#Skip Donahue

[mannytoodope]

[idontplaytrack]

Whole Lot in Love

Capri Donahue x fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut. Oral, fingering, pet names(reader receiving). Coarse language, fluff

Part 2 for ‘Kiss It Better’

Things between you and Capri weren’t awkward. Until you two were in school, that’s where the silence was so loud, it was almost tangible.

No one knew what happened between you and her at the pool party, no one knew about the kiss. Well, the kisses. Technically. The sweet little peck to your thumb, and the needy, yearned for, first kiss. You knew the girl had a reputation to uphold, as did you. So your anxiety began to set in when she talked to you, and stood right next to you. You were terrified of being seen and talked about by others.

It was the last week of school before summer. You just had to make it through these five days then you didn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Hi, you.” Capri says while walking up to you. She readily leans in to kiss your cheek but you dodged it— right. This — the PDA ‘rules’ hadn’t been discussed yet.

“What’s the matter?” The girl asks with a chuckle, face almost confused by your reaction.

You told her, “We haven’t exactly discussed anything.”

She got what you meant and kept a bit of a space between you and herself, "Right, right. We'll talk that out after school? Today?"

"Sure." You agreed.

"Where's your last class?"

"Gym." You told her, eyes narrowed and watching the students walking by.

"I'll wait for you outside." Capri says, "See you later, y/n."

"Bye." You responded, an awkward chuckle escapes your mouth as you turned to go in the direction opposite hers. Capri nearly cackled at your reaction but bit the laugh back.

The rest of you day at school went by without a hitch, but she did keep looking at you whenever she got the chance to. You could feel her eyes on you, practically burning holes into the back of your head.

Did you want to look back at her? Yes.

Were you afraid to because of what other students would say? God yes.

You were never used to any attention from anyone, you always just slid under the radar at school and floated by, much like Darby.

Quickly changing out of your gym attire, you got out of the locker room as a trio of popular girls in your gym class entered. You’d just spared yourself some snickering and finger-pointing. Looking both ways when you stepped out of the gymnasium, you spot Capri leaning against the wall on your left. She looked up, saw you and skipped over. “Hey!” Capri beamed.

“Hi.” You gave her a small smile, “Uh, are you parents home?”

“Not right now but they’ll be by dinner time.” Capri replied, “Yours?”

“They’re on business trips for another week.”

“Ooh.” She chuckles, “Okay, we’ll talk at your place. You don’t drive, do you?”

“It’s a twenty minute walk.” You shrug.

“Well, my car’s parked here and I don’t want to leave it here in the parking lot.” She continues, “C’mon, let’s take my car.” You followed Capri to her car, and got in the front with her.

“You wanna pick up anything from the store on the way back?”

“No, I’m good.” You said while buckling your seatbelt.

“Okay, then.”

The brief drive was filled with light-hearted conversation. She asked you a bunch of questions to get to know you and you just answered them without a second thought. In the privacy of her car, where no one else could see. You were free as a bird, no worries, no nothing.

“Nice place.” She commented as you two walked into the place.

“It’s really not.” You laughed.

“Oh, come on. It is.”

“It’s…small.” You added on.

“Not really.” She retorted.

“Fine, it’s not. Your mansion is huge.”

She smirked, “Touché, y/n. It feels so empty a lot of the times.”

“I’m gonna go take a shower.”

She gasped, “Wait, what do you want me to do?”

“I dunno. Make yourself at home? Watch TV, raid the pantry. I’m all gross from gym class. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” She asked teasingly, stepping closer to you. Her arm was smoothly winded around your waist, face to face with you.

You looked at her, brows raised, bewildered. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Maybe I don’t.” She continues.

“Let me take a shower first, alright?” You avert your eyes, requesting.

“M’kay.” She hummed, her palm rubbing small circles on your lower back as she broke away from the embrace. That gesture ignited a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and the blush on your cheeks to deepen. Clearing your throat, you scampered upstairs before she could poke fun at you for it.

You didn’t take long, not wanting to keep her waiting. “Hey.” She turned to look at you from her seat on the couch. You silently walked up to her and sat down next to her. “Okay, let’s…talk.”

“So…” You sigh, “What are we?”

“What do you mean?” She asks, absolutely confused.

“What…are we? We kissed, so…are we dating? Or was that, just—”

“I told you, I like you, y/n.” Capri says softly.

“So?” You asked back. “That doesn’t mean that we’re—”

“Is that why you didn’t want me to kiss you on the cheek at school?” She questioned, her gaze gentle, as was her tone.

“I just— I like you too, but the thought of me being openly affectionate with— I’m sorry, I’m not out yet and I— I’m scared.” You revealed to her, finally.

“That’s okay. I got you. We don’t have to do anything while we’re out in public.” Capri held onto your hand as she spoke, “And to answer your question, yes. We’re dating. But we’ll keep things…lowkey. Hm?”

You sniffled, eyes still not completely meeting hers. Nodding your head, you mumble, “Okay.”

Before you could realise, she’d wrapped her arm around you again, pulling you closer to her. Reflexively, your head was on her shoulder. You didn’t fight it, knowing you were…safe in this space. No comments, no judgement.

————

“What’re you doing?” You ask, looking up at her.

“Nothing.” She smirked, chuckling as she continues to caress your lower back.

“Right.” You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully.

“What do you want me to be doing?” She asks suggestively, palm now gliding lower and lower. Approaching your ass. You let out a harsh exhale as her hand cups the muscle, you flinch, glaring at her. You were almost too quickly losing focus on whatever the hell was playing on TV.

Soon, you relaxed again, letting her leave those lingering touches all over you. You wanted her to, but you didn’t exactly want to say it just yet. Just to be a little playful with her. Capri definitely didn’t mind it. “Capri.”

“Yeah.” She hand stops moving for a second.

“Prove it to me.” You muttered.

“Oh, no problem.” She practically purred, sending a rush of heat down south.

“Show me you mean it, show me that you like me like you say you do.” You weren’t sure where this confidence came from, but it was definitely the way to rile her up.

“Baby girl, you know I love a challenge.” Capri smirked, flipping you over onto the couch.

“Do you?” You asked cheekily as she straddled you, face inches away from yours.

“You wanna do this here?” She snaps out of the mood for a moment.

“What?” You squint at her.

“You wanna go to your room?” She asks, pressing a rough kiss to your lips.

You nodded eagerly, unable to hide your excitement. “Okay, get up.” She climbs off you, you got up. Capri picks you up and carried you up the stairs, impatiently.

“Second door on the right.” You said into the kiss.

She lowers you onto your mattress, lips never leaving yours as her knees were on either side of you. The intensity of the kisses varied and left you aching and wanting more. “Done this before?”

“No.” You admitted, swallowing thickly.

“We’ll take it slow.” She assured.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks flushing with her eyes fixated on you, “Okay.”

Capri grins, cupping your cheek as she leaned down to capture your lips again.

“You smell so good.” She says while kissing her way down your neck. You whined quietly when her lips were no longer felt on your mouth. You laughed at the comment and squirmed, but she kept going, wanting to hear that sweet, sweet noise again.

“You can tell me to stop anytime, you hear me?” Her lips broke away, Capri looked at you directly, “Anytime. No questions asked.”

“Yeah.” You nod, “Yeah— I hear you.”

“Good.” She smiled, brushing the hair out of your eyes as she lowered herself again.

When her lips started to attack a certain spot of your neck, you bit your lip to muffle the noise that was trying to force its way out of your mouth. Capri noticed it instantly. “Hey.” She hums, “It’s okay. Don’t hold back.”

Well, fuck. That gentleness in her tone only made you more flustered and needy. Why is she like that with you? And only you? Whatever, you were enjoying it. You loved it. Being the only one to see this side of her.

Obviously, she was taking the lead since this was your first time. She was gentle— not just her words, but also her actions. How she was kissing you, how her hands were roaming your body to explore it and what made you tick. Slow, and soft but passionate and eager.

It made your mind fuzzy, your eyes begin to watch her as she worked you over. She grins when she realises, letting out a chuckle and she squeezed your thighs. “You good?”

“Mhm.” Came a strained reply from you, “So good.”

“Aw.” She continues to grope your thighs, “So glad.”

That ignited something in your core— this little bit of her usual cheeky facade…

You licked your lips and gnawed on it again when her hand headed down your front. Her eyes, they flicked up to look at yours to ask you for permission silently. You gave her the green-light to proceed, and very slowly, you feel her middle finger gliding up and down your slit to gather your arousal before it enters you. Capri watches your face as she does so, making sure she wasn’t hurting you.

“Okay?”

Her question was answered by a whimper from you, making her smile smugly. She picks up her pace, hooking up her finger to press onto your sensitive spot inside. Your mouth hung open, a soft gasp escapes. Capri couldn’t take her eyes off you, she was infatuated. She could watch you all day while she fucked and edged you. Her other arm was smoothly hooked under your thigh as her finger pumped in and out of you steadily. More arousal leaked out of you, making her lose the friction and you both to start hearing a rather obscene noise come from the juncture between your legs.

Your head was spinning and Capri started to pick up her pace while you felt a second finger lazily moving between your folds, as though trying to tease you. “You want more, baby?” Capri asks, voice low-pitched and faint.

You took in a quick breath while you nodded feverently without saying a word, this was what you were reduced to. Nothing coherent was forming in your mind, your mind was miles away now as your eyes focused on the girl between your thighs and your body focused on chasing your release.

