127 posts
Latest Posts by medicbled - Page 4
nothing follows, not yet. the words don’t rise so much as settle as silt in water after the stirring’s stopped. HER EYES FOLLOW A CRACK ALONG THE BAR TOP. it's long and jagged and reminds her of scar tissue, the mangled and crooked stories on her body in phantom aches. a flicker of recognition sharpens the corner of her gaze. not pity. not camaraderie wrapped in cliché. but that rare kind of understanding that doesn’t announce itself; it just takes up space beside you and doesn’t flinch.
the glass in her hand sweats against her palm. she hasn’t taken a sip in minutes, just holds it like something steady, something to tether her. dinah's voice lingers in the air, heavier than the scent of stale beer and old smoke, heavier even than the history pressed into every inch of this place. she exhales slowly, controlled in how they taught her to when adrenaline starts to eat through clarity.
she shifts in her seat, the rare form of an evening off melting in small waves. not discomfort, just recalibration as though she’s letting herself settle differently now. not into the bar, or the chair, but into the truth between them. that unspoken place where blood isn’t a metaphor, and memory comes with texture. the quiet motion of someone who has bled and stitched and kept moving, who knows the cost of softness and still lets it in.
not everyone exists the same. some become the violence, some hide from it, some bury it so deep they mistake it for the wild of grief. no matter how anyone attempted to keep it, eventually it creeps up and reminds you it's always been in charge.
❛ sorry. ❜ gloria sets the glass down gently, a smile that isn't all there lifting the corner of her lips. ❛ i'm surprisingly shitty at small talk for it being a big part of my job. ❜ WAR WAS LESS COMPLICATED THAN MEDICINE; empathy had drained her then, and it drains her now. an empty tank that keeps running onwards. ❛ i also hate baseball. ❜
the place doesn’t announce itself. no sign worth reading. just the dry clink of glass against wood, the heavy drag of a barstool across concrete, the soft static of a baseball game playing overhead on a battered television. the walls carry nicotine stains and the bartop’s been wiped down so many times it shines in patches. most of the men here wear uniforms, or did once. one can tell by the way they sit: spines too straight, eyes that scan the room but never settle.
dinah does not blend. not really, and never by accident. black satin pants skim just above the ankle, the soft grey blouse tucked clean at the waist without a single crease, and red-bottom heels on her feet which she exchanges for an old-pair of sneakers after hours; still yet, elegant, unmistakably out of place. she looks like she arrived from a place built on marble and discretion, where voices are tempered by diplomacy and the real power circulates three doors behind the visible one. and maybe she did. but she was never designed to belong to those rooms. strategically placed in them.
‘ yeah, ’ she says, not just with agreement but with recognition as well, like the words been filed and revisited too many times to come out any other way. like she knows exactly what gloria means because she’s lived it more than once. violence, institutions that reward detachment and demand resilience just to survive, even as pamphlets in the therapist office announce that vulnerability is not a weakness.
‘ well. fuck it. ’ she remembers a man once—older, career army, the kind who spoke like authority was his by birthright. he told her women like her couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be ankle-deep in blood with the comms down and someone dying under her hands. she said nothing then, nothing even as she cleaned the blood off her own hands later that same week.
you call THAT a PLAN ? / tommy kinard @decryptids
it's a look of amplified outrage afforded for the closest of friends. two exist, and ONE STANDS BEFORE HER. ❛ i'll have you know, i blew off a date with my couch and a new documentary for this, so maybe a little decorum. ❜ time was a currency, a luxury she didn't have, but no matter how weary, she held herself up. she's been slacking on this end, maintaining facetimes and the occasional run-in through emergency where they can spare a moment between the chaos to catch up. ❛ and i don't need to get laid. ❜ need and want are two different animals, she's only half lying there; a want and a need.
