#green street
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vinnieswife · 3 months ago
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Patching him after a fight.
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Pete Dunham x reader
words: 680
author’s note: How much I love this prompt omg!
It’s well past midnight when you hear the familiar sound of heavy boots on the stairs, slow, deliberate, like each step costs him something. You’re already waiting by the door, nerves twisting in your chest, a first-aid kit sitting on the small kitchen table of his apartment.
When the soft knock finally comes, you’re quick to put your hand on the doorknob, unlocking the door and pulling it open.
Pete stands in the dimly lit hallway, looking exactly how you feared he might, his face bruised, blood trickling from a split lip, and his knuckles torn and raw. His favorite jacket hangs loose from one shoulder, stained with dirt and some blood r.
“Hey, love,” he says with a faint, lopsided grin, trying to play it cool like always. His voice is rough, worn from shouting or maybe just exhaustion after the fight. You can’t help but sigh, both relieved and frustrated. “Jesus Christ, Pete.”
You move,and he steps inside, letting the door close behind him, his body sagging slightly now that he feels safe. He winces when he moves, confirming what you already suspected, he’s hurting more than he shows.
“’S not as bad as it looks, I promise,” he mumbles, but his eyes soften when he sees the worry etched across your face. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I was waiting for you.” You guide him towards the worn out couch, helping him sit down carefully. He doesn’t resist,too tired and too sore to protest.
You grab the first-aid kit and sit on the small coffee table in front of him, your fingers already reaching for his bloodied hands. His knuckles are bruised and swollen, skin split. He watches you quietly as you clean the cuts with gentle, practiced hands, his breath hitching when the peroxide stings. “Hold still,” you murmur, as if he’s about to bolt.
“Ain’t used to someone fussin’ over me,” he says softly, almost amused. His lips twitch into a faint smirk, but there’s something tender in his gaze, something vulnerable he can’t quite hide.
“Maybe someone should,” you counter, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand with careful precision. “You’re not invincible, Pete.” He huffs a quiet laugh, letting you continue your work in silence. You tilt his chin up next, inspecting the gash above his eyebrow. It’s shallow, but it’s still bleeding a little. He watches you closely as you dab at it with a damp cloth, his eyes never leaving your face.
“Did you win?” you ask after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence, trying to sound casual.
“Course we did,” he says with that trademark cockiness, but his voice is softer, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not a scratch on the boys.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the sense of pride warming your chest. “Idiot.”
His hand suddenly covers yours, stilling your careful movements. His fingers are rough, calloused, but his touch is warm, grounding. “I’m alright,” he says quietly, as if sensing the storm of worry still swirling inside you. “I swear.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and press a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, how could the same hands that fight so fiercely, hold you so gently. His breath hitches again, “Come here,” he murmurs, tugging you up and into his lap despite his injuries. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, as if holding you is the only thing keeping him anchored.
For a long moment, you just sit there, your hands resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your fingertips. His grip tightens like he’s afraid you might slip away, even though you’re right there, safe and solid in his arms. You grab the damp cloth cleaning the blood on his lip, also cleaning the trail of blood down his neck. “I hate seeing you like this,” you whisper.
“I know.” His moves closer as his lips brushed against your temple. “But you’re here. That’s what matters.”
And in the quiet of your small apartment, bruised and sore but still standing, he found peace.
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the-home · 4 months ago
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geopsych · 1 year ago
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Clearly the tree can’t read.
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Best Elijah Wood movies and performances:
1. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King - Peter Jackson (2003)
2. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - Peter Jackson (2001)
3. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers - Peter Jackson (2002)
4. Green Street - Lexi Alexander (2005)
5. Everything Is Illuminated - Liev Schreiber (2005)
6. The Ice Storm - Ang Lee (1997)
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arinaborevich · 1 year ago
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31.01.2023 | Green Tbilisi
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windysaturday · 2 years ago
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mymercyprevailss · 13 days ago
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uroko · 9 months ago
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京都 貴船 // Kibune, Kyoto // Tomoko.M
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traurigtoby · 2 months ago
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kyoto, japan
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ai-dream · 2 months ago
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bet-on-me-13 · 3 months ago
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Kitty was from Gotham.
So! Kitty was on her way to her old hometown to see what ever happened to her Dad.
See, she used to live in Gotham with her dad, mom nowhere to be seen of course, before running away to be with Johnny and subsequently dying.
She thought it would be better for her dad, not having another mouth to feed on a tight budget and not having to deal with their constant arguments every day. Looking back on it though, that might not have been the best idea. She hadn't even left a note, and for all they argued he did care about her enough that her disappearance would distress him.
