchmark for me of wanting to find things that haven’t been seen or expressed onscreen before that need to be [seen in order] to generate conversation around them, to represent a side of being female that we haven’t seen. Those two things really struck me—and scared me a lot.”

In discussing her work, fear comes up quite a bit for Kirby—or rather, how to cope with it. At the age of 32, she has already had more success than many actors ever do. Most notably, she earned an Emmy nomination in 2018 for her work on “The Crown,” playing Princess Margaret on the series’ first two seasons before handing the tiara off to Helena Bonham Carter. She also starred in “Mission: Impossible – Fallout,” has secured a role in the franchise’s coming seventh and eighth installments, and boasts numerous prestigious theater credits.  

But an unmistakable angst hums beneath everything Kirby does. Making peace with that feeling continues to be the lifeblood of her career. “One of my friends said something like, ‘It’s always best to tell your fear [that] you can join me in the passenger seat. You’re not going to be driving the car, but you’re welcome to be here,’ ” she says. “It’s inevitable that you feel anxious or nervous, I think. I can’t just switch off my stage fright or my anxiety before going onstage, and the more I try and fight it, the worse it gets. I have to welcome it and be like, ‘It’s OK; you can be here. You’re not going to ruin the show.’ ”

The most useful tool Kirby has found to combat anxiety, nerves, fear—whatever word you want to use for that prohibitive lurking—is old-fashioned preparation. Knowing her lines inside and out, front to back, sideways and in proverbial heels, gives her the freedom to show up and be present.

t’s an odd sort of reconciliation to have prepped so thoroughly that you can act from a place of impulse, but one she considers crucial. “I learned that the hard way,” she says with a chuckle. “Sometimes I would approach jobs like, I’m just going to see what happens if I don’t learn my lines—just wing it on the day. Maybe it will be more spontaneous and impulsive, and it’ll be more flippant. And it wasn’t. Oh, my God, no, it wasn’t.”

While that trial and error informs her now-scrupulous prep work, Kirby gives credit where it’s due and admits she borrowed the approach in part from someone who knows just a bit about getting inside a character. Of course, if you worked with Anthony Hopkins, you’d do the same.    

“I just had a few little scenes in this brilliant thing he was doing,” Kirby says of the 2015 television film “The Dresser.” “He has a method that he’s always used where he says his lines out loud to himself a thousand times before doing any film. He’ll mark it on his script [and] tally it up, because he said you can’t be truly free unless it’s really in your body. You won’t be able to take the risk and go, ‘OK, I’m feeling the feeling of the state of mind this person’s in’ so that the lines can come out however which way they want to [because they’re] coming from that feeling, as opposed to, ‘I made a decision, I’ve learned my lines, I kind of know how I’m going to say them, and I’m going to turn up and just say them in a prepared manner.’ ”

In other words, you reach a state in which you no longer have to be conscious of your “choices,” because they will be externalized actions made by the internalized character. To actually achieve that symbiosis, Kirby explains, you have to practice an almost relentless empathy in order to “absolve all your judgments” of the person you’re playing.

“Acting’s such a funny job, isn’t it? How you think informs how you feel. And then how you feel, as a consequence, informs how you think,” she posits. “There’s a conversation between your feelings and thoughts all the time. And so it’s almost like trying to get inside someone else’s thoughts—so then you don’t have to worry about how the person is coming across or the mannerisms or whatever else, because you’ve built it from the inside, and that’s what happens naturally. The best acting experience, really, is when you’re thinking as that person without being conscious of yourself.”

The Catch-22, particularly for Kirby, is that fear, or even self-consciousness, will block the receptacles of empathy. If you as the actor at any point aim to shield yourself from the experiences of your character, you could be tossing out a crucial piece of their puzzle.

“As an actor, you don’t want to protect yourself. I think it’s almost the opposite,” she says. “I find I’m less shy, for example, when I’m playing someone, when I’m trying to understand someone else or some other part of humanity. You take more risks, and you sort of push into parts of yourself that you might not every day know existed, because you have to feel the things that they feel.”

That is one reason why Kirby creates playlists for her characters. In addition to drowning out literal noise on set between setups, delving into what a character’s taste in music might be—or why they’d listen to a given song at a given moment—opens a window into their psychology. In a pinch, the music can build an impromptu bridge between herself and the person within. It can also help ease her gently into a particularly formidable role, fear be damned.

“This idea of being daunted by something—I look for it. I go, ‘Oh, my God. I have no idea about this. I don’t know what it feels like to give birth, and I would love to learn about that,’ ” she says. “Of course, my dad is a cancer surgeon, so I grew up with him saving people’s lives. I always felt like acting is such a public thing, but it’s really not nearly as important as what a lot of people are doing in the world. But when you’re in a group of people who want to explore or understand something that perhaps we don’t yet know from our lived experiences, it does feel, sometimes, like such an honor.”

[dilfdoctordoom]

your head canons are just perfect. What are some random ones you have for Dinah Lance and Bette

Uhhhh gonna be going off the top of my head here (& under the cut because guess who wrote a load whooo) but

Dinah

Dinah is trans!!! I liked it Bombshells, I’ve decided its canon across all universes because you know what? It’s amazing

Dinah’s metagene got activated because Alan the JSA accidentally irradiated her throughout her childhood. Barry got lightning, Dinah got a weird family. It’s equality

She adopts Mia!!! Her & Ollie do, since I don’t think that officially happened in comics even though we all know it should have

Hal/Dinah/Ollie is absolutely a thing that I need. They’re in love, there’s nothing you can do to disprove it

Though, like, personal headcanon for Dinah’s relationship is that her & Ollie are in an open relationship, Hal’s their third & Dinah is dating Babs but Ollie is not because. Could you imagine. Oliver Queen. Dating a bat. The thing nightmares are made of, I tell you

When Hal dies, his ring goes to Dinah. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, this is just how it is

Ollie & Dinah have a third wedding since their other two were, uh, messy & technically not legal in the new timeline. No supervillains attack & it doesn’t take place in a hospital, so she considers it a win

By the time she dies, she’s in the top five fighters on the planet

Dinah (with the help of Ollie) once attempted to assinate the Guardians of the Universe

She & Zatanna dated

Babs brings up the Ra’s Al Ghul incident whenever she wants to win a dumb fight. Tragically, Zinda & Helena have picked it up too. Will Dinah ever escape her shameful past? Probably not, the Birds refuse to let her live it down

Thanks to her dip in the Lazarus Pit, Dinah’s eyes like... glow in the dark. It’s not very noticeable, but when it’s pitch black, her eyes are a really faint green

She can’t cook. At all. In the Arrowfamily, your options for food are Ollie’s chili (a safety hazard, 50/50 chance you burn to death) or Dinah’s unspeakable, ungodly creations that are probably an insult to the Presence himself. Or you can beg Connor to make you some delicious vegan thing

She’s got a little coffee addiction. It was really bad when she was on tour, a lot better now, but yeah, if you approach this woman before she’s had her first cup, she’ll scream in your face

This woman is bi & there’s nothing you can do about it

Dinah runs Sherwood Florists in Star City & all of the fam help out

Look, not technically a headcanon, but I want to make one thing abundantly clear: while Dinah Laurel Lance will always be a metahuman to me, I like Dinah Drake-Lance to be cursed by a wizard. I just think it’s fun

Bette

Okay, again, she’s bi. Like, we all know it, it’s not a secret, no cishet is working her original Flamebird costume

Bette loves glitter but even she knows that’s a little unsafe & never incorperates it into her costume. One day, though, one day...

She goes back to Flamebird around the same time Steph becomes Nightwing which is definitely inspired by @dykegreenlantern‘s death, but, yeah, she works as Flamebird again for a little while

When Kate retires, she suits up as Batwoman. It’s an awkward transition, but she makes it work

Oh, you think Tim has a caffeine addiction? He has nothing on Bette. Bette’s been in beauty paegents, winning tennis tourements, maintaining a 4.0 GPA & running around in a costume. Do you honestly believe she achieved that without caffeine? No. This girl is wired 24/7, there’s nothing that can be done about it

She came out to Bruce first. It would’ve been Kate, but Kate was in the army at the time & they hadn’t talked in years, so. Bruce

Bette’s one of the most forgiving members of the Batfam. Just look at how many of her friends turned into supervillains. She’s, like, yeah, okay, you’re evil now, are we still on for movie night? No? You have an evil scheme planned? Well, cancel it, we’re watching Mean Girls

I know Bette didn’t show up at Zero Hour, but she should have. Exclusively to judge Hank. He’s trying to destroy time but it’s very hard, she’s pulling the ultimate ‘I am disappointed in you and you have brought shame upon this team’ face & they haven’t even been a team in years. It’s not fair how does she even do this the Bats are weird. And then Parallax just. teleports her away. She’s too distracting to Extant, goddamn

I maintain that her & Terra II would’ve eventually become friends. Maybe even enemies to friends to lovers, since Terra II is a lesbian

She isn’t as huge on the whole no-kill thing as Bruce. Like, she’s never killed anyone herself, nor does she plan to (people like the Joker excluded), but she also doesn’t mind if her teammates cross that line

Her fights with Slade are always petty. She took Addie’s side in the divorce, okay, she’s gonna go in for the (emotional) kill when they’re fighting

She makes a lot of quips & is one of the best people at getting Batman to smile. Like, specifically Batman, and not Bruce. She’s seen him crack a grin at one of her puns, she swears

Artemis Crock is her ex girlfriend

Jesse Chambers is still, like, iffy on Bette after she... accused Jesse’s mother of murder. What a fun team up that was

I don’t know how or why it would happen, but Bat-Girl absolutely worked with the original Green Lantern at least once. Got no reasoning behind this, they’re just two of my favourite characters. I don’t think they’d get along (see: anything with Alan in it ever) but... it’d be an interesting team up, that’s for sure

She also knows Jason Blood but instead of being a fun adventure, that was more ‘okay yes I understand that Hank’s gone a little insane, he’s gonna be a future dictator, he’s committed mass murder, etc, but maybe you have some magic to undo all that? Pretty please?’

