WELL . . . ALLOW ME TO DEMONSTRATE.

For a moment, Gwendolyn looks as though she’s been caught entirely by surprise, and an edge of uncertainty begins to crawl up Lana’s spine, but before she can close herself off again, the other woman is standing and shaking her hips and a bubble of laughter spills out of her own throat. “I stand corrected.” Taking the offered hand as she gets to her own feet, she feels herself go flush all over at the unexpected compliment and squeezes her lower lip between her teeth, head ducked and gaze furtive. Fingers press lightly over her mouth in a self conscious attempt to hide, but when she casts a sidelong look at her companion and catches her eyes, the edges of that lopsided grin stretch well beyond the cover. “You’re making me blush.”

Out on the floor, Lana’s usual formality, her cautious distance, is utterly lost as she places her free hand on Gwendolyn’s shoulder, fingers stretching to brush the back of the other’s shirt collar and body very nearly touching. Her tone is low, soft, hardly above a whisper: “Your lead?”

you’re making me blush.  the last thing you expected to be doing today was making lana winters blush  -  but you’ll consider it a win.  you feel the need to shudder when her hand places against your shoulder.  it feels good,  to be touched like this.  and whilst you’re merely dancing,  it feels intimate.  to feel this close to a woman you’re attracted to is something that comes so rarely for you.  “it would be my pleasure.”  you like to lead  -  and you’ll lead her wherever she wishes to go.  it feels like your life’s calling now that it comes down to it. 

“They can and they are. It would be an act of mercy if it was laced with arsenic.” It’s not entirely uncalculated that Lana had pressed her palm to the back of Gwendolyn’s hand for emphasis, nor is the lingering slide of her fingers when she goes to pick up her drink. Another sip, and she’s down to meltwater and comfortably sloshed, easily distracted from memory by the low in the belly thrill of Gwen’s attention; even the thickening of her own lisp manages to slip below her radar, the usual rigid discipline that it’s met with well out of her mind. 

“Spoken like someone who’s never tried my cooking.” There’s another wink, and this time it is very much deliberate, slow and inviting. She’s feeling more than a little bold, and one stockinged leg only just brushes fleetingly against a calf, unseen beneath the table as her head tilts to show off the fine line of her neck. Can she really be more obvious? “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Miss Briggs? Or, do you not have the hips for it?” There, another crooked smile.

              is lana winters asking you to dance?  perhaps she’ll notice you staring when she asks you that.  you’re not staring because you find it utterly ludicrous that she brought up the idea of dancing  -  but more amazed that the woman who had been so cold towards you an hour or two before was now asking you if you were going to invite her to dance.   “ well  . . .   would you do me the honours? “  and just like that,  you’re standing  -  you even shake your hips a little in the process to prove that you do indeed have the hips for it.   

ALIAS/NAME: bex

BIRTHDAY: march 7th

ZODIAC SIGN: pisces

HEIGHT: 5′4

HOBBIES: writing, playing animal crossing, procrastinating, singing

FAVORITE COLOR: pastel pink

FAVORITE BOOK: tipping the velvet 

LAST SONG: dear theodosia from hamilton 

LAST FILM/SHOW: binge watched? ratched. but the last thing i actually watched was the great british bakeoff. 

INSPIRATION: honestly . . .  my mood.  or music.  or movies/tv i watch. 

STORY BEHIND URL: i’m not one hundred percent happy with my url but it is what it is. basically,  i noticed gwen said things were ‘illuminating’ a few times so i just ....... google translated what that was in latin and apparently illuminans is that.  hence  -  illuminans. 

tagged :stole from dash ! 

