Short Stories by Cougarsbait {All copyrighted material belong to their respective owners. This work is fiction and not for profit. No infringement intended.}
AO3'S content scraped for AI ~ AKA what is generative AI, where did your fanfictions go, and how an AI model uses them to answer prompts
Generative artificial intelligence is a cutting-edge technology whose purpose is to (surprise surprise) generate. Answers to questions, usually. And content. Articles, reviews, poems, fanfictions, and more, quickly and with originality.
It's quite interesting to use generative artificial intelligence, but it can also become quite dangerous and very unethical to use it in certain ways, especially if you don't know how it works.
With this post, I'd really like to give you a quick understanding of how these models work and what it means to “train” them.
From now on, whenever I write model, think of ChatGPT, Gemini, Bloom... or your favorite model. That is, the place where you go to generate content.
For simplicity, in this post I will talk about written content. But the same process is used to generate any type of content.
Every time you send a prompt, which is a request sent in natural language (i.e., human language), the model does not understand it.
Whether you type it in the chat or say it out loud, it needs to be translated into something understandable for the model first.
The first process that takes place is therefore tokenization: breaking the prompt down into small tokens. These tokens are small units of text, and they don't necessarily correspond to a full word.
For example, a tokenization might look like this:
Write a story
Each different color corresponds to a token, and these tokens have absolutely no meaning for the model.
The model does not understand them. It does not understand WR, it does not understand ITE, and it certainly does not understand the meaning of the word WRITE.
In fact, these tokens are immediately associated with numerical values, and each of these colored tokens actually corresponds to a series of numbers.
Write a story
12-3446-2638494-4749
Once your prompt has been tokenized in its entirety, that tokenization is used as a conceptual map to navigate within a vector database.
NOW PAY ATTENTION: A vector database is like a cube. A cubic box.
Inside this cube, the various tokens exist as floating pieces, as if gravity did not exist. The distance between one token and another within this database is measured by arrows called, indeed, vectors.
The distance between one token and another -that is, the length of this arrow- determines how likely (or unlikely) it is that those two tokens will occur consecutively in a piece of natural language discourse.
For example, suppose your prompt is this:
It happens once in a blue
Within this well-constructed vector database, let's assume that the token corresponding to ONCE (let's pretend it is associated with the number 467) is located here:
The token corresponding to IN is located here:
...more or less, because it is very likely that these two tokens in a natural language such as human speech in English will occur consecutively.
So it is very likely that somewhere in the vector database cube —in this yellow corner— are tokens corresponding to IT, HAPPENS, ONCE, IN, A, BLUE... and right next to them, there will be MOON.
Elsewhere, in a much more distant part of the vector database,
is the token for CAR. Because it is very unlikely that someone would say It happens once in a blue car.
To generate the response to your prompt, the model makes a probabilistic calculation, seeing how close the tokens are and which token would be most likely to come next in human language (in this specific case, English.)
When probability is involved, there is always an element of randomness, of course, which means that the answers will not always be the same.
The response is thus generated token by token, following this path of probability arrows, optimizing the distance within the vector database.
There is no intent, only a more or less probable path.
The more times you generate a response, the more paths you encounter. If you could do this an infinite number of times, at least once the model would respond: "It happens once in a blue car!"
So it all depends on what's inside the cube, how it was built, and how much distance was put between one token and another.
Modern artificial intelligence draws from vast databases, which are normally filled with all the knowledge that humans have poured into the internet.
Not only that: the larger the vector database, the lower the chance of error. If I used only a single book as a database, the idiom "It happens once in a blue moon" might not appear, and therefore not be recognized.
But if the cube contained all the books ever written by humanity, everything would change, because the idiom would appear many more times, and it would be very likely for those tokens to occur close together.
Huggingface has done this.
It took a relatively empty cube (let's say filled with common language, and likely many idioms, dictionaries, poetry...) and poured all of the AO3 fanfictions it could reach into it.
Now imagine someone asking a model based on Huggingface’s cube to write a story.
To simplify: if they ask for humor, we’ll end up in the area where funny jokes or humor tags are most likely. If they ask for romance, we’ll end up where the word kiss is most frequent.
And if we’re super lucky, the model might follow a path that brings it to some amazing line a particular author wrote, and it will echo it back word for word.
(Remember the infinite monkeys typing? One of them eventually writes all of Shakespeare, purely by chance!)
Once you know this, you’ll understand why AI can never truly generate content on the level of a human who chooses their words.
You’ll understand why it rarely uses specific words, why it stays vague, and why it leans on the most common metaphors and scenes. And you'll understand why the more content you generate, the more it seems to "learn."
It doesn't learn. It moves around tokens based on what you ask, how you ask it, and how it tokenizes your prompt.
Know that I despise generative AI when it's used for creativity. I despise that they stole something from a fandom, something that works just like a gift culture, to make money off of it.
But there is only one way we can fight back: by not using it to generate creative stuff.
You can resist by refusing the model's casual output, by using only and exclusively your intent, your personal choice of words, knowing that you and only you decided them.
No randomness involved.
Let me leave you with one last thought.
Imagine a person coming for advice, who has no idea that behind a language model there is just a huge cube of floating tokens predicting the next likely word.
Imagine someone fragile (emotionally, spiritually...) who begins to believe that the model is sentient. Who has a growing feeling that this model understands, comprehends, when in reality it approaches and reorganizes its way around tokens in a cube based on what it is told.
A fragile person begins to empathize, to feel connected to the model.
They ask important questions. They base their relationships, their life, everything, on conversations generated by a model that merely rearranges tokens based on probability.
And for people who don't know how it works, and because natural language usually does have feeling, the illusion that the model feels is very strong.
There’s an even greater danger: with enough random generations (and oh, the humanity whole generates much), the model takes an unlikely path once in a while. It ends up at the other end of the cube, it hallucinates.
Errors and inaccuracies caused by language models are called hallucinations precisely because they are presented as if they were facts, with the same conviction.
People who have become so emotionally attached to these conversations, seeing the language model as a guru, a deity, a psychologist, will do what the language model tells them to do or follow its advice.
Someone might follow a hallucinated piece of advice.
Obviously, models are developed with safeguards; fences the model can't jump over. They won't tell you certain things, they won't tell you to do terrible things.
Yet, there are people basing major life decisions on conversations generated purely by probability.
Generated by putting tokens together, on a probabilistic basis.
After the cycling accident, Delia goes home to Pembrokeshire with no memory of the life she had in London. As she recovers, she finds herself waking up in the morning thinking she’s in year eleven and she has to get ready for school! In the midst of her boredom in a home without a telephone, nor a television set, she finds a hidden stack of letters from a gentleman, she assumed, named Pats. Slowly, she falls in love with this mystery man who writes of their adventures around London. When she can no longer bear the mystery, she runs away in the middle of the night with some money for a bus ticket and the return address on the letters.
To her surprise, she finds herself at a spotless flat with a jug of flowers on the windowsill.
A short story. Inspired by the 1967 movie of the same name.
I would like to thank @wheelywrites for getting me to log back onto my Tumblr lol. Also I can't remember how to share a link I am officially a Tumblr Geriatric.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
What if… P&D were young adults during WWII? Old money, Patience Mount—of the Mount Shipping empire—had never paid attention to new money, Delia Busby—the daughter of a successful textiles merchant—in Singapore’s high society… until they became prisoners of war.
In the present day of 2005, London—60 years after Japan’s surrender—a young filmmaker interviews 82 year old Patsy and 78 year old Delia for a film on the unsung LGBT+ heroes of WWII. Unintentionally, as the two women share their accounts, the director begins to shift focus from their heroic contributions to their love story—which shows just how love can blossom in the darkest of places.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: It’s 1995 in the booming gay community of San Francisco, over thirty years since Patsy and Delia left Poplar to travel and work with Nurses Without Borders. As they near the end of their noteworthy careers, they decide to splurge on their first home computer. 62 year old Patsy is a bit reluctant about using the internet, but tech-enthusiast Delia leads the way into the Digital Age. Little do they know, the boxy beige contraption will help them rebuild their intimacy—just in time for Dolly Parton-crazed Delia’s 58th birthday.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Set a century later than Portrait of a Lady on Fire. It is 1924 France and a poor painter will do anything to acquire wealth and win back the beautiful aristocrat she painted five years ago. A short story. Inspired by The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
~ Author’s Note ~ “Before the renaissance we had the Black Plague.”
- @thekingoflegoland
Rated M
Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5a > Part 5b > Part 6
Seattle, January 2021
Gabriella Torres stepped out of her rideshare and studied the house she stood in front of. A small shingled house, hunter green, the grass browned from the cool weather and the paint of the white front door chipped from years of neglect. She knocked.
A woman with a black lacquered cane opened the door with widened eyes, pale, as if she had just seen a ghost.
“Hi, I’m looking for Calliope Torres-”
“She doesn’t live here.“
“My name is Gabriella Torres. Aria Torres is my mother—was—my mother.”
