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Live: One Night Only

Based on this [mock]Rolling Stone article created by Alderaanian-bear

If this isn’t what you had in mind, I completely apologize.

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The interior of the most popular music lounge in New York City was lush in a way that only an old building with great architecture could have pulled off.  Far from the simple, almost southern influences of The Bitter End and the hedonistic modernism of Le Poisson Rouge, this place was a marvelous study in architectural symmetry, and perfectly married details like sprawling wooden staircases with LED lights strips under the lips of the stairs, and an old crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the great music hall alongside the track lighting that lit the stage.  And the drink menu fit the elegant air of the lounge, with only the best bartenders on hand to mix the perfect classic cocktail and a staff mixologist to serve the VIP clientele with drinks made with exquisitely-paired spirits and some scientific ingenuity.

The patrons of the bar came for different reasons.  Tourists were directed to the Time Machine because the bookers did a brilliant job of attracting the best talent for rare, unplugged performances.  The locals liked that the tourists didn’t ruin it, because the bouncers at the door could sniff them out of a crowd, letting just enough of those over-eager newcomers in to grow the legend but not enough to ruin the carefully cultivated ambiance of exclusivity.  And still more locals – the more famous locals – loved it because the VIP area was second to none in the city.  Typically, celebrities and public figures had an area to themselves that was far away from the stage, designed more for hobnobbing than listening to the musical talent.  Instead, the VIP bar at the Time Machine was the one with the best view of the stage, and was kept isolated by careful blocking on the main floor and an intelligent consideration for mob psychology.  It was the one place in New York where a celebrity could be seen in public without privacy, safety, common decency being overridden.

But for Helena G. Wells, the club held a completely different allure.  Two years ago, in that very room, she had fallen head over heels in love.

Keep reading

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HORIZONS ON FIRE (1/3)

Bering & Wells (Warehouse 13)

[AU. Brushing the skies and NC-17. Some liberties taken regarding female pilots during WWI - there were some, though not that many, and not that seamlessly integrated, and they were much more likely to fly…

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The Thing I Write That Break My Own Heart, Therefore Must Be Shared With You

Pbandfluff submitted:

There’s very little to be done for her at this point, even though the doctors haven’t said as much in so many words, but Myka has come to terms with her mortality enough to have stopped worrying her last moments away and to fight for every last bit of energy her body can give her to spend it with her family.

And while her parents and sister are still in Colorado Springs, the family she does have with her feels more like home than anyone else in the world could inspire in her.

Correction - almost anyone.

“You want me to read some more? I’ve been working on my voices,” Claudia offers from her bedside, lifting one of the numerous tomes from a stack on the side table.

Keep reading

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if I can't get that song out of my head, I will end up having "Myka dies in her sleep as Helena watches the last, shallow breath leave her body and hears the machines stop counting heartbeats and oxygen levels" nightmares.

*curls into fetal position and bites fist*

What amazes Helena, as she stands in the sunlit room (she had not dared to close the shades since Myka had asked her, voice strangled and expression weary, the day before, to leave them open in case the sun decided to break through the low-hanging clouds they’d been having all week, and it did, just before she closed her eyes for the last time), is, despite how tiny Myka appears, her frame shrunken, the skin clinging to nothing but bone, precisely how much the anticipation weighs on Helena, how such a tiny moment, the one nobody wants to think about but must accept anyway, bears such magnitude.  

She presses a warm hand to Myka’s bony sternum, feels the weakening thrum of the most gracious heart in the world. Her fingertips vibrate, as the rush of machine-pumped oxygen resonates through skin so thin Helena can trace tiny blue and green rivers across Myka’s chest. Her eyes follow the outline of Myka’s still form, quietly committing as much as she can to memory, before her gaze fixes upon Myka’s face. The woman’s dark eyelashes are long gone, as are her perfectly-formed eyebrows and the apples of rose that used to pink her cheekbones when she bagged a tricky artifact or outmaneuvered Helena during a particularly difficult game of chess. Helena hitches a breath when she finds she suddenly cannot remember the precise color of Myka’s eyes. She struggles to push past that, tells herself it’s the grief, the unbearable weight of a moment not yet passed, and that she will remember when it’s all finally over.

The nurse comes in to shut off the ventilator and remove the breathing tube. Expression solemn, she switches the heart monitor to silent, and avoids the gazes of the individuals—no, the curious family—that surround the bed. With her head hung low, she leaves the room and lets nature take over.

Helena doesn’t notice the sniffs and sobs around her, and finds she is not yet able to cry. No, that will come later, she tells herself. It always does.

A distant gurgling resonates in Myka’s throat, but she does not open her eyes. Her chest heaves, struggles to pull air into her lungs. Helena tells herself Myka left them yesterday, when she closed her eyes against the sunlight and Helena’s warm gaze. But she knows Myka hasn’t really gone yet, not while her body is following its final orders. By-the-book until the end, Helena thinks with a small smile.