The drinks arrive immediately after that tempting proposition, and Lana is grateful for the distraction, the chance to hide her flush once again behind a glass. It gives her the opportunity to collect herself before she can go entirely gooey, a chance to formulate an answer that isn’t too eager. She can’t hide the gleam in her eyes though when she finally says, coy and flirtatiously ‘modest,’ “I might pop by.” Another crooked smile follows, a quick sip and a flippant admission over the tumbler’s rim, “Do you have any Elvis?” There are other guilty pleasures, certainly, but she is all too aware that that one is by far the most embarrassing. “Don’t give me that look, I know, it’s awful. I can’t even say it with a straight face.” She giggles, and the blush comes back with an unmistakable vengeance the moment the sound leaves her lips. “You absolutely may not quote me on any of that. I’ll completely deny it. All of your credibility, right out the window.” Her eyes are sparkling as she lights up from the inside out, a glimpse of the old Lana and her easy, dry humor melting that wall that Miss Briggs seems intent on tearing down. “I just hope you’re a better cook than I am. That’s where I started actually, the cooking column. I’m surprised I wasn’t chased out of Boston by the homemakers for crimes against humanity.”

               “ do i have any elvis? “  you repeat her with a smile,  as if you’re   t h i s  close to teasing her about it.  but instead,  you nod once and offer her a hum with your words.  “ i may have one  -  though he isn’t quite the heartthrob for me that most other women see him as. “  because you’re gay and you know  (  or hope )  that she’ll appreciate the slight joke you’re making.  “ which part is it you like, lana?  his voice or the way he moves his hips? “  now you’re really  winding her up.  the sparkle in your eye matches that spark in your voice.  

It was actually nice to get out for a change. Most of the time Helena stayed at home in her room at the inn, either reading, tinkering, or out on missions retrieving the latest artifact. The sun was setting, it’s effects beautiful among the sky. H.G. stealing a look at the beautiful woman walking along side her. “Tonight was lovely, thank you.”  

Gwen’s assertion isn’t exactly dominant and it’s not possessive, but it is something, and that something brings back that small thrill of giddiness that burns a hole through her usual aloofness. She can’t feign disinterest, not when she’s clinging to the other’s arm and looking up at her with that stupid mooning schoolgirl look in her eyes. She nods, both at the appeasement and the drink, and heads straight for the table in the far back corner, keeping her head down and rebuilding that unfriendly expression of deterrence. She’s frustrated with herself, annoyed by her own sudden reliance on Gwendolyn; she has done and handled everything up to now without help, and she can’t afford to let self-sufficiency crumble when it has quite literally kept her alive. Whatever this is, it’s a temporary luxury, and the vulnerability she’s already indulged in - far too much of it - is beginning to make her feel nauseous. 

When Miss Briggs returns, so has Lana’s former resolve and the steel in her gaze, but it’s such a normal question that she’s asked that she’s quickly sent back into self conflict. No one asks her questions like that; no one is ever interested in Lana Winters the person and not Lana Winters the tragedy. “Uhm…Julie London…Jo Stafford, Doris Day.” And then a wry, self conscious piece of a breathy chuckle, gaze in her own lap. “You’ll laugh if I say anything else.” This conversation, the shyness, it’s all another indulgence.

               “ all very good choices.”  you’re a fan of doris day yourself  -  you approve of lana’s music taste.  but then,  you’d approve of whatever she said because you think she’s truly wonderful.  “ and i wouldn’t laugh,  i can assure you of that.  go on  -  hit me with it,  lana.  what are you guilty pleasures? “  you have your own.  you like bob dylan,    simon  &  garfunkle  and  the hollies.   you’ve found yourself singing mrs robinson into your hairbrush once or twice  -  providing a one woman show to your bedroom mirror.  you don’t divulge that information to lana but the thought of it does make you smirk a little.  it’s subtle,  though.  

By the time it’s over, she’s eager to get out of the car. The seclusion of the drive did little to ease her initial anxiety; with a man, it would have been impossible, but Lana has never seen a more trustworthy and kind looking person in her life than Gwendolyn, even if she does work in politics, and so she’d managed, and only for just under 10 minutes, as promised. She keeps close on their walk to the door, stays close in the doorway and swallows the urge to hide behind her companion when she’s met with a handful of stares. “I think they’ve noticed I’m here.” Tricking herself into enjoying the attention is easy on the clock, but now it makes her itch and squirm, and she finds herself threading her arm through the strawberry blonde’s. “People don’t…talk to me as much, when they think I’m with someone,” she explains under her breath, shying away from meeting any eyes.