The woman sighed and eyed the young woman. “You're a spitting image of your mother. Come in.”
The sunroom of the house was clean, sterilized. It still smelled of cleaning products and polish; it was well tended to, unlike the exterior of the house.
“Can I get you a coffee or a tea?” the woman asked.
“Water, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” Gabriella answered. She took the glass the woman offered her and took a generous sip.
“What did you say your name was again?” the woman asked, taking the seat in front of her guest and leaning her cane against the side table.
“Gabriella.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
The woman paused in thought.
“I’m sorry to come out of the blue, but I thought you would prefer meeting in person rather than starting a paper trail… Aunt Calliope.”
Calliope nodded in agreement and cleared her throat. “So how did you find me?”
“I just started grad school at the University of Washington, I’m doing my masters in library studies-”
“Impressive,” Callie nodded, glad and relieved to learn her niece was educated.
“Thank you. I was in foster care my whole life, you see, I knew nothing but my mother’s name. I swore to find her one day and I searched for her for years and years. Then, finally, I came across her obituary and I found out she lived in Miami… and, well, my research led me to you.”
“So you know who I am…” Callie cleared her throat and picked at the cotton of her pants.
“You’re Calliope Torres. You were the head of the Torres Crime family. You were responsible for the Miami Mob Massacre of 2013 when all of the heads of the city’s crime families were murdered.”
“Allegedly,” Callie corrected.
Gabriella nodded in agreement. “Early in 2014 the Feds gathered enough evidence to put you on trial-”
“Alex Karev and George O’Malley came forward and turned themselves in, in an attempt to put me away,” Callie informed. “Even after I paid them a very generous amount of money to leave town. It seemed that it wasn’t enough for two men who felt overpowered by a single woman.”
“You were on trial for 21 days,” Gabriella continued. “Until you were proven not guilty. After 21 days they were going to let you walk free, you were free—then you were showered with bullets on your way out of the Miami courthouse. A man named Robert Stark was arrested; he claimed you destroyed his life over unsettled debt.”
“And yet he’s still in jail and I am not,” Callie couldn’t help but smirk.
“My mother perished that day, and you were airlifted to Miami General with life-threatening injuries,” Gabriella added. “Some articles reported that you wouldn’t make it out alive, while others rumoured you would never fully recover. You were mentioned in the papers for months, until suddenly you weren’t. New leaders of the other crime families began to take their place, and new gang wars plagued Miami. By the time you walked out of the hospital a free woman, you were old news and the Torres empire had crumbled. You’ve been laying low ever since.”
Gabriella was nothing but correct in her explanation. The Torres empire crumbled, and it crumbled hard. In Callie’s absence, and Alex and George’s incarceration, other members of the corporation fought for themselves, fought amongst themselves, stole for themselves, until there was nothing left but a few skids of canned peaches scattered across the city. The Torres mansion was looted and then destroyed by opportunistic rival families. The Torres name became irrelevant. A name no longer feared. A name no longer remembered, despite the damage it did in the past decades. Bigger crimes flooded Miami, and though grudges still existed, seeking revenge against the Torres family was no longer a priority.
Callie remained silent. It had been years since she lived that life, it was hard to believe its vibrant contrast to the life she lived now.
“Sorry,” Gabriella brushed. “I was just searching for my mother, I didn’t mean to uncover so much more about you.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Callie reassured. “That was my past, and I will take what I did to my grave.”
Gabriella remained silent.
“So what do you want to know about your mother?” Callie asked.
Gabriella released a sigh with both grief and relief. Grief of the loss she had held in her heart for so long, and relief that she was finally going to get some answers.
“I want to know why my mother left me at the hospital that day, knowing she had the means to raise me.”
“I can’t answer for the dead,” Callie shook her head.
“I know that, but you at least knew her…”
“And I know giving you up was probably the best decision she could have made for you.”
“What?” Gabriella asked with furrowed brows. She spent her life in poverty. She was alone. She moved from foster home to foster home. The closest thing she has to a family is an old college roommate.
“My sister Aria was… impulsive. Especially when it came to money. She and my father would always clash on her irresponsible spendings. I believe she had you the year she just about had it with our father and so she disappeared for a year to travel across the country in a van with some friends. She was in no state to raise a child, even if we had the money.”
“But I grew up poor, without a family-” Gabriella began to argue.
“Do you think a crime family would have been any better?”
“Maybe,” Gabriella shrugged.
“It cost us your mothers life,” Callie reminded. “It nearly cost me mine.”
Gabriella remained silent.
“A life of riches is far from a fairytale when it’s funded with bloodmoney.”
Gabriella avoided her aunt’s eyes.
“So if it’s money you want from me I no longer have much of it,” Callie admitted.
“I don’t need money,” Gabriella promised. “I just wanted answers.”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer anymore than that,” Callie replied. “I didn’t even know my sister had you until this morning.”
“Would you have stepped in if you knew back then?” Gabriella asked.
Callie paused in thought. “Probably not,” she answered honestly. She believed the mob was no place for a child.
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Callie glanced at the clock.
“Then I won’t take up much more of your time,” Gabriella promised and stood from her seat. “Thank you for your time.”
Callie simply nodded.
“Can I ask how you found out where I live?” Callie asked before the younger woman could leave.
Gabriella signed. “Seattle Grace held a Gala last week. I was sorting the newspaper section of the library when I saw your face. Your hair is much shorter now but I had studied the family so much I recognized you right away… it wasn’t hard after I ran a search for you in Seattle.”
“What newspaper published that article?” Callie needed to know: if her niece could recognize her, how many more people could.
“Seattle Local. Don’t worry, I’ve already shredded as many copies of the paper as I could find,” Gabriella reassured.
“Thank you,” Callie sighed in relief.
“Can I ask you one last question before I go?” Gabriella asked.
“You just did.”
“Do you think there are people out there who still want you dead?” Gabriella proceeded to ask.
“I know there is,” Callie nodded. “Dozens of them.”
“How do you bear it? How do you live in fear?”
“I don’t,” Callie answered confidently. “Knowing my life could end at any moment is what makes every day so worth living.”
000
There was one part of Gabriella’s story that was missing; one part of the Calliope Torres story that was very private and protected from the public eye. Down a long hallway, two feet and a cane dully tread across grey terrazzo floors. The door at the end of the hall held a plaque, yielded the Seattle Grace Hospital logo and the title Chief of Surgery. She opened the door.
Large windows letting in lights from the Seattle Skyline also enclosed the spacious and personalized office. The walls were decorated with various frames, some with photos, others with accomplishments and awards. One of which was the 2014 Carter Madison Grant and a photo of a small clinic in Mawali.
Arizona Robbins glanced up from her laptop and over reading glasses arched a single eyebrow.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Callie apologised.
Arizona smirked and motioned for her lover to come closer with finger.
Callie rounded the cherrywood desk and gave her wife a kiss.
“Hmm,” Arizona hummed with satisfaction.
“Missed you.” She said this every day.
“Missed you too,” Arizona replied with a smile. “How was your day?” she asked, pushing her chair back to make room for her wife.
“Well…” Callie leaned her cane against the desk and pushed the laptop back to sit on her wife’s desk, “I had a visitor at the house today.”
“A visitor?” Arizona repeated, intrigued. “We haven’t had a visitor in a very long time. Who was kind enough to send you a hitman this time?” she asked sarcastically.
“Not an assassin,” Callie informed with a small smirk. A very small part of her missed when an assassin or two would shake up their home. It had been so quiet the past few years since they moved to Seattle, Callie could almost say she was starting to get bored. She and Arizona had become so good at silently putting hitmen away; they made great fertiliser for the flowers in the back garden.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it turns out I have a niece. It looks like Aria forgot to mention she had a kid twenty-two years ago.”
“No way…”
“She looks just like her, Arizona, if she’s a con artist she sold it really well.”
“How’d she find you?”
“She saw a photo of me in a local paper, from the Gala.”
“Oh, Calliope… I didn’t know you’d be photographed.”
“It’s fine,” Callie shrugged. “I’m sort of glad she found me. It was nice talking about Aria again.”
“Are you going to keep in touch?”
“I didn’t want her to feel obligated to keep in contact. She’s a smart girl, she’ll come back if she wants to.”
Arizona gave her wife a sympathetic smile.
“Anyways, tell me about your day…” Callie encouraged her wife.
“I think I’d rather save the talking for later,” Arizona said with a smirk.
“Oh…” Callie chuckled and moaned when her wife pressed their lips together. Arizona’s hands were on her waist and they slowly made their way up her shirt as they kissed.
“You called for me, Doctor Robbins?” Callie teased, between kisses.
“I did, and you’re late,” Arizona played along. She loved her wife for a hundred million reasons, and one of them included how ungodly good she was at getting her off.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Callie apologised in her bedroom voice.
“Y-you’d better be,” Arizona gasped when her wife’s mouth wrapped around the skin on her neck and began to suck. “D-don’t leave a mark…” she scolded, “again.”