Her endgame relationship... I honestly change this all the time, but right now I’m on Bettenelli. Strong arguments have been made for Holly Robinson & we cannot ignore the possibility for a Bat/Cat next gen relationship, we simply can’t

Bette Kane deserves to be a doctor, screw what the N52/Rebirth said. Military Bette is gross & we do not support that in this house

[overlordofawesomeness]

A Man for Himself (Norton xEli)

Genre: Romance, Thriller, Horror, Fantasy

Rating: R-18

Pairing: Norton x Eli | Prospector X Seer

Chapter Trigger Warning/s: N/A

Chapter 3

Darkness. Norton opened his eyes only to witness himself surrounded by darkness. The candle on his helmet barely provided light. It didn't do much of a help. However, upon examining his surroundings, he's able to identify his current location. He's inside a tunnel. And it wasn't an ordinary tunnel. This was the site where the tragedy had taken place.

His chest tightened. Suddenly, Norton felt claustrophobic. He's aware that this was merely a dream, but everything seemed real to him. He could feel the rough floor underneath his boots, the way it ground against his sole as he walked. The air felt damp and smelled like mud, like he was inside an unstable man-made cave that could collapse any second due to heavy rain. They were all too familiar sensations to him.

The tunnel seemed to go on endlessly whichever way he went. He tried to keep himself calm despite having a hard time breathing. Panicking would only burn whatever remaining oxygen he had around him. But then again, this was supposedly a dream. Dreams couldn't hurt him.

After a while of walking, the miner began to pick up his pace until he found himself running at full speed as if something sinister was after him. He dared not look back, afraid to confirm his imagination and be devoured by his fear. Running felt like an eternity to him until he tripped over a rock and fell. Or at least that's what he thought it was. He was out of breath, so he could only manage a soundless gasp when he realized that he'd fallen on a pile of decomposing bodies, their foul smell making it harder for him to breathe. Those were the corpses of the miners.

Norton picked himself up, but he slipped and fell as soon as he got up. He staggered back in panic, a scream he never imagined he'd ever make escaping his throat and echoing throughout the lonely tunnel. As he was trying to process everything, the burn scars on his face and body began to hurt as though they were fresh.

"You belong with us, Norton," said a voice in his head, sounding like it came from the abyss. "You should've died with us."

The miner began shaking, his hands gripping his head as if the action would get rid of the voice all the while kicking at the undead corpses that were starting to crawl towards him.

"No! Leave me alone!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to push the bodies off of him. "It was an accident!"

Yes, it's all an accident.

A corpse that had gaping sockets for its eyes managed to get on top of him and sit on his chest, squeezing the remaining air out of his lungs. In its bony hands was a large chunk of stone. It raised the stone in the air and was about to smash it onto his head when he managed to pull himself back to reality and wake up with a strangled scream.

Norton was drenched in sweat, his hair disheveled and his eyes wide in shock. The dream was over, yet his heart still beat so fast that it almost wanted to escape his ribs. Taking a few deep breaths, he ran his hands over his face and looked to the window. The light shone through its heavy white curtains, illuminating the entirety of the room. Somehow it gave him a sense of safety and security. It's good even though it's false.

"Had an eventful night, eh?"

Norton searched for the source of the voice and spotted the same gray-haired male from last night sitting in his bed across from his. He wouldn't have noticed his roommate's presence if he hadn't said anything.

"Who are you again?" the prospector inquired, blinking away his sleepiness.

"Your resident embalmer," the other responded as he secured his gloves. He seemed to be getting ready to leave. "Your teammates for today came over. They said they wanted to eat breakfast with you before the match," he continued. "I'm Aesop, by the way. I prefer working in peace, so I hope you won't be making noises in your sleep again." He stood up and picked up a case from his bedside table. "Norton, right? Stop living in the past. You're attracting Death. Don't make the same mistakes again."

He never left any room for Norton to respond. He walked out as soon as he finished his quick introduction. Norton figured his roommate wasn't a fan of social interaction. Not like it mattered.

Still groggy from his nightmare, the miner didn't want to waste time overanalyzing Aesop's ominous words. He stood up and took a towel from his drawer. A shower would help on clearing his head.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Campbell!"

Norton wasn't expecting himself to be invited to a morning tea party when he was told to meet his teammates. There was a stone pavement outside the manor house that led to a large pavilion. A few tables were set up and one of them was occupied by three women wearing fancy clothing. He felt a little underdressed with his dark green button-down and trousers.

The one who greeted him was a brunette wearing a blue hat, a frilly white blouse and a billowy skirt that was just as frilly. Her green eyes shone bright with her cheery smile. Her spirit seemed too high for someone who would be participating in a deadly game.

"Take a seat, please," she invited, standing up from her seat and pulling an empty chair for him, which he found surprising.

So polite. He gladly took the seat and smiled at the expecting faces.

"I'm Emma." She offered her hand and sat down. "And these are Helena and Martha. We'll be your teammates for today."

Norton shook the brunette's hand and scanned the faces of the two other women. One of them was a redhead, wearing a pink hat that resembled a cake with wafer sticks on top of it. Her dress was of the same shade with a mix of pastel green and had frills and ribbons. Overall, Norton had to admit that she's adorable and eye-catching especially when she tried pouring tea into empty air next to a cup in front of her. Hot water was about to spill from the pot when the woman next to her guided her hand in the right direction.

Helena giggled softly. "Oops. Sorry."

Norton didn't notice it earlier; but upon closer look, the girl appeared to have glassy eyes behind her round glasses. She's blind, and the stick that resembled a long lollipop resting against her chair was her cane.

How could a blind person join this game? How could she even decode those machines?

As if sensing his doubt, Emma scooted over and whispered, "Don't worry. Her blindness does not stop her from being an outstanding decoder. She's fast. But, of course, we need to protect her. And that's why we have Martha."

The miner turned his attention to Martha, a well-built woman with a curly side ponytail. Her hair seemed to have been dyed blue to match her clothes. She's wearing a white blouse with frills and a long white pencil skirt with blue stripes. Unlike the two girls, Martha had an air to her that made her different. Perhaps it's the pistol that sat next to her teacup. She seemed to radiate an aura of power and authority. A leader.

Still, Norton wondered why they were all dressed up for a party and why he wasn't given any notice.

"I'll do my best to keep everyone alive." Martha smiled in Helena's way, but the ginger wasn't aware of it. "Especially Helena. We can't lose her, so I'm counting on you to protect her." She faced Norton. "And you. I've heard that you've done a great job on your first match. Don't let us down."

Norton nodded and took a bagel from a woven basket at the center of the table. "I'm not promising anything, but I'll do my best."

He would never promise anything.

Eventually, he started to relax in his seat, enjoying the taste of pastry and sweetened tea. He might as well take his sweet time since he might not be able to get the chance to do it anymore after this.

"Good morning, Mr. Clark! Good morning, Mr. Subedar!" Emma stood up from her seat and waved her hands wildly in the air.

Norton's eyes followed the direction where the cheery girl was looking and found Eli and his grumpy buddy walking their way to the pavilion. Like the girls, they seemed to have received the notice to dress in eye-catching clothing.

Eli was wearing a gold-trimmed robe in a lighter shade of blue. It had patterns that resembled constellations. As if to complement him, Subedar was wearing formal clothes of the same shade. A suit with a hood and ruffles. On top of that, his hair seemed to have been dyed blue as well to match them.

"Aren't they just perfect?" Emma sighed dreamily, her eyes glued to the two men. "I had a chance to be on the same team with them before. They're amazing."

Eli waved back and smiled in their direction momentarily before turning his attention back to Naib. They were headed to a vacant table. Naib didn't seem to like when Norton looked at them as he shot daggers his way and moved to block the view of his partner.

"Hey, Emma." Norton took a sip from his cup. "Who's that guy with Eli?"

He'd already heard about Naib from Eli, but he didn't really know much about him except for the fact that he obviously didn't like Norton.

"That's Mr. Subedar," Emma answered. "He used to be a mercenary from what I've heard. He doesn't really interact with anyone that much except with Mr. Clark. They're always together; so if you want to know more about Mr. Subedar, you may need to ask Mr. Clark himself."

"I see." Norton nodded slowly.

Is he seeing me as a threat to their bond? Now that makes things more interesting.

Two more people joined the two men: William and a woman sitting on his shoulders. She was wearing a headdress that resembled the horns of a goat.

"Is that Fiona?" Norton asked, remembering the name from a conversation he'd heard from the previous night.

Emma nodded. "Ah, yes. Ms. Fiona Gilman."

"She's pretty," the miner commented, studying the woman's features.

Fiona had her red hair tied in a single side braid. She's wearing a purple hood over a black dress that had slits on either side that were too high Norton wondered if she was wearing any underwear. William had to be a saint to be able to endure that.

"Yes, she is," Emma agreed. "Makes us wonder why Mr. Clark still hasn't asked her out yet. We've been rooting for them since both of them get along really well when it comes to mysticism. You should see them when they talk about their gods. It's like we don't exist to them. But it seems like they're not interested in each other. After all, Mr. Subedar is always keeping Mr. Clark to himself."

"I think I understand why," Norton muttered under his breath. "It's not easy to find someone like Eli."

Eli was a gem. And Norton hated that fact.

* * *

Two cipher machines left. The last time Norton encountered someone from his team was when he saw Emma dismantling a rocket chair near a carousel. After that, he never saw any one of them again.

They were at an abandoned theme park. It's a large walled area that was divided in half by a river. Communication was impossible. He only knew that there were only two machines left since he heard multiple popping sounds. As to who the hunter was or where it was, he had no idea.