It’s ironic, she knows, that people like her make her so nervous, that she has an easier time entertaining housewives at book signings, but it’s places like this that make her feel the most like a fraud, perhaps. The most like a sellout. She’d never had community, not like Wendy had, and now, she thinks, she’s too old to find it anywhere.

                 you hadn’t thought about the attention lana might get when you enter the bar.  of course the lesbians are going to stare  -  are going to look utterly shocked that the out  ‘  sapphic  reporter  ‘  is right in front of their eyes.  but they seem respectful.  whilst staring is rude,  that’s pretty much all that they do before going back to their conversations,  their relations,  their dancing.  still,  there is an ounce of  awkwardness in the air but gwen will do her best to relieve that.  she’s made it her mission to make sure lana winters has an enjoyable night.  

               the  drive  back  to  their  home  felt  much  longer  than  it  took  to  get  to  the  clinic  in  the  first  place.   on  the  way  there,  the  two  of  them  were  hopeful  and  buoyant  about  the  future,  and  now,  on  the  way  back   /   it  has  been  the  most  silent  and  painful  experience.   of  course,  when  they  first  received  the  news  that  gwendolyn’s  cancer  was  𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐟𝐚𝐫  𝐭𝐨𝐨  𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝  𝐭𝐨  𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭,  it  was  a  swift  punch  to  the  gut.  even  swifter,  gwendolyn’s  life  expectancy  was  about  a  year.   however,  mildred  plastered  on  a  forced  smile  out  of  pure  instinct  at  this  point,  immediately  trying  to  ease  her  lover’s  fears   ( 𝒐𝒓  𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔  𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚  𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒕𝒐  𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆  𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒐𝒘𝒏 )  and  telling  her  that  they  𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻  find  a  doctor  who  wasn’t  afraid  to  do  their  goddamned  jobs.   telling  her  that  it  didn’t  matter  𝐡𝐨𝐰  𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡  𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲  𝐨𝐫  𝐡𝐨𝐰  𝐟𝐚𝐫  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐡𝐚𝐝  𝐭𝐨  𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥,  that  she  refused  to  give  up.  all  the  while  tears  rolled  down  blotchy,  blushed  cheeks. 

understandably,  mildred’s  attemps  at  both  comforting  and  projecting  her  own  feelings  were  shut  down,  and  mildred  just  let  her  thoughts  devour  her  in  the  silence  of  the  automobile.   but  she  made  sure  to  keep  her  lover’s  hand  within  her  own,  the  other  on  the  steering  wheel,  gently  rubbing  gwen’s  knuckles  with  her  thumb   /   just  to  offer  the  smallest  amounts  of  comfort  until  they  arrived  home.   this  wouldn’t  be  the  last  time  mildred  would  try  and  convince  gwendolyn  to  seek  out  further  options,  but  for  now  ―  𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚  𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕  𝒃𝒆  𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.

once  they  arrived  home,  mildred  already  felt  as  though  her  chest  might  explode.   thoughts  of  what  life  would  be  like  without  gwendolyn  briggs  plagued  the  entire  car  ride,  and  just  the  𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃  of  it  made  mildred’s  heart  physically  ache  more  than  ever.   opening  the  front  door,  the  nurse  entered  after  her  girlfriend,  dropping  the  car  keys  into  the  dish  by  the  door.   the  emotions  in  the  room  practically  hung  heavy  in  the  air,  it  almost  made  it  difficult  to  breathe  properly.   but  still,  𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝  𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝  𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤  𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞,  though  her  eyes  told  a  truer  story,  as  her  blue  hues  looked  into  gwen’s.   taking  a  step  forward,  closing  the  small distance  between  them,  mildred  raised  a  gentle  hand  to  caress  her  lover’s  warm  cheek,  “𝚒’𝚖  𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚘  𝚐𝚘  𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚊  𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎,  𝚑𝚘𝚝  𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑,”  she  told  her,  meanwhile  her  throat  was  almost  failing  her  as  the  emotions  bubbled  up  toward  the  surface.   

her  lower  lip  wavering  only  slightly  as  she  walked  toward  the  bathroom,  she  made  sure  to  get  all  the  way  inside,  close  the  door  and  start  the  bath  water  before  giving  in  to  her  grief.   she  took  a  heavy  seat  onto  the  top  of  the  toilet  seat  lid,  grabbing  a  towel  on  her  way  down.   she  used  it  to  muffle  the  sound  of  heartbroken  sobs.  

