Once upon a time there was a woman. Most know her as Lost, or Nel, or Nellie. She writes fic. She reads. She's in love with Robert Carlyle. She ships a lot of things. She's a foodie, and works in a kitchen store. Chocolate is as necessary as air. Jane Eyre is her favorite book. She is Queer, Pansexual, Cis, a Wiccan, a feminist, a dog lover, an Anglophile. A few other favorite things include: Leverage, Blacklist, Once Upon a Time, Anyelle, Criminal Minds, Doctor Who (Classic and New) Jossverse, Hustle, Disney, Jane Austen, Aaron Sorkin, and too many shows to name.
i think it’s important to get deeply emotionally unironically involved in a bad piece of media whilst fully aware that it objectively sucks ass. like for your health or whatever
Learning to delete/mute/block before a negative comment takes root in your mind is a modern survival skill. If you're going to wander the overgrown countryside of the internet, you need to develop a quick eye for ticks.
It's deeply tempting to respond to the "well, actually," to the cruel assumption, to the unjust accusation, to the odious viewpoint. It's tempting because you're defaulting to the etiquette of dinner conversation. This isn't a dinner conversation. Someone is shouting at you from a moving car. Turn away.
ghostbusters are always like who are you gunna call? ghostbusters! but it’s hard enough to call the doctor’s office i’m not gunna call the ghostbusters i’d just live with a ghost in my house forever
Two Comedians Walk into a Hotel Room (Midge/Lenny)
I dusted off a half finished Marvelous Mrs. Maisel fic in anticipation of the new season starting up. PG-13, fade to black,
Midge, Lenny, and a tiny Italian hotel room with only one bed.
II
“You can have the bed, I’ll take the…” Lenny looked at the room that was so small it didn’t even have a spot for a chair
“Bathtub?” Midge suggested wryly as she looked for a place to put her suitcase. “Don’t be silly, we can share. One of us is a gentleman.”
“I hope you mean you because that’s something I’ve never been accused of a day in my life. Also, there is no bathtub. I’m not even sure that qualifies as a shower so much as it’s a really tall sink.” Lenny stepped out of the bathroom, which was really more of an alcove with a curtain hung to separate it from the room.
“That’s okay, I don’t think this is a hotel room so much as it is a closet they just so happened to fit a bed in.” It was smaller than her closet, actually. She was going to have to put her suitcase on the bed to get anything out and squeeze it into the corner when she was done.
“I don’t think it’s a closet if there’s a window.” 'Window' was being generous, considering the size and the fact that it almost touched the ceiling and they couldn’t look out of it without standing on the chair they didn’t have.
“I don’t think it’s a bedroom if there’s not a closet.” What they were being charged for a closet was ridiculous.
“Two comedians walk into a closet and…”
“Heard that one. The punchline never works.” She tossed her suitcase on the bed, glad she’d left the bigger one in the car. “You can use the bathroom first.”
“No complaints if I use up all the hot water.” He ducked into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later in blue striped pajamas that looked far too normal to belong to him. She’d expected, well she didn’t know. But not blue cotton.
“Which side do you prefer?” It wasn’t a question she’d had to ask for almost a decade.
“Lady’s choice,” he said with a shrug.
“So now I have to be the lady and the gentleman?” she teased. “Take the farther side so I don’t have to crawl over you to get to bed.”
“I don’t know the best way to reply to that.” He sat at the edge of the bed and looked up at her with a strange earnestness that only existed between them in the quietest of moments. She knew it would be easy to brush off as a joke. It would be a lot more complicated to answer, and she was too exhausted for that. Instead she took her pajamas and robe into the bathroom to change. She stared in a cloudy mirror for a full minute before deciding to wash her face. She would worry about her makeup and hair in the morning; hopefully she’d be awake before Lenny.
“Don’t get lost on the way to bed,” Lenny half-whispered after she turned off the light.
“I think I can manage.” It took three steps before her shins hit the bed. She felt for the blanket, careful not to reach too far; they didn’t need any awkward situations. She was sharing a bed with Lenny. It would be a lie if she said she’d never thought of that before. It would be a lie if she thought this was how it would happen too. Just her luck that hotel rooms were in such high demand that they had to take what they could get. As it was they'd had to lie about being married to get the room they had. “What a day. Tomorrow has to be better, right?”
“Not now that you’ve jinxed it.” As her eyes adjusted to the light she could see that Lenny was lying on his side, facing away from her. She mimicked the pose, facing the door.
“Think the food is as good as the service here?” It occurred to her just how long ago dinner had been.
