“Get A Load Of This Guy”

one thing about gloria is that, she loves very intensely. it isn’t something fleeting that can be turned on an off like a faucet. yes, she can have a one night stand but it won’t mean a single thing to her…she won’t even get off. if she has feelings for someone and she isn’t sure they’d want her because they have not shown anywhere close to signs she would recognize, she won’t do a damn thing. but back to the point, they might not be able to handle the level of love she has to give. it’s consuming, it comes from the perspective of someone that leaves claw marks in things because she can’t hold onto things. people die, people fade and time is a luxury.

her  hand  lingers  on  his  chest  longer  than  it  should.  like  she’s  not  sure  whether  she’s  holding  him  BACK  or  holding  him  UP.  the  heat  beneath  her  palm  is  blistering,  not  from  his  rage,  no...she’s  felt  that  before,  watched  it  shatter  men  like  glass.  it's  something  older,  deeper  —  that  relentless  ache  between  them  that  never  stops,  only  roots  and  blooms  stronger  than  the  last  time.  there's  nothing  made  of  coldness  in  her  eyes,  they  never  are  with  him  and  maybe  that's  part  of  why  she's  letting  it  all  CRUSH  her.  they’re  tired,  though.  tired  in  that  bone-deep  way  that  comes  from  years  of  standing  just  outside  the  life  she  maybe  could’ve  had  by  some  shift  of  luck.  but  that's  not  made  for  people  like  her,  rewards  for  unforgivable  deeds.  ❛  no...  fuck,  i  don't  know!  ❜

and  there  it  is.  that  band  hitting  the  dim  lighting  just  enough  to  coax  every  bit  of  guilt  eating  her  from  the  inside  out  to  the  surface.  gloria  stares,  choking  down  penance  and  letting  the  barbed  wire  cut  into  her  throat.  the  worst  part  was  that  it  never  stopped  her.  not  once.  she  pulls  her  hand  back,  cradling  it  like  a  third-degree  burn  against  her  chest.  a  step  back,  but  it  doesn't  matter  how  far  she  goes,  he'll  always  HAUNT  her  and  she'll  always  let  him.  ❛  i  don't  know  what  to  do,  you're  not  mine.  ❜  the  fight  in  her  voice  is  gone,  and  what's  left  is  so  much  worse.  a  quiet  devastation,  worn  thin  at  the  edges.  trembled  in  dewy  honey  eyes,  her  arms  thrown  up  with  a  defeat  she  can't  escape.  she  could  imagine  it  as  some  surge  of  fading  adrenaline,  from  de-escalating  impending  dread.  from  the  even  more  fucked  up  part  of  her  that  wanted  frank  to  pummel  that  handsy  fuck  into  the  dirt.  but  it's  so  much  more  than  that.  ❛  i  don't  do  it  to  hurt  you.  ❜  almost  a  plea,  entirely  mournful.  ❛  i  have  to  remind  myself  that  there's  a  world  outside  of  you,  frank,  cause  if  i  don't,  i'll  keep  drowning  in  you.  ❜

anger   doesn't   just   simmer   inside   him,   it   boils   over   —    violent,   clawing   at   his   chest   like   something   alive.    one   minute   he's   nursing   a   drink   with   the   squad,   laughter   buzzing   around   him.    the   next,   he   spots   the   brunette   locked   in   some   stranger's   orbit,   their bodies too close.    he   watches   the   guy's   hand   slide   from   her   arm   to   the   curve   of   her   waist,   and   something   in   him   snaps.    now,   he’s   the   center   of   gravity   —   surrounded   by   too   many   eyes,   all   waiting   for   the   kind   of   show   that   starts   with   a   punch   and   ends   with   smears of blood on the asphalt.   it   doesn't   come   to   that,   thanks   to   gloria.

palm   pressed   to   his   chest,   he   tears   his   gaze   from   the   man   walking   away   and   leans   back   against   the   wall,   shaking   his   head   like   it   might   clear   the   heat   rising   in   his   throat.    the words are there,   coiled   tight,   but   they   won’t   come   out — not   when   she’s   looking   at   him   like   that,   not   with   the   weight   of   the   ring   on   his   finger.    “    what   do   you   mean   i   can't?    what   the   hell   do   you   want   me   to   do,   gloria?   you   want   me   to   sit   back   and   smile   while   he   has   his   hands   all   over   you?.     ”    right   now,   he   wishes   the   other   guy   would've   swung   at   him.    it would've given him a   reason   to   let   the   poison   out,   to   crack   his   knuckles   on   his   skull   and   stake   his   claim   on   her,   somehow.    “    why   do   you   always   gotta   do   that   shit   in   front   of   me.     ”    the   anger’s   still   there,   but   it’s   dulled   now — muted   by   something   heavier.    that   quiet,   bitter   frustration   he   saves   for   himself.    the   kind   he’s   been   carrying   too   long, the kind that keeps him up at night with the thought of her.

@weaponid

You should go.

This is a bad idea.