A second finger slides inside you without resistance, and again, she observed your face. Noting that you were fine, she begins to move them in and out of you, pace quickened once more.

Feeling her two digits poke your g-spot for the first time, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Then, Capri was rewarded with a breathy moan from you. From then on, your noises matched up with her ministrations. The more vocal you were, the more eagerly she was fucking you. Eventually, something made you scream. Capri had pressed her thumb onto your clit and started to rub it. And at this moment, every single word that ran through your head were profanities. So you hesitated opening your mouth, expecting them to be flying out of there if you did. Aaand you weren’t usually one with much of a potty mouth.

“I want to hear you.” She demanded, but her smile was almost sickeningly sweet.

“Okay.” You agreed.

“Hey.” Her free hand caresses your inner thigh, you look at her.

“Do you want me to try something else?” She inquired, fingers inside you never stopping.

“Try what?”

“Using my mouth.” She answered the very next moment.

“Wh— oh.” You looked at her, straight in the eye. She was serious. “Okay.” You chuckled, “Yeah, alright.”

Her tongue darted out and you saw her literally dive right in. Her tongue flicks persistently at your swelling clit while her mouth was closed around the hood of it.

“Oh— fuck!” You cried out, “Fuck…”

She hums in approval, “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Mm— yeah, yeah. Yes, oh my God.” Your breaths were beginning to come out in short pants. Her arm hooked around your thigh pulls you closer right as your back arches. Your hands grasp the sheets beneath yourself as you felt the pleasure building up and up to a breaking point.

It was…peculiar. You didn’t know what to expect.

“Oh, shit.” You gasped, “More— more. I want more.”

Her fingers joined in on the action post-haste, causing profanities and her name to fall from your lips unendingly. The girl was basking in it, and your pleasure. Fuck, was she good at this.

“Are you close?” She asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I— Capri, I don’t know what the hell to expect, I—”

“Probably kinda feels like you have to pee.” Capri says, mouth barely detached from you. The heat and her breath fanning against your cunt makes you flinch and then you were throbbing. So goddamn intensely.

“What?” You muttered. But you didn’t have much time to think when you began to feel exactly what she described.

“Fuck— shit, don’t stop— don’t stop, don’t stop— oh, my God, Capri—” You babbled, back arching and pushing yourself closer to her than ever. Capri slows down gradually but doesn’t stop just yet, allowing you to ride out each and every wave of your high.

“Oh, good girl.” Capri laughs softly, caressing your inner thighs as you start to calm down and find your breath again.

That made your heart flutter, you were giddy happy. Still a little breathless, but you felt great.

“How was that?” She asks, glancing at you.

You let out an exhale in amusement, “I’m…surprised.”

She bites her lip, chuckling again, “Really? Why?” Capri grabs a tissue from your nightstand to clean off her mouth and chin before laying down next to you.

“It was my first time, so…” You looked at her, she was laid down next to you, hand resting on your torso, fingers absentmindedly tracing squiggles on your skin, “That, and um, you were actually way gentler than I though you would be.”

“What?” She gasped, feigning offence.

You giggled, laying on your back.

Capri sighs softly, tilting your face so you were looking at her again. You returned to laying on your side. Her hand goes up your cheek, her thumb stroking against the skin softly, “I love you.”

“Do you, now?” You teased with a chuckle.

She pushes with a finger on your chest playfully, “Yes, I do, silly.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! Birdie is such a sneak in this chapter, cheeky thing! Hope y'all enjoy it!

Btw the ----- signifies a kind of time skip or scene change.

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Not many just underaged drinking...

Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz

Made of Glass

Chapter fourteen: Lipstick Stain  

In theory; jumping out of a plane was simple.  

In reality; the hardest thing Birdie had ever done.  

Sure, they spent days training and practicing, but leaping from an elevated platform and hurling your body out of an actual plane were two very different things. 

The first jump was daunting, no one knew what it would really be like, but once the initial stomach drop eased, Bernadette was hooked.  

A rush of adrenaline hit her and bubbled into joy. The view from above was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and Birdie wished she could capture this moment somehow, remember it till her last days.  

On the ground, the girl wrestled with her chute, rolling it up and packing it away before she could leave the area. 

That afternoon as the sky tinted orange and pink, Bernadette witnessed a drumming out. She wasn’t aware of the existence of this event until she stood in line and watched it happen.  

Any soldier who refused to jump was transferred out of the Airborne and could not qualify as a Paratrooper.  

It broke something in Birdie to see the disheartened faces being marched through the crowd in disgrace. She didn’t want to participate but she didn’t have much of a choice as it was used as a scare tactic to ensure everyone completed their five jumps. If she could, Birdie would have left this disgusting manipulation act.  

One face in particular stuck out to her: Barbara Donahue, the woman of Charlie company. She had slept in the cot next to Birdie since their first day in Toccoa and the thought that she wouldn’t be there that night ran shivers down her spine.  

Her head was hung in shame, and it boiled Birdies blood. How was this helping anyone? This certainly didn’t boost morale or inspire confidence, why was this allowed to happen? 

Bernadette completed the last four jumps alongside her Easy men with no hiccups over the course of two weeks and the night of the fifth and final jump, a celebration was being held for her company to applaud the gaining of their jump wings. It was official.

They were Paratroopers. 

Birdie adorned her dress greens; the shirt, tie and jacket were identical to the men's uniform except for some additional tailoring around the waist. She was given brand new, shiny paratrooper boots, which she was now permitted to tuck her trousers into. The women were also given a below the knee pencil skirt option but Bernadette wanted to show off her hard earned boots, so she opted for her trousers.

The woman added a simple red lip to her look and with her meticulously curled hair in an up do style, she was ready to go. 

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

“1000, 2000, 3000, 4000, 5000, 6000, 7000, 8000, 9-” Their rhythmic chant was cut off and replaced by cheers as Bill slammed the empty glass down onto the table. His silver jump wings had been retrieved from the bottom of the drink he chugged, now held between his teeth. Guarnere grinned at his friends, picking the shiny pin out with his fingers before he bellowed, “Heigh-Ho, Silver!” The surrounding men burst into obnoxious roars; Bernadette laughed at the comradery. 

Toye stood from the rambunctious collection of men to look in the direction of the bar, he needed at least one more drink to deal with this lot.  

“You gettin' ‘nother drink?” Birdie wondered, watching him eye up the other side of the room where she knew the alcohol was coming from.  

“Come on, Little Bird.” He rolled his eyes; he knew she had been trying to sneak in a drink all night, but to her chagrin, Lipton and Martin had forbidden her from underaged alcohol consumption. Joe walked with the girl until they reached the bar where he leaned against the wooden countertop and waited to be served. Birdie took a place next to him, brushing her hand down the front of her jacket to flatten any creases that may have formed on the way over.  

“Corporal Toye,” a mimic of Sobel’s voice exclaimed, “There will be no leaning in my company.” George Luz, was behind the bar handing out full to the brim glasses to anyone who asked, had made his way over to the pair. Toye straighten up his posture and gave the shorter man a pointed look.  

“Are those dusty jump wings?” Luz went on, causing Joe to look down at his newly gained pin. “How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?” The Pennsylvanian man mock blew the imaginary dust off and shined up the metal on his chest. He’d had enough of the jokesters' chatter; he just wanted a cold drink in his hand and less noise from the man in front of him.  

“Luz, just give me a drink.” He pulled George in, so their faces were mere inches away from one another. Birdie’s eyes flicked between the two and her mind wandered, they were awful close.... and then she spotted it. Luz’s vision flits to Toye’s lips for a mere second before finding his eyes again. Her smile dropped from her face, stunned at the small, almost undetectable movement from the barman. It happened so quickly she was sure Toye himself hadn’t noticed.

“Hell of an idea, Joe.” A smile broke out on George’s mouth spanning ear to ear, “There you go.” He had materialized a beer, seemingly from out of thin air and placed it on the counter separating the men. Retrieving his own half-drunk liquid, he toasted the Corporal before him.  

“Three miles up, three miles down.” 

A voice projected into the room, halting the events of the night and startling every occupant into an upright position, “Ten Hut.” Colonel Sink marched in, followed by two men. All three took a position at the front of the room and Sink began to speak.  

“Well, at ease, Paratroopers.” He paused while the room relaxed, “Good evening, Easy company.” 

“Evening, sir.” They called back, so loud Birdie almost flinched.  

“Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand-new concept in American Military History. But by God, the 506th is gonna forge that brand new concept into victory.” Sink’s southern drawl carried on, awe inspiring the group of men and the single woman.  

“Yes, sir.” 

“I want you to know I'm dammed proud of each and every one of you.” Sink looked directly at Bernadette. He doesn't call her out by name but the twinkle in his eyes showed more than needed to be said. She found herself grinning at this comment and he nodded once to confirm she understood his meaning correctly.  

“Now, you deserve this party.” Chuck handed him a tall glass filled with the pale-yellow liquid everyone was drinking. 

“Thank you, Sergeant Grant.” He accepts the gesture as he prepares to toast. 

“Sir.” Chuck acknowledges quietly, stepping back into line with his own drink in hand. Every man in the room picked up the nearest glass regardless of whether it was theirs or not to join in the toast. George tapped Birdie on the shoulder, she kept her body in Sink’s direction but turned her head to look at him and was greeted by a full untouched beer. He smiled at her and winked, she took the offered glass gratefully, giving him a wink back.  

“So, I want you to have fun.... and remember our motto.... Currahee!” Colonel Sink bellows, raising his drink above his head.  

