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deathonyourtongue · 3 years

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 1

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : I know I said I’d wait. But y’all have been clamoring...

Death has a way of manipulating time. Moments meant to go slowly end in a blink, while junctures that ought to speed past, linger like dew on the vine...

Carla Montanari stared at her mother’s corpse, waiting for her to move. Waiting for the only family she’d ever had to open her eyes and say it was all a joke. Her mother had always had a cutting sense of humor; no topic was off-limits, and as she aged, death was a favored punchline. Now, it seemed, her mother had pulled off the ultimate prank, though Carla failed to see the humor in it.

The mortician had done an excellent job all things considered, but Carla could still pick out the differences between the body that lay at the altar of Saint Vincent’s and the one she had grown up with. A jaw that had been given too much lift, makeup that was a shade or two darker than what her mother normally wore, wrinkles that had disappeared when her face had been sewn back together. She’d been told she was lucky to get an open-casket service at all, given how much trauma her mother had suffered, as if it were some sort of consolation prize.

Looking behind her, Carla did a headcount of those in attendance, smiling softly when she saw that her mother’s bingo group were all in attendance, each woman donning their Sunday best in order to pay their respects. What her mother lacked in family, she’d more than made up for in friends who were all cut from the same cloth. Good, salt-of-the-earth people. Carla had always envied how easily her mother made friends, how she could chat up anyone, no matter how different their background and find something in common. It was a skill she hadn’t passed down, leaving her daughter to carve out a small handful of friends who were more acquaintances than anything else.

Crossing herself, Carla took a deep breath, looked down at her mother once more, and finally leaned down to kiss the cold, clammy skin of her forehead, doing her best to ignore the faint waft of formaldehyde that filled the casket. A solitary white rose tucked beneath her mother’s hands was Carla’s final act before turning away.

Time blinked, and she found herself seated across from her mother’s lawyer, a slab of mahogany separating them, the coffee she’d been offered growing cold as the AC hit it from overhead.

“I suppose we can do away with formality, since it’s just you,” the older man said, his smile tight and distant. Carla nodded, feeling as though the man wanted to be done so he could attend to other, more important, matters.

“Your mother left all her possessions and accounts to you, no surprise there. She gifted her friends each an item from her apparently extensive purse collection, so we’ll facilitate that for you. The accounts are all in order, and what isn’t used to pay off her final bills, will be transferred to your account by the end of the month. Lastly, there’s the matter of the inheritance. This may be news to you, but your grandmother set up an inheritance in your name when you were born. Initially, it was meant to pay for college, but when you got your full ride, your mother decided to keep it going until her passing. Her hope was to give you a nice nest egg for retirement, or your first house...something to that effect.”

Carla looked down at the document, counting and recounting the total in disbelief. Her mother had always been terrible at keeping secrets, having given away things to her friends that had mortified Carla when she was younger.

Guess you were better at it than I thought.

Inhaling deeply, Carla sat back in her chair, hoping the meeting was over. The quicker she could get out into the fresh air, the better off she’d be.

“There’s one more thing,” her mother’s lawyer said, keeping Carla rooted to her seat even as the muscles in her legs twitched in readiness to stand up. “Your mother wanted to ensure you were aware of the fact that you have legal claim to Italian citizenship, if you should ever choose to take it. They call it Jure Sanguinis; Right of Blood. The process can be expedited, given that you’re only second generation American. Sign here and we can get it in motion for you.”

Carla signed blindly, eyes unblinking as she tried to process the information. Her mother had always been a planner, but had never once mentioned so much as a will to Carla. Now, seeing everything packaged up so neatly, her mind spun wildly.

“Think you know a person…” She muttered mostly to herself, the lawyer giving her another one of his performative smiles, his eyes going to his watch for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes.

Leaving the office with a folder and the untouched coffee, Carla couldn’t help but feel time begin to crawl, reinforcing the feelings of numbness and solitude that would haunt her for weeks to come.

Working steps from Wall Street had its perks. Tips were usually far more generous than in other parts of town, fights were rare, and drunk girls crying over their shitty boyfriends were nonexistent. None of that made it any easier, however. Frat boys turned into day traders, socialites grew even more entitled as their brunches turned into botox appointments, and there was never a shortage of patronizing stares for those that had to actually work for a living. For Carla, navigating the catcalls, one-liners, and straight-up sexual misconduct was easy enough; it was the entitlement that never failed to get under her skin.