But that was fine, she was going to check up on him right now!
He wasn't dead yet, she knew that much thanks to the Kid letting her access the Records of the Realms, but there was apparently some kind of Complications with his File which made it hard to pin down exactly how he was doing and where he was. So right now she was just wandering the streets of Gotham looking for him.
And guess what? No she still hadn't found him yet, he was suprisingly hard to track down. But she did find her apparent BROTHER!
Yeah, apparently sometime after she ran away, he had gotten himself another kid! He was too old to have been a bio kid so it was probably an adoption, but he definitely had a Connection to her Dad, the same kind that all parents and their kids have on their souls.
Well, if he adopted a kid that was fine by her, after all she always wanted a little brother (the Kid didn't count yet), but she kinda wished she had known before now!
She was gonna go introduce herself!
...
Tim was having a very weird day.
Well, it was a normal day for the most part. It became a weird one when a teenage girl walked up to him and introduced herself as his Sister, asking where their Dad was.
This wouldn't have been too distressing, Tim looked fairly average by the standards of Gotham and it would be easy to mistake him for another person with black hair and blue eyes.
The Distressing Part was that the girl in question had green hair, paper-white skin, and blood-red lipstick all covering a face he knew all too well. He saw it every time he had a nightmare about that night.
This Girl was the Joker's Daughter.
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vinnieswife · 1 month ago
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The letters that never came
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pete dunham x reader
words: 711
author’s note: I- Idk this is just sad, i’m sorry
The night Pete died felt like the end of everything. You sat on your bed, staring at the empty page of a notebook, pen in hand, trying to write something—anything—that could make sense of the hollow ache in your chest. But words failed you. They always did when it came to Pete.
He’d been gone for months now, and the world around you carried on, as if it hadn’t lost someone who burned as brightly as he did. As if you hadn’t lost him. The boys at the pub still raised their glasses to his name, but they didn’t talk about him the way you remembered him. Not really.
Not the way he’d light up when he saw you, like you were the one thing that kept him tethered to a life outside the firm. Not the way he’d scribble notes on scraps of paper and shove them into your coat pocket with a cheeky grin.
You’d found another one the day after the funeral. A crumpled piece of notebook paper shoved into the corner of your purse. His handwriting, messy and rushed, stared back at you.
“Love,
I know I’ve not been the easiest bloke to love. I know there’ve been nights when you’ve wondered why you even bother. But I also know that without you, I wouldn’t be half the man I am now.
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t get to tell you in person how much you’ve meant to me. How much you always will. I want you to live, love. Live for both of us.
Yours always,
Pete”
You read that letter so many times you could recite it by heart, but it didn’t make the ache go away. If anything, it made it worse, because it reminded you of all the things you’d never get to say back to him.
You tried, though. You started writing him letters, little notes you’d tuck into the drawer of your bedside table.
“Pete,
The flat is too quiet without you. I keep thinking I’ll hear the sound of you coming up the stairs, whistling some tune, but it never comes. Do you know how much I miss you? Do you even have a clue?”
Another week. Another letter.
“Pete,
I went to the pub last night. The boys were there, and they asked how I was doing. I told them I was fine, but I’m not. I’m angry at you. Angry that you left me. Angry that you promised you’d always come back and then didn’t. Is that fair? I don’t know. I just want you back.”
And another.
“Pete,
I saw someone today who reminded me of you. He had your swagger, your way of walking like you owned the whole street. For a second, I almost called out your name. But it wasn’t you. It’ll never be you again. And I don’t know how to live with that.”
Months turned into a year, and the letters piled up, each one a snapshot of your grief, your love, your longing. But one day, as you sat at your desk, pen poised over the page, you realized something.
You didn’t need to write to Pete anymore. He wasn’t coming back, and no amount of letters could change that. But you could keep him alive in the way you lived. The way you fought for the things that mattered, the way you loved with your whole heart, the way you never gave up—even when it felt like the whole world was against you.
You folded the last letter carefully and placed it in the drawer with the others. Then you grabbed your coat, stepped out into the cold, and walked down the street, feeling the faintest trace of Pete beside you.
You’d keep your promise. You’d live.
For both of you.
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designwdrash · 2 years ago
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shades of green. . .
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ysociety · 5 months ago
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11oh1 · 1 month ago
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rejectingrepublicans · 2 months ago
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He’s a US citizen born and raised in Tex-ass. He served in the army and even did a tour in Afghanistan. Republicans lie about everything.
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