“Currahee!” The entire room hollers back, followed by cheers and whistles. A few men began chugging whatever they had left so they could grab a new drink. Birdie took a few large mouthfuls, shifting her eyes around the room in case Carwood popped out of nowhere to scold her.  

The night continued. The chatter flicked on like a light switch and drinks were being downed with ease.  

Toye noticed Bernadette polishing off her unlawful beverage and smirked, she had only had it for thirty seconds and it had already vanished.  

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

“Bernadette.” 

“Carwood.” 

“Have you been drinking?” 

“Uh....no?” 

“Huh... So, this is not your bright red lipstick on the rim of this glass?” There was a long pause, Birdie shifted her focus from the glass to Lipton’s face. He was trying to look stern and disapproving but hidden behind his eyes was amusement. He couldn’t stay mad at the young woman, especially when she was celebrating a momentous accomplishment.  

“You know, I think I saw Randleman with this exact shade.” Her comment pulled a hearty chuckle from the Sergeant and he shook his head playfully. He’d let her get away with this for tonight, besides, it was only one drink.   

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

It wasn’t just one drink. 

Bernadette sneakily took sips from Toye and Guarnere’s glasses when they weren’t looking, making sure to wipe away any lipstick transfer left over. She used her puppy dog eyes to beg George for another beverage and he caved immediately, handing her a heavy pour of whiskey. Towards the end of the night, she found an unattended bottle of liquor that had asked her to adopt it. How could she refuse?  

It was some sort of sherry... or maybe port? Honestly, Birdie didn’t really care. She drunk it without question unaware someone was watching her.  

Donald Malarkey had seen every sip of alcohol the southern girl had stolen. He didn’t mind the nineteen-year-old drinking and probably would’ve helped sneak her things if she’d asked him, but he noticed she was starting to sway and figured someone should cut her off before she makes a fool of herself or gets in trouble. He made his way through the crowd and stopped by her side, smiling at the brunette.  

“Don!” Birdie beamed at him; many would think she was just being friendly, but he knew she was at the very least tipsy and realistically a bit drunk.  

“Hey, Birdie. You enjoying the party?”  

“Sure am!” Her already jolly voice went up in pitch till it was almost considered a squeak. 

“Think it’s time to head to bed?” Malarkey suggested, hoping the inebriated woman would just agree with him and walk out quietly. 

“Five more minutes?” She pouted; her bottom lip pushed out and curled downward, like a child being told no. Don had to hold back his laughter.  

“Okay, come find me when you’re ready to go, I'll walk you back.” He offered the woman, she shook her head in reply and slurred some words together,  

“Nah, it’s okay, Mal. I’ll get Lip to walk me.”  

“Promise?” He was unsure if he should leave her, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and trust she would find the Sergeant before she was ready to leave the function.  

“Promise.” And with that, the redhead left, returning to Muck and Penkala who had pulled out cards. Don made a mental note to keep an eye on the girl subtly for the rest of the night.  

Not five minutes later and she was gone. He had played one round and when he looked back to the spot he’d left her in; she’d vanished. The man panicked and scanned the room, but Bernadette was definitely gone.  

“Ah shit.” He muttered to himself. 

“What?” Penkala questioned, noticing his friend's cagey behaviour and his constant turning as he examined the room's occupants.  

“Birdie’s gone. She said she’d get Lipton to walk her.” 

“Well, I can’t see him anywhere, so... maybe she did?” Penk suggested, trying to help his upset friend feel better. Donald now searched for the Sergeant and when he couldn’t find him either, he reasoned that Bernadette had most likely gone to him for an escort to her barracks. He prayed that’s what happened and would ask one of the two for details the next day. He also decided he’d tell the lady off for worrying him and make her promise to come say goodbye to him at every event they attended, weather she was drunk or not. 

A/N: Aw Don is such a sweetie! There will be two secondary ships in the background of this fic, guess who?? I hope the chapter title mislead you hahaha

Till next time x

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter fifteen

[androgynealienfemme]

"Raging Butch Publisher: The Lesbian Tide Meanwhile, life on my own newspaper, the Lesbian Tide, was a study in lesbian contradiction and feminist paradox. How did a raging butch get to be publisher of the nation's premiere lesbian-feminist paper of the seventies? Like much of the turbulent seventies, it was a dialectic accident. I snuck in the back door.

In 1971, when DOB abbreviated my "communist" (Women against the War) presidency, they offered me the booby prize of remaining on the Board of Officers by holding the lowest position- newsletter editor. I accepted. I'd been editor of my high school paper; I knew the power of the press. From here, as Marx would say, it was just a hop, skip, and a job as this editor collided with herstory. I changed the name of my four-page mimeograph from the DOB Newsletter to the Lesbian Tide, because I could feel the tide of herstory changing. The whole world was.

Realizing its mistake, the DOB membership soon voted me and my communist tide out of the organization. Politically, I'd been gone for months already. But I was now free to invite my lesbian-feminist soul mates onto the staff.

The makes of the not-so-collective Tide Collective reflected the infra-chaos of our movement. In addition to my paradoxical self, there was an archetypical lesbian-come-lately (from heterosexuality) feminist femme, co-editor Sharon McDonald; our very own politically correct Vassar white girl, Shirl Buss (who later processed her own organization, White Women against White Women against White Women against Racism, to death); an old-gay femme, Barbara Gehrke, a former navy woman who thought women's liberation meant changing laws to make women free (poor dear!); and a bisexual, Cheri Lesh, who also must have crept in some window simply because she was a great writer. Lesh taught me that there were indeed a small percentage of human beings who did not find gender a factor in sexual attraction.

My ten-year indenture, 1970 to 1980, to the Tide and this outrageous family of women helped me survive lesbian-feminism. With our Vassar analysis editor, Buss, I completed my studies in lesbian-feminist language: androgynous was synonym for butch; cheating on your lover was called "having a nonmonogomous relationship"; and "role-playing" was "consciousness raising." Learning all these new things was called "networking" or "skill building" depending on the environment you were studying. And, of course, fighting for your identity, even unsuccessfully, was called "processing."

As the undercover butch publisher of the Lesbian Tide, I edited major features such as "Are Roles Really Dead?" and quoted myself as the anonymous "Marianne" (pretty femme, pretty clever) - defender of the now ancient heritage of butchdom. I survived through coups and controversy, not the least of which was whether the Lesbian Tide was a "lesbian-feminist" publication or a "feminist lesbian" publication.

Lesbians of the nineties might rightly wonder why their foremothers spent three years in this ridiculous semantic debate when they could have been proclaiming "Queer Power" on the "Donahue Show." What can I say? It seemed important at the time. I was a dyke long before I learned to spell feminism, so I was adamant that no Jennie-Come-Lately politic was going to give my lesbianism second billing as a descriptive adjective. i was not just a feminist who happened to be a lesbian. That would be as silly as calling myself a butch feminist. Somewhere in my gut I knew feminism had both saved me and shoved me back into the closet. Feminism rescued women, but it subverted lesbianism."

Butches, Lies, and Feminism" by Jeanne Cordova, The Persistent Desire, (edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

[liaromancewriter]

Bad Dreams

Premise: Ethan finds that stubbornness runs deep in his family.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat OC children Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Trope: Domestic; Family Words: 1,610

A/N: Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge March prompt "children's hugs"

Ethan Ramsey savored the quiet as he’d once savored a single-malt scotch at Donahue’s after work.

He’d forgotten what it was like not having cheerful cartoon music blasting away or his daughters shouting and laughing in stereo surround sound, just because.

The kaleidoscope of his life was often a cacophony of sounds. And he wondered how two young humans could make that much noise.

But tonight, it was quiet. And that made it all the more strange because it was no longer familiar.

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration, he thought. It’s not like the twins were awake all the time. Even if there were times when it felt like they were everywhere all at once. Talking, giggling, dancing and leaping off couches even though they’d been warned not to.

On school nights, he and his wife put the girls to bed by nine at the latest and then enjoyed quiet time on the couch with a glass of wine or two.

Maybe that was the problem.

Cassie was away this week “being Doctor Valentine,” as she called it. Without her, the silence at night felt oppressive. He struggled to remember how he’d tolerated it before she entered his life. But that was a lifetime ago, and his memories were hazy.

He and the girls had FaceTimed Cassie during bedtime. Their daughters refused to sleep until they told Mommy all about their day. It was their tradition, they insisted stubbornly, and her being on the other side of the country wasn’t a good enough reason, in their minds, to skip it.

That had been a little over an hour ago. Ethan had been tired but also wired. So he tidied up the family room, put away the toys and paraphernalia the girls accumulated like dust motes and put the kitchen to rights.

Then he poured himself a whiskey and took it to the outside terrace to enjoy in relative peace, with the dark water of the bay on one side and the muted sounds of the city on the other.

A short while later, he checked his wristwatch and decided to call it a night. It was getting late, and tomorrow was another long day.

He checked on the girls, adjusting the covers that Eloise always seemed to kick off until they were tangled around her feet, and left the door open a crack. He proceeded down the hall to the master bedroom suite, where he got ready for bed.

Ethan had just closed his eyes when a child’s scream echoed through the night, followed by loud wailing. He shoved the covers aside and rushed towards the sound, almost tripping over something in the dark.

He pushed the girls’ bedroom door open with one hand and automatically flipped the light switch with the other. The overhead lights chased away the shadows. He sighed in relief when he saw both Sophie and Eloise were physically alright.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, walking inside until he stood on the soft rug between their beds, glancing from one to the other.