Inside a large tent, which he assumed to be previously called Circus Hullabaloo because of the sign outside, he was halfway on finishing a machine when tapping sounds caught his attention. He looked up to see that it was Helena limping towards him. Her pastel pink stockings were soaked with blood. There was a clean cut on one of her legs that seemed to have been made by a sharp blade.

"Help," she gasped, catching her breath.

Behind her was a large creature that resembled a large mechanical spider. Its large body was covered with a filthy rag. There were movements from underneath the cloth which made Norton's hair stand on end. Its legs were a combination of ball-jointed doll hands and large metal blades. What made it more hideous was the head that had a face of a marionette doll. It was terrifying.

Norton stepped out of the way when Helena reached her arms out to him. For a moment, he didn't say anything as if he's trying to conceal his presence from the blind girl. He was determined to abandon her; but in the end, he decided to grab her and lift her in his arms. He could've easily left her there, but it would be too cruel to leave a helpless blind girl in danger. He wasn't that remorseless.

One cipher machine popped. One more left. He had a bleeding girl in his arms, and they were both running for their lives.

>

[salmonthestoryteller]

End of Season 2 Reactions and Season 3 Speculation (RNM)

Charlie is officially my fav new character.  Please tell me we get to keep her and Jenna for s3.

Can we talk about the bomb?  Y’know, the alien killing bomb that apparently had a radius of five feet?  Seriously, Charlie talked about this dropping on a city and being able to kill specific people.  In a city.  How did throwing the bomb maybe ten feet into the desert at the edge of where Crash Con was taking place somehow prevent it from spreading to the other aliens?  Are we just supposed to assume that Flint is that bad at designing bombs?

Holy shit, they killed Jesse and I wasn’t expecting that.

Jesse’s line about there being no more Manes has my head whirling with thoughts. I didn’t think Flint and Jesse’s scene Michael eavesdropped on was real - but now I’m thinking that it is and that Flint really did kidnap Alex from Jesse because he didn’t want Jesse to kill him.  As was him telling him he wasn’t in charge anymore.  Also, it makes me question a lot of things about the fourth brother.  Including if he is Jesse’s son at all.

One thing I am unclear on - was DS a real organization or just a lie Jesse fed them?  Flint had the rifle - so he’s who shot Charlie.  And Helena is the one who kidnapped Jenna.  That makes it seem like DS was never a real thing.  However, I can’t help but feel it won’t be that simple. There's still the question of the horror movie twins from 02x06, Forrest's ring, and the fact Charlie seemed to have heard about them before.

I do agree with what Michael said  - that he would have still built the bomb if Flint and Helena had kidnapped Maria.  But, he also would have built it if they’d kidnapped Max, Isobel, or Liz.  Heck, probably any of the core group, including Kyle.  That’s just Michael’s personality.  The facts are that he gave up his future to protect Isobel at 17.  Gave up his ship to build Max a pacer.  Built a bomb that kills aliens to save Alex.  Heck, he had the chance to kill Jesse in the warehouse the day he found out about Alex’s kidnapping - and he didn’t.  Michael would throw himself in front of a bullet for the people he cares about - and deny it the entire time.  So, yes, he still would have built the bomb to protect Maria.  But that wasn’t really the important part of what went down during the kidnapping sequence in regards to Malex - what he said to Jesse and Flint about how Alex changed his whole view of humans and himself - that’s something he couldn’t say about anyone else.

I suspected Forrest would be around for s3.  I just hope he has a plot beyond being Alex’s boyfriend.  That’s part of my issue with Steph - she is so unintegral to the plot it’s hard to care about what’s happening with her. I don’t want to spend season 3 feeling the same way about Forrest.

I expected an Echo break up at the end of season 2 - I just have tons of mixed feelings about the situation they chose.  Because I'm partly on Max’s side, but not really on either.  Both Liz and Max were making decisions about the whole thing without asking for Isobel and Michael’s opinions.  And they definitely should have gotten a say.  So, in actuality, they were both jerks and out of line.

(Expect a rant about Health in s2 soon.)

Okay, so “It takes three” is a lock? And, if so, how did they lock it to begin with?

This was not the Dark Max plot I was expecting - but I’ll take it.

So, I thought the Stowaway might be Max’s father, but he doesn’t say son in the ending scene so now I’m not sure.  Is he a clone?  Max’s twin brother?  Was the reason Max drew the symbol as a child because the Stowaway was reaching out telepathically for him?  Hm…

Some last bits of Spec.

Michael gets to almost die next season. Isobel almost died in s1, and Max was dead through half of s2. So that leaves it to be Michael's turn for a near death experience.

Steph is going to die anyway because of side effects of Liz's miracle cure.

Either the Stowaway is going to escape, and finding and stopping him will be s3’s main mystery.  Or they’re going to keep him around, with Max defending that he isn’t evil, despite all warnings to the contrary, and he will of course be evil.

I am curious what new human evil they will introduce with Jesse unexpectedly dead.  I don’t think it will be Flint.  Partly because I don’t think he can carry being the main villain as a character.  But also because I still feel they’re playing a long term redemption arc for him - based on his and Alex’s conversation about when the last time he created something that didn’t kill and Alex’s comments about redemption to Kyle. Plus, we still haven’t gotten an answer about what Jesse was blackmailing Flint with that was hinted at in s1.  Alex was wrong about trusting Jesse, but I don’t think they’ll have him be wrong twice - in terms of his character arc, his belief in others needs to be rewarded in the end.  That doesn’t mean Flint won’t continue to be an antagonist in s3, but I’m betting on him ultimately seeing the error of his ways and sacrificing himself for Alex.  Or possibly for Michael because of how much Alex loves him.

There is still the chance of introducing the real DS as villains - something that could affect Forrest, if he is part of DS.  Otherwise, Diego’s boss is also a likely candidate.

[hunnybadgerv]

Fly High, Fly Free | Far Cry 5 | Leah Rook

Summary: John extends an invitation that Leah cannot resist, but nature intrudes, presenting a detour that isn’t entirely unwelcome.

a/n: I decided that it might be a lot of fun to give these two the first tastes of a relationship before they end up at odds. Again, my deepest and most sincere thanks to @amistrio and @chyrstis for betaing this for me. Their insight and suggestions have been so helpful, and really helped me gain confidence with this piece and with writing John, especially.

Full Story on Ao3

Fly High, Fly Free

-1-

The sun hung high in the clear sky as the afternoon pressed onward. Adrenaline pumped through Leah’s veins as she watched Helena slip away beneath them and the mountains poke through the trees. There was no place more beautiful, she thought. Shifting from side to side, she stared out of the cockpit of John’s plane. The area, familiar as it may be, took on a whole other nature from this altitude. The glassy surface of a lake reflected the puffy clouds in the blue sky. Pale dirt roads spidered over the hills to destinations unknown as they disappeared into thick stands of dark green evergreen trees.

The offer to fly her home for the weekend seemed a little over the top at first, but the tone of his voice when he suggested the idea made it impossible to turn down. Plus, the opportunity to cut her commute from 3 hours to 30 minutes made the proposal as tempting as the man making it. She had to admit that giving him her number had been the smartest decision she made in the last six months.

John Seed was tall, lean, and handsome with a pair of baby blue eyes she could just drown in. Even better, he proved to be a gentleman and a breathtaking kisser. Leah sat back in the rear seat of the antique plane and shifted; a part of her was sure she could feel the condom she’d stuffed in her pocket before she headed out to her truck. Maybe she was jumping the gun, but she was into him. And he seemed to like her, too.

The awe and elation that came with the flight did nothing to quell her clashing feelings; the enthusiasm and anxiety battled within her over what might happen later. She didn’t know if she read too much into the way things were going between John and her. Sure, she’d been raised in the church, went to Sunday School and services every week with her family, but John’s religiosity far outstripped hers. To top it off, his brother was a pastor from what she’d been able to glean from their talks. Of course, there was also the chance that she’d misread every sign that seemed to hint that he might be ready to go to the next level.

With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes at her own adolescent thoughts.

“Leah.”

God, I love the way he says my name, she thought.

“Leah!”

With a start, she sat up straighter in her seat. “Yes, John. Sorry. I was … distracted.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” There was a hint of glee in his voice when it filled her ears again through the headset. “It’s beautiful up here.”

Little did he know she wasn’t distracted only by the scenery beneath them. Her attention flicked forward, catching a hint of his face in the small rear-view mirrors near the control panel in front of him. She had no idea what it might actually be called, but that seemed as good a term as any.

Damn those sunglasses, she thought. She would have loved to know if he might be sneaking a peek at her, like she was at him.

“It really is,” she agreed.

“See that stick in front of you?”

“Yeah,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows together.

“Grab it.”

“Why?”

“Just hold it steady.”

She did as he asked, but only because she had an inkling about what he might be planning. “John, I do not know how to fly.”

“It isn’t difficult. Just keep the position fixed.”

“John.”

“It’s fine, Leah. I have faith in you.”

Guess it’s great that one of us does, she thought as she stared down at her hands. Her grasp was so tight on the yoke that her knuckles were turning white. The possibility of moving it the wrong way and sending them into that glassy lake they’d passed scared the shit out of her. “John?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know how to fly, John.”

“Flying is the easy part,” he told her in a relaxed tone. “Actually, the trickiest thing is getting into and out of the air. Once you’re up here, though, it’s a total dream. Just keep your heading.”

“John! Don’t you dare let go of that stick!” Leah yelled.

“Let go?” he said. Damn him, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I haven’t been flying this plane for at least three minutes now.”

“What?”

His hands rose high enough for her to see them from her seat. “See? It’s so easy, you didn’t know you were doing it.”

“You put your hands back on those controls,” she admonished, aiming for stern castigation that came out more like stark panic.

John, unperturbed by her tone, threaded his hands behind his head. “But this is so relaxing.”

