Night Shift Makes Sense For Her Because She's A Night Owl To Begin With. Night Terrors Are Relentless

Black Hawk Down (2001)

gloria's cool date idea: a fucking nap and you pretend like she didn't drool on you a little bit cause she's comfortable with you.

Please! I can't wait to testify!

okay this is a sc for a spicy one. this is a filthy sc.

I’m not even sure her ass makes up for the collective amount of trauma and baggage anymore…her head game does though.

she  doesn't  waste  another  glance  on  the  brewing  storm.  she'd  spent  enough  years  tending  the  aftermath  of  ego;  split  lips,  shattered  knuckles,  the  kind  of  hurt  that  clings  long  after  the  blood  dries.  the  pressure  built  from  years  of  silence  and  pushing  war  down  your  throat  because  it's  not  man  enough  to  admit  it's  there.  so  the  marines  punch  the  Green  Berets  and  the  SEALS  knock  both  of  them  to  the  ground.  on  and  on,  like  all  traditions  of  broken  systems  and  the  bodies  they  leave  behind.  it’s  an  old  but  familiar  ache  now,  a  quiet  grief  for  how  easily  people  throw  themselves  into  ruin,  knowing  there's  nothing  she  could  do  to  stop  it.

❛ smart.  ❜  once,  she  might  have  stayed.  might  have  tilted  her  chin  up  and  thrown  herself  into  the  fray  out  of  pride  or  stubbornness,  to  prove  she  could  survive.  it's  almost  worse  knowing  she  can.  worse,  even  that  she  might  have  tried  to  if  she  had  felt  the  spark  of  violence  gather  close  enough  to  the  surface.  gloria  was  grateful  for  lizzie's  presence.  a  tether  to  the  femininity  the  former  combat  medic  nurtures  within  herself  as  though  it  might  undo  every  terrible  act.

❛ not  just  that,  i  have  a  bottle  of  zacapa  if  you  think  you  can  handle  it.  ❜  it's  a  gentle  nudge  of  words,  limbs  slipping  into  her  jacket,  purse  tucked  high  beneath  her  arm.  gloria  bids  the  rabble  behind,  leading  out  the  door.   

lizzie dons a mask of careful ambivalence,   holding the brewing fight in her peripheral as her sights languidly cycle:   her present company,   her empty glass,   the fine lace of condensation wound along its surface.   a tattered slice of lime sits at the bottom,   sprawled over half-melted ice.   she prods at it with the end of her straw,   quietly indignant of the acuteness of her awareness so deep into the night,   but she avoids the bartender’s eye.   tries to stifle the way she stiffens as egos swell,   boisterous voices teasing the bounds of violence.   she knows this game.   could,   theoretically,   understand its basest appeal:   the thrill of a fight projected.   life rendered in adrenaline bursts and broken skin.   finds herself,   suddenly,   inwardly,   grateful gloria doesn’t seem to share in this interest.   

“not much of a gambler.”   only in the company she keeps,   if murmurs were to be believed—   diluting their business to the simple whim of gangsters and murderers.   as if she were any better.   but,   stealing another glance over her shoulder,   lips pursing in careful assessment,   lizzie inclined to agree.   with a little over a foot of difference between them,   they weren’t exactly entering on even odds.

“yeah?”   she smiles at @medicbled's choice of word,   obnoxious,   shouldering her purse in silent acceptance.   

tag dump

Gloria’s preference for older lovers has never come from a weird insecurity or lack of personal relationships…it’s competency, it’s leadership, it’s attraction to someone with life experience and that scratches the intellectual brain and becomes sensual.

she  isn't  good  on  the  assurance  that  it  all  gets  better,  gets  more  manageable.  IT  DOESN'T,  but  your  body  adapts  as  it  would  in  times  of  duress  (  times  of  war  )   ❛  in  my  mind,  i  can  save  the  boy.  ❜  an  utterance  between  the  rhythm  of  stabilized  vitals,  tedious  beep  taunting  with  a  drop  at  any  given  second.  she'd  brutalize  herself  if  she  couldn't. 

lyrical sc// @frthestars ( mel )

SC// @muutos ( price )

she  came  here  because  she  knew  he  wouldn't  flinch.  john  never  tried  to  fix  her.  he  saw  her  as  she  saw  him,  what  war  carved  out  of  a  person  and  didn’t  look  away.  he  knew  the  terrain  because  he’d  seen  the  worst  of  her  and  never  asked  her  to  apologize  for  it.  that  had  always  been  the  unspoken  deal  between  them:  mutual  recognition  without  pity.  she  could  breathe  in  front  of  him,  even  when  it  hurt.

especially  when  it  hurt.

gloria  could  feel  the  pulse  in  her  jaw,  the  clench  of  muscle  that  hadn’t  quite  relaxed  in  days.  maybe  weeks  but  she  wasn’t  sure  anymore.  everything  felt…off.  like  her  skin  didn’t  quite  fit  right,  like  her  body  was  still  bracing  for  impact  even  when  the  threat  was  gone.  attempting  to  be  something  normal,  to  press  healing  into  the  edges  of  so  much  death  she  couldn't  scrub  off  her  hands.  that’s  what  no  one  ever  told  you  about  coming  home  —  you  never  really  came  back.  not  whole  at  least.  like  being  dropped  into  a  quieter  war  where  no  one  was  wearing  a  uniform  and  everything  demanded  something  she  didn't  know  how  to  give  anymore.

she  glanced  at  him  then,  really  looked,  and  something  caught  in  her  throat.  her  hand  curls  around  the  whisky  glass,  all  of  her  frame  leaning  towards  him.  it  was  more  than  memory,  more  than  want,  so  much  deeper  than  anything  she  could  translate  into  any  language.  nights  in  the  field  where  she'd  crawled  beside  him  and  shared  a  drink  in  the  darkness  because  sleep  meant  silence  and  silence  was  where  the  screams  lived.  nights  where  she'd  pressed  her  forehead  to  his  shoulder  and  let  herself  believe,  just  for  an  hour,  that  she  was  still  human.

but  she  also  came  here  because  he  needed  her,  too,  and  it  would  be  a  fine  frozen  day  in  hell  before  she  ever  said  no  to  him.  ❛  i  had  my  shifts  covered  for  the  next  week  and  a  half.  ❜  and  there  it  is,  a  mere  glimpse  of  a  devotion  that  doesn't  know  how  to  let  go.  ❛  you  have  me  on  this,  john.❜  then  comes  the  reach  of  a  hand,  gentle  and  sure  of  itself  as  it  slips  into  his.  ❛  but  if  you  brood  about  how  bad  you  feel  bringing  me  back  into  it,  i  might  take  it  back.  ❜