“Um, hello? Waitress? This is wrong. I asked for a Negroni.” Looking up, Carla swept her long black hair over her shoulder as she processed the words that were spoken. Having decided to keep living life as though things hadn’t irrevocably changed, Carla was doing her best to ignore the stress that had been slowly creeping higher and higher each day. Busy nights at the bar were proving the worst, with Carla coming through the door at the end of her shift ready to rant about the night to her mother, only to find the place pin-drop silent and utterly empty.

Looking down at the drink, Carla gazed back up at the woman with the blond, news anchor hair and cocked her head to the side in confusion.

“That is a Negroni.”

“Uh,” the woman snorted in disbelief, “no it’s not. Remake it, and do it right this time.”

“This is a Negroni. One part gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari each, with a peel of lemon.” The woman laughed condescendingly and Carla could feel her patience start to disappear.

“No, a Negroni, if you knew anything about bartending--which you clearly don’t--is made with Rye and dry vermouth.”

“Lady, I make at least ten of these a night. I work six nights a week. You’re the first, and only, person to ever tell me it’s wrong. You’re thinking of an Old Pal, and I’d be more than happy to make that for you, but this? This is a Negroni, which is what you asked for.”

“Fine, we’ll see about that.” The woman huffed, her manicured hand slicing through the air in a dismissive motion.

“That’ll be $10.99.”

“Absolutely NOT! I’m not paying for your mistake. Make it again, make it right, and make it now!” The woman crowed, her hair imobile as she shook her head, looking for all the world like Carla had slapped her.

“It’s a different drink. You paid for a Negroni, you got a Negroni. You want an Old Pal, you pay for an Old Pal.” Carla replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for the woman to make up her mind.

The alcohol burned Carla’s eyes and she stumbled back in shock, moving towards the large sink she knew was behind her on pure instinct. Washing her face to get as much of the cocktail off as she could, she knew she’d reached her breaking point.

Any other time and she’d have brushed it off, had security kick the woman out and gone about her night. Now? She’d had enough. Moving slowly to the back, Carla took off her apron, hung it up next to her coworkers’ and slipped out the back door.

Nearly sprinting the whole way home, it was only as she stepped through the door of her apartment that the tears came unbidden. Sliding down the wall, Carla cried for the first time since her mother’s passing.

The next morning, after calling in her notice, Carla allowed herself a day to simply be. To scream, to cry, to let out all the emotions that had befallen her since answering the phone that fateful night and hearing that her mother had died in such a vicious and preventable way. She let rage fill every vein as she thought about how the person who hit her hadn’t even bothered to stay at the scene. She lamented every missed moment, every fight, every what-if. Finally, she curled up in her mother’s robe, and cried herself to sleep.

Knowing she couldn’t handle another day at a bar like the one on Wall Street, catering to bratty adults who’d never been told no a day in their lives, Carla began leaning more and more towards escaping it all. Her now-empty apartment, her routine assortment of familiar faces (none of whom had even bothered to call and offer condolences), and more than anything, the city itself; all of it seemed worthless and foreign without her mother’s smiling face. As she sat and scrolled through picture after picture on her phone, the promise of a new life in Italy seemed more feasible, and more and more necessary.

On day three, after a day spent mostly in bed, dreaming about the possibilities of what life could bring now that she was committed to leaving, Carla put in a call to the lawyer, vaguely remembering the document she’d signed. There was nothing but relief when she was told they were simply waiting for a few more documents to finalize it all.

With the foundation for her new life in place, Carla began to flesh out the bones, focusing her research on where to live, and who was hiring. Though the inheritance was enough to live comfortably for several years, Carla didn’t want to squander it. Moreover, she still wanted to work and feel useful in some way; early retirement could wait.

While she was spoilt for choice when it came to renting, a job was harder to come by. Carla started her search with the lofty goal of finding something where she could put her history degree to good use; a research assistant, a curator, hell, a tour guide. When it became clear that her lack of experience was a hurdle she wouldn’t be able to cross so easily, Carla reluctantly turned to what she knew.

