An Non - Spicy Starter Call So A Regular One ? ( Obvious Subject For Existing Ships That It To Be Shippy

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.

WYD??????

❛ your fascination with me will be your death. ❜ Leon / @washsins

a  warning?  perhaps  a  favour  spoken  by  toeing  the  line.  gloria  breathes  it  in,  lets  it  settle  in  the  space  between  them  like  smoke.  heavy,  impossible  to  ignore,  and  he’s  close  enough  that  she  could  touch  him  if  she  wanted  to.  it’s  not  the  danger  that  draws  her.  she’s  seen  worse,  survived  worse.  but  there’s  something  about  him,  all  sharp  edges  and  old  scars,  some  still  bleeding  under  the  surface.  she  recognizes  the  kind  of  violence  he  carries.  it’s  not  posturing,  it’s  not  a  threat,  it’s  a  language  she's  fluent  in.  gloria  doesn’t  know  when  she  started  needing  him  like  this.  beyond  warmth  and  safety,  but  for  the  way  his  presence  drags  her  back  into  her  own  body,  sharp  and  aching  and  real.

she’s  never  been  good  at  doing  the  right  thing  when  her  hands  are  already  shaking  with  want.  she  could  pretend  enough,  hold  up  a  reflection  of  the  goodness  she  tries  to  uphold  with  a  heart-wrenching  dedication.  how  she  falls  back  into  the  consuming  grief,  haunted  and  so  unfathomably  broken.  she  couldn't  be  repaired.  ❛  maybe  i'll  just  die  wanting  you  then.  ❜  a  smile  that  shouldn't  be  there,  but  one  that  echoes  a  sentiment  she  couldn't  place.  the  gallows  humour  dancing  across  her  lips.  ❛  or  you  could  save  me  the  heartache  and  put  me  out  of  my  misery  now.  ❜

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. 

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

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.

 ❛ 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 )

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

ADRIA ARJONA getting ready for the LOS FRIKIS premiere at the Miami Film Festival on April 6th, 2024