“For you, maybe.” She could feel the tension building in her shoulders. A quake trickled down her arms to her hands, which telegraphed into the movement of the aircraft. “Christ,” she hissed under her breath. Leah tried to correct every single little tremor.

“Ease up a little. Not so tight,” John instructed, his voice buttery and soothing. “You don’t drive with a white-knuckle grip. You shouldn’t fly with one either.”

Leah Rook knew stubborn when she saw it or heard it; hell, she could be as bull-headed herself. Despite his reassuring tone, she recognized the fact that he bore no intention of rescuing her from this fresh new hell. No, John would not give this up until she tried to fly the plane, actually tried. Leah sighed and summoned up the will to address the anxious tightness creeping through her upper body.

“If you push away from you, you’ll tip the nose downward. Pull back and our altitude will rise. If you want to bank left or right, do it gently. If you bank hard, you could take us for a real fun spin though.” He said it like the move might be something worth trying.

“I don’t think so,” she said flatly, disagreeing with every fiber of her being.

“I thought you said you were adventurous,” John chided.

Leah laughed tensely. “Adventurous is rock climbing or base jumping. Putting your plane in the hands of someone who has never flown—that’s just foolish.”

“I disagree. You’re doing a great job.”

“Not sure your insurance carrier would agree.” She could feel the shaking of the muscles in the front of her shoulders, but a slow, smooth movement of the yoke kept it from being quite as obvious.

“Well, then they’re fools. I trust you with my plane and more,” he admitted.

Leah’s eyes shot up toward those mirrors. He didn’t look like someone who had said something they didn’t intend. Of course, that observation didn’t make her brain restart in a timely manner. She just blinked, once, twice. “Glad you approve,” she managed to mumble around her own myriad of thoughts.

John chuckled; hands still folded behind his head like he was just enjoying a relaxing Sunday afternoon as the world slipped by beneath them. He was silent for a time, then spoke up again. “Take a look at those dials in front of you.”

Peeking up at him in the mirror again, she noticed he’d slid his sunglasses back into his hair and looked right at her. Her green eyes lowered once more, skating over the panel with the ease of someone held at gunpoint. John proceeded to talk her through a basic understanding of the dials and knobs, then directed her through an easy bank onto a new heading.

Flying got easier after that. It still intimidated her, but Leah felt the tension easing gradually. She piloted the plane for about ten more minutes before John finally sat back up again. “Want to try your hand at a landing?”

Fuck no!

“I’ll pass,” Leah told him a little tightly.

“All right then. Let me take her,” he said in a smooth tone.

“All yours.” She let go of the stick like it suddenly burned her, holding both her hands up in surrender as she sank against the back of the seat finally.

He landed them at a grass covered dirt strip carved out of a thick section of forest. It was bumpy, but she blamed that on the locale, not his skill. Once he’d taxied toward the hangar, they disembarked, and Leah waited to get both her feet back on solid ground before she hauled off and punched him in the shoulder—it wasn’t hard, but it was more than just playful.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Leah lectured, wearing a bit of a pout as she crossed her arms over her chest.

John chuckled and pulled her toward him. “You’re a natural.” His arms folded around her in a gentle embrace

“Don’t try and butter me up with compliments.” Leah narrowed her green eyes in a failing attempt to be upset with him.

He brushed her chestnut hair behind her ear, then let his fingers trail down the length of her neck. “I would never.” The seriousness in his tone didn’t match up with the mischievous look in his blue eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

John pressed a gentle peck to her pouting lips.

For the moment, that appeased her reproving gaze. Of course, John Seed was quick on the uptake; reading people seemed to come naturally to him. He did it again, letting his lips linger on hers with each subsequent chaste peck.

Eventually, Leah leaned into his embrace and slipped an arm around him as she cast a curious glance around them. “Where are we?”

“About halfway between Helena and Fall’s End.”

She raised her eyebrows at him in an effort to get him to be more forthcoming.

“It’s a little duster strip. Doesn’t see a lot of use these days.”

“Mmhmm. And you just happened to stumble across it?”

“Or,” John replied in a sing-song tone, “the owner’s a friend.”

He kissed her on the tip of the nose, and she pressed her hands over the soft blue fabric of his vest. She liked being in his arms, feeling him close.

“So, what are we doing here?” she asked tugging at the top button.

John’s index finger curled under her chin, lifting her lips to his again. “I told you we’d get dinner.” His words were as slow and gentle as his touch. He took her hand in his and led her toward the hangar.

“I don’t see any restaurants,” she said as they strolled across the ground.

“Nope.”

“Then how do you propose to get dinner? Little late in the day for hunting,” she joked. “And I left my rifle at home.”

“There’s a pond not far off.”

Leah’s pace slowed. He can’t be serious.

John grinned at her as they neared the building. In disbelief, she looked away. She could fish, but it wasn’t really something she enjoyed all that much. That’s when she noticed a picnic basket sitting atop a workbench on the back wall.

“John?” Her voice came out somewhere between curious and surprised.

“I’m kidding.” He gave her another crooked, beautiful smirk, squeezed her hand, and led her deeper into the hangar. “For someone who likes adventure, you ask a lot of questions.”

Leah giggled. “Blame the training,” she chided with an easy shrug.

“Here.” John picked up a thick blanket and handed it to her. She had to let go of his hand in order to carry the weighty coverlet.

John went to the refrigerator in the corner and pulled out a dark bag with a long handle that he slung over his shoulder. Leah leaned toward him and raised her eyebrows trying to catch a peek in the fridge and see if there was anything else of note tucked away inside.

“You know they say curiosity killed the cat,” he teased, closing the door again quickly.

“They also say that the future belongs to the curious. The ones who aren’t afraid to try life. Explore it, poke at it, question it, and turn it inside out.”

John’s gaze on her held a gentleness as he leaned against the table. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one.”

Leah grinned at him. “Well, I also had a teacher in middle school who told us that curiosity was the wick in the candle of learning.”

He laughed softly. “Take it I’m not the first person to point out that trait.”

She smiled widely, with a healthy trace of pride, and shook her head at him. “Not even close.”

Picking up the basket, John held his empty hand out for her to take. Leah did and laced their fingers together, but she curtailed her questions for the moment in order to just enjoy the quiet, the landscape, and the company.

Read the rest  on Ao3 

[tabloidtoc]

Globe, December 28

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Farewell to 93 legends we loved and lost in 2020 

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Steve Martin holds a green pepper on the NYC set of Only Murders in the Building, Derek Hough is light on his feet at the MTV Movie & TV Awards 

Page 3: Julia Roberts looks scary skinny during a solo stroll in Hawaii, Chris Pratt hoists a hoverboard during an L.A. workout 

Page 4: Troubled twosome Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi are hoping to put their year from hell behind them by renewing their vows over the holidays in a desperate big to keep their love alive -- Ellen wants to prove her long-suffering wife comes first ahead of Ellen’s daytime talk show and her many celebrity friends and is going all out to show it -- penny-pincher Ellen opened her wallet as wide as her heart telling Portia she could spend whatever she wants on clothes, food, drinks, music and invite whoever she wants at the New Year’s vow ceremony on a Santa Barbara beach

Page 5: Obsessive Blake Shelton is so stressed over his upcoming wedding to Gwen Stefani he’s turning into the Groomzilla from hell -- he is sparing no expense and shelling out millions to redo his Oklahoma ranch to impress the couple’s Tinseltown friends but the mountain of stuff still to be done is driving him around the bend even though no one’s putting pressure on him but he’s obsessed with the wedding details and driving his staff crazy with his constant orders and revisions -- he’s building a chapel on the ranch and a lighted boat for a romantic wedding cruise on the lake and picking the style of the canopy for the banquet floor and re-landscaping the grounds and adding a color-themed garden

* Kenya Moore of Real Housewives of Atlanta reveals she went on a date with Kanye West but bolted when she caught him watching inappropriate flicks -- she described the outing with Kanye as a disaster date and they ended up going to his house where he left her alone, wandering around and when she followed the noises he was watching something on TV that he probably shouldn’t have been and that was her exit 

Page 6: Matthew Perry was such a slave to his addiction his former galpal Kayti Edwards says he’d send her to score drugs while she was pregnant and Matthew insisted she was the perfect drug mule because he believed cops wouldn’t stop a gal in her condition Kayti claims in a shocking tell-all about her 2011 romance with Matthew -- she says his ravenous cravings for cocaine and heroin were so out of control that he once superglued his hands to his legs and he took up to 80 Vicodin pills daily -- Kayti claims she was trying to protect Matthew because she feared he’d end up wandering around the streets and being nabbed by cops or snapped by photogs but she was also getting paid big bucks like $3000 to $4000 a day 

Page 7: Duchess Camilla’s taste for an early morning tipple has rubbed off on husband Prince Charles who is now so hooked on the sauce he starts the day guzzling a powerful gin martini with breakfast and now Charles’ alarmed staffers and pals are talking about an intervention to remind him not to go down the path that put his second wife in rehab -- Charles’ booze consumption has been off the charts for years but drinking first thing in the morning with his breakfast is a new low -- Charles laughs off suggestions he has a booze issue but one look at his bloodshot face tells the story 

* Now that a COVID-19 vaccine’s been approved in Britain Queen Elizabeth says she’s going to get the shot but wait her turn instead of pulling royal rank but she and husband Prince Philip won’t wait long because at their ages they’re in the second group to get the vaccine which is health care workers and people over 80 

Page 8: Helena Bonham Carter has a world-shakin’ suggestion for gals frustrated by the COVID-19 lockdown: get a vibrator -- she says women shouldn’t worry about snaring a beau during the pandemic but that’s easy for her to say because she’s currently cuddling with toyboy writer Rye Dag Holmboe 

