Nothing Follows, Not Yet. The Words Don’t Rise So Much As Settle As Silt
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.
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I just wanted to make a bit of a tiny psa; in that, there’s many instances where, if I’m shipping with someone, I don’t want to write with or ship with duplicates ( pending ppl using the same fc for multiple characters cause all interpretations are different). I have no interest in writing with the same face claims over and over, it’s not authentic to my brain. Nor is it authentic to what I’m building, canons are different, yes but there can be major associations with how someone plays them. if we’ve discussed it, then I have no issue practicing exclusively, especially with face claim association. for example, I will only ever write with one frank castle and billy russo because I have no desire to write with any others based on dynamics built. Face claim wise, I will not write with any others based Oliver Jackson-cohen face claims or honestly Jensen ackles because they’re associated with characters from partners I like writing with. But if we don’t have any conversation about these things, I won’t know. I’ll still prioritize your character if I’m not writing with any other canons or ocs with their face but I’m not tied to exclusivity unless we talk about it. But this psa is also me saying NO I DO NOT EXPECT THE SAME MANNER OF THINKING FROM OTHERS. and again unless the conversation is there, it’s business as usual.
Did this make any sense cause I feel like an asshole trying to explain my brain and I know I should put the list in my pinned and carrd but anyways.
I’m not even sure her ass makes up for the collective amount of trauma and baggage anymore…her head game does though.
❛ i've have enough of the universe, and it's people's mindless games ❜ any raised anger is not directed towards him. never him. helpless hands work over the exoskeleton of a blaster, which once belonged to her father and his before him. on and on, counting the memories she might lose, of a world that no longer exists. ❛ i'll never be the same. ❜ and the galaxy spins on uncaring, would twist her into dust and decay without a second thought. so she keeps an unfinished war between her teeth, a readiness notched between her ribs, an ache she couldn't scare away.
LYRICAL SC // @muutos ( garrus )
❛ i don't know why you're telling me. i'm not involved. you made that, very clear. ❜
holt & diaz quote starters // @bychuck ( frankiiiieee )
I'm sorry you got pulled back into this.
DAREDEVIL — 1.11 "The Path of the Righteous"
LOCATION BASED SMUT PROMPTS
TRANSPORATION
one muse gives the other oral while they drive.
driver uses one hand to finger the other while on a long road trip.
muses join mile high club in an airplane restroom.
in an airplane one muse has to be quiet while the other muse plays with them in their seats.
muses tease each other in the back of a taxi cab on the way home.
while driving home after a date, they get too impatient and pull into a parking lot to have sex.
while driving in the middle of a forest, our muses pull onto the side of the road for sex.
our muses are on a road trip but a thick fog forces them to take a break. they have sex inside the car while waiting for it to clear.
while at the drive in theater, muses participate in foreplay.
while at the drive in theater, muses forego watching the movie to have sex.
revenge sex in someone else’s car.
sex in someone else’s car due to impatience and carelessness.
a quickie while parallel parked on a busy road.
in an empty train car while freighthopping.
in a crowded bus, one muse sitting in the others lap purposefully and subtly grinding to get them worked up.
in a private jet, on the way to a business trip.
in a private jet, on the way to a vacation spot.
one muse masturbates while the other drives.
driver instructs the passenger to touch themselves through guided masturbation.
while one muse drives, they describe what they want to do to the passenger who isn’t allowed to touch themselves.
NATURE
sensual sex in a secluded meadow during a picnic.
one muse holding the other up against a tree.
in a cabin in the middle of a rainstorm late at night.
in a cabin in the middle of a heavy snowstorm during the day.
in the bed of a truck in front of hiking trails.
in the bed of a truck while stargazing.
a plateau overlooking the ocean on a cloudy day.
one muse has been napping in a hammock and the other wakes them by beginning to finger them.
muses get distracted from sunbathing and start to fool around by a poolside or lake.
inside a gazebo while it rains.
a little ways off from a hiking trail, hidden by thick foliage.
mutual masturbation while camping in a tent.
beneath the shade of trees in the middle of an orchard.
between rows in a vineyard.
hidden away in the dead end of a hedge maze.
PUBLIC
in a bar or restaurant, one muse sneaks under table to eat out the other.
in a bar or restaurant, muses discuss in detail what they’re going to do to each other once they get home.
inside the stall of restroom in a bar.
inside a single bathroom of a place of service (restaurant, store, club etc.)
in a hotel room, up against the window overlooking a busy city.
a quickie in a diner restroom before getting back on the road.
up on a rooftop where no one is supposed to be.
inside one muses’s office.
inside a third party’s office they shouldn’t have access to.
inside an empty church on a weekday.
one muse fondling the other while they’re trying to shop.
foreplay and teasing in the dressing room of a store.
oral performed while hidden in a storage room or closet.
inside an abandoned house.
hushed sex while staying in the guest room of another’s home.
in the middle of a park late at night.
PRIVATE
on the floor, in front of the fireplace to warm up after coming inside from winter storm.
one muse on the bathroom counter while the other stands.
in front of the bathroom mirror so they can watch themselves.
to break in a new house or apartment, boxes scattered about and furniture newly placed.
bent over a table while something bakes in the oven.
on the kitchen counter with half-eaten plates of breakfast forgotten.
one muse spread out across the top of a grand piano, pretty woman style.
rushed and desperate, messy on the couch because they were too impatient to even make it to the bedroom.
one muse riding the other while the tv plays in the background, movie forgotten entirely.
on the balcony in early morning, where neighbors might see, but no one will likely look.
okay this is a sc for a spicy one. this is a filthy sc.
her jaw tightens with the kind of tension that comes from holding too much in. too much blood, too much memory, too much of that awful, helpless ache that comes when it’s a kid on the table and the universe dares to keep spinning.
at the sound of mel's voice, she turns to face her. there’s always the undertone of something haunted in her gaze, but it doesn’t waver. not, when the junior staff are looking at her like she’s supposed to make it make sense.
❛ yes, doctor king, please, ask. ❜
Mel doesn't like this. She doesn't like when it's kids; she doesn't like when there are parents, and siblings, just a few steps away.
Eyes daring between Dr. Robby's still frame and the boy on the gurney, Mel wonders what's keeping their boss from sharing a few words of guidance. Whether it's a reassurance or next steps, she'd like to hear it.
But Robby remains silent.
"Uh, Dr. De Lima," Mel tilts her head to the hallway. "Can I ask a question?"
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