Gloria’s Preference For Older Lovers Has Never Come From A Weird Insecurity Or Lack Of Personal Relationships…it’s

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.

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!

I think as a whole, men should be consumed with more longing. they should feel the suffocating consequences of inaction. they should pine and flex their hands more, they should look like they’re holding up the tide of unfathomable agony just being close to their beloved and not being able to touch them. they should fuck like it’s their first and last time ever getting the chance to touch them.

something  deep  inside  her  stuttered  to  a  halt.  the  words  sank  like  a  stone  into  a  part  of  her  that  he  inhabited…WOULD  ALWAYS  INHABIT.  even  after  all  this  time,  even  after  the  wreckage  they  left  behind.  and  god,  there  was  so  much  of  it.  love  had  always  carried  a  price.  back  then,  it  had  tasted  like  urgency,  like  adrenaline  and  sweat  and  the  marrow-deep  sting  of  guilt  after.  whispered  nothings  between  flak  jackets,  fingers  curled  tight  in  the  dark,  kisses  and  teeth  pressed  into  skin  like  they  were  trying  to  rewrite  the  ending  before  it  ever  came.  war  made  monsters  and  martyrs  of  them  both.  but  frank…  frank  had  always  made  her  feel.  too  much,  too  fast  and  still  never  enough  because  she  wanted  him  to  live  beneath  her  skin.  ❛ you  think  i  want  to  be  the  reason  you  suffer  ?  ❜  he’d  split  her  open  without  trying,  peeled  back  every  wall  she’d  ever  built  and  stood  there  like  he  didn’t  even  realize  he  was  holding  the  pieces  of  her  heart  in  blood-slick  hands.

❛  i  need  you.  ❜  so  much  that  it's  caustic,  it's  worn  itself  into  the  fabric  of  her  twisted,  brutalized  soul.  she  let  her  gaze  trace  the  battle  map  of  his  body,  of  all  the healing  that  never  took,  all  the  scars  she  could  trace  by  memory.  she  remembered  every  night  since  knowing  him.  a  call  never  went  unmissed,  her  door  never  locked.  moments  where  loving  him  felt  like  betraying  herself,  her  thin  grasp  on  morality  and  fuck—  betraying  the  memory  of  his  family.  she  stepped  closer,  until  her  voice  was  right  near  his  throat,  her  palm  flat  to  the  ribs  that  never  set  right.  ❛ i  don't  know  how  to  love  anybody  else.  i  don't  know  how  to  even  try  with  anybody  else.  i'm  not  slipping  away.  ❜  her  fingers  trembled  where  they  touched  him,  but  she  didn’t  pull  back.  she  couldn’t.  ❛  if  you're  not  here,  i'm  nothing.  ❜

his body is a mess of old wounds   —   scarred   over,   stitched   up,   bruised as hell. joints   crack,   muscles   pull   tight,   and   there's   a   constant   throb   in   his   shoulder   where   the   bone   never   healed   right.    pain   is   part   of   him   now,   background   noise   he   can   fight   through.    it's   the   guilt   that   guts   him.    the   guilt   that   lingers.    just   having   her   near   feels   like   a   betrayal   all over again.    her   presence   is   medicine,   yeah   —   she   quiets   his   mind   for   a   moment,   her   voice   smooths   the   anger in him,   but she's also the wound.    a   reminder   he   didn’t   just   lose   his   family   the   day   they   were   murdered.    no,   he   lost   them   long   before   that.   in   the   missed   dinners,   late   nights   staring   at   the   ceiling   with   the   taste   of   whiskey   and   her   mouth   on   him,   the   cold   space   between   him   and   the   man   he   used   to   be.

still   wanting   her,   after   everything,   is   his   punishment.