Callie smirked and slipped her hand into the white lab coat and down the navy blue scrub top. She cupped her wife’s breast; soft, warm, and a bit more plump than she remembered.
Arizona felt wetness begin to grow between her legs. Slick. Heat. Then a gush of fluid like the breaking of a damn.
“Callie!” Arizona shrieked.
“Arizona...” Callie gasped when she felt the wetness run down her leg, “was that?”
“I think my water just broke,” Arizona said with widened eyes.
“It’s a good thing we’re already at a hospital,” Callie chuckled and took her wife by the hand before leading her towards the maternity ward to have their baby.
Callie and Arizona rushed down the aisle, hand-in-hand, away from the altar where Elvis stood to officiate. With no family left between the two of them, they spent their wedding night celebrating their rather spontaneous wedding with a rather expensive bottle of wine and room service.
Overlooking the city of Las Vegas, a city also once ruled by crime families such as the Torres’s, Callie held Arizona in her arms as they watched the night lights.
“I never pictured myself getting married,” Arizona admitted softly.
“You’re telling me this now?” Callie arched her eyebrow, taking hold of Arizona’s hand that was now weighed down by a wedding band.
“No, Calliope, I mean… I never pictured myself getting married in the white dress and large crowd. But this… this was perfect.”
“Oh…” Callie smiled mischievously and planted a hot kiss on her wife’s neck.
“Callie!” Arizona squinted her eyes and stopped walking.
“Breathe…” Callie coached.
“I am breathing,” Arizona gritted through her teeth, freezing for a couple of minutes before gathering up the strength to walk again.
“We’re almost there,” Callie reassured.
Arizona puffed air out of her cheeks and followed her wife’s lead. Moments later, she found herself on a hospital bed, monitors attached to her belly and her wife by her side.
“Push,” Arizona encouraged.
Callie let out a long grunt as she pushed against the resistance band that Arizona was holding behind her. She took three bullets in her arm, two in the gut, and one in her femur which left her with a permanent limp. She had accepted her fate of the cane, but she had yet to give up on rehabilitating her dominant hand.
“Good,” the physiotherapist praised. “You’re really motivated today!”
“Motivated to use my good hand in bed again,” Callie pushed against the purple band again.
“Callie!” Arizona gasped, not impressed with her lover’s vulgarness in front of the physiotherapist.
The therapist couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’s good to have goals.”
“Let’s see how your baby is doing…” Doctor Carina DeLuca snapped on a clean glove and placed herself between the patient’s legs. “Oh…”
“What?” Callie and Arizona said in unison.
“When did you say your contractions began?” Carina asked.
“I guess, this morning…” Arizona thought out loud.
“This morning?” Callie repeated with disbelief. Her wife had been in labour all day and she didn’t receive a single text of mention.
“I thought it was just a stomach ache from all the poundcake I ate for breakfast.” Arizona admitted.
“Did you eat the whole coffee cart too?” Callie teased.
“I only had three...” Arizona defended, “this time.”
“Move to Seattle with me,” Arizona said, her head nestled on her wife’s chest. Las Vegas streets were loud but she could still hear Callie’s pounding heartbeat.
“Seattle?”
“They’ve offered me a job as an attending… if I accept it, we can have our own life there. Just you and me, far away from the craziness in Miami. You don’t belong there anymore, we don’t belong there anymore. We both need a new start, somewhere we can raise a family.”
“You want kids?” Callie asked, surprised. With all the commotion, they forgot to talk about having children.
“I want a family, whatever that may look like. I’ve never had one and I want one with you.”
“You can start pushing on your next contraction,” Doctor DeLuca instructed.
“Callie, I’m scared,” Arizona told her wife.
“You’ve made it this far, Arizona, I believe in you.”
“What if we lose this baby too?”
“We can’t think like that right now, Arizona, you need to focus on having this baby, okay?”
Arizona nodded her head and grunted as she pushed as hard as she could.
The house was so quiet.
With Lucy’s passing, there was no longer pitter patter of paws against the hardwood as she played around the house. Now their house filled with the noise of Arizona turning the page of her newspaper, and Callie watching car review videos on her phone.
“You think it’s too soon to get another dog?” Arizona asked.
“I don’t know if I want another dog,” Callie admitted.
“Can I finally have my chicken coop, then?”
“No…” Callie slowly shook her head.
“Well, we’re certainly not getting a ferret, Calliope-”
“I’ve been thinking… it’s a good time to have a baby.”
Arizona’s face brightened into a smile. “A baby?” she breathed out.
Callie nodded, “A baby.”
“Your baby is almost here…” Carina announced.
“Really?” Arizona phanted.
“Do you want the mirror?”
“Oh god, no,” Arizona shook her head in denial.
Callie couldn’t help but laugh.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” Arizona scolded her wife. “You owe me a new vagina after this!”
“I’m sorry…” the doctor repeated herself. “Please stay and use the room for as long as you need to.”
“Thank you,” Arizona nodded at the doctor and continued to console her wife.
Callie watched the doctor leave with blank eyes. The news hurt her more than she thought it would. She didn’t even know she wanted kids until she married Arizona, and now that she found out she couldn’t, she was heartbroken. Her life of crime, the bullets of revenge, had already taken her sister from her; she was saddened to learn it also took away her chance of having children of her own.
“What do you need from me?” Arizona said softly.
“I don’t know,” Callie shook her head.
“I’ll have them, Calliope, I want to have them,” Arizona offered for the hundredth time.
“I…” Callie gulped to rid of the dryness in her throat, “I thought we could have some of yours and some of mine too.”
“Oh, Calliope…” Arizona sighed in defeat. “It would have been amazing to have a little you running around the house, but I promise you they will be our babies no matter what.”
“She’s here…” Carina announced.
“It’s a girl?” Callie asked with surprise, relief and excited butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
“It’s a girl,” Carina confirmed.
Callie and Arizona smiled at the crying infant. Carina placed the child on Arizona’s chest and Callie wrapped her arms around her family. She was so little yet so loud, and mighty. Her hands were bronze like a Torres and her eyes were blue like a Robbins. She was there and she was theirs.
“I love you…”
“What?” Callie said past dry lips. She thought she would never see Arizona Robbins again, let alone have her visit her hospital room every day for the past three months.
“I love you,” Arizona nodded her head. She had known, deep down, for a long time. But she was at the airport, ready to leave for Africa, ready to truly move on from her tango with the mob and start a new life, a new clinic, for children in a new land, Malawi, when she saw the Torres heir fall to the ground in front of the courthouse. She hated that she had to see Calliope Torres get shot multiple times on television to realise it. She loved the notorious boss and she couldn’t leave Miami without her.
“Arizona, you can’t-”
“You’re not my boss, Calliope, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do anymore-”
“No, Arizona, you need someone... normal,” Callie defended her stance. “Someone who can give you the easy life you deserve. Someone who doesn’t have a past-”
“I know your past, Calliope, and I know the kind of woman you are deep down. Do you think it was easy to let someone else run my clinic in Africa, to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so I can spend three months in this hospital with you? I know love isn’t easy, but I choose it because—because life without it is dull and cold.”
Callie eyed her lover.
“I know there are people who want you dead...” Arizona continued, “that danger will follow you, but—why live in fear when we can take our chances at being happy?”
“Jeez, okay, enough with the dramatics,” Callie teased.
Arizona gasped, offended, then laughed. Her speech was quite cheesy.
“I love you too. I’ve known for a while,” Callie admitted. “But I want what’s best for you. That’s why I let you go...”
“And I know what I want,” Arizona countered. “That’s why I came back...”
Callie cradled baby Sofia as Arizona finally fell asleep in her hospital bed. Sofia had that intoxicating new baby smell and Callie soaked in every minute of it. Swaddled in her hospital blanket, Sofia was content and happy to be in her mother’s arms.
Callie glanced at Arizona and watched her peacefully rest. She deserves it. Arizona let out a soft snore and it made Callie smile. Her mob career started in her father’s hospital room. Her love for Arizona blossomed in her hospital room. Now their middle family had grown by one in the hospital room.
Callie Torres was working in a cubicle, in an office, on a floor, in a building full of cubicles. She was the daughter of a notorious crime boss and she was in an office working a nine-to-five desk job. Despite her upbringing, she went to college. She attended Penn State, the first in her family to go to college. She told herself that she needed space from the mob, but deep down she knew she left home because she resented her father for not being a good husband to her mother. Over a decade later, she still blamed him for making Lucia Torres flee. So Callie moved away, to a city where nobody knew her name, and for four years she studied literature, made an honest living, and lived a modest lifestyle. She was set. She had financial independence from her father and no ties to the life he lived.
Until a single phone call changed her projection. She came back to Miami after years of avoiding the city and the chaos within it. Giovanni sent one of the drivers to pick her up at the airport and she felt helpless in the backseat of the Cadillac. She hated it: the feeling of being the young woman with no independence, thanks to the nature of the family business. There was a reason why she moved out: to be able to do things on her own.