Weeks went by like thick molasses as she looked at bar after bar, finding that they either weren’t hiring, or looked like the kind of place people went into and never came out of. Her options were narrow to start with, since Carla had her heart set on Rome, the need to entrench herself in one of the world’s oldest cities, one she couldn’t possibly ignore. With each day that passed, she felt her dream beginning to slip away. Carla was nothing if not tenacious, one of the few traits she’d shared with her mother, and despite feeling discouraged at her prospects, she kept looking.

Finally, as the clock nearly ran out on her deadline to provide proof of employment, Carla found the perfect spot. Though the bar catered to a higher-end clientele, gone were the stockbrokers and lawyers, and in their place, a younger, cooler set. Attracted to the dark, almost feral, atmosphere the bar promised in its advertising, Carla applied, crossing her fingers in the hopes that they’d call.

She was still browsing the site when her phone rang and the owner greeted her in a thick, Italian accent. Breezing through the interview questions, Carla’s eyes roved over the pictures of all the beautiful people that frequented the night spot, pulled in by how effortlessly cool each of them looked. With the promise to call her by the end of the week to confirm the position, the owner ended the call, and it was all Carla could do not to jump for joy.

Flopping back on the bed, she couldn’t help but let herself feel true happiness, happiness which she’d unconsciously been denying herself while she mourned her mother’s death. Though she’d been dealt a life-changing blow, Carla felt as though, slowly but surely, time was going back to its usual pace, and her life was taking a turn for the better.

With a smile from ear to ear, she sat back up and emailed the lawyer, confirming she’d gotten a job, an apartment, and a plane ticket to Rome. As the message zipped away and the window closed, Carla found her eyes drawn back to the website, and her new place of employment.

Romulus

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals #sanguine nocturnus

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imaginesmai · 4 years

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Tom Holland-Back to you

Inspired by Back to you-Selena Gomez. It’s really sad and it might be unexpected, so I’m not going to put any warnings. Just, ANGST AND SOME SENSITIVE TOPICS THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU CRY

Took you like a shot

Thought that I could chase you with a cold evening

Let a couple years water down how I’m feeling about you

Tom knew that he never should have gotten involved with you in the first place; his best friend’s sister, his friend since forever and the woman he imagined a world with. He should have known something would go wrong. His luck with women wasn’t good, and he took the chance without caring about the consequences. About the feelings afterwards, about the broken friendship and the endless tears.

He was so wrong.

In his mind, he could still picture the video he first recorded you on. Smiling at the camera with your brand new shirt from Spiderman, giggling like a proper fan and trying to cover your face from him. He could still hear your sweet voice calling out for Tessa when she did something wrong, only to finally let her hop into the bed with the two of you, cuddling together. When he closed his eyes, he could still see your teary face the last time you closed the door on him, bags in hand. Leaving a whimpering Tessa and a broken-hearted Tom behind.

Tom’s throat burned once more as the fiery liquid from the glass bottle in his hands darted down his throat. He had several missed calls from his family and friends, some of them from the director of the film he was working on. He had promised you he would be okay, that he would carry on with his life and find someone else that, maybe, could give him half of what you gave. You had laughed, and he smiled, knowing not even that was possible.

But that day was different. Because it would had been your birthday, and Tom still had your gift wrapped in the back of the wardrobe. He couldn’t remember what it was, just that he had been squealing in happiness when he brought it.

Last year, the two celebrated all day together in bed, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. You had said it had been your favourite birthday yet, and that you couldn’t wait to see how you would spend it next year. How ironic that, the next week, you left.

Harry had checked on him earlier, but he decided to keep his distance since he knew that Tom was still too sensitive about it, and that the wrong words could get him into a hole that Harry didn’t want to see his brother in. Jacob had called around noon to discuss something about the scrip, but Tom knew he was really just trying to distract him. It had been a good distraction thought, Tom had spent the better part of two hours on the phone, not thinking about you.

But soon after he had hung up, the memories came back. You and him stealing glances across the room, before dating, and then him telling it to his brothers like a teenager in love. You and him laughing about something you just knew, and holding hands after that. Saying I love you for the first time, between kisses, and for the last time, between tears.