❛ do you just need me to keep you from making a terrible mistake again? cause i can rally for that. ❜ she teases, a shoulder nudging tommy as she brushes past him in the kitchen. a smile perked up tired honey eyes, wine glass half empty. ❛ you know, you could have just started with what you wanted to do. typical fucking pilot. ❜ she snickers.
her hand doesn’t move. it stays there, over his chest, over the heat of a heart still BEATING, even if it feels like it’s barely holding on. her fingers curl a little, as though she could press through flesh and bone and cradle it in her palm with tenderness. ❛ what am i without my hypocrisy? ❜ her smile is world-weary, a life lived before she ever stepped foot into the emergency department. one she couldn't shake from her bones or broken soul. just the same, she couldn't shake off obligations, duty, her purpose in this world. ❛ i know we do, trust me on that — ❜ a pause to relinquish touch, if only to toy with the pocket of his hoodie. ❛ i'm just asking for a day. the details of which i will be forcing you to relax and in turn i will relax so it's mutually beneficial. ❜
tired eyes flick to the hand on his chest like it's an open wound. the warmth of it hurts and sears his skin, in the way that softness does when you're starving for it. he can't afford to vanish. too many people need him functioning, unflinching. to unravel is not an option, not even at the seams. “ have you ever thought about taking your own advice? ” he offers a small grin before shaking his head. “ people like us. we belong here. ” they couldn't walk away if they wanted to.
just getting dinner in then jumping on @docmohan then back here. the muses is screaming.
28. five most recent sent text messages @pittmade
Honestly, I can't even do five cause this is it.
Gloria’s preference for older lovers has never come from a weird insecurity or lack of personal relationships…it’s competency, it’s leadership, it’s attraction to someone with life experience and that scratches the intellectual brain and becomes sensual.
⋆｡‧˚ʚ💋ɞ˚‧｡⋆ 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐦𝐞. 𝐧𝐨𝐰. (VERY USFT!!!!) 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 - send ‘reverse’ for the sender and receiver to swap. adjust wording as needed!
[ grind ] sender straddles receiver’s lap and starts grinding against them, slow and intentional
[ whisper ] sender leans in and whispers exactly what they want to do to receiver in excruciating detail
[ wristgrab ] in the middle of a heated moment, sender pins receiver’s wrists above their head
[ needy ] sender pulls receiver into their lap, desperate and breathless, kissing them like it’s not enough
[ tease ] sender drags their lips and tongue down the length of receiver’s stomach, but stops just before going lower
[ undone ] sender undresses receiver one piece of clothing at a time, dragging it out with loaded glances
[ taste ] sender drops to their knees and starts kissing up the inside of receiver’s thighs
[ lapfull ] sender drags receiver onto their lap in the middle of a conversation, their hands already wandering
[ control ] sender takes full control, guiding receiver’s hands, body, and every motion
[ tug ] sender grips receiver’s hair and yanks their head back to kiss them roughly
[ choke ] sender wraps a hand lightly around receiver’s throat while their lips are barely apart
[ lipbite ] sender bites down on receiver’s bottom lip while grinding against them
[ praise ] in the middle of it all, sender whispers praise between every movement "just like that," "you're doing so good," "don’t stop"
[ beg ] sender makes receiver beg for it
[ mouthy ] sender licks into receiver’s mouth mid-kiss, messy and aggressive
[ suck ] sender sucks a mark into receiver’s neck, possessive and without shame
[ edge ] sender brings receiver right to the brink, over and over, refusing to let them finish
[ wrecked ] sender has one goal: to leave receiver trembling and ruined beneath them
[ needy grind ] clothes still on, sender grinds against receiver until they’re both panting, desperate for more
[ between ] sender slips a hand between receiver’s thighs while whispering, “you’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”
[ ride ] sender pushes receiver down and climbs on top, holding eye contact the entire time
[ spit ] sender leans over and lets spit drip into receiver’s mouth before kissing them hard
[ mess ] clothes scattered, sheets ruined, bodies tangled—sender and receiver didn’t hold back
[ slow ] sender draws everything out. every stroke, every breath, every motion unbearably slow
[ possessive ] sender fucks receiver like they’re trying to make sure no one else ever will
[ overstim ] sender keeps going even after receiver's already shaking from release
[ grip ] sender grabs receiver by the hips, holding them in place while taking full control
[ hot & heavy ] sender and receiver go at it somewhere they absolutely shouldn’t
[ control freak ] sender lets receiver think they're in charge… until they flip the roles mid-way
[ lips everywhere ] sender kisses every part of receiver’s body.