“I had a bad dream,” Eloise whimpered, a lone hiccup escaping.

Sophie climbed off the bed and ran across the small space to wrap both arms around her sister. He watched in surprise as the sisters started crying in unison, big gasping sobs with large tears running down their cheeks.

He sat beside them on Eloise’s bed and brushed his hand down Sophie’s back. “Did you have a bad dream too, honey?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I can’t let El be sad alone.”

Eloise lifted her head off her sister’s shoulder and nodded. “I’d cry too if Sophie had a bad dream.”

Their tones implied that Ethan really should know better by now. He wanted to roll his eyes at their Cassie-like attitude and pinch the bridge of his nose but refrained. They were good at picking up bad habits and would start mimicking him on everything before long.

“Want to tell me about the bad dream?”

They both nodded eagerly, looking relieved. Ethan settled back against the wall, his long legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and wrapped one arm around each girl. Their tiny hands clutched the fabric of his t-shirt as they burrowed into his sides.

“I dreamed a bee was chasing me around and around,” Eloise began her telling. “It was angry and kept buzzing that it was going to get me.”

“Why was the bee angry, El?” Sophie interrupted.

Eloise shrugged. “It didn’t like me picking flowers in the garden.”

First Sophie, then Eloise snuggled their heads against his chest, eyes locked on each other, paying no attention to him. Ethan wondered if they’d forgotten he was there.

Sophie made a commiserating tsk sound. “That’s so sad!”

“I know.” Eloise pouted. “They were pretty flowers too. I was maybe going to make them into a crown to wear on my head, like Mommy’s tiara, but the bee didn’t even let me explain. He just started chasing me.”

“Bad bee!” Sophie huffed.

“The baddest,” Eloise said solemnly. “I couldn’t get away, and his stinger kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger.”

“And then what happened?” Sophie gasped, holding her breath in suspense.

Her sister shrugged. “I maybe cried, and then I screamed. And then I woke up, and you were there. And then Daddy came, and the bee was gone.”

Sophie gripped Eloise’s hand. “Daddy’s so big. I’m sure the bee took one look at him and got so scared, and he won’t ever come back. I heard Aunt Jackie tell Mommy that Daddy scares everyone because his bite is just as bad as his bark.”

Ethan’s brows shot up. He really needed to remind Cassie and her friends to watch what they said around the girls. His dad often said little pitchers had big ears. And there were two very big ears in this room that weren’t afraid to parrot what they heard.

“But Daddy’s not a dog, so why would he bark and bite?” Eloise grumbled.

Soon Ethan found himself staring down at two upturned pairs of confused green eyes.

He straightened, and his arms dropped away. “It’s just an expression, girls. It’s nothing important, so let’s not mention it again. I mean it.”

He added the latter in a no-nonsense tone, making them think twice about repeating the statement. That was his hope, anyway. But they were stubborn like their mother, so who knew if they’d actually listen.

“Time to get some sleep, you two,” he said, pushing himself off the bed. “It’s already very late, and you have school tomorrow.”

He picked up Sophie and lay her down in her bed, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. She giggled when he tickled her belly and then folded her arms around a plushie featuring her favorite character, Wilhelmina, the ballerina mouse.

Next, he tucked in Eloise, brushing his hand gently down the side of her face.

“Are you still frightened from the bad dream, El?”

She started to nod yes before changing it to no. Ethan kissed her forehead, handed her Mister Cottontail, her favorite plushie, and checked to make sure the nightlight was on.

Ethan switched off the overhead bedroom light and started to close the door behind him when he heard footsteps. He turned to see Sophie and Eloise standing there, clutching their plushies.

“Can we sleep with you tonight, Daddy?” they chorused, gazing at him with puppy dog eyes.

“I thought you weren’t frightened anymore,” Ethan said, brows furrowing in confusion.

Instead of answering, they just launched themselves at him, wrapping their arms around his legs and preventing his escape.

“Please,” Sophie said, tilting her head back. “Please…”

“Please, Daddy, please,” Eloise piped in.

He tried to protest and decline, but their combined pleading took on a droning sound, and he wished for five seconds of silence.

“Fine,” he said, just to get the noise to stop.

“Thank you, Daddy!” They squealed in delight and hugged his legs tight.

Ethan should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. It took them thirty minutes to arrange everything on his bed just so.

It wasn’t enough for him to tuck them under the covers on Cassie’s side of the bed. They wanted him to sleep in the middle so they could both snuggle against him.

“But, Daddy,” whined Eloise. “Sophie will get scared on her own.”

“She’ll be right next to you, El,” he explained, barely holding on to his patience.

But his daughters got that same obstinate look as their mother, and he found himself following their every command. And then there was the matter of their plushies.

By the time Ethan finally started to fall asleep, he had fur from two plushies tickling his nostrils and several tiny fingers digging into his sides. He adjusted his daughters and their plushies and made himself comfortable again.

Five minutes later, Sophie kicked him as she turned over in her sleep. His eyes flew open at the sharp sting of pain that shot up his leg. He willed himself to ignore the discomfort and closed his eyelids.

He was almost asleep when Eloise flung her arm over his face, hitting his nose with her closed fist in the process. He let out a silent oof and rubbed his hand down the slope to ease the hurt.

Ethan lifted his head off the pillow and stared at his daughters sprawled over him, their arms and legs spread across the bed.

It was going to be a long night, he thought. A very long night, he repeated when a plushie bounced off his head.

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

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey

[dollarbin]

Sandy Saturdays #21:

No More Sad Refrains

Sorry I'm a day behind schedule this week folks. My school year is wrapping up (I'm a teacher) and time's been in short supply. But I'm excited to dive into our next 100 posts together this summer - thanks for your patience while I ramp this thing back up and continue my hunt through The Dollar Bin...

Musicians who die before their time often provide their own swan songs.

It's comforting to think that Tom Petty played no conscious role in the drug overdose that ended his life, but Hungry No More, the last track on his last record, sure sounds to a retrospective ear like an artist at peace and aware the end is near, wrapping things up.

Similarly, Black Eyed Dog, Hanging on a Star and Voices, three of the final songs Nick Drake submitted before his death, each of them loaded with the hopelessness, intense yearning and grace that he's since come to embody, make it hard to not imagine that poor Nick, on some level, knew his time had come.

This song is so, so sad. And it's a straight up smile inducer compared to Black Eyed Dog. If you don't know Black Eyed Dog, go Google it. It's a little too terrifying for my own Sunday morning so I'll skip pasting it in here.

Happily, Sandy Denny's last song on her last album strikes an altogether different and fitting note for a woman light years ahead of her time: defiance. Denny is an underappreciated feminist, says I, and at the end of her short life we can hear her embracing independence and light.

Unfortunately her husband Trevor Lucas's fussy arrangement and muddy production work dumps a thick coat of glossy nacho cheese over this powerful track. And it's no wonder he wanted to cover things up; the song sounds to me like one big "see ya, loser," directed at Lucas, who'd soon abandon Denny without a word for the other side of the planet, stealing their young daughter away with him. How about that for a Father's Day image?

Happily, Denny left behind two far more direct and perfect performances that Lucas doesn't ruin. Let's begin with Sandy's demo for the song: Denny often summed her greatness up best when no one, and especially Lucas, got in the way.

Aw yeah, that right there is my favorite singer singing one of her best songs. That's some serious Father's Day music right there people. Enjoy.

Sandy's final live performance of the song is great as well. I long turned my pompous nose up at this version because it was partially rerecorded long after Denny's death due to problems with the original tape's guitar track. But I picked up the vinyl reissue in the last year and told myself to give it a fresh chance. And I'm glad I did; the whole thing sounds great.

Lucas strummed some chords on this recording initially. It's anyone's guess whether or not you hear him here at all or whether that's entirely Jerry Donahue cleaning up Trevor's mess in a studio. I like to think it's the later.

Richard Thompson responded to news of Denny's death in part by asking in song "did she jump or was she pushed?" Sandy struggled with alcoholism and her mental health, sure. But when I listen to No More Sad Refrains I always grow incredibly, and perhaps unfairly, angry at Lucas. The dude sure seems like a pusher.

For me, being a husband means loving and honoring my spouse. That and thanking my lucky stars, regularly. And when my wife needs me to get out of the way for a bit I don't kidnap the kids and move to Australia without telling her. Rather, I go find something helpful to do while I give her that space.

Sandy deserved so much more from Lucas and from men generally. So too did she deserve more from the music industry, and from us. She deserved love, understanding and independence. She deserved, and deserves, respect.

Here comes the morning how it pleases It always brings me something new Its golden light will wash away the dust of yesterday If I try it may let me forget you

And when these winter days are over I mean to set myself upon my feet I see me as something that I have never been And I'll pick up the pieces that will make the girl complete

I'll be smiling all the time at everybody My friends will tell me I'm just not the same I won't linger over any tragedies that were And I won't be singing any more sad refrains

Happy Father's Day everyone.

[garudabluffs]

David Remnick brings us music idols in twilight, but the record skips

June 22, 2023

‘Holding the Note’ collects the New Yorker editor’s profiles of Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney and others

READ MORE https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2023/06/22/david-remnick-holding-note-music-profiles-review/

"Holding the Note: Profiles in Popular Music" by David Remnick

By Joe Donahue Published August 16, 2023

"Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist and editor of The New Yorker David Remnick has gathered his writing on some of the essential musicians of our time - intimate portraits of Leonard Cohen, Buddy Guy, Mavis Staples, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen, Patti Smith, and more for his new book, "Holding the Note."

