Greg Lake, 1973

This Blood Isn’t Mine…

Pairing: Fem!Reader/ Tangerine

Warning: None.

Synopsis: Tangerine wakes up in the middle of the night covered in blood. He knows it isn’t his blood and panics, thinking you’re hurt, forgetting you’re a woman, and satan’s waterfall comes to visit you once a month.

Tangerine’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dark room around him. He could feel his naked body against the cool sheets, and your naked body pressed against him. He smiled sleepily, thinking about the fun you two had had before falling asleep.

Tangerine swallowed, his dry throat reminding him why he had woken up. He lazily turned around, the sheets gliding over his toned abs, trying to find his water bottle by patting the floor randomly, hoping to stumble upon the bottle. “Fuckin’ hell.” He cursed quietly after a few minutes of searching resulting into nothing.

Quietly, he grabbed his phone from his nightstand and turned the flashlight on. The bright light blinded him for a second, but his eyes adjusted after a moment. “Found ya.” He murmured when the light bounced off the plastic surface of the water bottle. He scooted closer to the edge of the bed, leaning down to take it.

As Tangerine’s hand slipped inside the beam of light, dark, red spots came into view, previously hidden in the veil of the night. Tangerine froze, recognizing the substance he dealt with daily. Blood. He hesitantly turned his hand, finding it smeared on his palm as well. Panic started settling in his stomach. He knew he wasn’t hurt, and the only other person this blood could be coming from was you.

Just the thought of you suffering made his heart stop beating for a second, before it started thumping even louder. What if your gutted corpse lay still behind him? What if he had lost you? Tremors shook his hand, sucking the life away from him. Tangerine slowly grabbed the knife he hid underneath the mattress before he turned around, silently swearing to avenge whoever dared to touch you.

The man turned around, almost scared to shine his flashlight towards you, afraid of what he would see. Slowly, with fear wetting his eyes, he shone the flashlight on your body.

Instantly, his heart started beating again, the color gushing back to his cheeks. You were alive, breathing, sleeping with the covers thrown over your stomach. The joy Tangerine felt glimmering in his chest was brief: he noticed dark spots of blood painting the sheets you were covered in.

Fear settled back in, heavier than before. Without a moment of hesitation, Tangerine gripped your shoulder and started shaking you. “(Y/N), darling, please wake up! You’re hurt, we need to go to the hospital,” he said, his voice dry.

You jolted away, wincing in pain when your sleepy eyes met the flashlight shining into them. “What?” You croaked, your word heavy with sleep.

“You’re bleeding. You’re hurt. Someone or something wounded you. We NEED to go to the hospital. Right now. What if the wound is fatal?” Tangerine’s words tumbled out of him like a waterfall. He slipped out of bed, starting to slip his discarded clothes back on. “Where does it hurt, love? Tell me,” he said, worry tainting his words. “Don’t move. I’ll come pick you up.”

You were still half asleep, the words reaching you slowly and sluggishly, as if traveling through three meters of snow. “What? Hurt? I’m not hurt,” you murmured after a few moments of processing his words.

“Our bed is covered in blood.” Tangerine hissed, yanking his pants up. “I’m not letting you bleed out, (Y/N). You’re the love of my life, if I lose you, I kill everyone around me and then myself.”

You had slowly managed to wake up, trying to find this wound Tangerine insisted you had. You lifted the sheets, seeing your thighs smeared with blood. Quickly, you put two and two together and barked out a laugh.

Tangerine looked up at you, guns in hand as he was slipping them in their holsters. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes jumping around in panic.

You couldn’t stop the smile that lit your face. “Darling, don’t worry. I’m not hurt.” You tugged the covers away and gestured to your vagina. “I got my period.”

The relief on Tangerine’s face was immediate. He slipped out the guns and slapped them back in their compartment. He kicked off his pants and ripped off his shirt, falling back into the bed. “Your period, you sure love?” He asked, needing a little bit more of reassurance to not break apart and start crying.

You turned around to face him, touching his cheek. The worry in his eyes broke your heart into a million pieces: this man loved you to the end of the world and back. “It’s my period. Don’t worry, alright?” You asked softly, starting to caress his curls. The man had come back from a hard job just a few hours before, and just the sensation of your warm hands on his curls made his eyes flutter shut.

You continued to lull him to sleep, waiting until his eyes were closed before standing up to slip on a pair of panties and a pad.

Just as you your feet touched the floor, Tangerine’s hand darted out from the rumpled covers and clasped your wrist. “Don’t go,” he croaked, most of himself lost in dreamland.

“I need to go get a pad. I can’t just bleed all over the bed,” you said, taking his hand in yours and pressing a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles. Apparently he had gotten those bruises by punching some glass on a train or something, you hadn’t really understood his tired ramblings.

“Don’t go.” Tangerine repeated. “It’s just blood…and it’s natural blood..don’t..don’t leave me.” The way his voice cracked on the last few words made tears almost come to your eyes: Tangerine was rarely so emotional, years of his horrid job breaking him to the point of constant strength. You couldn’t leave him, not even for a second.

“Alright, I won’t leave,” you sighed. As you slipped underneath the covers you kept thinking about how you would have to change the sheets tomorrow morning. But the moment your sleepy Tangerine wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head on your chest, your thoughts calmed down, and you started drifting off to sleep; the love of your life curled up against you.

The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms, was swept down Sabaki River into the Indian Ocean, then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.

“It is incredible … a-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a ‘mother’,” ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park , said.

“After it was swept away and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother. Fortunately , it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond. They swim, eat and sleep together,” the ecologist added. “The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it followed its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother,” Kahumbu added.

“The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years,” he explained.

Sources: [1] [2]

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same energy?

From now on I’ll refer to him as big Greggie in casual situations and The Great Gregorio in formal occasions okay