[ breathless ] sender doesn’t let up until receiver is clawing at their back, gasping for air
[ all night ] sender makes sure receiver doesn’t sleep... again, and again, and again
[ tongue ] sender slides their tongue along receiver’s skin, taking their time tasting every inch
[ dark corner ] they don’t make it home! sender drags receiver into a shadowed corner and gets to work
[ eye contact ] sender holds eye contact the entire time they’re going down on receiver
[ mirror ] sender takes receiver in front of the mirror so they can both watch
𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
❝ i want to hear every sound you make. don’t hold back. ❞
❝ get on your knees—now. ❞
❝ you’re not leaving this bed until i say so. ❞
❝ look at you. all mine and dripping for it. ❞
❝ you said 'just one more time' last time, remember? ❞
❝ keep quiet, or they’ll hear. ❞
❝ is this what you wanted? me, like this, ruining you? ❞
❝ you’re shaking—already? we’ve barely started. ❞
❝ i haven’t even touched you yet, and you're already begging. ❞
❝ be good for me and spread your legs. ❞
❝ don’t you dare finish until i tell you to. ❞
❝ you’re going to be the death of me, but i’ll die happy. ❞
❝ say it. say you need me. say it louder. ❞
❝ i could do this all night. want to test me? ❞
❝ if you want more, use your words. ❞
❝ you look so pretty when you beg. ❞
❝ you’re not shy now, are you? ❞
❝ take it. like that. good. ❞
❝ tell me where you want my mouth. ❞
❝ don’t bite your lip—moan. i want to hear it. ❞
the gun is still, but her breath isn’t. it slips through clenched TEETH as something she doesn’t trust herself to name. her eyes don’t waver and that’s the only thing that doesn’t betray her. everything else, every muscle, every nerve ending is listening to him. his words coil around her like smoke in a sealed room; thick, unrelenting, poisonous and holy.
he stands in front of her like a revenant. a memory reanimated into something hungrier, rougher but not gone, and maybe that was her penance for unearthing what should have stayed dead. she watches the way he leans into the barrel, like he’s inviting annihilation. like he already knows she won’t give it to him.
and that’s what tips her.
gloria moves before thought, a surge of instinct and history. rage, ache, and hunger burn under her skin like shrapnel hitting a nerve. she lifts her hand, the barrel close enough now that it kisses his chin at the juncture between flesh and mask. she knows he'll find her and haunt her, and she will let him in every single time.
❛ you’re right. i don’t want control and i don't need permission either. ❜ her voice serrated, low and trembling with something that has nothing to do with fear. her free hand curls in his shirt, dragging him tighter against her. she wants to feel the pulse of him and plead to the man beneath.
❛ and you, what about you, querido? ❜ she leaned in, her nose brushed his mask, mouth hovering at the edge of his jaw, and then so suddenly. CLICK — that's all it was: an empty game of roulette she never loaded. a sound so deafening despite being so small. She pulls back just enough to look at him, really look at him. ❛ i could always see you, you know. all that hurt i could sink my teeth into like you tore into mine. ❜
she holds a beat like she's unhinging her maw. ❛ but you’re wrong about one thing ❜ a push off his frame, empty clip snapped out of the pistol, and the entirety falls to the ground. her eyes don't leave him, emotions too deep to remain buried and twice as volatile as the heart on her sleeve. ❛ i don’t want to pretend i’m better than you. i want to believe i wasn’t always just like you, but we both know that's not true, don't we? ❜
🔫 [ something tells me it's fucked up but hot though? the one time she can't pull the trigger but should. 🫦 ]
POINT A GUN AT MY MUSE PROMPT. | @waruins
that barrel's not cold. that is what gloria doesn't realize. it's not trembling in her grip. but he can feel the hesitation affecting her. and jigsaw? he feeds on that.
it's not wanton glee or the mockery you'd get from an overperforming circus clown. he has a hunger that lives in the marrow of his bones. the version of him before wouldn't flinch. neither would the one that came back from the mirror.
❝ now this—this is the good part. ❞ his voice scrapes out. it's rusted and sharp, like heavy metal dragged across the asphalt. there's a twisted reverence that overrode any delight or scorn he might have derived from his grim circumstances.
his devilish audacity compels him to tempt his fate and step closer. to dare her finger to twitch against the trigger because he invaded her space now, in her head, and still—he’s unafraid of death.