The short car ride felt like hours, but soon she was at Miami General: pushing through a crowd of news reporters hoping to get information and FBI agents hoping to find dirt that will finally warrant the arrest of the biggest mob boss in the city. The FBI were always around—ever since Carlos himself was a child—but they could never find enough evidence to take the family court. Thus, they tried to get close whenever they could. It disgusted Callie. Her father was ill and all people cared about was exposing him.
She ran to his bedside the moment she squeezed past the door and took his hand into her own.
“Calliope…” he coughed up.
“I’m here, papa.” Callie soothed, combing what was left of his hair with her fingers.
“You came home,” Carlos smiled.
“Of course I did. You take it easy, okay?”
Carlos closed his eyes and nodded his head. He was weak, and he drifted off to sleep shortly.
“Miss Torres?” a soft knock came from the door. “I’m Dr. Teddy Altman, your father’s surgeon.”
Callie turned around and stood to politely shake the woman’s hand. “Call me Callie,” she insisted. “Can you tell me what happened? ”
“Callie…” Teddy sighed, “From the looks of things, your father has had heart failure for years.”
“He’s never mentioned it...” Callie insecurely crossed her arms, “Is he going to make it?”
“He’s responding to the ‘tropes, the medications we’re giving him, but that’s all I can say for now.”
“Is he going to make it?” Callie repeated.
“It’s hard to say…” Teddy trailed off, “But I can tell you that we’re doing everything we can.”
“Is he going to be treated just like everyone else?” Callie asked. She knew the doctor wasn’t oblivious to who she was taking care of. A high-profile man like Carlos Torres drew attention wherever he went.
“We provide treatment solely based on the patient’s clinical needs...” Teddy promised, “without moral discrimination.”
She stayed by her father’s side—only going home to get cleaned up and sleep. When she wasn’t tending to him, she was making sure his casinos were running smoothly. She became a frequent customer at the cafeteria, and even the girl at the coffee cart knew how she took her coffee. She didn’t know if it was love or guilt that made her stay by her father’s side. She felt guilty that she had deserted the family, all those years ago. And if she didn’t keep her head down that day, she would have ran into the blonde-haired blue-eyed surgical resident that stood in front of her while she waited for her coffee.
“How are the casinos?” Carlos asked one day, when he had the strength.
“Don’t worry about them,” Callie insisted, “I’ve made sure Alex and George stay on track; you just work on getting better.”
“You’re getting involved with our operations?”
“Yes, it’s fine, everything is fine.”
“You know, I always thought it would be you that I’d leave the casinos to…”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t cut-out to be a boss,” Callie hung her head in shame.
“Don’t say that, mija, I’m so proud of you,” Carlos admitted.
“You are?” Callie questioned softly.
“Always,” Carlos promised. “My smart, beautiful, girl.”
Callie wiped the tears that trickled down her cheeks and held onto her father’s hand.
Later that evening, Callie was leaving her father’s room to go home when she realized the watchman that usually guarded the door was not at his post. She grabbed her phone to call Giovanni and sighed in relief when he told her that he would fire the man for leaving his post and send over another member of his security team immediately.
In the meantime, Callie waited by her father. It was highly unlikely that any harm would come, but she still had an unsettling feeling in her gut—which amplified when she heard the door open, and she turned her head in time to see a grey-haired man.
“You must be his little girl,” he chuckled.
“What do you want?” Callie asked harshly.
“Well…” he shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his pockets. “I’m here to take him out. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, but now that you’re here... I don’t have much of a choice.”
Callie stood from her seat and took a step back. She was scared—initially— then anger sparked within her. Suddenly, she wanted to get him before he could get her or her father. She quickly weighed out her options. She was unarmed, and had been for years. She knew he had a gun, she could see the outline in his pants. She glanced around the room and in a matter of seconds she had a plan.
She grabbed the flower vase from the nightstand behind her and threw it across the room. Distraction. He lifted his hands to block the glass from hitting his face, and she rammed her right shoulder into his sternum, pinning him against the wall. Attack. The impact caused a couple of his ribs to break, and the noise of the vase shattering onto the floor caused the nurses to start peering into the window. He was able to strike her cheek with the gun, causing the skin to break, but she didn’t feel the pain. Her adrenaline was pumping through her veins and she wanted nothing more than to see him dead.
“Bitch,” he spat, trying to point the gun at her head, but bone-breaking strength pinned his body against the wall. The Torres heir was stronger than he thought.
Callie groaned and struck her elbow against his windpipe. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of his cartilage breaking from impact. At this point, he was still alive, but the injury to his neck narrowed his trachea and he struggled to take the faintest breath of air. So Callie stepped back, letting him fall to the floor, and she kicked the gun out of his hand. She glanced back, her father was still asleep. She looked forward, the nurses had called security and they were waiting outside the door. She opened it, stepped outside, and a nurse walked to her side.
“You want me to look at that, Miss Torres?” the nurse asked.
“Look at what?” Callie mindlessly asked, still in shock from the events that took place moments ago.
“Your cheek is bleeding…”
Callie took a seat on a nearby chair, exhausted. She couldn’t believe it. She won her first fight.
“What should we do with him?” one of the security guards asked, wanting to be of assistance but also not wanting to get too involved with the mob.
“Leave him. Someone will be here to clean up shortly,” Callie sighed. It was only now that the blood from her cheek trickled down her neck that she realized she was bleeding. “I’m sorry for the noise…” she told the hospital staff, and the few patients that watched the scene unfold, “But nobody saw anything, right?”
All watching eyes turned away and went about minding their own business. Except the nurse who had offered to help, she had gone to get a dressing kit and returned to tend to Callie’s injury.
When Carlos Torres came to consciousness and learned of his daughter’s doings, that Callie was managing the casinos quite well and taking care of business in his absence, he knew what to do before his inevitable death. With her father’s ring on her finger, Callie Torres took her place behind the desk in the office she was forbidden to be in at her childhood home.
“I can’t believe she’s home…”
“I can’t believe she’s ours…”
Callie and Arizona cooed at the sleeping infant in the crib.
“We should go to bed and get some sleep while we can,” Arizona suggested. “She’ll be up wanting a feeding before we know it.”
“You go to sleep before she needs you. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case she needs anything else...” Callie volunteered.
“We’re across the hall, Calliope, she’ll be okay on her own for an hour or two,” Arizona promised.
“I don’t mind,” Callie insisted.
“Come to bed with me, please?” Arizona pleaded.
“Arizona, I…”
“What is it, love?” Arizona asked, placing a soft hand on her wife’s arm.
“I think I’m scared…”
“She’s safe here,” Arizona promised.
“What if something bad were to happen to her, to us, to our family? I don’t want her out of my sight. I know you we’ve been safe here but you know my past-”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with your past, Calliope,” Arizona couldn’t help but smile. “That’s called being a mother. We’re going to worry about her for the next eighteen years, at least. We’ll have eighteen years to worry about her so please, can we go to bed for now?”
Callie sighed then nodded her head in agreement. Why live in fear when we can take a chance at being happy? She had chosen happiness these past few years, she took a vow to choose happiness with Arizona. Now she vowed this: if anyone laid a finger on her baby, she would hurt them before they could hurt Sofia.
“I sometimes feel as if we’re ghosts—half with each other, but mostly without. I think it would be easier to do what everyone’s so bloody insistent on and get married, and just accept that... you and I can never be.” In 1960, Delia Busby could no longer bear having a secret lover. She leaves Patsy at The Silver Buckle that cold night and marries a man three months later. The day of the wedding, Patsy accepts a job in Bristol and runs away, never looking back and never forgiving herself for not having the courage to fight for love. Fifty years later, Patsy and Delia reconnect through a website called Facebook. Inspired by the show Last Tango in Halifax.
Summary: “I sometimes feel as if we’re ghosts—half with each other, but mostly without. I think it would be easier to do what everyone’s so bloody insistent on and get married, and just accept that... you and I can never be.” In 1960, Delia Busby could no longer bear having a secret lover. She leaves Patsy at The Silver Buckle that cold night and marries a man three months later. The day of the wedding, Patsy accepts a job in Bristol and runs away, never looking back and never forgiving herself for not having the courage to fight for love.
Fifty years later, Patsy and Delia reconnect through a website called Facebook.
After her father’s funeral in Hong Kong, Patsy returns to Poplar and learns that the Nonnatus midwives have discovered her relationship with Delia and have been taking care of her heartbroken lover. This leads to the couple becoming brave enough to bring forth their wedding ceremony, even if the law objects. Three-part short story. Takes off from the series 6 finale.
Summary: After her father’s funeral in Hong Kong, Patsy returns to Poplar and learns that the Nonnatus midwives have discovered her relationship with Delia and have been taking care of her heartbroken lover. This leads to the couple becoming brave enough to bring forth their wedding ceremony, even if the law objects.Three-part short story.
Continuation of the deleted scene: “While you were out I was thinking... I’m going to unpin her hair, let it fall down to her shoulders, and run my hands through it...” the night Delia waited for Patsy to come home from work and they had Nonnatus House to themselves. Series 5 fluff, smut, and pampering.