LISTEN 21:13 https://www.wamc.org/podcast/the-roundtable/2023-08-16/holding-the-note-profiles-in-popular-music-by-david-remnick

Woodstock Photos That Will Make You Wish You Were There – Herald Weekly

[urmomsmainbitch]

wonder woman

requested: yes / no

pairing: max mayfield x fem!reader

warnings: pining, angst, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of school, omg the writing is shit i’m so sorry

a/n: i love lucas so much (based off of i wish you liked girls by abbey glover)

i grew pretty attached to you, like a dog on a lead / thought you were everything i could have ever dreamed of, and more than i could ever need

The phone was cool against her ear, ringing for the third time as she twisted your fingers into the cord, tapping her foot impatiently. This was the second time that she had tried Max that evening; once before dinner, and now once after. She’s probably still eating, one part of her said. No, she’s probably off making out with Lucas, the other said. Nibbling on her lip, Y/N leaned into the doorframe, letting her entire body slump against the wall as she slid down, before landing on the cold hardwood floor. Max had only started taking this long to answer recently – once she and Lucas had become official, and more serious. Ever since high school started, you never saw Lucas without Max, and Max without Lucas.

“C’mon, Maxie,” Y/N murmured, tapping her finger and trying the girl again, looking at the watch on her wrist. She’d even waited half an hour after Max normally ate dinner, hoping to catch her so they could talk to each other. They hadn’t been doing that as often, the redhead never wanting to spend a waking moment away from her boyfriend. Y/N saw it, she supposed, Lucas wasn’t a bad looking guy, and he was nice. But he was nice. That was it. He wasn’t smart, or funny, or entertaining. He was just there. Just a phase, she kept telling herself, Lucas is just a phase. But what after Lucas? What happened when Max finally took notice of Matt Donahue in her math class, who’s always making googly eyes at her? Or, what if she just happened to meet Sam Davis’ eyes in English? What then? Lucas would be forgotten, sure, but he’d be replaced in nearly no time.

On her third attempt, she hung up the phone, slamming it into the receiver. That was the second time this week.

always thought you looked at me differently than any other you’d see / thought you were aching to see me at any, any possibility

“So, what should we do?” Max asked her, bright eyes looking between her and El, who was sitting on the other end of the bed, laying on her stomach as she flipped through a comic book. El didn’t used to come to their sleepovers. Come to think of it, Y/N couldn’t think of the most recent time that she had a sleepover with Max alone. They used to have them all of the time: giggling under the covers into the early hours of the morning, leaning on one another as they flipped through those comic books. Max’s loved copy of Wonder Woman, which used to rotate between her and Y/N’s houses, was now sitting on Lucas’ shelf. “We haven’t seen each other in forever. Especially not you, El!”

Y/N frowned. She saw El last week. She hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks. What happened to the whole, ‘I’m your best friend and you’re mine, Y/N/N!’ and the ‘I love you so much, and we’re best friends! I’d do anything for you, Y/N!’

“I’ve just been so busy, it’s crazy! I haven’t had any time with field hockey and band and everything like that.” Max laughed. Her face got all crinkled up, her freckles blending into one another as her blue eyes teared up with joy. It would have been gorgeous, had it not been a lie. Max used to frequently skip hockey practices to hang out, and since she hadn’t gotten team captain, her practices had decreased. Max used to see her whenever she could, but of course, now she’d spend her time with Lucas, or with El, or with anybody other than her. Max used to put her on a pedestal, but now, it looks like anybody who shows her any attention at all gets all of hers.

i could be your bitch and tell you a million reasons why being with me would be much better than with any other guy / i could tell you I’ll treat you right and never wrong / tell you in my arms is where you belong / but I know that you can’t change someone / so I’ll just leave you alone

The next Friday, Max was back in Y/N’s bed, flipping through a magazine while music played through the radio. Her beautiful red hair was falling into strands in front of her face, framing her gorgeous freckled pale skin, blue eyes piercing through the dimmed overhead lights. She looked like a goddess, her entire lanky body stretched out over the covers in a way that she could stare at for hours – watching the way that her face crinkled up when she read a funny entry, or seeing the way she nibbled on her bottom lip when she was interested.

“I don’t know what I should do for Lucas for our second anniversary.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Of course she’d talk about Lucas. “Well, what does he like?”

“You know,” she smiled, folding her magazine and sitting up to look at the other girl. Y/N was walking out of the bathroom, tucking her hair behind her ear as she put Max’s next day outfit on the chair, folded neatly. “You know as much as I do about him. We both see him everyday.”

“Yeah, but you see him more than I do,” Y/N grimaced. “I don’t see him that much anymore, and I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I feel like a shitty girlfriend.” Max avoided her statement. I haven’t seen you in forever – she’d even said it outright and then got ignored! You never talk to me anymore, and it’s always ‘Lucas this and Lucas that! I’m here, too!’

“You’re never a shitty girlfriend.”

“I turned him down to hang out tonight. The weekend of our anniversary, Y/N. You can’t even lie and tell me that’s a good look,” Max said, looking unbelieving. Her brows furrowed together. “I turn him down all of the time when I hang out with you and El. It makes me feel so terrible, especially because I see you so much.”

Y/N knew that she should shut up. She knew that she shouldn’t have said what she did, and she knew that there was absolutely no reason to do what she did. The words came out faster than she ever thought that they ever could, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a pit and die once the words left her lips. But,a part of her wanted to scream it from the rooftops, a part of her wanting to shout it again and again. It’d been bottled up for months and months, and it was twenty three months, three weeks, and five days after it had happened in the first place that she realized that it needed to be said sooner or later. “That’s a fucking lie, and we both know it. Don’t bullshit me, Max.”

“I’m not bullshitting you?” It was phrased like a question, and Max looked like she had just been accused of something much worse. “I see you all the time–”

“Yeah, see, that’s what the lie is,” Y/N chuckled, sitting down, putting the pile on her lap. The feeling of rejection that had been sitting in the pit of ehr stomach for nearly two years now was bubbling up and up, and the words were spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He’s just a stupid boy! He’s not funny, he’s not smart, he’s not entertaining, and he’s not worth it! You’ve been blowing me off for months, Max, and I’m so sick and tired of pretending like I don’t notice everything!”

Y/N kept going.

“You ignore me again and again, and we both know that anybody would be so much better than Lucas of all people!”

“Like who?! Lucas is so much better–”

“Like me!” Max finally fell silent, the color draining from her face as she dropped her magazine on the bedspread. Her hands trembled, and her eyes glassed in only a few moments. The ugly monster that had been hiding under the bed, in the closet, and behind her in her own shadow had finally come out; shrouding the entire room in a thick and uncomfortable silence. Every word broke a deeper part of Y/N, and cracked a part of Max. She almost stopped, but at this rate, who knew when she would finally be left alone with her long enough to dare say them again? “Me, Max! You act so insightful, wise one, and then you fucking shit all over anything I say and do, and it hurts me every fucking day that I fall morw and more in love with you when all you do is ignore my fucking existence for some guy who doesn’t even know who Jane Austen is!” Her voice trembled with every word, and as the house fell quieter and quieter, the sheer stupidity of the whole idea grew and grew.

The room remained silent as Max gathered her things. She didn’t bother to take her new change of clothes, now on the floor. They would go in a shoebox in the closet, along with the pictures and notebooks and comics. She ignored the new friendship journal that was sitting on the vanity, untouched and unused by them. It never would be – it would be sold at a yardsale. Y/N met her eyes as Max picked up the Wonder Woman copy that was sitting on the bed, pleading her not to take it. Don’t take this, she begged, please don’t take this. Leave me this, please. Max picked it up, and put it in her bag.

That would be the Mayfield-Sinclair children’s first comic book – the one that would sit in their library until their perfect little house on the cul-de-sac sold.

and i know you don’t swing that way, but that won’t take my feelings away / oh i wish you liked girls; oh i wish you liked girls / girls like me

[mannytoodope]

[brightmalcolm]

Donahue’s bank accounts have all been cleared. JT’s still posted at his apartment, but I think our guy skipped town. 

[bex-la-get]

Hello my dearest Bex, I know you're busy but without any pressure can I request 20 from the touching prompts for E and N?

Thank you so much! 💜

Hi babes! I love this one! Thanks for the ask! I picture this happening somewhere in Book 2 pre-attack, when the pining is strong with our favorite dorks. From this ask list.

20) bandaging/stitching up an injury

"What the hell happened to you?"

Ethan stared at Natalie's bleeding hand as she cradled it close to her chest, fear and concern flooding his body. He moved quickly towards her, already assessing the damage to her hand.

"It's nothing, Ethan, I'm fine," Nat tried to reason.

"The hell you are!" Ethan barked. Nat flinched at his tone and he immediately lowered his voice, regret lining his features. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to yell. I'm just-- I'm worried about you. See you hurt... it scared me."

Nat looked up at him. "Really?"

He gave her a small smile. "Yeah; come here, let's get you patched up and you can tell me what happened." He led her to the sofa in his office and grabbed a nearby first aid kit he kept on hand in case of emergencies.

Sitting down next to Nat, he began to clean the blood off her hand and assess the damage to her hand as she explained why her hand was bleeding in the first place. "We were at Donahue's just relaxing after work. And, there was this girl-- couldn't have been older than 21, maybe 22. And this dude kept harassing her, over and over. Wouldn't back off when kept saying no. And then he grabbed her and I just... I saw red. I couldn't stand back and do nothing anymore so I... I walked right up to him and punched him in the face."