Tom took another sip at the bottle.

I wanna hold you when I’m not supposed to

When I’m lying close to someone else

You’re stuck in my head and I can’t get you out of it

Tom had tried to move on, he did. Truly.

It was just a lot harder than what he thought it would be. He would compare every aspect of a girl to you. Because that girl ate her pasta like that, and you swirled it around your fork before shoving the first bite into his mouth. And the other had that laugh, while you started noiseless before breaking into a fit of loud and airy laughs that made his chest clench.

They weren’t bad people. Carri was loving and kind, Barbara was an advocate for children’s education, Marie spent her weekends volunteering to save the environment, and Helen loved dogs as much as Tom. But they weren’t you, not even close, and Tom stopped trying after he called the second girl your name in bed.

Some mornings, he would wake up early and pull you closer. He always thought about you first, and had a smile since he opened his eyes. Tom still thought it was like that some mornings, and woke up crying. Remembering, that you had left, that he had agreed and that you weren’t coming back.

It was never the same for him when he slept with other people. Barbara was too loud. Carri was too freaky. Marie was too shy. And Helen too dominating. Sometimes, Tom would imagine your face in other’s girls faces. Half-closed eyes, rounded lips in an o shape and flushed cheeks. He tried to imagine it was you moaning his name and touching his skin, and not someone else.

He imagined that it was you holding his hand as he walked through the park, not Tessa’s cold lash, that it was you who held his arms when he went ice-skating, not that awful date of the past month, and that it was you who he spent all day texting back and forth with.

Most important, Tom imagined a day where he wouldn’t imagine he was with you instead of the person he was actually with. He hoped that day would come soon, and each time the doorbell rang he stepped up with the same glint of excitement that died every day.

Tom felt that he had won the jackpot with you, that he had finally done his ace in golf with you. Everyone else felt like a mediocre prize.

Playing and replaying old conversations

Overthinking every word and I hate it

Cause it’s not me

His nightmares were plagued with you; and his dreams too. His sweet dreams turned sour as he brain too him back to your last moments together, over and over again.

Tom had found the letter early in the morning on Monday; and had went to the gym not knowing what it was or what it meant. It had some strange logo on the front and was thicker that the rest of them, but he had been in a hurry; sometimes, he wished he had stayed and read it with you. Because receiving the condolences of your private clinic for not being able to do anything against your cancer was hard, and that was the first mistake Tom made.

The second one, was bursting into tears and sobs, until he fainted for exhaustion and pain, leaving you to deal with it for the night. He had woken up thinking it was just a dream, yet your teary face and sad smile said otherwise.

He had never met someone as selfless as you. While you walked out of the door, two weeks later, he felt his heart clench at that. Tom knew you were doing it for him, to avoid him from watching you at your worst and make him suffer more. Pleas, cries and begging didn’t work; you left after spending a whole night awake just hugging each other and the second letter came. Before the five day of him being alone and drowning on his sorrow, it arrived; a small yet effective goodbye letter you had written to him for when all of it ended. It was signed with your mother’s writing.

Even after months had passed, Tom hadn’t gone more than three nights in a row without wondering if he did the right thing by respecting your wish of dying without him until your last breath. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself it was your decision, and he did well; a shadow of your disappointed face chased him in his dreams.

And what’s the point in hiding?

Everybody knows we got unfinished business

And I’ll regret it if I didn’t say

This isn’t what it could be (isn’t what it could be)

“Tom Holland’s bigger strike, and final set”, the headlines had called it.

Once it had gone public, his temporal retirement and the reason behind it, the fans and the media had been behind him. The press and the public didn’t know many details, like that Tom had three websites written down on his favourite notebook along with some phones of real estate agencies that had economic flats in LA. The press didn’t care about those things, they didn’t care about Tom having his life planned with you or the pain he was in, the only wanted every juicy detail about Tom and Harrison ‘break up’ and when he was going to come back to the industry. They didn’t care neither about Harrison, who couldn’t look at his best friend without thinking about his dead sister.

The world only wanted to know as much as they could on the non-important details about Tom’s girlfriend, not about Y/N Osterfield, young girl who died because the government didn’t invest enough money in cancer treatment.