* George Clooney confesses wife Amal Clooney had him shaking in his boots when he popped the question and she didn’t answer -- he asked her out of the blue but instead of squealing yes immediately the brainy lawyer just stood there -- George says he was on his knee for like 20 minutes and finally said he was going to throw his hip out -- Amal finally agreed and the couple have three-year-old twins 

* The nip/tuck freak daughter of Olivia Newton-John is being blasted as a hypocrite for coming out against the new COVID-19 vaccines -- Chloe Lattanzi claims she doesn’t trust doctors or the vaccine but critics note she had no problem shelling out an estimated $550,000 to plastic surgeons for nose jobs, super-sized boobs and ballooned lips 

Page 9: Since his life-threatening health scare game show icon Pat Sajak’s been testy and snapping at contestants and crew members leaving insiders fearing he’s heading for a breakdown -- the once-cheery Wheel of Fortune host is a different man since recovering from emergency surgery for a blocked intestine and is having difficulty coping with the workload -- he just can’t keep up with the pace and he’s pushed to the very limit and can’t seem to function doing this job and it’s all spilling over and manifesting into these ugly outbursts which are shocking viewers -- he even glares at long-time help-mate Vanna White when he gets frustrated or forgetful and she is really too nice to complain about it but she’s definitely been taken aback by his behavior 

Page 10: Proof UFOs are real -- new photos taken by Navy jets reveal we are not alone 

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- WWE legend Ric Flair (picture), Real Housewives of Orange County’s Braunwyn Windham-Burke maintains she’s not attracted to men despite renewing her wedding vows with her husband of over two decades -- she says she is gay but she loves husband Sean Burke and they plan on staying married although they don’t sleep in the same bedroom and they are raising their kids together but he knows the girl she’s dating and he’s been given the thumbs-up to date too, Liam Payne believes he’s being haunted by spooks -- convinced spooky spirits were inhabiting his West London digs Liam moved but spooks popped up at the new pad and he thinks the new house is even more haunted than the old one, George Clooney handpicked an even better looking doppelganger to play his younger self in his new flick The Midnight Sky who is screen legend Gregory Peck’s grandson Ethan Peck -- George said it was tricky because people know what he looked like when he was 35 years old but he rejected the high-tech gizmos used to weirdly reverse Robert De Niro’s age in The Irishman but he did mix his voice with Ethan’s since his voice is pretty recognizable, Matthew McConaughey’s kids Levi and Vida used their phones to photograph him for his latest magazine covers because of quarantine they couldn’t do normal photoshoots so the kids became the photographers 

Page 13: Tom Arnold dines out in Rome (picture), Aubrey O’Day (picture), Brooke Burke in Mexico (picture), pregnant Meghan Trainor was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and she’s healthy and her baby boy is healthy but she has to really pay attention to everything she eats 

Page 14: Luke Evans denies hiding in the closet to advance his Hollywood career saying it was the last thing he had because everything else he’d given to the world and adding that he left home at 16 because he was gay and went into the world as a kid because he had to, Mindy Kaling managed to keep two pregnancies under cover and kept the kids’ middle names under wraps until now -- a fan wondered why Mindy who is of a Indian heritage gave her kids Caucasian names but their names are Katherine Swati and Spencer Avu 

* Fashion Verdict -- Blanca Suarez 3/10, Olivia Palermo 1/10, Nicky Hilton 9/10, Bella Heathcote 2/10, Catt Sadler 8/10 

Page 16: True Crime 

Page 17: Martha Stewart confesses her painful divorce in 1990 was a terrible thing and she hasn’t talked to ex-husband Andrew Stewart since but she bounced back from the pain and her infamous prison stint because she’s very strong and motivated to get on with life -- still Martha admits being dumped by her husband for another woman after 29 years of marriage nearly did her in -- Martha also reveals serving five months in West Virginia in 2004 on a federal insider stock trading rap was a struggle but she got through it by working on her arts and crafts 

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Don Lemon 

* Dolly Parton pulled no punches when discussing her longtime romance with Carl Dean dishing she and her husband have been together for 57 years and married for 54 and she’s sick of him and she’s sure he’s sick of her -- the couple have rarely been seen in public together and she says their marriage succeeds because she stays gone and they’re not in each other’s faces all the time 

* Miley Cyrus says she’s mastered the art of staying safe during lockdown love and it’s by having online sex -- she said the safest sex in these COVID-crazy times is the virtual kind and that’s where Miley has been hooking up

Page 21: Cover Story -- Thanks for the Memories -- tribute to the stars we loved and lost in 2020 

Page 22: Alex Trebek 

Page 23: Kobe Bryant and daughter Gianna, Kelly Preston 

Page 24: Kirk Douglas, Sean Connery 

Page 25: Olivia de Havilland, Chadwick Boseman 

Page 26: Robert Conrad, Naya Rivera 

Page 27: Regis Philbin 

Page 28: Kenny Rogers, Roy Horn 

Page 29: Eddie Van Halen, Little Richard 

Page 36: Health Report -- eating bread can toast your brain 

Page 38: Ghostbusters icon Dan Aykroyd has turned into a ghoulish recluse who rarely leaves his $25 million Martha’s Vineyard estate where he’s now eerily planning his own funeral -- the bizarre 68-year-old appears perfectly healthy yet he spooks around in his bed clothes muttering about who he wants to officiate at his memorial service and the goodies the chef should serve at the wake -- the curious thing is he appears to be in no danger of dropping dead anytime soon and he’s sturdy as a horse which is surprising given the cigars and the vodka and the big meals he enjoys -- Dan’s wife of 37 years Donna Dixon has gotten used to her husband’s ghoulish monologues

* Bob Dylan sold his extensive back catalog of more than 600 songs including Blowin’ in the Wind and Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door to Universal Music in a blockbuster deal topping $300 million 

Page 40: Patrick Stewart confesses he’s been furious all his life and he’s still seeing a shrink to control his rage -- he reveals he’s burned with rage inside since childhood when he witnessed his dad’s violence against his mom and he had to suppress all that anger -- at age 14 he feared he’d explode and kill his headmaster when he caned him and later he worried he’d hurt his two children with first wife Sheila Falconer in a fit of fury and now at age 80 it’s still there so he sees a therapist every week 

Page 44: Straight Talk -- The Weeknd has his nose out of joint because he wasn’t nominated for any Grammys this year and he claims he’s being snubbed because he’ll be starring on the February 7 Super Bowl halftime show a week after the Grammys 

Page 45: Jeffrey Epstein’s accused madam Ghislaine Maxwell is a paranoid mess losing her hair and wasting away in federal prison where she’s terrified shadowy forces have marked her for death -- the shrinking British socialite who denies recruiting and grooming underage girls for Epstein’s twisted lust is charged with sex trafficking minors as she rots in Brooklyn’s Metropolitan Detention Center awaiting trial next year 

Page 47: Bizarre But True 

[emptymanuscript]

One way to REname a character with internal story logic

I want to talk a moment about Zephyr.

Not the wind.

My character. 

(He wishes he was this tough) Not even really the person but his NAME itself, Zephyr, and how it changed.

One of the things I don’t mention too much just to avoid trouble is how extremely different Knights of Day is now compared to how it was originally. At its early height, Knights of Day peaked at 4 authors. The goal was in no way to publish or publicize any of it. It wasn’t even really meant to be any sort of cohesive story. Or even to consist of cohesive stories rather than “adventures” for fun. I’m not even sure I can tell you WHAT it was. It wasn’t quite a piece of fiction, it wasn’t quite a table top rpg, it wasn’t quite rp’ing. It was just its own behemoth of a thing that included all of those. Compared to 1 book and 1 book in progress now.

Case in point: Fun Adventure #3 was ~

Kinda John Edward but real & real evil

Set up: Most Mediums are terrible people who fake their powers to rip victims off when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable. Because when you’ve just irrevocably lost one of the most important people in your life you’ll pay anything or do anything for the even the illusion of getting them back.

What if: Imagine someone who can really do everything they say they can do… but they’re still a terrible predator trying to take advantage of people when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable - they just have more power to make it even worse.

Mission: Save young suddenly widowed mega-rich heiress Helena Lawson from real Medium but still conniving con-man Kenton Dean. Because the greedy, racist, no goo Ted Lawson doesn’t want Kenton Dean to get the money instead of himself. And Ted is willing to pay exorbitantly to make sure it doesn’t. So James and Zeferrello are tasked with finding any reason to separate Helena and Kenton.

Twist: Yeah, Kenton Dean CAN summon and control the dead but it’s so much worse than that. He can summon and control the GOD of the dead. Assuming, of course, that all of this isn’t the god of the dead actually controlling Kenton Dean for its own purposes.

Which Became The Hidden and the Maiden. But instead of a climactic conflict between James, Zephyr, Kenton Dean, and Kherty-Aken decided by force, force of will, and clever use of all magic available inside the seat of Kenton Dean’s power, his theater, “Kinda John Edward but real & real evil” ended with a mildly tense chat between James and Zefferello versus Kherty Aken just kinda hanging out, tensely, next to an ambulance. James points out that Kenton Dean has reprogrammed Kherty Aken like a computer to just believe all this BS. Kherty Aken realizes, Oh Shi-! he’s right, and flys away. Next day, paper says Kenton Dean is dead. So the general idea is there but just not at all the same when you look close.

As an aside, this is by the way why most writing teachers dismiss ‘ideas’ as the least important element of story telling. One version of this ‘idea’ I stuff under a rug and pretend doesn’t exist. The other I sell in paperback for $10 a pop. If the fundamental idea hasn’t changed really, why the vast difference in price? Because of the execution. And if execution is more than infinitely greater in effect 0 -> 10 why bother putting that much effort into the idea when, even if you only go to 5 through execution, that will have more effect than any idea will. I am not 100% convinced by this line of reasoning but it’s not meritless either. A bad idea well written will just get more in the marketplace of ideas than a good idea poorly written. A bad idea badly written is doomed. A good idea well written may or may not do as well as the mediocrity. So, I disagree that it is of zero importance but I do think it is certainly not the most important element for 3/4’s of all story types. Ok, that’s another post, enough asides.