Summary: Continuation of the deleted scene: “While you were out I was thinking... I’m going to unpin her hair, let it fall down to her shoulders, and run my hands through it...” the night Delia waited for Patsy to come home from work and they had Nonnatus House to themselves.
While Patsy is in Hong Kong, Delia begins to shadow Nurse Crane to get her hands on practicing district midwifery. She becomes involved in a case of a closeted lesbian couple, who are mysteriously expecting their second baby. This case becomes a major eye-opener for the young Nurse Busby.
Summary: While Patsy is in Hong Kong, Delia begins to shadow Nurse Crane to get her hands on practicing district midwifery. She becomes involved in a case of a closeted lesbian couple, who are mysteriously expecting their second baby. This case becomes a major eye-opener for the young Nurse Busby.
Delia got her birth certificate from her mum and she’s finally got herself a passport. Now, spring has sprung and Patsy is taking her to Paris! Their little holiday soon leads to a series of first time experiences as a couple.
~ author’s note ~ I’ve made an AO3 to keep this blog mostly-calzona (link above). Will probably write more Patsy/Delia on there so stay tuned :)
Summary: Delia got her birth certificate from her mum and she’s finally got herself a passport. Now, spring has sprung and Patsy is taking her to Paris! Their little holiday soon leads to a series of first time experiences as a couple.
~author’s note~ So, my life has been crazy these past couple of years, but I thought I’d start writing fics again. EOBE still in the works… *insert excuse as to why it hasn’t been done yet*
Anyways, here’s a Patsy x Delia fanfic I had to write after watching series 6 episode 2 of Call the Midwife.
This is 1 of 2 related one-shots I will post this week.
hurt/comfort, smut
Rated M
Patsy Mount laid in her bed with her back flushed against the old spring mattress, and her eyes gazing up at the dark ceiling above her. She had practically memorized every chip on the white painted ceiling, and the orange baroque wallpaper that bordered it. Many nights she had stared blankly at the sight, and tonight was no exception. However, while her mind was occupied with thoughts and worries, her ears were attentive to their surroundings.
When Trixie’s deep snores met her ears, Patsy perked up and crunched to sit on her bed. She drew back the quilt from her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, eventually pushing herself up to her full height. She glanced at Trixie, and once she was convinced she was asleep, she crept out of the shared room, her movements stealthy and rich with experience.
“There you are…” Delia greeted when her lover opened the door to her bedroom. Even with the troubles and uncertainty that loomed between them, especially Patsy, she couldn’t help but crack a small smile at seeing her lover. She never grew tired of seeing Patsy step into her room, time and time again.
“Trixie took her sweet time falling asleep tonight,” Patsy huffed. She closed the door behind her and walked over to her girlfriend’s bed, seating herself on the edge of the squeaky mattress.
Delia put her book down on the edge of her night table and opened her arms, motioning for her lover to come closer. Patsy naturally crawled into Delia’s warmth and laid her head on her chest. Silence fell between them, and Patsy pressed her ear closer to Delia’s pyjama top, hearing the light thump of her heart beating a comforting tempo.
“You’ll be okay...” Delia broke the silence, ever so softly, her voice soothing and warm. “We’ll be okay...” she added. Patsy was trembling in her arms and she knew her worries were consuming her mind.
“I feel so torn,” Patsy shook her head.
“You are so brave, Pats...” Delia breathed out. “I don’t want you to feel that you have to choose between me and your father. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Every time we have a chance to be together, it’s like the world pulls us apart again. You’ve said it yourself,” Patsy finally let the tears she had been holding back fall freely down her cheeks. “We’re like ghosts… half with each other, but mostly without.”
“And you said we’re not dead yet,” Delia countered. “We’ve found our way back together once before, we’ll do it time and time again.”
Patsy remained silent.
“Right?” Delia questioned softly, now a little worried about Patsy’s lack of a response.
“I hope so,” Patsy voiced honestly. She knew her heart belonged in Poplar with Delia, but she didn’t know how long she would be gone, and she certainly did not know the mental state she would be in after her father’s death. The last thing Patsy wanted to do was make promises, promises about their future that she could not keep.
Delia closed her eyes and rested her head against the headboard of her single bed. She rubbed soft circles on Patsy’s back and wondered if this would be the last time she would hold her in her arms like this. Patsy’s boat was scheduled to make passage through Southampton the next morning, and Delia tried her best to stay strong for Patsy, in fact, she tried really hard to pretend she didn’t fear the distance too. Except, she feared it a lot. She feared that Patsy would find it too hard to hold on to their relationship and, most of all, she feared Patsy would not come back. Delia would never admit it, but she was beyond terrified.
“I’ll write every day,” Delia reminded. “Even if you can’t, or you don’t have the energy to read them, I won’t break the thread. I...” she hesitated, “I won’t stop loving you that easily.”
Patsy glanced up at her lover with tired eyes. She knew their love was rare and she knew she would be a fool to let it go.
“Pats…” Delia placed a soft hand on her lover’s face and gently wiped her tears away, “I would never force you to say something you don’t mean, but I need to know that you’ll at least tell me when we’re over.”
“I’m not ending us, Deels,” Patsy replied with promise in her voice. “But we can’t ignore the fact that this can put a strain on what we already have to fight to maintain. I know you’ll say you’ll fight for us, but I could be gone for… a very long time. We’ll be putting up a fight for a very long time.”
They were both nurses, they both knew—-from experience—-that a palliative case could last days, or months, or in some cases, years of agony.
Delia closed her eyes and nodded her head, “I understand…” she said, though her heart could not fathom the day she would stop loving Patience Mount. Even if she was gone for a year, even two, Delia felt she could keep going, if they put the effort in. If there was even an ounce of hope that they could make it through the rough together, she would fight for them.
“This is all so unfair,” Patsy sighed after some time. If it was up to her, if it wouldn’t have raised so many questions—-or possibly break her dying father's heart to find out she would never have a husband—-Patsy would have asked her partner to come to Hong Kong with her.
“Agreed,” Delia breathed out and took the hand Patsy had rested on her abdomen. She rubbed the soft knuckle with her thumb and grazed the rough fingertips with her own. Patsy had obviously been cleaning with bleach again, as she did whenever she was anxious or stressed.
“Sister Monica Joan once said my bones must have the strength of oxen,” Delia shared after a long moment of silence, trying to lighten the mood. If this was their last night together for a long time, she surely did not want to spend it being miserable.
“Why would she say that?” Patsy furrowed her brows, a bit confused about her girlfriend’s story.
“She said I was the reason for the sudden spike in milk consumption,” Delia admitted with a shy smile. “It’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever received.”
Patsy smirked, somewhat, trying to find humour in her lover’s obvious attempt to put a smile on her face.
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in London and you’re telling me that Sister Monica Joan has paid you the best compliment, by comparing you to a domesticated bovine animal?” Patsy countered, pretending to be offended.
Delia smirked and gave her lover’s hand a playful squeeze. She knew it wasn’t the funniest tale to tell, but it put a smile back on Patsy’s face, and that’s what she wanted to see.
“Speaking of domesticated…” Delia broke yet another spell of silence after a few minutes, “Did I ever tell you that I’ve had my dream wedding planned out since I was a little girl?”
“I wouldn’t doubt for a second that you already have the song for the first dance picked out,” Patsy replied with a small smile, though it saddened her that she could never give Delia the dream wedding she so obviously wanted.
Delia smiled and traced a ring around Patsy’s finger, where she hoped to one day have their wedding band. “The only thing I didn’t have planned was who I was going to marry,” she added.
Patsy remained silent and watched Delia’s finger draw circles around hers.
“I tried to picture my life with a chap, but, well… it never quite fit the picture I had in my head,” Delia confessed. “I could never picture myself wearing an apron and cooking a roast while I wait for him to come home from work.”
Patsy couldn’t help but smile at the image that formed in her head: Delia in an apron, acting very domesticated.
“But, you see, when I began to daydream about marrying you…” Delia gazed into her lover’s eyes, “It felt like Christmas morning. I can’t wait to start my day next to you, and ending it the same way… just you and me.”
“That sounds fantastic,” Patsy agreed and tightened her hold around her lover.
“I daydream about it a lot,” Delia admitted with a soft sigh.
Patsy remained silent and thought to herself for a moment. She closed her eyes and pictured the life with Delia that she dreamt of often.
“I dream about us too...” Patsy shared, “Living in a world where we can live a life together… fully. Just like everyone else who’s in love, and nobody bats an eyelid.”
“I wish it was this world,” Delia agreed.
Patsy opened her eyes and sat up. She turned to face her lover and straddled Delia’s thighs, gently seating herself on Delia’s lap. Delia naturally placed her hands on Patsy’s hips and smiled when she saw the sparkle come back into Patsy’s eyes.