Tom hated that.

You can break my heart it two

But when it heals it beats for you

The night of your birthday, as Tom was going to bed, he found himself wandering around the house you used to share in London. He walked around until he stopped in front of your studio, where he had put all the things after you had left. The brown wooden door seemed to stare back at him, daring him to open it. After a few moments, he gave in, and slowly began to twist the doorknob.

When Tom got back from the funeral, after being left alone by a overprotective mother and worried brothers, he went to your studio and the realisation of what had happen drawn to him. He hadn’t cried in the funeral, and hadn’t talked to your family; after the official ceremony, he spent the next week holed up in your side of the bed and hugging your clothes.

He had tried to enter your studio that same day, and he had been met with silence

He got angry, really angry. Tom started yelling and screaming as waves of anger washed through his body. He began to grab everything he was and threw them across the room; your computer, books, the television, the lamp, notebooks, clock. He cursed out loud to Got for taking you so soon. Tom threw random little knickknacks he found and chucked them as hard as he could; his hands were bleeding by the end of it. The last thing he picked was a picture frame of the end of your desk, with a photo of you and him he had taken during your best vacation.

I know it’s forward but it’s true

Won’t lie I’d go back to you

Tom picked up the photograph, and the anger in him subsided, feeling drained. The screams turned into sobs and pitiful cries, and he started wheezing. With shaky hands, he turned around and placed the picture frame on your then flipped bed, and walked out of the room. He knew he wouldn’t been coming back any time soon.

The day of your birthday, the room was the same way it was when he first visited. There were shards of broken glass everywhere. Piles and piles of ripped papers were strewn across the floor. Tom couldn’t help but since at the sound of glass under his shoe. He let one last tear roll down his cheek and rolled the sleeve of his shirt, ready to do what he had been trying to for a whole year.

He looked back, and saw Harrison with a small smile and a brush on his hand. His hair was longer, he seemed ten years older and he was wearing an old shirt that did nothing to his already skinny body.

Tom wasn’t looking much better. He had had his hair cut recently, not bearing anymore the absence of your fingers through his hair. Luckily, Jacob had dragged him out of his apartment a couple of times to go to the gym and his mother made sure he ate at least twice a day. So even if he was thinner, he was still healthy.

If I could do it all again

I know I’d go back to you

When he sat down that night on bed, exhausted and with aches in all his body, he took the frame in his hands and looked at it closely. He promised to himself, once more, that it would be the last time he cried over you, as the tears soaked the picture. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that if he had the opportunity to go back in time and tell his past self all that had happened, to tell himself about the pain of falling in love with an expire date, he would still do everything the same exact way. Tom realized, that even though he had lost you, he hadn’t lost the memories of you. And the good ones were much more better than the bad.

I’ll go back to you

I know I’d go back to you

Tom may had had his heart broken by you. He had lost his friendship with Harrison, a lethal wound on their relationship. And he had suffered what he thought it wasn’t possible. But he knew, if he had a choice, he would go back.

Every. Single. Damn. Time.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Holland tag list:

@delicately-important-trash

#tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #angst #spiderman #spiderman imagine #imaginemai

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sparrowjousting · 5 years

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When Words Fail: a Destiny story

Hey guys! I just wanted to let everyone know that I am in the process of writing my own Destiny 2 fanfiction, and the first two chapters of that are linked below. If you’re already ahead of the game, then I went ahead and posted the entirety of chapter three underneath the links. Please let me know what you think! I am very excited about my ideas for this story and where it can go, but I would like some constructive criticism. Thanks everyone!

~ sparrowjousting / thatmutantkid

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627513/chapters/41561702

Chapter 2: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627513/chapters/41561774

Chapter Three: Saturday Mourning

An awkward silence filled the air as the two stood there and stared at each other. Was it real? Was the Marcus Ren, a City celebrity and hero, actually standing at her doorstep asking to come inside?

She thought he hated her.

“I...s-sure.”

She opened the door wider so he could enter. When he did, he looked around and let out an impressed whistle. Her apartment was small, but she made sure to keep it clean and organized in case any unexpected guests like Ren showed up.