❝ oh, go on. ❞ the virtually masked eyes flick to the muzzle that was ready to bark at any second. he wonders what dark whispers it put in her head to make her believe this was the right move. ❝ do it. i’d let you. right here. right now! permission to kill, soldier! ❞
the mask covers the jagged and lopsided grin. it shields her from the ruin, but not the dark dare. his head cocks, wolfish, a second away from acting on the impulse to tear into her for the cowardice alone.
❝ i think you want me close. i think you want me to bleed for you. break for you. and maybe even burn you a little and call it worship. ❞ he says it like it was a secret passed between their sinner selves of a previous life. a gospel carved into the wall of some brig.
❝ i think this little gun? ain’t punishment. it’s one of our fucked up foreplays. ❞ because it felt familiar. it seemed like some shit he'd be into with a girl like her in his past. his hand lifts slowly—measured, not threatening—fingers brushing against the side of the coal-black barrel like he’s petting it. like it's her hair. his thumb grazes the slide, the tension point of unceremonious death, and he sighs like he's tasted the most exquisite dish for his last day on earth.
❝ you don’t want control, gloria. you want permission. you want to see what you are when you stop pretending you're better than me. as if we didn't fly the same colors for our country. ❞ his other hand reaches—not to her, but to his own chest. he taps it once. twice. thrice. firm. he leans in and whispers rot in her ear:
❝ squeeze the trigger. i’ll still come back for you, gloria. even if you break me. even if you kill me. i'll crawl outta hell and find you, sweetheart. ❞ then—he steps back. but it's barely an inch away. it's enough to see her beautiful trepidation in her eyes. enough to see if his words led to them softening or hardening. jigsaw grins again.
❝ now what’s it gonna be, angel? you gonna make uncle sam proud? or are you scared it’ll feel too fucking good? ❞
15. bookcase. // HC @owestwind
BOOKSHELVES// she has a habit, a collection that rivals her record one. two points in her home have dedication to her literature. - a corner in her living room and a good portion of her bedroom. every single book is one she's read at least once before and there are favourites she revisits often. many copies that have seen combat and deployments and gotten her through difficult times. she's a fast, thorough reader and her taste varies, but this is a little snippet of some of her favourites.
30. netflix watch history. // HCS @pittmade
A PEAK AT WHAT’S INSIDE THEIR . . .
[ * ] writing prompt ) : send a number 1 - 30 to take a closer look inside this characters life. / below you will find a series of various prompts offering a look inside a characters every day life. these are meant to invoke character development & can also be altered as seen fit to better suit the character in question. bonus if you explain why it’s there!
01. pockets. 02. bag / purse. 03. car trunk. 04. car glovebox. 05. closet. 06. bedside table drawer. 07. medicine cabinet. 08. wallet. 09. “junk” drawer. 10. pantry. 11. phone home screen. 12. frequently used emojis. 13. to do list. 14. computer home screen. 15. bookcase. 16. cd collection. 17. calendar for this month. 18. “secret” hiding spot. 19. five most recent in contact list. 20. refrigerator. 21. home safe. 22. amazon shopping cart. 23. bank account. 24. first aid kit. 25. five most recent in google search history. 26. most used playlist. 27. least used playlist. 28. five most recent sent text messages 29. five most recent received text messages 30. netflix watch history.
❝ i only sleep well when you're next to me. ❞ @pittmade
jack says it so simply, so matter of fact as if reading from an un-refuted diagnosis and for a split second, SHE FORGETS HOW TO BREATHE. she takes a small step toward him, enough for the edges of her exhaustion to melt into something else. she reaches out, fingertips grazing the hem of his scrubs like she’s grounding herself. tense shoulders melting down, well into a shift that dragged on too long and left too many ghosts behind. she should be immune to tenderness by now in this environment but if anything, gloria indulges more. ❛ yeah, i couldn't sleep before shift. ❜ she admits, voice barely above the hum of the fluorescents and break of morning light through the automatic doors.