“We would have our own flat again---a much nicer one---and I’ll wear the apron and cook the roast while I wait for you to come home from work,” Patsy continued to talk about her dream world, her mood much lighter than when she first came into the room. Delia made her happy, and picturing a life with her filled her heart with joy.
“Oh really?” Delia couldn’t help but chuckle. “I always thought I would do the cooking and you would do the cleaning.”
“We can take turns when we grow tired of it,” Patsy reassured.
“I don’t think I’d grow tired of cooking for you,” Delia admitted.
“Then I shall do all the cleaning, and make sure the bed is made before you get into it every night,” Patsy promised.
“We’ll have a big bed, right?” Delia asked, “Like every married couple? I’ve always wanted to have a big bed like that.”
“Of course,” Patsy smirked and narrowed her eyes, “Although we would be sleeping a little less and a little later at night.”
“Every night?” Delia laughed.
“Every night,” Patsy laughed along. She interlocked her fingers behind Delia’s neck and held her for a moment. “Every night would be like the ones we spent at the Hotel du Lys.”
“Romantic,” Delia smiled and closed her eyes when Patsy placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
“I wish we could recreate those nights now,” Patsy whispered against her lover’s lips.
“Pats...” Delia whimpered with hesitance in her voice. They were already pushing their luck, in their current position, and she feared they would be discovered. Especially since her door didn’t lock. None of the bedroom doors at the convent had locks.
“I know a convent is the last place you’d want to…” Patsy breathed out, “But-”
Delia seized the moment and stopped Patsy’s mouth with her own. In the year that she had lived at Nonnatus House, only Patsy opened her door unannounced. Her fear, although reasonable, was not probable. Besides, she really hadn’t touched Patsy since they were at the Hotel du Lys, on their holiday in Paris this past spring.
“I want to,” Delia confessed, “I always want to, with you.”
Patsy smiled and placed her palms flat against Delia’s chest, smoothing the cotton of her pyjama top.
“We’ll have to be extra quiet…” Patsy whispered, “Can you do that?”
Delia smiled and closed the gap between them, landing another kiss on the lips she loved most.
Patsy pulled back from the kiss after a long moment and crawled off her lover. She stood at the edge of the bed as she lifted Delia’s quilt and slipped in to lay beside her, the bed creaking from the added weight.
“Shh,” Delia placed her index finger on her lips, then smiled as she brought her hands to the buttons on Patsy’s pyjamas.
Patsy watched her lover undo her buttons, and then slipped out of the flannel. She shivered as the cool night air met her shoulders, and she quickly unfastened Delia’s buttons so they could shed their clothes and hold each other, skin to skin.
“I’ve missed this,” Delia whimpered. She slipped a hand behind Patsy’s neck and moved it up to tangle her fingers in her bright red hair. Patsy had shifted to lay on top of her and Delia loved feeling the weight of her lover above her, being as close as they could be.
“Me too…” Patsy placed her hands on either side of Delia’s shoulders and lowered her head to plant hot kisses across Delia’s jawline, down her neck, and then her collarbone.
Delia tilted her head back and muffled a moan between her lips when Patsy sucked on her pulse point. She could feel the heat that was building between them and, what was once a cool bedroom, suddenly became hot and sweaty under her sheets.
Patsy’s fingers found their way to Delia’s mound, and soon enough, Patsy was using her mouth to muffle the moans that were slipping past Delia’s lips.
“Pats…” Delia moaned into her lover’s mouth. The friction Patsy was creating between her thighs built-up a pleasant burn that radiated from her core to her toes.
Patsy’s forearm burned too, but she ignored the discomfort and did what she had to do to please her woman. She wanted Delia to feel good, to feel nothing but pleasure, and it pleased Patsy to feel Delia’s breathing quicken, and feel her abdomen tense and relax against her skin. When Delia’s thighs began to squeeze around her hand, Patsy knew she was approaching her climax, and she readied herself by planting a firm kiss on her lips.
Delia had no choice but to take a deep breath through her nose and shut her eyes tight as she peaked. Her back arched, at first, then she crunched forward and pulsated against her lover, her thighs squeezing around the knee Patsy had placed between them. Her moans were muffled by Patsy’s lips, and luckily, not even a wandering nun could have heard her from the hallway.
Patsy smiled as her lover went limp, and gazed down at her with loving eyes. Delia’s eyelids were still crinkled shut, and her mouth was still ajar. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, and a light sheen of sweat glossed her forehead. The sight made Patsy smirk with both pride and admiration.
“I’ve almost forgotten how good that feels,” Delia opened her eyes and smiled up at her lover.
“It has been a very long time,” Patsy agreed, her cheeks still high from the smile that had yet to fade from her lips.
Delia took a deep breath and then smirked as she attempted to flip their position.
“I’d like to stay on top, if that’s okay with you…” Patsy mentioned, her stance firm so Delia couldn’t move her.
“Whatever you need, Pats...” Delia wholeheartedly complied.
“I want to stay like this,” Patsy confirmed with a nod.
“Works for me,” Delia reached a hand up to grasp the thigh Patsy had between her legs. She guided Patsy’s leg to the space on the mattress beside her hip so that Patsy was straddling her again. And without another word, Delia returned the favour and began to touch her lover.
“Oh Pats…” Delia gasped in shock. Hot arousal met her fingertips and she was astounded by the amount that coated her fingers.
Patsy blushed and pressed her forehead against Delia’s. Her breathing hitched and Delia continuously caressed her---first softly, then firmly. It didn’t take long, and when she reached her peak, she buried her nose into Delia’s shoulder and held her in her arms as she came on her lover.
“Patience Mount!” Delia gasped from a sudden pain that stung her shoulder.
Patsy released the skin from between her teeth and huffed as she caught her breath.
“Sorry, Deels…” Patsy murmured between laboured breaths.
Delia glanced at the spot, red and sore from Patsy’s bite.
“I felt like I was going to scream,” Patsy said, slightly embarrassed that she could not contain herself.
“It’s okay,” Delia rubbed the red skin and gave her lover a reassuring smile. “I’d rather a bite than a nun running in because she thought we were being robbed.”
“Shall I get some ice?” Patsy asked, still ever so apologetic.
“It’s not that bad, Pats,” Delia smiled and wrapped her arms around her lover, pulling her into a firm embrace.
“It might leave a mark,” Patsy argued.
“So it leaves a mark,” Delia shrugged. “No one is going to see me naked for a while.”
Patsy’s happy demeanour suddenly changed when she remembered the reality that loomed outside of Delia’s bedsheets. Patsy wished they could just hide underneath the pink quilt forever.
“Hey…” Delia tilted Patsy’s chin up, “Let’s just enjoy what we have, right here, right now. No worrying about the future… until the sun rises..”
“Fine,” Patsy huffed in agreement and held her lover in her arms, savouring the warmth of Delia’s skin against hers before she had to leave her.
The next morning, Patsy pressed a kiss on Delia’s forehead and crept back to her room as her lover slept. She had walked the path so many times, avoiding the especially creaky floorboards became second nature. Trixie was still snoring when Patsy got to their bedroom and she tiptoed around Trixie’s bed before slipping into her own. The boat to Hong Kong left the dock at noon, but Patsy no longer feared the length of her travels ahead. Even if Delia slept on the other side of the convent, even if they shared a home with Trixie, Barbara, Nurse Crane, and quite a few nuns, Patsy knew home was wherever Delia was.
FIN
A/N: On a lighter note, I have written a fluffy fic about their trip to Paris.
Will post it soon :)
Who knew 2012 was gonna be the peak of my calzona days and writing fics and fangirling and having a hoot with calzonastories and all the cool cats who literally did not give a fuck about the plot as long as calzona was happy and exploding as the waves of their orgasms crashed upon them and their tongues battled for dominance 😂
~author’s note~ Carol and Therese discover a new source of pleasure for the price of fifty cents.
Characters from The Price of Salt (1952) / Carol (2015).
Insp: [link 1] [link 2]
RATED M
~ New York City, 1954 ~
*One, two, three o’clock, four o’clock rock*
“Five, six, seven o’clock, eight o’clock rock…”
“Nine, ten, eleven o’clock, twelve o’clock rock…”
“We’re gonna rock! around! the clock! tonight!”
The 1949 Packard thumped through potholes and puddles as summer rain fell from gray skies--and it’s rather happy passengers, two women and their daughter, sang and danced to the best of their abilities in the confinement of their seats.
Bill Haley continued to play on the radio, and Carol and Therese glanced at each other from time to time, admiring and appreciating the proud smiles that graced their faces. They had been living together for about a year now, and they couldn’t have been any happier. Other than Rindy only being present one day each month, they were a family: a small, happy, family. And that day, despite the rain, they had spent their time at Coney Island eating sweets and playing games.
Of course, it didn’t come easy; Carol, in particular, had to fight for the family she had now. Despite her previous arrangement with Harge, it killed her to only see Rindy during their limited supervised visits--so she bargained harder, even pushing her luck, until he gave into letting her have one overnight--and more importantly, unsupervised--visit every month. Carol also had Rindy to thank for constantly crying to her father about how much she missed her mother. Luckily, even Harge had a heart and, despite his beliefs, couldn’t let his daughter go on with a broken heart.