Ethan coughed back a chuckle and wet a cotton pad with water before placing it on her open wounds. "That-- while admirable-- was probably not the best decision, Nat. He could have retaliated. Or he could sue."

Nat shook her head. "I doubt he'll even remember it, come morning. He was stupid drunk. And anyway, Reggie had my back and kicked the guy out of the bar afterwards. And the young girl's okay, in case you're wondering. A little shaken, but she'll be okay."

"I'm glad to hear it," Ethan said, nodding. With the wound cleaned, he looked over her hand and nodded. "Well, the good news is, your hand's not broken. It'll be bruised for a few days but if you keep it wrapped and clean, the wounds will heal up quickly. You'll want to ice it when you get home."

"Thanks," Nat said, quietly. She watched silently as Ethan gently spread some antibiotic ointment over her wounds then wrapped up her hand with gauze. She watched him work, his lips pursed and his eyes solely focused on his task. It was moments like this when she could see how he became the revered Dr. Ramsey. The gentleness and focus with which he worked was admirable and an incredible thing to witness.

She hadn't realized he had finished his work until he looked up and locked eyes with her. Her breath caught in her throat as they stared at each other for a long moment, neither wanting to break the bubble they had somehow created. She wished she could get lost in his eyes forever, be swallowed by them the way the ocean swallows a storm.

They were jolted back to reality by the sound of night shift staff walking by and talking. Ethan cleared his throat and looked down at their still entwined hands. "Erm-- you should be good to go. Let me know if your wounds worsen."

Nat nodded. "I- I will. Thanks." She stood from the sofa, fighting the feeling of longing she felt as the distance between them grew. "I- uh-- I should go. Thank you, for this," she said, holding up her now bandaged hand.

He stood as well and nodded. "You're welcome; try not to get into any more fights tonight."

Nat smiled and chuckled. "I'll do my best." She looked into his eyes for a long moment, her smile never leaving her lips. "Goodnight, Ethan."

"Goodnight, Nat," he said, watching as she left the office. His heart skipped a beat when she turned back to look at him one more time. And then she was gone, unknowingly taking his heart with her.

A/N: This took a weird turn but I hope you liked it anyway! 💙

Tags below the cut:

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @paulfwesley @ethansdique @openheartfanfics @perriewinklenerdie @little-flowers-on-heaven @stateofgracious @coffeeheartaddict @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @mm2305 @gryffindordaughterofathena @actuallybored @writer-ish @queencarb @takeharryandgo @lsvdw-blog @itsjustwinter @chaoticchopshopheart @ohchoices @maurine07 @oldminniemcg @parisa-kh @shanzay44 @uberamsey @izzyourresidentlawyer @adiehardfan @custaroonie @mia143 @a-crepusculo @takemyopenheart @toadfrog26 @quixoticdreamer16 @barbean @headoverheelsforramsey @natureblooms24 @jerzwriter @crazy-loca-blog @dorisz @thegreentwin​ @cryomyst @kalinahonore @choicesficwriterscreations

[liaromancewriter]

Love Somebody

Premise: In the aftermath of their tabloid outing, Max and Sienna need to make some hard decisions about their future.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff with some light angst Format: Text and pic fic + prose Words: 1,290

View Series Masterlist

A/N: I felt bad about the cliffhanger ending from my last post. So, here’s the next part to tide you over. We’re almost at the end of their story...for now. I’m trying something different with this, combining text fic with prose.

For the last part of this fic, the background events referenced are from my fics, The Grape Escape and Making Plans.

Part 1: The Aftermath

Between Max and Sienna...

Between Cassie and Sienna...

Part 2: What Could Have Been

When Sienna Trinh had been a little girl the idea of love had seemed so simple. One day she would be walking down the street and the love of her life would crash into her. They would both laugh and then one look and it would be over. 

They would talk all the time about everything, and they would love as if no one else existed. They would live happily ever after in a small house by the bayou, ideally near her parents and grandfather.

When she had met Wayne in college, she had grown up enough to realize that the dreams of a little girl belonged in movies and storybooks, not real life. Still, Wayne had brought out the part of her that liked to dress up and have fun. If he sometimes criticized her for being too fun, she took it in stride and adjusted her manners accordingly.

By the time she graduated from medical school and moved to Boston, Wayne had changed into someone she didn’t like anymore. With the help of her new friends she had finally opened her eyes to the fact he was not the same person she’d known in university.

She sometimes wondered what could have been if she had never met Cassie. Would she have been content to let Wayne walk all over her? Or would she have eventually found her gumption?

She didn’t know why she was even thinking of Wayne tonight. He hadn’t been a part of her life for over two years. The person she wanted was out of reach, and some of that was her fault. The rest was circumstance.

But she should have known that getting involved with someone like Max Valentine would have consequences. His world was so different from anything she had ever known. And yet, he was everything that she had dreamed of as a child.

Her mind drifted to memories from the last three years, the late-night texts, being able to talk about anything and everything, of the flutters in her stomach whenever he was near. The way her heart had skipped the first time they had kissed and the butterflies when he’d asked her to dance at Donahue’s after their Boards.

The way he believed in her, encouraged her and let her dream. The way he showed her in a million little ways how important she was to him.

He was her friend, first and always, no matter what else was developing between them. And she had taken and taken, and never given back except once. And that one night was why their world had come crashing down.

But when she thought of him now, it wasn’t the tabloid photo or the nasty comments she had received as a result.

It was the way they had sat side by side on the hospital rooftop watching the full moon over the Boston skyline. The way he had wrapped his arm around her when she shivered and then left it there when she nestled closer. 

How he’d brushed the loose locks away from her face, his palm cupping her jaw. He had gazed into her eyes before swooping down to mesh their mouths in a kiss that was unlike anything they had shared before.

Months before that fateful night, before he’d left for a three-month work trip, he had wrapped his arms around her waist as she leaned back against his chest. Their reflection in the window had stared back at them as they watched the night sky from his apartment. His scent had enveloped her, a blend of musk and spice, as his chin came to rest in the crook between her neck and shoulder.

He’d taken her to his place after dinner with his family last summer, saying he wanted her to see this part of his life. His apartment had surprised her, she could admit. She had imagined a sterile bachelor pad, all steel and chrome, furniture with hard angles and black and white photography on the walls.

Instead, she had walked into soft colors, comfortable furniture mixed with antiques, watercolor prints on the walls that looked original, a drinks cart in the corner, and homey touches like forgotten cufflinks on the coffee table that made the space feel lived in.

For a minute she had imagined herself there with him, making morning coffee in the chef’s kitchen with its wide slate counters and dark blue cabinets. His tea would be brewing in a pot, and he would be teasing her about being cranky before her first cup as he made pancakes at the stainless-steel stove.

The image had been so clear that she’d felt a literal ache when it faded away.

Later, he had held her hand as they walked down the street to a Blues club. Sienna had never thought herself as the kind of person to hold hands. Wayne had disliked it, calling it unsanitary. However, whenever she had seen Cassie and Ethan Ramsey hold hands as if they couldn’t bear to be apart, she had felt a slight envy.

Now she had someone that wanted that connection with her. Unlike Cassie and Ethan, she and Max didn’t lace their fingers together. Instead, he would clasp her hand loosely in his, their thumbs criss-crossing.

At the club, he’d shaken his head in exasperation when she ordered a raspberry vodka.

“Blues clubs are for whiskey, Si,” he’d said once the server left the table.

The lighthearted teasing had continued when their drinks arrived. She’d pretended to be disgusted by his drink while he’d said he was disowning her as a friend. They had laughed and then whispered when the patrons around them looked at them funny. The music forgotten, they only had eyes for each other.

That’s also when he’d finally told her the full story about his ex-girlfriend Eva. He’d gently wiped the tears tracking down her face as she thought of how someone could treat him so horribly.

“There are always two people in a relationship, Sienna,” he had told her when she voiced her doubts. “I was young and certainly not perfect.”

Before the night was over, he had kissed her for the second time. They had just walked out when he pulled her into the alley next to the club. Her back to the wall, he’d leaned in close, his body covering hers as their hands connected, trembling with need.

At first their lips brushed briefly, hesitant, uncertain, and then she knew. He was letting her decide. More certain now, she stretched on her toes, her hands sliding up to wrap around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Pulling his lips back to hers, she let him feel how much she wanted this and then he’d taken control. His mouth slanted against hers, his tongue duelling with hers as they closed what little distance remained between them.

The sound of the club’s alley door opening had forced them to break apart. In a fog, Sienna had stood there, her fingers on her lips recalling the feel and taste of him. He’d looked down, eyes soft as he took in her dazed expression. Taking her hand in his once again, he’d led them out of the alley and back to his apartment complex.

He’d driven her back to Arlington where she was staying with his sister and parents. Stealing one last kiss at the door, they said their goodbyes. Later, Sienna wasn’t exactly sure how she’d walked upstairs to her room when her head had been so full of him.

Everything that night and every moment before and since had been…magical.

Cassie was right. She had a decision to make, and the stakes were too high to get it wrong.

Part 3: The New Normal

Part 4: No More Reasons

A couple of weeks later...

Tagging in reblog

[danijimenezv]

Amiga! These questions are bit different:

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Amiga these are genius dksaldnafjcsajd I am in love with this! The angst and longing from Book 1 is just delicious

Not Yet Wed Questions

The setting for this answers is: Post Miami, but before he quit.