she's cradled a coffee that's been re-heated half a dozen times that night alone in her other hand. her frame titled, leaning against the counter but more into him as subtle as could be mustered for their proximity. there's no struggle to find his gaze, it's already on her, already poking at the faint hue of pink adorning her cheeks. gloria didn't blush but she does for him. she smiles then, the kind that blooms slow and steady like something she didn’t think could grow anymore. ❛ you know, i'm getting tired of packing a bag and...you always make coffee better than mine. ❜ it's a flash of movement so subtle that any wandering eyes wouldn't thinks twice of the rogue kiss to his stubbled jaw. she lingers with weariness and the reflection of stars hung around him in her honey eyes. ❛ from a scientific perspective, it seems that the only probable conclusion here is to eliminate sleeping apart. ❜
night shift makes sense for her because she's a night owl to begin with. night terrors are relentless even with meds, even with therapy ( clearly night terrors can't get you in the day time soooo ). her body, her brain and internal clock were re-wired in the military; she can survive off minuscule amounts of sleep and still be high-functioning. that never leaves her, but that doesn't mean she isn't perpetually exhausted. it makes her ability to pull working doubles very frequently seem superhuman.
she watches him, watches the way his hand doesn’t reach. how it lingers in the air like an OFFERING, not a DEMAND. that’s it, isn’t it? he doesn’t take. he waits.
❛ funny thing about wounds. ❜ voice low and measured. each word turning over in her chest before it makes its way to her lips. ❛ they don’t scare me when they’re fresh. that’s the clean part, body’s in shock, adrenaline’s high—you just move. ❜ her hand finds his with the sureness of a decision she won’t unmake, even if it ruins her. grasped too eagerly, entwined too tightly.
a flash of recognition. in the same way those horrors play on a loop when her body wants to find rest, shiny snippets of lived-in carnage. ❛ it’s what happens after that haunts you. when you start making room for the pain and working around it...pretending it's not shaping every goddamn step you take. ❜
his invading scent almost clouds every rational instinct. now, it mingles with warmth and the taste of floral amber on her skin. honey and irreparable damage hasn't left his gaze, but she smiles like a ghost looking down on a life she couldn't have. gloria has forgotten how to want anything for herself. it's too selfish, too indulgent. she shrugs and it brings her even closer. watching his lips, his jaw, their tanged hands, anything else to lessen the blow of unravelling parts of herself she'd hardly admitted to the mirror.
❛ i was just made to hold other people's damage like it was mine. that's it, billy, the job. ❜ THAT IS HER WORTH.
❛ you say you trust me when i’m trying not to bleed but i don't know how to do anything else. ❜ she's quieter now, words flaying her open piece by piece. ❛ i don’t know what to do with that. i don’t know how to carry this kind of want without running from it. ❜
her thumb moves gently along the line of his palm. ❛ because if or when i love someone, i'm a walking wound that won't stitch shut. ❜
❝ nah. ❞ the word land irrevocably soft. an unabashed verdict handed down between partners instead of a jury. ❝ i trust you most when you're trying not to. ❞
his hand doesn't reach for her own, but it does hover as a palpable presence. if she wanted this contact, she'd find. billy's learned not to ask.
❝ don't be silly. i don’t need to make you bleed to trust you, gloria. ❞ his voice dips lower, but it's not tender—just stripped bare, the way cold nights can feel honest when the war's silenced itself for a breath. ❝ i just need to see how you hold the wound. ❞
he grins foxishly—wolf-mouthed in the dark.
❝ i know you've seen plenty of people hold a wound wrong. ❞ there's a deep glimmer of memories behind his eyes now—sordid, too close, close-quarters horror folded under surgical instinct gone frantic. he blinks then. the visuals and their effects shut down and thrown behind the doors in the dark recesses of his mind.
❝ what happened when you saw it? they panic, right? they clamp down. they tear it open wider. now you got tragedy all over the floor. ❞
he tsk'd, sucking his teeth. he shakes his head.