So there they were now, restricted by the law, yet happy with the time they got to spend together.
“We’re gonna rock around the clock tonight...” Rindy and her mothers drummed the final beats against the car: Carol, who was driving, against the steering wheel; Therese, who was in the passenger seat, against the glove compartment; and Rindy, who was in the back, against her mothers’ seats.
The car then slowly came to a stop and Therese noticed they had parked in front of a local seven-eleven.
“Are we low on milk already?” Therese asked.
“No, just picking up a pack of cigarettes…” Carol pulled the parking brake and turned off the engine.
“Can I come with you?” Rindy asked.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Carol reassured. “Would you like anything from inside? A soda, maybe?”
“Tootsie Roll, please!” Rindy requested.
“And for the lovely woman in the passenger seat?” Carol asked her lover.
“I’ll have the same,” Therese replied.
“Done. I’ll be back in a minute…” Carol eyed her two girls and then braced herself for the short walk in the rain.
It wasn’t until Carol’s door slammed shut that Therese spotted the full pack of cigarettes tucked into the small compartment beside the steering wheel.
“What is your mother up to?” Therese wondered aloud.
“You’re right, she is…” Therese swiftly took the pack of cigarettes and patiently waited for her lover to come back--and just as Carol said, she was back in a minute: holding two Tootsie Rolls and a pack of Camel’s.
“For the little lady in the back…” Carol extended her hand behind her head and gave the child her candy.
“Thank you!” Rindy sat back down and began unwrapping the treat.
“And for my lady in the front…” Carol handed Therese the wrapped taffy.
“You had a pack right here,” Therese exchanged the candy for the pack of cigarettes.
“Oh my, did I miss that?” Carol asked half-heartedly, “Oh well, saves me the trouble of picking some up later...”
The car started again, and within a few minutes the family was back at their home on Madison Avenue. Carol unlocked the door and walked into the apartment first, followed by Therese, and then Rindy: who had run past her mothers and into the living room to play at her tea set on the little table where her porcelain dolls were already seated.
“Rindy, would you get your belongings together, please?” Carol asked, “Your father will be here to pick you up shortly.”
“Yes mama,” Rindy gathered her favourite toys and began placing them on the wooden coffee table.
“I’ll get started on supper,” Therese offered.
“Would you?” Carol smiled.
“Of course,” Therese nodded.
“I’ll just pack Rindy’s clothes then give you a hand,” Carol promised.
“Do what you have to do,” Therese reassured and then turned towards the kitchen to prepare their next meal.
Carol disappeared into the small hallway that lead to the bedrooms, but she didn’t go into Rindy’s room right away. Instead, she turned the corner and quietly went into their bedroom to place a particular item on Therese’s side of the bed, under the pillow, just in case Rindy happened to walk into the room. The creased magazine had been stuffed and hidden in her purse since she had bought it, but she hoped the rushed folding she had to do at the store didn’t damage the good bits of its printed contents.
“My toys are ready, mama!” Rindy called out.
“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute!” Carol quickly retreated to Rindy’s room to begin packing her little suitcase.
000
Moments later Harge arrived, and with as little words as possible, Carol let the father of her child take their daughter.
“I’ll see you next month, Snowflake...” Carol promised her little girl as she held her in her arms.
“Uh-huh,” Rindy nodded her head, “Can we play Chicago Express again, Therese?”
“Of course,” Therese smiled.
“Chicago Express?” Harge asked.
“The train set,” Carol briefly explained, slightly rushing her ex-husband to leave already. She was going to miss Rindy, but she could do without having to talk to Harge more than she had to.
“Right…” Harge took his daughter’s hand, “Well then, Princess, let’s get you home.”
“This is my home too,” Rindy corrected, oblivious to the small smiles that formed on her moms’ lips.
Harge ignored the correction and simply began their walk towards the elevators. Carol and Therese looked on until Rindy was out of sight, and then went back into the apartment to finish making supper.
“She’s a bright girl, isn’t she? Not scared to correct her father...” Carol said with a sigh of relief.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Therese replied.
Carol smiled and approached her lover, wrapping her arms around Therese’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder while Therese continued to mash potatoes.
“That looks good, need any help?”
“It’s nearly done,” Therese answered.
“I know,” Carol snickered, “I was just offering to be nice…”
Therese smirked and wicked a bit of mashed potatoes from the bowl with her finger, and pressed it into Carol’s nose.
“Oy!” Carol scrunched her nose and attempted to do the same to her lover, but Therese was quick in moving the bowl away from Carol’s reach.
“The mash is ready,” Therese chuckled and gave her lover kiss on the lips before Carol could reply.
000
After supper, the two women spent some time in the living room listening to the radio. As they did every night, they caught up on the daily news, and eventually switched channels to listen to an episode or two of whatever radio show was playing that night. They had naturally fallen into a routine, which was flexible when Rindy spent the night, but most days of the month the two women simply wanted to stay inside and enjoy each other’s company.
“Could we head to bed now?” Carol asked.
“It’s still early,” Therese pointed out.
“I didn’t mean to sleep,” Carol elaborated with a small smirk, “I want to get some reading done in bed.” She stood up and stretched her back, “Are you going to come join me or not?”
Therese cracked a small smile and placed her tea mug on the side table, to be washed later. Without another word she took the hand Carol had extended and followed her into the bedroom.
After removing their clothes, and getting into their pajamas, they got into their respective sides of the bed. Therese immediately noticed the stiff magazine that hid under her pillow and she pulled it out to get a better look of the offending item: surprised to come face to face with a Playboy magazine displaying a picture of a woman in a revealing bathing suit.
“I had a feeling you picked up more than just cigarettes…” Therese couldn’t help but laugh.
“I really tried to be subtle,” Carol timidly admitted.
“Why did you get it?” Therese wondered.
“For you… for us,” Carol explained, “It’s got pictures of women, nude women, take a look…”
“I havn’t got a use for it,” Therese admitted. She appreciated women, and nude women were no exception, but ever since she began her life with Carol her desire to look at another woman ceased to exist.
“I thought we could give it a gander...” Carol lifted the covers and snuggled closer to her lover.
“Sure, if you want to…” Therese quietly released a breath and opened the magazine to its first page. She read the excerpts that occupied the margins, but her eyes barely grazed the pictures of women. It was obvious that Carol was a little more intrigued, though. She was eagre to turn the page, and see more women, which didn’t bother Therese as much as she thought it would; Carol did have a generous sexual appetite and she was a little more adventurous in her ways of seeking pleasure.
It was quite eye opening for Therese. She had never been with such a passionate and bold lover. The first time Carol made her wear a blindfold during sex, it made Therese’s heart beat so hard she thought it would jump out of her chest. Restricting her eyesight while Carol made love to her body made every move come as a surprise to Therese, and she enjoyed it so much she’s requested it several times since.
Thus it was beneficial that Carol seemed to never run out of ideas in the bedroom. Therese was, for the most part, very open about trying new things with her partner--as Carol, on the other hand, ensured Therese would only participate in things they mutually enjoyed.
“It's new,” Therese turned her head to look at her lover. “I've never seen so many breasts before,” she admitted with an almost embarrassed grin.
“Isn't it just swell?” Carol joyfully turned the page. “I remember the day I first laid eyes on a naughty picture. Frankie Jones in high school had stolen a Polaroid from his father’s collection of women from his travels and it was passed around the room like a hot potato. I had to take a mental picture of it, you know? I didn't know when the next opportunity would arise that I would be able to see a naked woman again---nowadays all you have to do is buy a magazine,” Carol ended with a laugh.
“Or walk into the bathroom while I'm taking a bath...” Therese teased.
“Right,” Carol smiled and placed a soft kiss on her lover’s exposed shoulder. She moved her lips across Therese’s skin and continued to place soft kisses across her chest until she felt the desire to snake her hand into her lover’s panties.
“What are you up to?” Therese snickered.
“I want to touch you while you're looking at the magazine,” Carol admitted.
Therese turned the page of the magazine and came face to face with yet another woman, partially nude. To be honest, she wasn’t as attracted to the woman like she was to Carol. She loved Carol, and she would always want her above anyone else, but the woman wasn’t unattractive either. Therese simply had no desire to lust over another woman.
“If you want to…” Carol reassured when Therese’s silence made her unsure if Therese was willing to participate.
“I’ll give it a try,” Therese finally agreed, “Kiss me first…”
Carol smiled and pulled her lover into a kiss. The hand she had between Therese's thighs began moving but Therese squeezed her thighs together, indicating for her to stop.
“I just need a few kisses,” Therese breathed out.
“Of course,” Carol smiled and slipped her tongue into her lover’s mouth: caressing and tasting Therese’s with love. She kissed her slowly, which granted Therese some time to use her imagination.