So Helena continues to sit there, with her hand upon Myka’s chest, and watches over this magnificent woman, waits until that tiny enormous moment is upon them. Helena traces a finger along the woman’s jawline, her expression unreadable.

Myka struggles, atrophied muscles twitching and chest hitching with strangled breath, as she draws her final breath and Helena finds herself struggling, too.

All at once, Myka is still. Unmoving. Almost peaceful. The moment is already gone.

And Helena remembers the color of Myka’s eyes.

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The world has joy in it. When you find a place that allows you to experience that joy, when you find people that make you feel safe and loved like you belong, you don’t walk from it. You fight for it.

It’s easy to forget that, isn’t it?

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Bering and Wells: The Series (Opening Credits) by trancer21

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the fandoms in the quote tweets.

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Can’t… stop… watching

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Do you have any idea how long I have tried to find this episode of Reading Rainbow in the nearly 30 years since I first saw it as a kid?

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Been working with VHS; here’s some 80s/90s aesthetic for ya.

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Last Call for Vodka

Sorry for the late update for the Bering and Wells gift exchange! I hope you like it @anandabrat!

Find the rest of my madness here: Last Call for Vodka  

The Cat Network

When he was little, he overheard his mom and Auntie Smarty talking about extra lives. He knew that he only had nine so what were they talking about?

By the time he remembered to ask, he and his cousins were running the streets of Marrakesh. No time for discussion about the existential crisis they all went through at some point.

They had food to hunt and humans to avoid. No times to sort out their lives, past or future.

He didn’t think about it much until he met the human time traveler during his time as a mouser in the Warehouse. Not the famous one who wrote books with her brother, she would come later, but the one who met the people from the future.

Technically she didn’t travel through herself but the impression she got was a good one. His species and his family were still around. Even if they had those extra lives his aunties had warned about.

From what he, well now she, could remember is that humans moving through time could be real. And at this Warehouse, someone was actually trying to make it happen. Her(his) family had somehow been coopeted to be a part of this totally human system, which was better that the streets, of collecting objects that meant something to them. Or could be dangerous. These Agents, as they called themselves, would take care of the family line. No tossing in the river. No bait for dog fights. Consistent food, a comfortable bed, and a head scratch or two. Not a bad life.

But this time traveler was in trouble. She knew the grief of lost young and even though this human didn’t want to talk about it, a mother knew. This human was doing too much and it was dangerous for all of them. But grief had made many an agent crazy. And as she died during an experiment gone wrong all she could do was forgive and hope for another life to see what happened next.

Dickens remembered it all. Marrakesh. His Auntie Smarty. The Warehouses. His painful death along with a human or two.  He and his family had been through a lot since the Caretaker of Warehouse 3 had scooped up an ancestor or two as a pet. He didn’t need a magical item to know that humans were fickle and volatile creatures. And that this century had been one of the worst.

A distant memory told him that his human Emily, really wasn’t her true self. A past self-remembered this woman and time travel not ending well for anyone. But the Warehouse wants what it wants. so here his was. She was nice and he could tell that she did care for him, but there was so much turmoil it was hard. Humans never did get the reincarnation thing like cats did so he could sympathize. She did do a good job of keeping the box clean and the water bowl full.

Dickens actually enjoyed his foster after Emily left. He met up with his cousins Buddy and Petey who were a hoot in their squabbing ways. It had been some time since he’d seen his liter mates and the jovial senior boys made his time entertaining. He could sense though that his time traveler was drifting and that she would need help finding her way home.

His cousins were well versed in the network and had helped their owner in several occasions. They were ready to help unrequited love see a happy ending. And it took all of his skills and their network to make it happen. Burr and Hamilton first got a lead on his former owner. Tinsel was able to find her love. Goal Kitty tracked down the time traveler when she was using a fake name in California and dating the wrong person. Frank and his brother Stein were able to get the intel to get them both together in the same city, with Potato making sure they met up with a wobbly assist from Phin.

And Fishtopeher, the genius that he was, helped them make the final connection.

Dickens curled up on the comfy reading chair to keep an eye of his humans, Myka and Helena. He’d put a lot of work, and lives, into making sure they found each other. A soul mate is nothing to snooze at.  His aunties had said that if his family or the cat network make the extraordinary happen that they might get a reprieve but he had grown to love the Warehouse and it’s ways.

He was down for another life or two.

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“We left the window open.”

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craig mazin the absolute fucking madman really said i'm gonna write the greatest love story ever told into the third episode of this zombie apocalypse show

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Just give me one more good day.

Take me to the boutique, where I’ll pick outfits for us. You’ll wear what I ask…and we’ll get married.

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I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong, because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did.

THE LAST OF US (2023-) S01E03 | “Long Long Time”