❝ but you?—❞ he leans in, just enough for her to catch the green apple and vanilla of his cologne, the salt of aftershock in his sweat. ❝ nobody can't tell you shit. you know how to press. how to breathe through it. how to keep your hands steady with someone else's life inside 'em. ❞
❝ that’s how i know. so, if i haven't made myself clear before, I'll say it plainly now: ❞ his voice radiates, warm steel. ❝ i don't want you bleeding, sweetheart. i want to see what you do after. ❞
@medicbled
a tender glimpse beneath the surface
❝ i'll always protect you. ❞
❝ i never meant to get this close, but now that i have i can't let you go. ❞
❝ i live for the moments when you look at me. the rest of the time i'm just existing. ❞
❝ i don't like how you make me feel. but i like not being around you even less. ❞
❝ i wish you wouldn't look at me like that. when you look at me like that i...it makes me wanna do things i shouldn't ❞
❝ there's no line i wouldn't cross for you. don't you realize that? ❞
❝ i did this for you. no one else. ❞
❝ i don't like it, but i'll do it for you. ❞
❝ i wonder how much of myself i'll have to give to you—how much i have to lay bare—before you realize how much you're taking. ❞
❝ i'm not trying to fix you. i'm just trying to be your friend. ❞
❝ i'm not um, real good at thank yous. or sorry's. but if you ever need me, i'm there. i owe you one. ❞
❝ i've seen you at your worst and i'm still standing here. ❞
❝ you've seen me at my worst but you're still here... ❞
❝ you can be mad at me, i can take it. i'd rather you be angry than shut me out. ❞
❝ i'm not angry, i'm just scared. ❞
❝ i know you love me, but do you like me? ❞
❝ do you think i'm a good person? ❞
❝ do you think i care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference? of course i'm helping you. ❞
❝ tell me what i can do to show you how i love you. i will give you anything you ask for. ❞
❝ you don't have to keep apologizing. just be here. day in and day out and prove that you're gonna keep showing up. that's all you have to do. ❞
❝ i only sleep well when you're next to me. ❞
❝ i don't want an apology i just want to understand. ❞
❝ i could actually use a hug right now. ❞
❝ i want everyone else to go away, but you can stay. ❞
❝ i actually do care what you think about. you're probably one of the only people whose opinion matters to me. ❞
❝ you always seem to know what i need. ❞
❝ you always seem to know just what i need to hear. ❞
❝ i want you to call me when you need someone. i want to be here for you. ❞
❝ you're the one i wanna call when i need someone. ❞
❝ seems like i always want you around when everything feels all fucked up. guess that means something. ❞
hc + birth
HEADCANONS// ACCEPTING
I think theres a few scattered answers for her on that so i'll break those down. or i'll attempt to…
BIRTH ( medically ); it's another procedure she believes isn't taken as seriously as it should be. she was trained as any medic would be while serving but she didn't actually imagine she would be using this skill. she genuinely thought it would be a simplistic ( and horrifying ) as tournoquits, field procedures and stabilization. but when she was dropped into zones that required extra humanitarian aid, it was something she had to do and i think it was an absolute shock. you can say you understand that not every place in the world has the same access to medical care but when it was right in front of her in a hostile zone, you can't ignore it. she's delivered babies unsure of what happens to the mother and baby once they leave, and that gets brought back home with her. those are the moments that stick with her, and it becomes an advocacy point within her profession. if someone comes into the ER ready to pop, she's in there very calmly and focused on providing the best care with the best equipment that simply wasn't a luxury in a war zone. the matter of care for women, in particular within the medical system, is abysmal at best. the most dangerous thing a woman, or any person with the potential to give birth, can do is, in fact, become pregnant and give birth. alternatively, anyone who comes from a state where abortion isn't legal, she's working with efficiency and empathy to make certain the CHOICE is exercised and they are in control of their reproductive health. while i have not written her verse in its entirety, she would certainly be volunteering days and free time to women's clinics, shelters, veterans' hospitals and planned parenthood. this is an aspect she's willing to go to jail for or be reprimanded for.