The real thing I’m actually thinking about is the Zefferello to Zephyr change. Zefferello was Zephyr’s original name. The author who created the original character said specifically her thoughts were that she had never had any character under any situation whose name started with Z. So she wanted a Z character and she plucked the rest out of thin air because. And because it didn’t matter, that was cool enough. So he was Zefferello for the first few years of life. No particular reason why. Never mind that nothing in any back round of anything anywhere would give Zefferello as a name.

It was only as I was moving from the first to the second draft of The Hidden and the Maiden that it was really bothering me about this Korean-American dude with the abusive Super Whitey Mega Rich father, the utterly absent and possibly dead Korean Trophy Wife mother, and the abusive DID having ghost but still white mother. Why would any of them give him that name?

Well, the father might do it just to torture his son throughout life. He’s that kind of asshole. As little as he is in it, I actually think of Zephyr’s father as the Antagonist for Knights of Day because he is just pure dagnasty evil because he likes it. He may not appear most on the page or wield the most power - partially because he’s just not my favorite kind of villain, at all, his side-kicks is way more my speed - but there’s no denying he does the most damage. BUT, the father is also very image conscious. Part of what he likes is doing terrible things while other people praise him for it. For making people suffer but having no one believe them because he is such a paragon of virtue. One of his side kicks actually got James to just start punching him toward the end because he kept talking about what a saint Zephyr’s father was and all the haters just didn’t understand what a wonderful person he was and how hard he worked when he never had to to improve the life of others. If I recall correctly James literally held a knife on the guy and pointing to Zephyr: ‘you had to fucking know what that motherfucker was doing to him! You evil lying sack of fucking shit!’ So… torture wasn’t going to work for a reason.

So I’m looking for any great people in history with the name Zefferello. Nope. Nada. Is it by some miracle a Korean name that Eun Ae Gwon might have given him? Nope. No dice. And slowly all eyes  turn to JJ. JJ is nuts. There’s no getting around it. But I’m rarely happy with that as an explanation. Especially with JJ because most of what she does that SEEMS nuts, isn’t. The fundamental rule I made for JJ fairly early on is that she is ALWAYS up to something. She is playing every angle. She is working every leverage. She is a survivor in a way that most people will never be. She’s dead and she is still playing to win. So she will do things that appear unreasonable at point A in time in order to increase her odds of getting what she wants in point B in time.

And I’m looking at that name. That ello. That’s sounds latinate to me. And masculine. I already knew Zefferello’s real name at this point, and it had a Jr. at the end and I started wondering if maybe, just maybe, JJ gave Zefferello a different Jr. name. A name for the father that she wished Zefferello had. Instead of the one he did. He’s hers, and what better to claim a baby she would never hold than to rename him into a family that she wanted to exist but never did. That’s very JJ.

At which point I’m reviewing JJ’s history. It’s sparse-ish at that time. But I know when she got pregnant and I know more or less what happened to her from that point until she died. And there’s nothing in there to hint at a Zefferello Sr. But… there were already some hints about there maybe being a Zefferella. And of course that’s not a name either. But fiddle with the spelling and drop the “el” sound and you do get a Greek female name: Zephyra \

And that was the lightning bolt of inspiration and change. That JJ’s second and last love of her life was a fellow prostitute named Zephyra, and IF JJ could rewrite reality to be anything she wanted then her son would also be Zephyra’s - that they would be the family unit and the other would be the ghostly illusion. And with Zephyra as a real name, I also had a male equivalent: Zephyr. Sounds similar but much more plausible that he might somehow obtain it. Plus, with the idea of Zephyra, his name also becomes a key to unlocking tons of emotion and backstory.

And you’ll know it’s important the second that this repressed little guy walking around giving out the name of Zephyr Wayne, shamefully cringe-admits that his legal name is Peter Bailey Jr. That that exists at all says that there is a story to find down in there and that it isn’t a simple one.

So that’s one to rewrite a name based on the internal logic of a story. Zephyr’s name was researched and found but never picked out of a name directory. It was back-engineered to tell the story I wanted to tell and avoid the random story I didn’t. By following the logic that might lead to a name like his, I was able to find the one I thought was right for him.

And, since the original Cup Bearer was one of the winds, that also worked to my advantage… though it is generally considered the wrong wind. Oy. Which I’ll probably just end up deleting because Zephyr’s name is better for a story hook than anything I made with Thulebelore being the General of the Western Winds.

If you actually got here. Wow. Thank you. If you ever want to solicit writing advice, dropping a question in my ask prompts me better than whatever happens to occur randomly to my head. So, you know, that’s there.

[apparitionism]

Propagator 6

For those who aren’t acquainted with Ballet AU, I invite you to see the full story, as recounted in @notallwonder​ ‘s beautiful “program” for the AU—I’ve reblogged it so that it will precede this post. It all started with a manip by @amatterofcomplication, and then everything got pretty crazy. For those who ARE acquainted with it, and with Propagator in particular (it’s the ninth in a series of stories in which Helena is a ballet dancer and Myka is an engineer—my contribution to the larger AU situation), you may or may not recall, given how long ago its first five parts appeared (easily findable via search or archive on my tumblr), that previously in Propagator, Myka and Helena had gone to Hawaii, on a “honeymoon,” to deal with some issues that arose as a result of Helena’s surgery and rehab. They’re working it out.

Propagator 6

As it turns out, no one is bored—so much so that for quite some length of time, Helena doesn’t remember which side of the bed is right and which is wrong.

But as night deepens, as she now drowses on Myka’s right (and thus wrong) shoulder, she does feel a disorientation. Her own right arm had always tucked easily beneath her, on the other side; here, her left does not know how to fit itself so as not to lose all sensation. She shifts, and in response, Myka inhales, as if about to speak. “What?” Helena breathes out.

Myka offers a little shrug of her far shoulder, over in that space that is no longer Helena’s. “So I have this confession,” she says.

Disoriented physically, and now philosophically too; Helena should never be anyone’s confessor. “I absolve thee from thy sins,” she says. “Will that do, or must you tell me?”

Myka chuckles. That moves both her shoulders. “No, no, it’s not bad. Well. A little bad?” And she goes on to narrate a tale in which before they left home, she had set up an appointment. For tomorrow morning with surfers at dawn to talk about wetsuit materials and construction because she had not been sure what this trip was about and she had thought she should try to do something work-related so if nothing else they could write some of it off their taxes but of course now that she and Helena have—and Helena kisses her, for she is not ready for Myka to narrate what just happened. What their situation is now, how it differs. Leave it as difference, better difference, just for now. “You know you’ve always been training me to overexplain, when you kiss me like that if I do,” Myka says after a moment.

Helena smiles. “It’s all right. Meet your surfers. I’ll get up when you do and try the sunrise yoga class.”

“You’ll what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t quite believe my ears though. Have you ever done anything at sunrise other than roll over and mumble about every dwelling needing blackout curtains?”

“Set your alarm,” Helena directs, for now she is determined. Now she will get up at dawn for yoga, whatever modified version she can manage, or die in the attempt... well, no, that’s overdramatic. But it seems important to do something that Myka finds difficult to believe. To show her that anything is possible, even from Helena.

In the morning they do, however improbably, both rise at the same still-dark hour, and Helena would like to be able to say that she feels rested despite that—how romantic, to profess “I slept better than I have in months”—but that would be a lie. Practice: when Myka mumbles “Did you sleep,” Helena answers, “Not really.”

“Go try it now,” Myka suggests. “Those windows do have blackout curtains. And if you want me to cancel, I will.”

“Why would I want you to cancel?”

“You might have changed your mind.” Myka says this with a funny little note in her voice.

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No...” Myka says, and Helena kisses her for the hesitation; Myka amends, “But maybe yes? We don’t need the tax write-off that bad.”

The swell of love Helena feels at such a banal statement embarrasses her. It makes her push Myka away. Gently, but even so. “Go find your sunrise surfers,” she says. “Ask them why they refuse to surf at a reasonable hour.”

“Something to do with the tide? Or more likely the tourists. Which is to say, us, so in a weird way, it’s our own dumb fault.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“In my opinion, it’s our own dumb fault.” She smiles. Helena smiles back.

****

Helena finds the yoga class... instructive. This surprises her.

The morning begins misty, gray, with sea heavy in the air, there to be tasted. Breathing in and breathing out is difficult, wet work. Their group is quiet, content to watch and breathe and wait.

Then it happens: the gray gives way to an insinuation of blue, lighter, then lighter still, until everyone at once inhales; as one, they see that the blue tease has become a wash of pink, that the volcanic ridges have taken on a band of light that thickens by the second, and that that in turn is thinning the air. One state, then a perfect balance between that and what comes next, and then, like a miracle, that next. Helena’s body cannot do that anymore. She had not known it for the miracle it was, when she could do it, and for one wild moment she is possessed by the idea of taking one great inhale, flinging herself into a jeté, and suffering the consequences.

Instead she raises her arms, as directed.

Helena is no yogi; she cannot posture and breathe her way to good. But while she may not be enlightened, she is trying to be pragmatic: being mindful is likely to get her farther than not being mindful will. She is trying to be pragmatic, and she is trying to be mindful. She is also trying to breathe as instructed, to balance, and to pay salutations to the sun.

At a certain point she considers attempting trikonasana, bent over her right leg, but her daughter’s voice introduces itself into her head: “I don’t think you should do that, Mama.” That that voice should even here, even now, be her best advisor... Helena sighs and modifies the pose.

They face the water now, and the sun rises behind and beside them. A tight fold of cynicism within Helena is measuring itself against this symbol of beginning, perversely trying to match its power. In this mindful moment, cynicism’s attempt is failing.