“I think room service is that vending machine in the lobby.”
“Great.” For a moment as she settled her foot touched the back of his leg. She pulled away. “You don’t snore, do you?”
“I don’t know, it’s been a while since I’ve stayed up late enough to try and catch myself sleeping.” The mattress moved a little as he shifted. “Night Midge.”
“Night Lenny.”
II
She woke up to singing. It took a minute to register what the noise was, and for it to sink in that Lenny was awake. He was awake and out of bed, and it was light enough out that any chance she’d had of sneaking out to do her hair and makeup before he got up was gone. Her face was bare, her hair flat, and she was wearing a nightgown chosen more for warmth than looks.
Midge did the only reasonable thing she could think of; she pulled the blankets over her head.
“Hate to break it to you but the sun actually is up. It’s not even hiding behind a cloud.”
“Are you always this cheerful in the morning? Not going to lie, morning person was about the last thing I would have assumed about you. Vampire is way higher on my list of possibilities.” She couldn’t just pretend to go to sleep, that was way too sensible.
“Can’t stand the taste of blood, unless it’s a Bloody Mary.” She could almost feel him shrugging. “I slept good last night. Weirdly good. Must be the company.”
“It certainly isn’t the bed.” There was a spring that she was certain was deliberately poking her in the middle of her back.
“I’ve slept on worse.” The end of the bed dipped down when he climbed over.
“I’m sure you have.” She’d been in worse beds too, though she couldn’t think of any.
“You really aren’t coming out of there, are you?”
“I’ll come out when you find the continental breakfast.” Maybe if she was lucky he’d doze off and she could get out of bed and do her face and hair. Or maybe he’d start poking her in the arm. “Hey.”
“I think there were some Swedish fish in the vending machine. That’s as close to continental as you’re going to get from this place.” He poked her again.
“Why did you do that?”
“Curious.” Another poke.
“It killed the cat, you know.”
“Not the worst thing to die from. I’ll take curiosity over complacency any day.”
“What are you curious about?” It was stuffy under the sheet and she was feeling vaguely ridiculous. Reluctantly she lowered the sheet to just below her chin.
“How to get you to do that.” He grinned at her. “Good morning.”
“Alright, where are you hiding the coffee? You can’t be this awake this early without caffeine.”
“Like I said, it must be the company.” He turned to his side, propping his head up on one arm. “Did you know this is the first time I’ve woken up in bed with anyone since my divorce?”
“Are you asking me to believe that Lenny Bruce hasn’t had sex in over two years?”
“I didn’t say that. I said I hadn’t woken up with anyone.”
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em?” she teased. She’d seen enough women waiting for him after shows, even when he ignored them.
“I’m not usually the one leaving.” For just a moment the smile on his face slipped, but it was back again so quickly that she might have thought she imagined the look in his eyes. She knew him just well enough, though, to know that there was a hell of a lot happening under the surface that he didn’t let most people see.
“I’m not going anywhere. After all you are the one with the car keys.” She gave him an easy out, if he wanted to dismiss everything with a joke. He didn’t take it.
“I’d almost forgotten how nice it was to wake up to someone else. You’re a hell of a looker, Midge. Had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming.”
“I think it was more likely to be a nightmare. I haven’t even combed my hair.” Self consciously she touched the side of her head, certain that without curlers it was a matted mess.
“You’re kidding me, right? You know most women would kill to look half as good as you do right now.”
“Lenny…” He usually played straight with her, sometimes even a little too honest when she was feeling vulnerable.
“Midge.” He pushed her hand away, his hand warm where it touched the side of her neck. “I’d offer to knock some sense into you, but if I stay in this bed any longer it won’t be for talking. As it is I’m hoping the water in the shower is cold, if that rusty pipe in the bathroom even is a shower.”
“A shower is probably a good idea.” They’d been dancing around each other for months. Years, maybe, but certainly since her second divorce and Florida. There had been a lot of almost moments, but none so close as sleeping in the same bed. If one of them didn’t move soon something was going to happen. Something would be a terrible idea.
Wouldn’t it?
“Yeah, it probably is.” His hand hadn’t moved.
“We probably have to check out soon.” She couldn’t even remember what the check-in desk had looked like, just a vague impression of an Italian voice.
“Not until noon.” The clock beside the bed said it was a little after eight.
“We have a show to do.” It was three weeks into a European tour, the first break she’d had since the disaster with Shy. There was a show every night, almost always in a new town.
“In thirteen hours.”