She could do with just watching Carol make love to her, but now that she was given the magazine, she let her thoughts play. She thought, perhaps, the women in the magazine were to join them--but being in the nude in front of so many women made her feel conscious so she quickly stopped that train of thought. Then she thought of herself being fully clothed while the women undressed and teased her with a seductive dance--the thought was a little more arousing to Therese.
“I'm ready,” she huffed after she pulled away from the heavy kiss. Her arousal had made its presence known and now she wanted Carol to touch her.
Carol eagerly tugged her girlfriend’s pajamas off and lifted Therese’s camisole to expose her breasts. She naturally took one into her mouth and toyed with it a few times before resting her body parallel to Therese’s.
“I want you to take your clothes off too,” Therese mentioned.
“Sure...” Carol smiled and stood from the bed, removing her clothes before laying back in her previous position.
Therese closed her eyes and imagined the girls dancing some more: some of them were fully nude, and others were asking her to take articles of clothing off their bodies. She felt Carol’s fingers danced through her slit and she moaned when her fingers grazed her clit.
“This is strange…” Therese admitted, “I feel like I’m cheating.”
“It’s not cheating,” Carol reassured, “It’s visual stimulation.”
“I get enough visual stimulation when I look at you,” Therese reminded.
“I’m aware, Therese, I just thought we could try something new–if it’s not working for you then we can try something else-”
“I didn’t say it’s not working,” Therese moaned quietly, “It’s just… new.”
“Give it a chance…” Carol rested her head on her lover’s shoulder and looked on at the 1954 June issue of Playboy Magazine in Therese’s hands.
Therese turned the page and opened the centerfold--within it was a picture of Margie Harrison, partially nude, posing with a telephone in her hand. She quietly added her to the handful of girls that were occupying her imagination, and she thought about having some of them ask her to touch them intimately.
“What are you thinking?” Carol asked curiously.
Therese took a deep breath and blushed.
“Do share,” Carol insisted, “You’re always so quiet, I never really know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“I’m thinking…” Therese moaned, “I’m thinking of her and the other girls dancing around me… some of them have taken all of their clothes off and asked me to touch them.”
“Hmm,” Carol hummed in satisfaction, “Can I join?”
Therese bit the inside of her bottom lip and glanced at her partner with love-filled eyes, “Of course…” she breathed out.
Carol smiled and carefully shifted down the bed until her mouth was at Therese’s folds. She gently parted Therese’s thighs, and wrapped her arms around each of them. Therese’s hands were busy holding the magazine, which restricted her view of Carol, so Carol took it upon herself to part Therese’s folds with her fingers and hold her open as she ate her out.
“Oh…” Therese closed her eyes and moaned, her mouth forming an ‘O’ as Carol’s tongued worked at her sex. Her grip began to strengthen as pleasure pumped through her veins, and it caused the magazine to crimp where she was holding it.
Carol couldn’t see her lover’s face behind the magazine, but she could hear the whispered curses that escaped Therese’s mouth--it was immensely arousing to hear.
“Yes, Carol…” Therese whimpered. She held onto the magazine for a moment longer and then tossed it onto Carol’s side of the bed. Carol was making her feel good and she had no need for the magazine any longer. The thoughts that played in her head were enough to get her wet, but now she only needed Carol to make her cum.
“Inside…” she ordered with a ragged breath.
Carol knew what her lover wanted, and she gave it to her: as her tongue lapped patterns up and down her lover’s clit, she added one--and then two--fingers inside Therese. But she didn’t move them in and out as she usually would, instead she pushed them in as deep as they would go and curled them to milk the spongy wall at her fingertips.
“OH FUCK-” Therese arched her back and brought her left knuckle to her mouth to bite on. The sensations she was feeling were becoming too intense to handle, and she felt the need to restrain herself to keep the neighbours from thinking she was being murdered.
Carol briefly lifted her head to speak to her lover, “Let it out…” she encouraged softly.
Therese shook her head in refusal and bit her knuckle harder--she knew she was going to scream and a part of her didn’t want to.
“These walls are thick, Therese, let it out…”
Therese held onto her screams for as long as she could, but the heaving at her chest, and the build-up in her womanhood fought against her until she couldn’t contain herself any longer.
“C--CAROL…” mouth open, thighs quaking, eyes shut tight, Therese roared with her release.
Carol felt the surge of her lover’s arousal coat her chin and it made her smile in accomplishment. She watched Therese timidly cover her mouth and she knew the younger woman was beginning to feel conscious about how loud she had just screamed.
“How was that?” Carol asked softly, easing out of her lover’s body and wiping her hand on a nearby article of clothing.
“I’m quite thankful Rindy isn’t sleeping in the next room…” Therese breathed out.
“Me too,” Carol chuckled.
“Come here…” Therese curled her finger and waited for her lover to lay on top of her.
“What did you think of the magazine?” Carol asked.
“I wasn’t sure about it, at first,” Therese admitted, “But it certainly added to my imagination.”
“I thought you’d like it,” Carol smiled.
“How ever do you come up with doing these things in the bedroom?” Therese asked Carol.
“I don’t know,” Carol blushed, “I supposed I think about us doing the deed quite often.”
“How often?” Therese wondered.
“Whenever my mind gets a moment to drift…”
Therese smiled and tucked a lock of Carol’s hair behind her ear. “I think about it too… but I could never come up with anything this bold.”
“I’m sure you could, if you let your imagination run wild…”
Therese smiled and held her lover in her arms for a moment, “I’ll have to really think about it some time.”
“I look forward to hearing what you come up with,” Carol admitted with a smirk.
Therese swiped her thumb across her lover’s bottom lip and admired Carol’s mouth: the source of her pleasure only a few moments ago.
“Do you want the magazine?” she asked her lover.
“What for?” Carol laughed.
“To look at, while I go down on you...”
“That won’t be necessary,” Carol refused.
“Don’t you want to use it to get into the mood?” Therese asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Carol laughed, “I’m dripping after watching you orgasm like that.”
“Yeah?” Therese smiled.
“See for yourself…” Carol indicated at her cunt and yelped when the smaller woman flipped their position. She watched Therese dip a finger into her wetness, and she shivered at the slightest touch of her clit.
“I wouldn’t joke about that,” Carol moaned softly, “Now I need you to do as you will or I’ll have to take matters into my own hands…”
“That won’t be necessary,” Therese chuckled and lowered her head to take her lover into her mouth. Carol’s taste immediately met her tongue, and she didn’t wait any longer to help Carol reach her climax.
When Carol collapsed against the pillows, sweat beading at her forehead, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, Therese crawled up her length and placed her head on her lover’s chest. She heard Carol’s heart pound against her ear, and she savoured the feeling that only the two of them existed in the world.
“That didn’t take long at all, did it?” Carol asked with a light laugh.
“You were close when I started,” Therese reminded.
“I was…” Carol sighed and wrapped her arms around her naked lover.
“Do you think, next month, we could get the latest issue?” Therese asked.
“Of course…” Carol began to laugh, “I’m glad you liked it that much.”
“Why are you laughing?” Therese smiled.
“I told the clerk that I was buying the magazine as a gift for a pal,” Carol confessed. “He’s going to think I have so many friends.”
“I can buy it next time,” Therese offered. “I’ll say I’m buying it for a friend who is too embarrassed to buy it.”
“I’m sure he’ll believe you---you look too innocent to be reading filthy magazines.”
“Right,” Therese smiled.
“We’ll have to set out a monthly pornography budget,” Carol teased.
Callie Torres hopped off her bar stool and ran into the dirty bar bathroom before the tears trickled down her cheeks. Not only did it feel like her life was falling apart, it felt like she was constantly being pulled further and further away from the happiness she so desperately desired. She was trying so hard to keep everything together, she was starting to question if it was worth fighting so much for.
"Of course it is," she told herself. "You're okay. It's a bad week, not a bad life." She slowly composed herself: wiped her tears and fixed her hair through the mirror. She took a few deep breaths and then held her head high, ready to take on the world again.
On her way out of the bathroom, the door swung open and a blonde woman appeared. Callie instinctively moved out of her way but the other woman insisted she go first.
"After you..." the woman held the door open.
"Thanks," Callie cracked a small smile and locked eyes with the woman's baby blue ones. For a brief moment she saw a lifetime in this woman's eyes: a wedding, a child, a house with a backyard.
"Have a good night," the woman kindly returned the smile and proceeded into the bathroom to go about her own business.
Callie shook her head to clear her thoughts, then proceeded out of the Emerald City bar. She retreated back to her apartment and began to pack her bags. She needed to sort out her life, and she did it the only way she knew how: a silent retreat to a B&B in the mountains.
Nsfw-fangirling would like to let you know that this blog is here to provide you with Rated M gifs and pictures. It may also assist you in visualizing that smutty fanfic you are currently writing/reading. ;)
Check it out:
Grey’s Anatomy
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Rizzoli & Isles
#maura isles , #jane rizzoli
The 100
#clarke griffin , #lexa
Lost Girl
#bo , #lauren
Swan Queen
#regina mills , #emma swan (more to come for this pairing!)