                        life seems to be offering you  one   cruel  joke  after another.   if a gun shot wound through the chest wasn’t enough,  perhaps a side-serving of cancer would do the job of finishing you off.   you feel   -  numb.   the drive home is awkward,  a thick tension between mildred and yourself as she drives back.  your head rests against the back of the chair,  your eyes closed as you try to comprehend the information given to you by the doctor.  cancer.  it’s one of those things that you hear about but never expect to happen to you.  perhaps if you close your eyes,  you’ll wake up and it’ll just be a cruel, horrible nightmare.  but when you reopen your eyes and you’re back home,  you realise that no matter how hard you try . . .  you’re going to still have cancer.   

you’re silent as you walk into the house,  colour drained from your cheeks.  you might be sick but you don’t feel sick.  you just feel . . .  empty.  completely and utterly empty.    when she mentions a bath,  you can’t help but sigh.  you’re brought back to reality,  pale blue eyes fixing themselves on her.  “ i don’t want a bath, mildred. “  you don’t mean to snap at her,  but you do.  but before she can reply,  it seems she’s already gone to draw the bath.   maybe relaxing will help ease some of this numbness  -  maybe the hot water of a bubble bath will ease something.  who knows ,   you certainly don’t.   

She offers a thin, pale imitation of a smile; what a title, indeed. But it doesn’t sound wonderful, not to Lana. It sounds like being hounded by the press, her own people, like being shouted down in the street, cornered in the grocery store, an endless stream of questions, mothers shepherding their children far away from perverse influence. She can’t decide if it’s brave of Gwendolyn to escort her out or just reckless; politics isn’t as forgiving about that sort of thing, but, she won’t argue. It’s not her career that will be lost if word gets out.

She slips into her coat, handbag securely in her grip, and tries to erase the worry knitting her brow at the realization of being driven by anyone. It isn’t an outright fear, but it is a noticeable discomfort, a vague and pervasive anxiety that ties a knot in her stomach and tightens the corners of her lips. Miss Briggs isn’t an angry stranger with a pistol. She isn’t going to hurt you. She gives a slow, deliberate exhale, forcing a smile that flashes her teeth and hoping that it doesn’t just look like the threat display of a frightened animal. “Ten minutes is fine,” she promises, making a beeline for the parking lot.

the drive was exactly as long as you said -  in fact,  it was probably shorter because you know the quick route.  but you soon pull up outside what looks like a cabin in the middle of the woods . . . some would say it was the perfect location for a horror movie but with the lights decorating the building and the faint sound of laughing from inside  -  you hope that’s reassuring enough to lana that she’s safe here.  “ this is one of my favourite places.  it’s the best place to unwind,  to have a few drinks and forget about the world. “ and that’s that,  you walk with her inside and you swear your arms brush lightly as you do.  you don’t mention it,  though.  you act as though it didn’t happen.  

starter for @illuminans

She realises she's been caught staring when she looks up and meets the other woman's gaze, and a blush rises high in her cheeks. Panic sweeps through her, her heart beginning to race in her chest as she realises there's no way to properly explain why she was staring, especially not now that she's reacted like this. A sense of horror overwhelms her, and she looks away quickly, her shoulders hunching as she stares down at her hands, fingers curling into fists to stop them shaking.

'Forgive me', she breathes, 'please, I... I didn't mean to...' except she had, hadn't she? She'd been staring because the other woman is beautiful, so beautiful, and there's a part of her that aches to be closer to her. And now she doubts she'll ever see her again. 'I'm sorry', she mumbles, 'I... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable'.