“Lenny…”
“Say the word, Midge, and I’ll go take that shower right now. If I’m lucky it’s spitting ice cubes. We can go find ourselves a place that makes pasta and spend a few hours playing tourist. We’ll stop someplace to get a postcard you can send to the kids. After tonight’s show we’ll head for the next place and they will probably have separate rooms.”
“I think I’d like to know what’s behind door number two.” It wasn’t just because they were both in the same bed. It wasn’t the way he was looking at her, though it certainly helped her confidence. She’d known for a long time that she and Lenny would end up at this point eventually, it was just a question of when. Now seemed like as good a time as any. Or maybe she was just tired of waiting for what she knew she wanted.
“Are you sure? I don’t know what this is, I never have known what it is, but what it’s not is a one-night stand.”
“Of course, it’s not. How can it be a one-night stand when it’s morning?” She smiled at him and hoped he knew her well enough to know that it wasn’t just a joke. She knew that taking this next step would change things. How she didn’t have a clue, but they would figure that out. Later.
“I guess I can’t ask if you’ll still respect me in the morning?”
“Who says I respect you now?” She did of course. She respected him as a comic, and more importantly as a man who fought passionately for what he believed in. She wondered how much he needed to hear right now. How much she dared to open up. “I don’t know what this is either, but I think we both know it’s something.
“Here’s to somethings.” He kissed her, the first time their lips had touched. Which was strange, considering that it was already one of the most intimate relationships she’d ever had. Lenny understood her in a way no one else ever could.
“Hey, you cheated. You brushed your teeth, and that’s not fair. I’m the only one with morning breath.”
“I’ll suffer,” he muttered before running his tongue along her lip, teasing her into opening her mouth. Not that it was hard work to get her to open for him.
It surprised her that he spent long minutes touching nothing more than her mouth and the side of her neck where his hand still rested. It was the slow and lazy kind of kissing she vaguely remembered from her pre-kid days when she and Joel had spent entire weekend mornings in bed, not dressing until time for lunch.
She didn’t want to think about Joel. She didn’t want to think. “That’s nice.”
“I’d like to think there’s potential for it to get nicer.”
“I’d like to think there’s potential for a lot less clothing.”
“That could probably be arranged, though there’s something to be said for retaining a little mystery.”
“You’re wearing blue cotton pajamas, Lenny. It could only get more mysterious if you took them off, not less. What’s wrong, you hiding something under there? You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Now that is definitely a trade worth considering. I’m still sorry I missed your first show, you know. I’ve heard stories…” He grinned at her, his hand not so subtly settling on one of her breasts.
“So have I. My favorite is the one where I was considered for a Playboy centerfold. You won’t believe where they wanted to place the microphone.” She hoped it was only a rumor. If it was true then she was offended that no one actually approached her. She wouldn’t have done it, probably, but just imagining her mother’s face made it worth considering.
“I have a few ideas.” Through the thin layer of cotton she could feel the warmth of his hand. The fact that he refused to move was driving her nuts.
“There are buttons, you know. If you undo them you could be touching the real thing.” Now that they had made a decision she practically itched to feel his hands. She’d certainly spent enough time looking at them and wondering if they would move as much across her skin as they did when he stood on stage. He had very expressive hands.
“This is just the warm-up act, I promise.” She was distracted enough by his mouth that she didn’t even notice him undoing the first button. By the time he’d freed the second one she’d figured out what he was doing.
“Warm-up act?” She asked when the kiss ended. He’d gotten the buttons undone almost to her waist.
“It’s eight-fifteen and we have to check out at noon. It’s not going to take that long to pack since we didn’t actually unpack last night. I figure that means we have a good three and a half hours before we have to get out of bed. Plenty of time to take things slow.”
“We’ve been taking things slow since Florida.”
“It’s been a lot longer than Florida.”
“I know.” She did now, but before Florida things had been confused, with Benjamin and Joel and in a completely different way Shy. She’d known that Lenny mattered, but hadn’t really understood until that night how much she mattered to him. “It was hard to leave that night, though.”
“It was hard to watch you go.” He pushed aside the worn cotton to reveal one breast, his fingers finally caressing her skin. He looked at her face, though. “It’s always hard to watch you leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She was glad he was still in Florida when the news that she wasn’t on Shy’s tour had hit. It had been a month until he’d come back to the city, and she’d licked the worst of her wounds by then, and suffered the worst of her parents’ well-meaning advice. She’d been able to get on the stage when he pushed her, and talk to him afterward. It had taken almost a year, but she was finally in Europe, and this time she and Lenny were on the same tour. They had a whole summer together. And after? They would have to figure that out later. Midge covered his hand with her own, pressing both against her breast. “But I am going to need more than fifteen minutes to get ready so let’s get moving.”