“Nice place you have here. Definitely better than those closets they called dorms during our Academy days, huh?”

Andie nodded her head. His back was to her, so he didn’t see it. She was still in shock that she didn’t think about giving a verbal response.

“Why are you here? Don’t you have another race to prepare for?” She said bitterly. It wasn’t intentional, but the last thing she needed was media attention on her as Ren’s secret...friend.

“Damn McGrath, no need to be so nasty.” Marcus started. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. It's almost been five months since Cayde-”

“Since Cayde died? Yeah, I know. Thanks for the reminder.” She hissed. He was really beginning to overstay his welcome.

Marcus sighed and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. One thing she never understood was how he kept it looking so nice even after spending hours under a helmet during a race or on patrols.

“Look...I know you haven’t always been my biggest fan. I was an asshole to you at the Academy and wouldn’t admit when someone did better than me. Hell, I still don’t like admitting defeat to Enoch but lucky me gets that thrown in my face every week after races.”

Andie just sighed and rolled her eyes. If he was trying to make some kind of point, he was miserably failing. Even if it started off about her, it somehow always came back to him.

“Is there a point Ren? If I wanted to relive your very embarrassing loss to your own teammate, I can assure you that I can find plenty of videos online of him kicking your ass.”

An annoyed huff came off his lips as he made eye contact with her. He had an even more annoyed look on his face. She just smirked.

“Look McGrath, if you’re just going to insult me, then fine. I get the message and I’ll leave. I just came here to check on you because I was wor-”

There was a sudden pause in his sentence. A tomato red blush covered his entire face and he quickly looked away. After that, he grabbed his helmet and made a fast getaway to the door.

“Hey, where are you going? Get back here Ren!” Andie yelled then ran after him. When she made it to the door, he was already gone. A sigh escaped her lips and she shut the door. What had gotten into him?

Marcus was relieved to finally be home.

When he entered his apartment, he locked the door behind him and threw himself on the couch. It had been a long day not just for him, but for his eccentric Ghost, Didi. After he made himself comfortable, she appeared and bumped his forehead quite aggressively.

“Ow! What was that for?” He groaned and rubbed his now reddened forehead. Sometimes he wished she would just stay hidden in his gear. Especially when she was angry like this.

“Why did you run off like that?” Didi asked, expanding and retracting her shell as a way to show her annoyance with her Guardian.

“What? You mean at McGrath’s? Didn’t you hear how she was insulting me? I wasn’t about to take anymore of that abuse. I get enough of that from the media.” He said and groaned from the pain in his head. It was starting to subside now.

“That’s not the point. You were about to tell her you were worried about her, weren’t you? I don’t understand why you don’t want to let her know how much you care about her-”

“That’s enough Didi! Stay out of this, would you?!”

Another moment of awkward silence filled the air between the two of them. Didi stared at her Guardian for a moment before bobbing up and down as if she were sighing.

“It’s okay to be worried about her, you know. She just lost Cayde. He was basically a father to her and her brother their entire Guardian lives. Nobody expects her to be as okay as she pretends to be. Her brother sure isn't hiding it.”

It was true. Alexander McGrath was an emotional mess. Both him and his sister had witnessed their Vanguard leader and father figure die right in front of them that fateful night in the Prison of Elders. All while the former Awoken Prince Uldren Sov smirked and waved Cayde’s prized hand cannon, the Ace of Spades, around in his hands. Alexander was never the same after that night. Andie wasn’t either, but she hid her grief much better than her brother had. She still did.

The Tower and its Guardians held a memorial a few weeks after it had happened, and later another memorial for just the Hunters to attend to mourn their fallen Vanguard. Since they were the ones who were closest to him, Andie and her brother stood front and center next to Cayde’s casket as one Hunter after another came up to each of them and gave their condolences. There were lots of tears and crying, as well as silence in various parts of the room.

The day after the Hunter only memorial, it was decided that Cayde would be buried behind an old cabin outside of the Farm on Earth. It was one of his favorite places to go after Ghaul had taken control during the Red War, and it had a beautiful view of the night sky. Andie remembered the nights where both of them would go and sit on the docks, and stare at the night sky.