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

❛  i  don't  know  why  you're  telling  me.  i'm  not  involved.  you  made  that,  very  clear.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @bychuck ( frankiiiieee )

❛  all  due  respect  sir,  it's  how  i  was  trained.  you  mess  up.  you  get  made  fun  of.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @bychuck ( bobby )

INK && SCARS

[ needy ] sender pulls receiver into their lap, desperate and breathless, kissing them like it’s not enough // @pittmade

she'd  uttered  his  name,  light  brushing  over  his  form  in  feathery  strokes.  her  limbs  followed,  wrapped  in  8a8179HIS  SCENT,  his  shirt,  any  part  of  him  she  could  press  to  her  skin.  all-encompassing  as  the  arm  that  reaches  out  to  ensnare  the  willing.  gloria  lands  in  his  lap  with  a  soft  exhale,  the  worry  of  her  brow  and  part  of  her  lips  silenced  by  the  heat  of  his  embrace.  her  palms  found  his  shoulders,  pressing  gently  on  the  knots  of  tension  he  carried  like  every  burden  of  duty without complaint.  his  mouth  on  hers  is  not  careful.  it’s  not  patient.  it’s  frantic.  a  hunger  she  is  fluent  in.  one  with  no  earthly  comparison  or  poetic  scripture  because  it  was  only  meant  to  exist  between  them.  the  prettiest  stranger  she'd  thought  of  in  passing  over  years  of  carnage  and  heartache  made  her  own.  all  the  suffering  and  war  beneath  her  palm,  and  he  was  life  breathed  anew.

her  hands  are  buried  in  his  hair,  dragging  him  closer  like  she  can  crawl  inside  him  if  she  clings  hard  enough.  always  close,  closer  still  and  begging  for  more  because  it's  still  never  enough.  gloria  can  feel  the  bloom  of  sweet  bruises  beneath  the  imprint  of  his  fingertips.  handfuls  and  mania,  trying  to  decipher  where  to  touch  and  craving  all  at  once.  she  understands  the  same  instinct  that  hums  almost  violently  beneath  her  flesh.  her  ribcage,  cracked  open  to  a  heart  and  soul  that  finds  purpose  with  the  one  who  makes  it  all  whole.

there  is  nothing  subtle  in  how  they  dance.  all  fire,  all  intensity  carried  through  the  working  of  lips  and  tongue—  AND  TEETH.  a  dizziness  that  crowds  every  thought,  she  has  no  use  for  anything  outside  of  him.  every  molecule,  every  drop  of  blood  in  her  veins,  screamed  —  ❛ jack.  ❜  caught  between  a  shattered  breath  and  the  frenzied  serpentine  roll  of  her  hips.  forehead  pressed  to  his,  her  lips  catching  his  in  short  bursts  of  unyielding  devotion.  entwined  soul  reaching  out  by  the  way  she  searches  his  gaze  for  any  turmoil  she  was  prepared  to  chase  from  his  psyche.  ❛  give  it  all  to  me,  i'm  here.  let  me  take  it. ❜

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.

darker vibes

❛ i would let you rip me apart if it meant loving you. ❜

❛ this fear you feel? it won’t last. ❜

❛ you are my salvation. ❜

❛ i revolt you, don’t i? ❜

❛ get the hell away from me. ❜

❛ i want to sink my teeth into every inch of you. ❜

❛ i’ll be your dirty little secret, if that’s what you’re into. ❜

❛ worship me. until i tell you to stop. ❜

❛ don’t you know how sick with love i am for you? ❜

❛ fucking hit me already. ❜

❛ i would burn the world for you. ❜

❛ i don’t want to be good, no matter how hard you wish it. ❜

❛ i don’t know how you’ve bewitched me, but it needs to stop. ❜

❛ fix me. ❜

❛ they die for love, you kill for it. ❜

❛ you are mine, whether you agree or not. ❜

❛ do you like it when i bleed for you? ❜

❛ i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you. ❜

❛ i’m starved for you, morning and night. ❜

❛ now i get to ravish you. ❜

❛ i am your god and your executioner. ❜

❛ you are doing so well, my pet. ❜

❛ you’re my sweetest poison. ❜

❛ let’s do something about that mouth of yours. ❜

❛ your fascination with me will be your death. ❜

❛ you’re the monster that’s enticed me into your bed. ❜

❛ all you can say are pretty lies. ❜

❛ the fucked up thing is that it isn’t enough to just love you. ❜

❛ you’ve broken me. all i can think about is you. ❜

❛ you’ll beg for more. ❜

❛ an eternity with you would never satisfy me. ❜

❛ i would gladly let you drag me to hell. ❜

❛ everything i’ve done.. every horrible atrocity, it’s been for you. ❜

❛ you’re a fucking nightmare. kiss me. ❜

❛ feel grateful that i allow you to touch me. ❜

❛ every time your lips touch my skin, you burn me from the inside out. ❜

❛ there’s no black or white, only gray. ❜

❛ no one touches what’s mine. ❜

❛ make me indifferent, make me horrible. ❜

❛ i could never be the one to love you. i can only be the one that kills you. ❜

❛ your lips are poison, your laugh a curse. ❜