“     tired   doesn't   matter.    ”  he   lets   the   words   hang   in   the   air.    even   if   he   was,   even   if   he   could   tire   himself   out   from   chasing   her   like   a   goddamn   dog,   he   wouldn’t   walk   away.    she   needs   him   just   as   much,   even   if   she   doesn't   say   it   out   loud.    he doesn't do soft.    he doesn’t   do   pretty   words.    but   with   her,   somehow,   it   all   feels   like   the   one   thing   worth   fighting   for.    “  i've   kept   going   this   long   because   of   you.    i’ll   be   damned   if   i   let   you   slip   away   too.    ” 

inbox : aren't  you  tired  of  all  of  this? target : @medicbled

his  voice  scrapes  at  something  in  her  chest  —  a  familiar  ache  she  pretends  she  doesn't  recognize.  ❛  mad?  ❜  she  repeats,  a  dry  laugh  hitching  in  her  throat,  it's  more  breath  than  sound.

she  turns  finally,  slowly,  deliberately.  her  eyes  roam,  as  though  searching  for  hidden  pains.  the  split  lip,  the  bruises  blooming  under  his  jaw,  the  stubborn  tilt  of  his  mouth  that  makes  her  want  to  shake  him  and  kiss  him  in  the  same  goddamn  breath.  ❛  i'm  not  mad  but  fuck  —  bradley...  ❜  voice  low  and  splintered  at  the  edges.

she  steps  more  into  his  space.  clinical  precision  fades  in  the  gentle  brush  of  knuckles  to  the  side  of  his  face  that  made  it  out  unscathed.  ❛  you  can't  make  me  keep  watching  you  destroy  yourself.  ❜

Bradley would like to be kind to himself and say this is a novel situation, blood dripping after a drink in some dusty bar. It doesn't matter how justified, the sting after, the come down, still fucking sucks.

"It's okay," he shrugs, wincing, breath whistling past swollen lips. "Not my finest hour." Still, Bradley would do this again. He knows he would.

"You mad," he dares to ask, hating that Gloria's still got her back turned. Her voice says enough, but it's her eyes that Bradley wants to see.

tag dump

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. ❞

making a new oc cause why wouldn’t I ?

the only "support your troops" that matters 🫡

"I’m   losing   control   here." @werehause

she  hears  the  words,  never  misses  a  syllable,  but  how  they  land  makes  that  pit  of  grief  wring  a  little  tighter  in  her  chest.  a  kind  of  breaking  in  it.  not  loud,  not  dramatic,  just  tired  of  holding  up  the  world.  she'd  always  found  jason  to  be  a  little  reckless,  burning  hot  and  full  of  life,  running  towards  trouble  with  his  whole  heart.  but  this  felt  different,  like  the  hidden  lamentations  of  someone  who  didn't  know  how  to  carry  their  own  weight  anymore.  she  knew  that  feeling.  lived  inside  the  endless  spiral  of  it  every  single  day.  gloria  closed  the  space  between  them  and  placed  her  hand  over  his  chest.  the  old  bits  of  string  braided  together,  adorning  her  wrist,  had  seen  too  much  of  the  world  with  her.  a  palm  that  dances  up  and  cradles  his  jaw,  holding  his  gaze.  and  fuck  —  she  can't  help  it  when  she  looks  at  him.  finding  fragments  of  the  same  wide-eyed  boy  who  used  to  meet  her  by  the  swamp  beds  at  dusk.  she  still  had  a  collection  of  skipping  stones  and  gator  teeth  tucked  in  a  box  of  memories  beneath  her  bed,  and  she  thinks  about  showing  him.  wonders  if  it  might  do  good  to  steady  the  brewing  storm  she  could  feel  beneath  the  beat  of  his  heart.  to  know  how  much  it  stuck  to  her  soul,  tiny  glimpses  of  a  simple  slice  of  something  heavenly  before  she  walked  through  hell. 

❛  hey,  look  at  me.  ❜  it's  a  gentle  husk,  but  no  less  commanding.  ❛  talk  to  me,  jason.  i'll  help  you  figure  it  out,  whatever  it  is.  ❜