“You’re such a romantic.” He tugged his hand away only to replace it with his mouth, his lips against her breast making her shiver. “You know if you’re cold we don’t have to take off anything.”
“It could be snowing in this room right now and I wouldn’t be cold.” On top of three weeks of seeing Lenny every day and spending at least half of her nights wondering what it would have been like if she had gone inside his hotel room, the last time she’d slept with anyone had been Joel in Vegas. She wasn’t thinking about Joel, even if it did explain why her skin was sensitive to every touch.
“Good to know.” There were only a few buttons left on her nightgown and he undid them all. Midge was thankful that even if her pajamas were cotton and there wasn’t a hint of lace at least she was wearing nice panties. If they’d been cotton as well she might have rethought the whole thing no matter how much she wanted to say yes. “And speaking of things that are good…”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” She tried to sound casual. Tried not to think about the fact that he was only the third person she’d slept with and she’d been married and divorced from her husband before he’d been her first thing in the morning without makeup. She didn’t even want to think about what her hair looked like. Normally she would have spent hours at the salon and in the bath preparing for this and yet here she was in an Italian hotel room with no plan at all except knowing that she wanted Lenny to touch her.
“I haven’t seen you before, Midge.” His hand lightly skimmed over her chest, down lower until he worked small circles around her belly button. “But I sure have thought about it.”
“What exactly have you thought about?” Not content to remain completely passive she reached out for the buttons of his pajama top. She hadn’t seen him without a shirt yet. “We can compare notes.”
“If I tell you every thought I’ve had about you and sex we’ll have to check out of this room before we get to act out any of them.”
“That many?”
“Oh yeah. The first and most often considered involves you and a certain doorway in Florida. Sometimes we don’t even make it inside, we just stay there against the door. I’ve seen you in hotel beds and backstage dressing rooms. On the way out here I had to use the restroom on the plane and I wondered what it would be like to join the mile high club with you.” He distracted her from her goal of getting rid of his shirt with a fingertip along the top edge of her underwear. It wasn’t a light enough touch to tickle, but it was only a single finger. “I have a very rich fantasy life.”
“I approve.” When she managed to free the last of the buttons he shrugged out of the shirt, tossing it to the ground. He didn’t spend much time in the sun, which didn’t surprise her. He wasn’t exactly a beach kind of guy and his skin was uniformly pale except for his forearm just below the elbow where he had a tattoo. She rolled over on her side so she could get a better look. “So that isn’t just a bit for the Steve Allen Show?”
“It’s real enough. Got it the first time I came to Europe. Believe it or not the accommodations at that time were worse than this.”
“You were a soldier.” She couldn’t picture it. If there was anyone less likely to hold a gun she didn’t know who they were. She could more easily picture her mother shooting someone. She wondered how much of his rebellion had started with the Navy and the war. Her own experience with the war was in collecting money for war bonds and lamenting the lack of stockings once she’d started wearing heels. She was sixteen when it ended, and the whole thing had seemed so far away. Not for Lenny.
“The Navy thought so.” He rubbed a hand over the tattoo as if it might change somehow. Midge leaned over and kissed it before working her way up his arm in small kisses. They didn’t need to talk about things like war today. Maybe some other time they would lay in bed and she would trace his tattoo with her finger and ask him about the where and the why of it. “At least they did until we had a slight misunderstanding about a comedy show and a female impersonation. I thought I was funny. They thought I was light in the loafers.”
“I didn’t know navy men wore loafers.” A few years ago she wouldn’t have understood what he meant, but life in the theatre was very different then the world she’d been raised in. She didn’t know what would make anyone question Lenny’s preferences, but she certainly didn’t have to ask that question. The thin cotton pants did nothing to hide his interest. “It’s a good thing you’re not wearing anything at all. It will make it easier to remove your pants.”
“I’d rather remove your pants, Miriam.”
“I’m not wearing any pants.” With the nightgown crumpled on the bed the only thing she had left was her underwear.
“Looks like I’m winning, then.” He used a hand on each hip to pull her closer until she all but sat in his lap. God he tasted good. And clearly his tongue worked for more than just talking, no matter how good he was at talking. His hands on her hips kept her from moving too much, but when she wiggled a little against his leg it offered a tantalizing amount of friction. She moaned into his mouth. “Oh yeah, definitely winning.”