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought __________

Jill: Wow.

Ethan: Care to clarify?

Jill: *blushes* Well, the first time I saw you was taking control of a medical emergency. It was amazing, and I was a bit awestruck. Of course, right after that, I thought that you were a handsome asshole.

Ethan: Of course.

Jill: …You’re not answering?

Ethan: I don’t feel like answering.

Jill: Okay, that’s either really good or really bad.

Ethan: You’re going to let it get to your head.

Jill: Really? Well now I’m intrigued. Do tell, Dr. Ramsey.

Ethan: I thought you were proficient.

Jill: Proficient? Seriously?

Ethan: You were just an intern on your first day, and you still jumped into action when a woman needed help. It was… not what I expected.

Jill: *grins smugly* So you were just as awestruck, is that what you’re saying?

Ethan: That’s not what I said.

Jill: It’s what I heard.

Ethan: I knew you would let it get to your head.

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Both: Fuck. *laugh*

Jill: Dr. Ramsey doesn’t regularly curse out loud, instead you can see the intention written all over his face. But I have caught him saying “fuck” a few times.

Ethan: On the other hand, Dr. Valentine curses like a sailor. Even for the smallest of things, you can hear her whispering “fuck” under her breath.

Jill: He also uses “goddammit” and “Christ” a lot.

Ethan: And when it’s not a situation, but a person, she uses “fucker”.

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Jill: Deep blue.

Ethan: Whiskey.

Jill: You know, I feel honored to be compared to whiskey. I know how much you value it.

Ethan: *stutters and blushes* What? I-I don’t… It wasn’t like that.

Jill: *smirks* Suuuuure.

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Jill: That’s a hard one.

Ethan: You’re exaggerating.

Jill: I’m not. You hate a lot of people.

Ethan: Hate is an overdramatic word.

Jill: Well, okay, then you strongly dislike a lot of people.

Ethan: Closer.

Jill: Does Nash count as coworker now that he has a deal with the team?

Ethan: Unfortunately.

Jill: Okay, so first Nash, and then in no particular order Dr. Cyrus, Dr. Wen, Dr. Toussaint…

Ethan: Those are more than three.

Jill: And I can keep going. Dr. Mirrielees, Dr. Rosario… June? I don’t know her personally, but I heard you complain about her the other day, so…

Ethan: Eavesdropping again, were you?

Jill: Never, just passing by and paying attention to my surroundings, like a good diagnostician should.

Ethan: Right. You forgot yourself.

Jill: Uh-uh, you don’t fool me. I’m possibly one of the few interns you tolerate.

Ethan: *sighs but doesn’t deny it* Round it up, Rookie. No point stretching out the answer.

Jill: Okay, fine. I guess mainly Nash, Cyrus, and Wen. And also probably some intern, or a handful of them. Not including me, obviously.

Ethan: Hrm, I think the most annoying of them is your partner on the Knoblauch case. The squirmy one.

Jill: Landry? Really? I admit he can get a bit annoying at times, but he’s just really nervous around you.

Ethan: Well, I don’t like him.

Jill: Your turn to answer.

Ethan: I would go with Nash as well, but other than that, I don’t think you hate any other coworker. Dr. Valentine seems to get along with everyone, it’s… disconcerting.

Jill: It’s called being a people person. But I do find Dr. Cyrus and Dr. Lozoya irritating. Don’t tell them, though.

Ethan: I do believe, however, that I made it to that list at some point.

Jill: What makes you say that?

Ethan: Your impertinence and constant point to defy me.

Jill: I defy you because I can. That doesn’t mean I hate you.

*Ethan is stunned into silence*

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Ethan: She sometimes snorts when she laughs.

Jill: Oh my God, you’ve heard that?!

Ethan: What’s wrong with that?

Jill: That’s not endearing, that’s embarrassing!

Ethan: She also scrunches up her nose or bites her lip when she’s too focused on something. It’s cute.

Jill: *stares at him with wide eyes* You think I’m cute?

Ethan: I think your quirks are cute.

Jill: Right… Dr. Ramsey places a finger on his temple, either when he’s deep in thought or when he’s fighting the urge to strangle someone, usually an intern. He also pinches the bridge of his nose a lot, especially when he’s annoyed.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

*They stare at each other pointedly, and then look away, blushing.*

Jill: *clears her throat* I don’t do crushes.

Ethan: *raises an eyebrow in challenge* Lahela?

Jill: Not a crush.

Ethan: Then what was he, exactly?

Jill: Friend with benefits.

Ethan: *chokes up* Christ…

Jill: Well, you asked!

Ethan: Is he still?

Jill: No, not anymore. Not since before… you know…

Ethan: Ah… *looks away*

Jill: Anyway… I would say your crush is probably Chief Emery. Or, well, me.

Ethan: *in a warning tone* Jillian.

Jill: What? Bree said this was off the record. Someone has to acknowledge what happened, and you’re clearly not going to, so might as well be me.

*Ethan looks down regretfully*

Never have I ever

Jill: Ohhh, I love this game! And look, we even got paddles with I have/I have never.

Ethan: What are we, in high school?

Jill: Would you rather do it with drinks? During work hours?

Ethan: *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose* Let’s get this over with.

Jill: Knew it.

come into work hungover

*Both raise the ‘I have never’ paddle.*

Ethan: I admit, I was not expecting that.

Jill: You just have to think the worse of me always, don’t you?

Ethan: Speaking as someone that saw you party up at Donahue’s the night after your first shift, yes.

Jill: Okay, fair, but I have an advantage over the rest of people.

Ethan: Which is?

Jill: Genetically speaking, the Valentines don’t get hangovers.

Ethan: You say that now because you’re young.

Jill: My brother is not, and he still doesn’t know what having a hangover is like. And we’ve obviously tried it out.

Ethan: Okay, I’ll concede. That’s an unfair advantage.

*Jill grins widely and winks*

had a fistfight

*Ethan lifts the ‘I have never’ paddle*

Jill: Liar. You told me you punched Nash.

Ethan: For it to be a fight, the counterpart has to actually throw a punch as well. Nash never got the chance.

Jill: Okay, then I never have either.

Ethan: *blinks in surprise* You’ve punched someone?

Jill: A kid at school bullied my little sister once.

Ethan: Once?

Jill: Yes. I gave him a black eye, and he never dared to say anything else about Ivy.

Ethan: How heroic.

Jill: *shrugs* My sister was mortified, as the delicate princess she is, but I think it was worth it.

Ethan: It’s a little hard to imagine, given your height.

Jill: The smallest are always the feistiest ones. We’re like Chihuahuas.

been kicked out of a bar

*The two of them raise the ‘I have’ paddle*

Jill: You?

Ethan: A friend of mine from med school got a little carried away. What about you?

Jill: I was busted with a fake I.D.

Ethan: You went to a bar when you were underage?

Jill: Does it make it better if I say I wasn’t drinking?

Ethan: Why else would you go to a bar?

Jill: It was initiation week at Léman Prep.

Ethan: *blinks several times in confusion* I’ll pretend to know what you’re talking about.

Jill: Well, you know how high school was like. If I hadn’t done that, they would’ve eaten me alive. It was survival 101.

Ethan: What happened afterwards?

Jill: I made the headlines, and my grandparents had to pay a shit ton of money and pull a lot of strings to bury the scandal. And I got the biggest lecture and grounding of my life.

gotten a tattoo

*Both show the ‘I have never’ paddle*

Ethan: It’s not my thing.

Jill: Neither is mine.

broken someone’s heart

Jill: I have. My older sister nicknamed me ‘heartbreaker’ during my high school years.

Ethan: And you say this proudly?

Jill: I’m not proud of it, I’m just saying it how it is. I’ve always been clear with people about what I want and what I don’t. I don’t lead them on with false promises, but a few of them tried to change my mind, unsuccessfully.

Ethan: Well, I don’t think I have.

*Ethan lifts the ‘I have never’ paddle. Immediately, Jillian takes it from him and switches it for the ‘I have’ paddle. She doesn’t say anything else, just looks away, pained, and Ethan just stares at her aghast.*

been in love

*Both choose the ‘I have never’*

Ethan: I don’t believe in being in love.

Jill: I do, but I don’t think it’s for me. I had to watch my older sister almost lose herself from the heartbreak it brought her, and I don’t want that…

For Jillian (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Jill: Professionally speaking, I see him still at Edenbrook, running the diagnostics team. He’s really committed to the team’s vision, helping those who have nowhere else to go. Probably with a new book out and a lot more of research published as well. He’s brilliant like that. Personally… I think he’s too self-sabotaging to actually achieve something in that area. Although, I don’t rule out the possibility of Dr. Ramsey rekindling his romance with Chief Emery. I’ve seen the way they look at each other, and I’m no idiot, something is still there… Either way, I do hope he finds someone that makes him happy. He’s a great man, and he certainly deserves it.

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Jill: I want to say his intelligence, but it’s actually his heart. Underneath all that grumpiness and mean remarks, he actually has a heart of gold, so full of compassion. He cares so much about his patients, and even about interns under his supervision. He goes out of his way for them, and that tells a lot about the kind of man he is.

Last thing he texted you?

Jill: “Dr. Valentine, the results we were waiting on are out. Please make your way to my office. I need another perspective, in case I missed something.” Always so formal.