The lake behind the cabin would shine in the moonlight, and they would have heart-to-heart talks and deep conversations about life and mortality since they had lost their Light. There was also another gravestone of a woman - someone else who had meant the world to Cayde in a previous life.

Not only that, but the burial spot was nowhere near a war zone. No Fallen or Cabal enemies to come and ruin his gravesite. A place of peace where those close to him could come and remember their short time together.

A place where his daughter and son could come and remember both of their parents.

Marcus just hoped that one day maybe Andie would let him in. Because the Traveller knew that she needed someone to lean and depend on now.

They all did.

#destiny 2 #fanfiction #marcus ren #hunter #original character #sparrowjousting #vanguarddare #archive of our own

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womenofcolor15 · 5 years

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Russell Wilson Gets All The Love From Sienna & Future Zahir At Training Camp + Leave It To Ciara To Make Jogger 'Fit Super Chic

Russell Wilson and the kids are getting cutesy at football training camp. Meanwhile, Ciara levels up a jogger 'fit like no other. See Russ and the kids' adorable clip, plus deets on CiCi's new gig and more inside....

Football is almost back!

Teams have kicked off this year's NFL training camp and the Wilsons are killing everyone with their cuteness.

Seattle Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson proves dads have to juggle career and fatherhood, too! Papa Russ' kids, 2-year-old Sienna Wilson and 5-year-old Future Zahir Wilburn, came to visit him on Day 6 of training camp in Washington and they served up the cutest family moment ever. As Russ exited the Seahawks locker room, both Future and Sienna greeted him with hugs and kisses:

Get your "awws" in below:

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A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Aug 2, 2019 at 10:09am PDT

Adorbs.

In sad news...

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A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Jul 29, 2019 at 7:08am PDT

The Super Bowl winning quarterback posted a tribute to his grandfather/former Norfolk State President, Dr. Harrison B Wilson Jr., who passed away at the age of 94, according to a tweet from ODU. We send our prayers and condolences to the Wilson family.

Meanwhile...

Ciara knows a thing or two about serving up LEWKS.

The Beauty Mark singer was spotted making her way to a meeting in LA recently and leave it to CiCi to take a casual look and turn it uber chic.

The "Greatest Love" singer took a gym outfit and leveled it all the way up. As she made her way across the street, paparazzi caught her in sparkly light gray Thom Brown sweatsuit paired with white sky-high Christian Louboutin heels. She pulled her hair up in a ponytail and finished her looks with diamond rings and studded earrings.

Last month during the ACE Awards, the Style Icon revealed she may consider starting her own fashion label.

“I have plans to do a lot in the fashion space,” she told Footwear News." It’s all about timing, but I have been taking meetings, getting mood boards together. When the time is right, things will roll out. I can’t wait to get my feet wet and start expressing myself through clothing and fashion.”

Nice!

If she does decide launch her own fashion line, it'll be yet another hat she'll have to juggle. It was recently announced CiCi will join YouTube personality David Dobrik and singer-songwriter-actor Debbie Gibson as judges for Nickelodeon's new series, "America’s Most Musical Family." She's also credited as an executive producer of the new series.

"America’s Most Musical Family" will feature 30 families competing for a recording contract with Republic Records and a $250,000 cash prize.

Nick Lachey is set to host the 12-episode music competition series and it's set to premiere this fall.

CiCi has been killin' it on social media with some bomb photoshoot flicks. Check it:

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A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 31, 2019 at 10:20am PDT

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A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 26, 2019 at 8:55am PDT

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A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 25, 2019 at 3:35pm PDT

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A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 25, 2019 at 3:34pm PDT

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Thanks for the best time @UniStudios! You brought out the big kid in me #UniversalStudiosHollywood

A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 27, 2019 at 8:34am PDT

And, of course, she's always on mommy duty:

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Woke up this morning with this foot in my face:) My son sleeps like a wild child. Mamas do you feel me? Happy #Sunday

A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 28, 2019 at 8:01am PDT

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Girls . #GirlGang #Girls

A post shared by Ciara (@ciara) on Jul 20, 2019 at 8:25am PDT

Cute!

Photos: Splash

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2019/08/02/russell-wilson-receives-so-much-love-from-sienna-future-zahir-at-training-camp-leave-it-t

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