****

“You’ll laugh,” Myka says, hours later, as she hauls her beach-damp and somewhat grumpy self back into the hotel room. She sets her similarly damp notebook down on the dining table, then fetches a towel from the bathroom. Helena watches all this with no idea why it’s meant to be funny.

“At your vain attempt to salvage your leather portfolio cover?”

“You should. My soggy notes. But actually at the fact that one of the surfers was very interested to hear about you. She herself isn’t a ballet fan, she made sure to tell me.”

“Then why—”

“But her girlfriend is. And two years ago, when we were here, they went to see you dance. On their first date.”

“Their first date.”

“I know. Even if she made it up, it’s still pretty sweet.”

“She certainly divined exactly how to get to you. I presume you’ll now be constructing for her a custom wetsuit?” Helena says this with a patina of jealousy.

Myka rejects the artifice with a shrug and a “you never know.” She had worn her hair up in a twist as a shield against the morning’s moisture; now she takes out the tie and shakes her head. The tight, wet curls suggest that the intended barrier was not respected. Myka touches her hair and sighs, presumably at her vain attempts to control any and all parts of her person and possessions, but then she begins to smile. “I might come up with something for the girlfriend. She teaches at Ballet Hawaii, a ‘Ballet Princess Camp’ for little kids, up to six years old. Junior would’ve loved it. They have ballet classes and also tea parties.”

“Tea parties? Our daughter would laugh derisively. She would have, even two years ago.”

“You’re mistaking her for you. She would’ve loved it, because it was ballet.” Myka collapses into an armchair. She closes her eyes. “Which isn’t to say she wouldn’t have criticized the quality of the tea at said parties.”

“Now you’re mistaking her for me.”

“Easier to do, every day. The both of you were all I kept thinking about, anyway... you, for obvious reasons, but also I was thinking that Junior really should learn to surf. The exhilaration—she’d lose her balance and shriek and fall right into that ocean with no fear at all and then haul that long body of hers up on the board again and love it. Or maybe she’d be perfection up there, standing all tall, and she’d decide on the spot to become a pro surfer instead of a dancer. Or she’d come face to face with a sea turtle and take up marine biology...” She trails off, cracks open an eyelid.

“Is something the matter?”

“I was sort of expecting you to kiss me to stop me talking at some point.”

Helena notes aloud that she was very recently instructed by Myka herself not to reward her for overexplaining; Myka tells her that intermittent rewards are even more effective reinforcements than expected rewards are, that this has been established by more experiments than there are stars in the sky, that they have no doubt created all kinds of behaviors inadvertently in Junior “because of this selective reinforce—” are the last syllables she manages in this overexplanation, before Helena gives in, goes to her, and leans down to kiss her.

Then Helena says, “The baby as a marine biologist, or as a surfer, that’s a bit more pleasant to consider than the primary way she was on my mind: I imagined her reprimanding me. Still, we are extremely stereotypical parents.”

“I think that isn’t true at all. Have you met us?”

“Perhaps not as people. But as parents.” Helena is sure this is true.

“Even that,” Myka disputes. “How was yoga, anyway?”

“I heeded the reprimand,” Helena says, as boast and confession, for disentangling achievements and failures is impossible.

Myka tugs on her hand. “It’s okay. You saw a sunrise.”

That afternoon, they at last go to the water together. Helena expects Myka to complain, but she does not: instead, she picks up shells; she exclaims at the sight of a goose; she even constructs a sculpture—an abstract rendering of a castle?—out of sand. Helena has no idea what it is meant to signify, but she takes a picture of Myka kneeling proudly next to it.

“Do you remember the first beach we went to?” Helena asks her strangely happy wife.

That first beach was in Oregon, on a cold November afternoon, overcast, gray and dark everywhere, a drastic contrast to today. Myka had been sullen, resistant—also marking today as a drastic contrast—but their relationship had been so new that Helena had had no way of knowing how typical that beach-related bad humor was. Helena had cajoled, and Myka had given in, but her resultant glower certainly fit with the wind and weather.

Those layers of gloom had left Helena unprepared for the jolt of beauty that was Myka against water. The wind had whipped Myka’s hair in a disastrous mess across her face, and Helena had thought herself accustomed to beauty, and to Myka, and to the way the latter embodied the former, but that sight... Myka so somber as to skirt parody, like a moody rock star posing for photographs, as she regarded the breakers and braced her body against the wind...

Helena had let her right foot perform an ecstatic little battement, with Myka’s resentful body her barre.

Myka must have felt it, for she said, “You just want to live in a ballet, don’t you?”

“You’ve never seemed to dislike the idea. Or have you forgotten how this romance began? ‘The Ballerina and Her Engineer’ may lack a full orchestral score, but—”

“I think you mean ‘The Engineer and Her Ballerina.’” Myka had shaken her curls, as if she’d known that action would strike Helena dumb, and she’d turned to look out over the ocean once again, her expression now wry rather than surly.

Helena wishes she had a photo of that moment but is glad she doesn’t. It could never have captured the shift in mood, nor the physical surge from chill to warmth that followed as Myka turned and cupped her hands over Helena’s cold-raw ears: the resultant roar seemed some right and full chorus of the sea, the fanfare of Myka’s face, and Helena’s own raucous, jubilant heart.

“You should’ve worn a hat,” Myka had whispered under the wind, a chastisement slipped into one of Helena’s sorry ears.

“I don’t have a hat,” Helena had told her, and thus it became an intimacy: “You should’ve worn a hat,” Myka would say, with slight or even no apparent provocation, and “I don’t have a hat,” Helena would answer. They did that once in front of Steve and Liam, and Steve, perplexed, asked, “Why would Helena wear a hat to go out for ice cream in the middle of August?” and Liam groaned, “Oh god, it’s code for something,” and Myka looked at Helena, and Helena looked at Myka, and they nodded at Liam, and Myka told Steve not to worry about it, that she’d said it only because Helena looked sad about having made the unfortunate discovery that her butter pecan didn’t seem to have enough pecans to suit her.

That had set Helena laughing—because it was exactly what she had discovered—and Liam always found her laughter contagious, so there they stood, on a sidewalk in the late steam of an August evening, Liam braying, Helena chortling, Steve clearly working hard to establish a conceptual link between hats and pecans, while Myka calmly ate her sugar-free ice cream, then took Helena’s disappointing cup from her and, making a deadpan point, delicately spooned the pecan pieces out of it, one by one, and ate them herself, bit by tiny bit, in a performance so lengthy that Helena had had to concede that she hadn’t looked hard enough and promised to be more diligent in the future.

“I remember that you should’ve worn a hat,” Myka says now.

“I don’t have a hat,” Helena says in response.

Myka smiles, then squints into the sun, the shine angling brighter and brighter as more and more of it moves below the ocean horizon. Tourists surround them, but Helena’s ears are filled by the waves, their sound more gentle lap than crash. A weak breeze tries and fails to persuade Myka’s hair to move.

Nearly fifteen years have passed since that first beach, but Helena is still rendered helpless by the sight of Myka against water.

****

“That was boring,” Myka says.

They are back in the suite, after their beach afternoon, followed by their first meal outside the hotel—outside the hotel room—and they have just had what Helena has to agree was spectacularly uninteresting sex.

“I’d even call it rote,” Myka now says, and she sounds overjoyed.

Helena is looking down her body at Myka’s head, halfway down the bed. They have defaulted to their traditional sides; clearly, the switch is going to take some time to become habitual.

“Just some normal night,” Myka goes on, “you with no performance, me with an early meeting...”

“Don’t tell me you have yet more surfers.”

“Okay, me with no meeting. Still, that was pretty by-the-book. Process and result.”

Helena puts her right hand into Myka’s hair. The humidity has made it spring dramatically. Myka always bemoans humidity’s effect, but Helena would never complain about the additional tangle; now, abraded by salt, it has softened, too.

They’d left the lights on. Helena can see clearly the hair she is petting, and she finds one glistening gray-white strand, then two, three. More. “So much silver...” she says. “Are those my fault?”

“As if you’re my only stressor.”

“Don’t diminish me,” Helena remonstrates, matching Myka’s tease.

“I’m not. I’m elevating Junior. You’re the one who says we’re stereotypical parents.”

“Hoist by my own. I suppose you win.”

“That’s what I like best.”

“I know you don’t like Hawaii, so thank you—again—for this. Particularly this day.” The sunrise, the water...

“I’m the fool who said I’d go wherever you wanted. You were just honest.”

Helena, lying on her back, must tilt slightly left, away from trouble. Myka, who is resting to the side of Helena’s right hip, appears now to be staring directly at the doubled scar, and Helena wonders whether she is doing that on purpose. Myka kisses the disfigurement. Conclusion: yes.

Helena anticipates a prickle of anger within herself at this aggressive proving. It doesn’t come.

Once Helena had no longer needed active assistance with wound care, she hadn’t wanted Myka to look, to see, to be reminded of the existence of the... cuts. Helena has been the one to work them, flex them, apply the mess of vitamin E serum to them. She supposes she had on some level understood that they would not go away, no matter her diligence. But she supposes also that she had on another level hoped that Myka would not notice them. Even in her head, it sounds preposterous. Yet the evidence of these few days, that Myka is not put off by her appearance, has been a relief that Helena hadn’t known she had tensed herself against never feeling.

And the absence of anger within her, now, as Myka is demonstrating that she is not put off, is yet another relief.

“It’s a rugged look,” Myka says. “I kind of like it.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that.”

“As dance damage goes, it’s actually a lot more aesthetically pleasing than your feet.”

“Pardon me for causing wear and tear to the tools of my trade.” Helena is sure that her saying of such words even a week ago would have led them to stop speaking to each other entirely. “If you engineers used slide rules these days, yours would no doubt be a sorry mess.”

“Mm. Falling apart. And I could’ve bought a new one, just like you and your hip.”