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

Jill: *chuckles bitterly* He wouldn’t… ask me out, I mean. Ethan is a man with a serious black and white view of the world, including his moral stand. I already tried to climb the walls he set around himself, and I ended up falling flat on my ass. So I don’t think it would ever happen. If, miraculously, he hit his head, forgot about his current dilemma and asked me out on a date… I’d say yes, in a heartbeat. But I don’t think that’s in the cards.

For Ethan (Jillian is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in her personal life?)

Ethan: Professionally, I see Dr. Valentine surpassing just about any doctor. She’s one of the brightest minds I’ve seen, so it wouldn’t be hard to picture her becoming a big name in medicine. I hope she’ll be in the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook, but she could land anywhere and still have a successful career, wherever she’ll go. Probably with a book written and research published, maybe even winning awards. She’s that great. Personally, still close with her friends. On the romantic front, I’m not sure… From what I’ve seen, Jillian is not one to settle down. I’ve seen her rejecting good relationship prospects without so much as a second glance, and I’ve heard around that she doesn’t want to commit to anyone… which is good for her, because that means she won’t allow her personal life to interfere with her professional success. Though, I do wish she finds someone that makes her happy, someone worthy of her, that can give her everything she wants and deserves. I hope she finds exactly what she’s looking for.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan: She’s not listening, is she…? *runs a hand over his face in frustration* I know I’m not supposed to, but I find everything about her attractive, from her physical looks to her intelligence, ambition and compassion. But mainly, I think it would be her charm. I know most men would say the same thing, it’s her signature, but the way she carries herself with confidence and charisma, without truly realizing the effect she has on everyone else… She’s witty and flirty, and warm, and… just herself.

Last thing she texted you?

Ethan: “I doubt you missed anything, but I’ll be right there.”

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Ethan: I know for a fact that she wouldn’t ask that. Like I said before, Jillian Valentine is not one to date. Off the record and hypothetically speaking, if our situation was different, I would say yes, without a doubt. Even if I don’t deserve her, even if I’m not worthy of her, I know she’s an incredible woman, and I’d be lucky if she decided she wanted to be with me. But I know better, that’s all hypothetical. In reality, she’s still an intern, running for a spot in my team. Not only would it be unethical and inappropriate, but it also would be damaging to her career and her reputation. She’s worked too hard to get exactly where she is, and I care too much about her to hurt her like that, so it’d be a no.

Tags: @jamespotterthefirst, @takeharryandgo, @aestheticartsx, @choicesfanaf, @fireycookie, @liaromancewriter, @trappedinfanfiction, @tsrookie, @genevievemd, @lucy-268, @writinghereandthere, @queencarb, @gryffindordaughterofathena, @ohchoices, @anntoldst0ries, @bluebellot, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @mysticaurathings, @iemcpbchoices, @itsjustamesshonestly, @shanzay44, @lsdw-blog, @heauxplesslydevoted, @starryeyedrookie, @casey-v​, @mercury84choices, @chaoticchopshopheart, @quixoticdreamer16

[fleckcmscott]

Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too. 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

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[estellaelysian]

Things left unsaid (Ethan x MC)

So this is the second part to Unsent letter (a.k.a where Alishka finds the letter Ethan wrote to her), suggested by the amazing @queencarb - thank you so much for thinking of this.

A little background – this is when they are fighting, but I couldn’t think of a topic they could fight on (although they can fight about almost everything), so I just skipped to the main/important part. But just for context, let’s say this is over a patient.

Also, I have included little snippets from the letter for it to make more sense.

Enjoy :)

**********

 Alishka faced him, stunned silence hanging over both of them. He rose from the couch and walked toward her, and when he got close, she pulled back, raising her arms like a barrier.

‘Look, Ethan, I don’t want you to touch me right now, okay?’

He flinched at her words but let his arms fall to his sides.

For a long moment, none of them said anything. The tension cackled in the air, alive and buzzing, but before long, she crossed her arms across her chest and glanced away.

‘You are saying that I am wrong?’ he asked.

‘No. I am saying that we are going to have to talk this out.’

‘So that you can try to convince me that I’m wrong?’

She shook her head at him and turned to the dining table, wishing she hadn’t come at all. At first, she thought his comment didn’t deserve a response at all, but anger got the better of her. ��Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you acting like this? What is going on with you? If you think my judgment was wrong, even though I don’t believe you, there are better ways to solve it, rather than doing what we are doing. I came here to spend time with you, not so that you could pick mistakes in my treatment plan.’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say, and she watched him, anticipating his words. With a shake of head, he started toward the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Just downstairs. I need some air.’

‘Why can’t we talk about it now?’ she pressed on, refusing to let him go out of the house. She knew his tendencies. He would go out; walk to Donahue’s and that would be the end of discussion.

‘Because, he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady, ‘I need a few minutes alone so that I can think.’

Millions of statements leapt to her mind, most of them accusatory, but that wouldn’t be fair, so she  decided not to say anything at all. He sensed her hesitation and spoke over his shoulder, ‘I am not running from this, Alishka. I’ll be back in a few minutes, I just need some air.’

With that, he was gone.

She stared at the apartment door for a minute, waiting to see if he would come back, but evidently, he wasn’t.

She was angry with him. This wasn’t fair, never would be, but right now, she had no option but to wait for him to return. Not knowing what else to do, she started pacing the apartment. Outside the giant windows, Boston glittered, golden-silver and jewel like against the darkened sky. Car lights reflected off in the poodles which were a result of the endless pattering of raindrops from the morning, leaving the atmosphere damp and cold. Anonymous faces laughed richly, and she felt a burn of loneliness as she paced the apartment.

Where was he?

And why did he leave at all?

Looking around the empty house, she knew she couldn’t stand to be alone in here, not when he had left her by herself in the middle of what seemed to be a discussion, but was an argument between two unbendable people. Hesitating only for a moment, she entered the bedroom to retrieve the note paper he kept in his drawers. They could see each other tomorrow.

It was complicated. And somehow, she knew everything she said had come off wrong. All the logic told her to stay and talk to him, but would he really come back?

Looking for some paper, she continued shuffling – through medical journals, research reports, a few paperbacks, when a thick paper caught her eye. It was unlike anything he ever used, expensive, thick and sturdy, with a silhouette of a dark tree embossed in the upper right hand corner. The paper itself was crinkled and aged looking, almost as if it was stashed here for too long. She recognized his familiar scrawl across it. As she scrutinized it, she realised it was a letter, addressed to her.

Strange.

She had never seen him writing letters.

A letter for her?

There was a date on the top left corner.

February 21, 2020

Almost a year ago.

When he was in Amazon.

And she was here, in Boston.

How could that be?

She found herself holding her breath. She quickly made room in the drawer, pushing aside the journal and gently lifting out the letter. Still confused, she tried to pull herself together before glancing at the first page. There, in his scrawl, were the words:

Dear Alishka…

Oh my god. This couldn’t be.

Dear Alishka,

I know I have hurt you deeply…

***

She set down the letter.  A flood of emotions rushed to her and her throat ached, but she did not know why. Was it because she blamed him to leave her alone for almost two months without even talking to her, but knowing that he wasn’t okay with it too? Or because back then she had thought he had forgotten entirely about what they had?

Whatever it was, it made it hard for her to breathe. The overhead light was turning her unshed tears into a strange prism. She gulped, wiped at the hot tears frantically before composing herself and starting again.

***

…I have been to the bush a few times, and those deep greens, which are present only at its heart, remind me of your eyes. The rest is more like me, barren, stripped of everything. The angry heat reminds me of your pained expression when I pushed you away, but the sun reminds me of how radiant you look in the hospital when with your patients. Children play and giggle around the camp, reminding me of your childish giggle when you are with your friends. Everything here reminds me of you. It’s like no matter how much of a distance I put between us, you still follow me around. most of all though, whenever I am in the bush, I know one thing, as crystal clear as the sky: I was wrong to deny what was obvious to everyone else – that I cannot forget you easily.

Alishka stopped reading. The faint hum in the background seemed to echo the letters words.

I cannot forget you easily.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes, thinking how wrong she had been in thinking about him at that time, when they both were fractured, broken souls.

‘Oh Ethan…’ she said to no one.

Cars continued to fly past, honking, beyond the windows. Slowly, she began reading again.

***

…As I sit here in the camp, I am praying that you’ll understand.

I am coming to Boston next week with the hope that you find a way to forgive me. may be I am too late now. I don’t know.

Ethan.

She wiped her eyes again, trying to imagine him writing this, his head bent over the paper, a fountain pen scratching across the page. Her fingers traced the words lightly, knowing his hand had been there before, fighting back her tears.

Why did he take so long?

Like most of the things about him, this letter was a secret he kept to himself. Toward the bottom of the page, she noticed his handwriting was hard to read, as if he had been gripping the pen tightly.

She barely heard the front door open and close as she kept the letter back again and pushed the drawer shut, gulping, wiping her face frantically.

Nothing could compare to the feelings that had risen in her when she read the letter. It was all too much for her to fathom.

Ethan called out, ‘Alishka, I am back.’ He paused, and she could hear him walking through the apartment.

Then, ‘Where are you?’

She didn’t answer. Her words felt caught in her throat.

Ethan stepped into the room and looked at him. Without meeting his gaze, she went and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing her eyes shut. Startled, he almost spoke.

Almost.

‘Is everything alright? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ she mumbled into his chest.

‘You do remember that we were fighting right?’

She chuckled. ‘Shut up. I love you.’

He arms tightened around her slender frame. ‘I love you too.’

**********

I hope I got the date right 😂

Thank you all for reading :)

Let me know if you want to be added or removed to/from the tags.

[mannytoodope]