“You’re not the only one.” She kissed the side of his jaw, his neck, and the bit of his clavicle that was sticking out a little more than it should. Seeing his chest for the first time meant she could see the signs of too many missed meals. They were definitely finding some pasta for lunch. And when they got home at the end of the tour she was making him pot roast.
The thought made her dizzy. Not the idea of cooking for him, but how normal it sounded when she thought about it. She wanted to cook for him. Wanted to fall asleep in a bed with him when they didn’t have to be careful about not touching. She wanted the someday he’d mentioned once to last a lot longer than the last relationship she’d had or the one before that.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Lenny tilted her head back with a finger under her chin. “I hope I’m not boring you here.”
“I was thinking about Florida. You said maybe someday.” She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she reached down to undo the drawstring on his pajama bottoms.
“Before I’m dead,” he said, though the last word was almost lost when she touched him for the first time.
“You’re not dead,” she said with a laugh, the feel of him soft and warm against her hand. It was easier to tease than to think about the wistfulness of the words the first time she’d heard them.
“I’m alive, or at least parts of me are. Very alive.” His hand shifted, fingers brushing against the side of her neck. The imprints of his fingertips against her pulse.
“I suppose that makes this someday.” She wouldn’t worry about tomorrow or the end of the tour, not this morning. Not when she had the taste of him in her mouth and every nerve was screaming for more. She would allow herself to be in the moment and nothing more.
“Not the worst idea I’ve heard.” He tried to pull her into a kiss again, his body firm against her, but she pulled away long enough to offer a mostly joking glare.
“Not the worst? I’d hope for a little more enthusiasm.”
“I’m not very good at planning for somedays but I like where I am right now. I like it a lot.” For a moment the jokes slid away and she saw something in his eyes that made her kiss the corner of his mouth gently. They weren’t ready for that conversation yet.
“I like where I am right now too.” She liked it a lot, and for now that was enough.
“National Geographic called me and asked me to write the feminist facts about how The Lion King gets lion pride dynamics all wrong. I happily complied. Lions are matrilineal!!
When I contacted Craig Packer, one of the world’s leading lion researchers, to talk about this story he was IMMEDIATELY AVAILABLE. He Skyped me almost instantly from a camp in Kenya and said he’s been waiting for someone to ask him this question since the original film came out.
Anyway, if The Lion King were real, Nala would be the star, Sarabi would be holding her up saying everything the light touches is our kingdom, Simba would have left and never come back, and when Nala got old enough Sarabi would have carved out a territory for her to rule.”
- Erin Biba
In real life, Simba’s mom would be running the pride
“Reasons men gave for lecturing me on lion pride social structure and telling me one of the world’s leading lion researchers is wrong (I am not kidding these are real): -Watched The Lion King DVD extras -Read a textbook 25 years ago -Has been to the zoo -Everyone just knows
If you ever wondered what it’s like to be a woman that communicates science, this is what it’s like. Any expertise you or your sources may have gained over decades of hard work are null and void because someone watched a DVD extra 25 years ago.”
“she was called Phillis, because that was the name of the ship that brought her, and Wheatley, which was the name of the merchant who bought her. She was born in Senegal. In Boston, the slave traders put her up for sale:
-she’s seven years old! She will be a good mare!
She was felt, naked, by many hands.
At thirteen, she was already writing poems in a language that was not her own. No one believed that she was the author. At the age of twenty, Phillis was questioned by a court of eighteen enlightened men in robes and wigs.
She had to recite texts from Virgil and Milton and some messages from the Bible, and she also had to swear that the poems she had written were not plagiarized. From a chair, she gave her long examination, until the court accepted her: she was a woman, she was black, she was a slave, but she was a poet. “
Phillis Wheatley, was the first African-American writer to publish a book in the United States.
This is a picture of Sarah Forbes Bonetta, ward and protégé of English Queen Victoria. There are no extant photographs of Phillis Wheatley because she died in 1784, and photographs did not exist until the daguerrotype was invented in the 1830s.
have you yet had the cognitive dissonance that comes with learning that Jon Pertwee was an actual spy in WWII or have you not yet had that pleasure
i HAVE and it's so funny - imagine being a real life British spy and, posthumously, your most recognized achievement is playing a gay science magician on children's television
John Pertwee belongs to a very exclusive club for people who were spies in WWII, later became famous for completely unrelated things, and were over 6 feet tall.
The other club members are Christopher Lee, Julia Child, and Roald Dahl.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
pixelskylines
stormborns