“I suspect there would have been far less rehabilitation involved. And it wouldn’t have necessitated alteration of your preferred beach attire.”

“Well, no, not when you consider that my preferred beach attire is none.”

Helena feels free to pout. “I wish you meant that the way it sounds, instead of ‘none, because I would prefer never to be near a beach.’”

“And yet here I am in Hawaii, and all day today I’ve done a reasonably good impression of somebody who’s perfectly happy to go to beaches all the time. Even with those crazy surfers.”

“Is the wetsuit situation interesting?” An instant after Helena asks, she realizes that this is the first normal, conversational question she has asked Myka about her work in a very long time. Helena doesn’t understand Myka’s work, not as it extends beyond ballet costuming, and not even that, in a structural sense; she has no real hope that she ever will. But Myka loves it. And Helena is self-centered, to be sure, but she also has made conversation with her wife for a decade and a half.

“The wetsuit situation is interesting,” Myka says, and she sounds just as overjoyed about making conversation as she did about routine intimacy. Helena feels given a gift. “Also, I forgot to mention, I fell off a surfboard.”

“I didn’t realize you would be surfing.”

“‘Surfing’ isn’t even vaguely what I was doing. But I was told that I couldn’t understand the impact unless I’d felt it myself.”

“And?”

“Surfers, it turns out, are soothsayers in the most literal sense. Because having felt it myself, I understand now that there’s a spiritual component.”

“To the impact.”

“Which I did not understand till I’d felt it. Anyway, by the end of that, my ‘perfectly happy’ impression started slipping a little. But speaking of perfectly happy, I’d be perfectly happy with you still wearing that string bikini you used to be so fond of. Perfectly happy.”

Helena feels free also to say, “I wouldn’t.”

“I see that. You could wear a wetsuit, and I’d be perfectly happy with that too. They’re going to be really great wetsuits, by the way, if they work out like I think. Way less spiritual on the impact. Pillow-soft.” She kisses at the scar site again, with just that softness, then clearly decides that she has soothed sufficiently; her tone turns jaunty. “You could always say you got ’em in a knife fight!”

“A knife fight in which my attacker gifted me with an extremely expensive metallic ball-and-socket joint?”

“Maybe it was your trophy for winning the knife fight.”

“I don’t feel as if I won the knife fight.”

Myka kisses Helena’s hip yet again. “Well, then, maybe I did.”

Some path forward: Myka won the fight.

They are almost asleep, both of them. The lag between their utterances increases.

“You did win,” Helena says.

“What I like best.” A long pause. “Also you.”

“What?”

“What I like best.”

“I do too,” Helena tells the miraculous woman who lies next to her. Lies next to her and is her wife. Is still her wife.

“What?” asks that miraculous woman, after a time.

And Helena responds, after a similar time, “You.”

****

You’d thought you were going to miss Mama and Mom so bad all the time, but you really don’t have time to miss them, except when you’re thinking about them. You’re supposed to Skype with them “at some point,” and Skyping reminds you of when Mama would be gone on tour. You and Mom would be home by yourselves, and Mom would make you a calendar for counting down the days till Mama came home, and she was almost as excited as you, every day, when you put a big X through a box to mean that day was over and you were one day closer to seeing Mama in person again. And Mom was always even more excited than you when it was time to put the big X through the last box. You almost would rather wait to talk to them until it’s time for them to come home and you’ve put your own big X through your own last box—because you’ve made your own calendar—and they’re back where they’re supposed to be.

Anyway Aunt Tracy and Sam have had lots of plans, and Uncle Liam and Uncle Steve, and Grandma and Grandpa, and you even have already had a visit with Aunt Amanda and Pete too, at the pool where Aunt Amanda was coaching and you got to swim and Pete said he was no champ like Amanda but he thought you were pretty good and you could probably be Aquawoman even though you don’t have hair as long as Jason Momoa’s. You explained that you would, maybe, by now, except for you had lice a while ago when it was going around, and Pete said that he never had lice but he almost had rabies once so you are practically disease twins.

And on top of all that there is school and ballet. You are a very busy person.

On the fourth day, you’re watching Aunt Tracy make dinner. Aunt Tracy is a very good cook—better than Mom, even, and of course Mama doesn’t know anything about cooking, but you two are exceptional at ordering delivery together, and you can’t remember whether Mama had said that to you first or you said it to her, but now you always say it to her when you’re getting the stack of menus out of the menu drawer, and she always laughs and says “That is correct, my darling daughter”—and Aunt Tracy says you can help at a certain point but not yet. She tells you to make conversation with Sam, because she doesn’t want Sam’s help at all ever.

You make conversation by asking Sam what she’s working on dancing in now, and Sam says that it’s Raymonda, and you say that Mama did that three or two years ago you think, and Sam says she knows that, because everybody keeps looking at her and shaking their heads like she’s a non-Helena-fantastic-Wells disappointment, but you don’t believe her. Then Sam asks about Mama’s rehab and is she okay with it, because she looks pretty good walking around, and you tell her about how Mama really can walk close to almost like normal but she can’t dance like normal, even though she keeps trying. Trying so hard.

Sam gets a funny look her face. “Trying so hard,” she says, and you can’t tell if she’s talking to you. Then she is talking to you; she says, “So she wants to dance.”

You give Sam the same look that your friend Esme gave you that one time when you asked if she ever wanted to eat peanut butter even though she can’t have it because she’s allergic.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam tells you.

“What look?” you say, even though you know exactly. You also know that it was a good idea not to say “duh” to Sam like Esme had said to you, when you asked about the peanut butter.

Sam just shakes her head. “Does she really want to dance?” she asks.

“She can’t.”

“Everybody can dance, kid.”

“No she can’t. Not now.” It’s true, and Mama hates it and you hate it too, but it has to be okay, because if it isn’t, how can anything ever be okay again? And you think of a reason for maybe why it’s okay. “You know what, Sam? Mom can’t dance either. She never could.”

Now Sam smiles. “Dancing’s just another word for pineapples, a lot of the time. Dancing’s another word for a lot of things.”

You sort of give up trying to make sense of what Sam says.

Aunt Tracy says, “Shouldn’t it be that dancing represents pineapples?” and you give up there too. Then she says that she’d like you to please come and stir the curry if you can be careful and not splatter the entire kitchen with turmeric because she is not a fan of orange cabinets, and you concentrate so hard on making sure what’s in the pan stays there that you forget the whole thing.

Except for how weird it is that everybody keeps talking about pineapples for no reason.

****

Sam’s been thinking, ever since Junior talked about Helena fucking Wells wanting to dance. Thinking hard. Actually, being real, she’s been thinking hard for a while, but then Junior said it out loud... so when she and Tracy are alone in bed that night (sort of alone; Sam hadn’t ever had to consider how a kid snoozing one room away basically means never being alone) she takes her hard thinking and tries to put it on a plate. “So I have this... I don’t know. Sort of an idea. It’ll probably fuck everything up worse.”

Tracy tilts her head against Sam’s. “Sounds great so far.”

Sam can hear a half-smile in that, but she forges ahead anyway. “I want you and the kid to meet a guy I know.”

“That doesn’t seem bad at all.”

“He’s a choreographer.” Sam figures that might on its own be enough to initiate the fuck-up.

“Of...?”

Okay, apparently not quite. “Modern, mostly. He was a dancer himself, forever ago, but he started choreographing because of his mom. She was a dancer, but then she lost a leg. And his deal was that she should keep dancing.”

“Did she?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t. Sad fucking situation. But anyway he’s really interested in befores and afters. Of bodies.”

“I don’t quite get it,” Tracy says.

This annoys Sam. Why would Tracy be dense about this? “My point is, you’re smart and you’ll know how to talk to him.”

“Talk to him about what?”

Could she be doing this on purpose? “I swear to god. About Helena fucking Wells! How is that not obvious?”

“But why would you want me to... wait. He’s a choreographer. Interested in befores and afters of bodies?”

Thank god. “Right. Basically. I mean it’s way more fucking complicated than that. I danced for him this one time, as a favor, and I swear to god he would not shut the fuck up about the reason for this and the reason for that. The best fucking thing about ballet is that as long as your lines are right, nobody gives much of a fuck about reasons, so if you—”

Tracy commands, “Sameen, stop,” and Sam does. Then Tracy asks, “Are you really saying that you think he should work with Helena? Make something for her... her, now? That he would want to?”

Sam would hate that she responded so immediately to such a command, if it had come from anybody else, but she never seems to have any choice about these reactions to Tracy. And she doesn’t hate it. So what else could she have done? “No. I’m saying that I think you and Junior should meet him first so you can tell me if she’d baseline want to kill him. If you think he’s one of those people like me, who she instantly hates. I mean I can tell you up front, he’s nothing like me. Except he’s short. Really fucking short.”

“Short like you? That is really short.” Tracy’s tone is muse-y, flirty, and it drives Sam crazy.

“Shut up,” she says, pointlessly. “Are you gonna meet him or not?”

Tracy kisses her. And it’s in that intense thank-you way, so Sam is fairly happy with the initial result of the idea. She wonders how Tracy might kiss her if this thing manages to work out somehow. Maybe, if Helena dances, Sam and Tracy can go to Hawaii themselves on some post-Helena-fucking-Wells-is-dancing-again honeymoon.

Sam wants to smack herself for even starting to think the thought that any of this might actually happen—the working out somehow, the dancing, the honeymooning. She tells herself she’d better shut that thought down right fucking fast.

But not before she thinks about it just a little more.

TBC

****

Reblogging notallwonder’s astonishingly lovely program led me to reflect on the remarkable constellation of talents and enthusiasts who’ve made up the Bering and Wells community over these several years. That history has been on my mind lately, due to a dustup on Twitter. It’s a good reminder to say over here, out loud, that I remember it and value it and am so grateful to have been, and to continue to be, a part of it at all.