BIRTH ( personally ): in saying all this, it's still something she wants for herself. she loves children, and her instincts to nurture are incredibly strong, but she doesn't ever imagine it's something she will get to do. the process itself, she would probably approach as very...clinical and almost obsessive in how she suddenly takes better care of everything within herself because she has a soul bound responsibility to her unborn baby.
she isn't good on the assurance that it all gets better, gets more manageable. IT DOESN'T, but your body adapts as it would in times of duress ( times of war ) ❛ in my mind, i can save the boy. ❜ an utterance between the rhythm of stabilized vitals, tedious beep taunting with a drop at any given second. she'd brutalize herself if she couldn't.
lyrical sc// @frthestars ( mel )
gloria's cool date idea: a fucking nap and you pretend like she didn't drool on you a little bit cause she's comfortable with you.
Send me hc + a word of your choosing and I’ll write a headcanon relating to that word!
Or send hc + two words and I’ll try and come up with one that links those two things together!
ADRIA ARJONA getting ready for the LOS FRIKIS premiere at the Miami Film Festival on April 6th, 2024
few could possibly understand the depth of it all, the uphill BATTLE made of claws and teeth and admitted spite. ❛ hard to be soft, tough to be tender. ❜ of standing toe to toe with men twice your size and coming out alive and higher up than any of them could possible imagine. gloria knows she understands. enough for her to offer up the adage of something stronger than beer.
lyrical sc// @w4rwhispers
a twitch she won't snap up in her maw. the way he says the word CAMOFLAUGE like he knows what she’s been trying to outrun it since the first time someone shoved a tourniquet in her hand to save a man already half-dead. like he can see the thing coiled behind her ribs and how it gnaws when she lets her guard drop. and she knew he could see it.
❛ well then i'm paying too much for mine. ❜ she's been dissected by people in far colder rooms than this: by doctors, by superiors, by the mirror.
her throat tightens. ❛ i'm not— ❜ hungry? she's a terrible liar. he’s not wrong, and that’s the worst part. she just hates how much she agrees, how he can unravel the tireless labour of moral acrobatics at the promise of FEEDING THE ROT.
❛ bleeding is easy, billy. ❜ she presses words and invades his space. she isn't a threat...she's always a threat; a labcoat won't change that, but she's offering resistance by tenderness. it lands as a bruise and traces the veins in his forearm. ❛ i want to know what they do when the wound closes. ❜
❛ but be honest again, querido. ❜ a sharp hum, a burning sort of melody, amusement becomes a strange sickness brought back from the gallows. ❛ is that the only time you trust me? when you make me bleed? ❜
there's a subtle twitch behind his lashes—barely there. you'd miss it unless you were hunting for it. and someone like gloria? she always seemed to be hunting for something.
❝ suppose a psychologist would call that behavior 'camouflage'—if they were ditching the clinical lingo and leaning into something we’d actually recognize. ❞
he tilts his head, as if parsing her—like she were a wound to be stitched or a bomb to be disarmed.
❝ uniforms aren't made to make saints. scrubs, fatigues—shit, even the suits, gloria. all they do is color the appetite. but the hunger? it’s still there. ❞ he studies gloria, eyes locked into hers—too long, too knowingly.
❝ but if i gotta be honest... i trust people more when they're bleeding. at least then, you know what color they really are. ❞
@medicbled
she isn't someone who flusters easily. could withstand the force of a thousand storms and still hold her ground against the CARNAGE AND CHAOS. ❛ i've got a hundred thrown-out speeches i almost said to you. ❜ she's at a loss here, in over her head and overthinking because it's not as simple as locking into task or mission. her heart wears too close to her sleeve and clawing its way into his hands.
lyrical sc// @pittmade
i don't like t.swift so it makes it so much worse that she has two songs that are very gloria. i hate it here.
it's always a question, always attempting to understand what it's like. WAR & TRIAGE, too similar in how her spine remembers instinct. ❛ it's the terror of knowing what this world's about. ❜ she's too casual about it, a shrug, a chuff of amusement.
lyrical sc// @jennifershepard
it comes from a place she'll never have for herself - CONCERN, sincerity cornering him with tenderness. ❛ take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while. ❜ there with a gentle palm against his chest, a smile that aches. ❛ it's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two. ❜
lyrical sc // @rbnvtch
held under her tongue, kept between her TEETH. ❛ truth is in us all, cradle to the grave. we're just animals still learning to behave. ❜ what difference did the scrubs make? they're made of the same material she wore like second skin for so long.
lyrical sc// @bl4ckdevl