#Kamaria Shepherd

[actress4him]

Shadow of Death - Modern AU - Burned Toast

Another piece I wrote for the Whumplovers Collaborate gift exchange! This is a married modern Brumaria fic.

Kane and Bruno (mentioned) belong to Izzy.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

Contains: lady whump, panic attack, flashbacks, fire, burns, referenced parental death, referenced murder, referenced guns, implied past noncon, referenced gang violence, PTSD, service dog

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“What do you think, Shadi? Can I manage to make eggs and toast without causing any disasters?” Kamaria shuts the refrigerator door and turns to look at the American Akita, who’s sitting at attention with her head tilted to one side. “Right, I know. You just want your own food.”

Opening a cabinet and pulling out a can of dog food, she sighs and shakes her head at herself. Bruno has rubbed off on her when it comes to the pets, talking to them like they can understand. If her father could see her now, carrying on a conversation with a dog…he’d probably declare her incompetent and shoot her on the spot. 

But he’s not here. Never will be again. And just to spite him, as she sets the bowl of food on the floor she declares, “There you go. At least we know I can handle that kind of food prep.”

She turns her attention back to her own dinner, getting out the eggs and the bread and other necessary supplies - stopping to think before remembering she needs to grease the skillet. She’s made that mistake once, and doesn’t care to repeat it. 

Bruno has been trying his best to teach her how to not be so completely hopeless in the kitchen. She feels stupid every time she sets foot in the room. She didn’t even know the most basic things when they first started, like how to use an oven or stove. Not that it’s her fault, as a child her mom had to work and wasn’t around to do much cooking, and for the next fourteen years at the gang’s headquarters she wasn’t allowed to step foot in the kitchen and subsisted off of whatever shelf-stable items she could steal and hide underneath her bed. 

But she doesn’t like not knowing things. Knowledge is power. Knowledge can keep you alive.

Right now Bruno isn’t here, he’d taken his German Shepherd, Dante, and reluctantly left this morning for a short business trip. So feeding herself is entirely up to her for the first time since they got married, and she promised him she wouldn’t resort to the cans of cold beans and granola bars she used to live on. She’s done eggs before, though. They weren’t pretty, but they were edible. And toast isn’t hard, now that she knows not to trust the pictures on the dial of how black she wants it to end up. 

Or at least, toast shouldn’t be hard. Except that in the midst of focusing hard on getting the eggs right, she glances over at the toaster oven and something inside is on fire.

She’ll blame her reaction later on the fact that it’s unexpected. After all, it isn’t even that big of a fire, not much more than a candle flame, and she can handle those as long as she doesn’t stare at them. But toast isn’t supposed to catch on fire. 

Her heart immediately leaps into overdrive and she abandons the pan of eggs, diving toward the toaster. She has to fix it before it gets worse. She can’t let it grow, fire is so unpredictable, can’t let it take anything…

Instinctively, she throws open the oven door, but it’s the wrong move. The influx of oxygen makes the small flame flare to life, engulfing the bread inside and shooting out to lick at her hand. 

Kamaria launches herself backwards, her spine slamming into the counter across the small kitchen. Suddenly she’s breathing too much and not enough all at the same time. 

No no no no no no

She grips her burned hand tightly, but her shoulder hurts even worse. 

The ceiling crumbles over her head, chunks of glowing orange showering down around her

It’s not real. It’s not real, she needs to get a grip on herself, but the flames are still there, right in front of her, and she can smell the burning.

Smoke clogs her lungs, she can’t breathe

Her chest aches. She doubles over forward, clenching her eyes shut, but the flames only multiply in the darkness.

It’s everywhere, covering every wall, leaping out at her as she stumbles through the hall and down the stairs

The smoke alarm starts screaming somewhere overhead. Kamaria lets out a strangled cry and crumples to the floor, shoving herself backwards against the cabinets and burying her head in her arms. 

She can’t find her mom 

Strangers are in her house, snatching her up and running outside, but they’re not her mom, she needs her mom

The whole world is on fire, there’s fighting everywhere, she’s screaming and crying but across the street her neighbors are dying, bleeding on the pavement

A man with a gun throws a woman onto the ground and straddles her

It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. Shadi is trying her best, licking and nudging, but the memories just keep coming.

Kane’s laughing face leaning in close to hers, his hand wrapped around her throat

Taunts in her ear of how worthless she is

The fire is everywhere 

Fingers carve burning paths through her skin, touching, always touching

A loud bark in her ear jolts her back to the present. Kamaria’s eyes go wide and she gasps in a hoarse breath, taking everything in. The alarm is still blaring, threatening to drag her back under, but she can’t see fire anymore, just a stream of smoke and a burned smell permeating the air. 

Shadi starts licking her arm, doing whatever she can to make sure her owner stays alert now that she’s gotten her back. Which is good, because the images are still pressing at the edges of her mind. She can still feel his hands on her, still feels like she’s choking. 

“Shad-…” She tries to force the command out past the phantom fingers digging into her throat, panting in between each word. “Shadi…search.”

Immediately the dog is off like a rocket, checking every corner of every room in the house for intruders. Kamaria squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them again, trying to figure out the best way to keep herself from slipping until Shadi gets back to help.

She knows there’s no one here. Just like she knows that the night the gang burned her neighborhood was ages ago, and that Kane is long gone, and that the fire and her captivity at his hands were completely separate events divided by seventeen years. 

But she’s learned by now that the trauma - she still hates calling it that - doesn’t care about those details. That doesn’t mean the nonsense that she feels doesn’t make her angry, because it does. She wants to be over this by now. She wants her brain to stop making her think things that can’t possibly be true, to stop mixing up and linking events for no reason. 

She also wants to stop thinking about how Roderick would use all of this against her if she was still back there, how maybe he and her father were right not to let her near the kitchen, how the former Shadow of Death shouldn’t be crying on the kitchen floor because she burned her finger. 

Shadi returns and sits next to her, ears perked as she waits for her next instruction. All clear. The house is safe. There’s no Kane, no Roderick, no other gang members lurking. 

Her next breath comes a bit easier. “Lap.” 

The dog immediately settles across her legs, still looking up at her eagerly. She isn’t trained to offer grounding pressure automatically in these situations, because Kamaria doesn’t respond well to being touched during or right after a flashback. But right now she thinks she’s ready for it. The hand that didn’t get burned begins stroking the soft fur, from head to tail, over and over in a soothing rhythm.

It isn’t even that bad of a burn. She glances briefly at it, and the skin is slightly pink but nothing like her other burns. It won’t leave a scar. Her shoulder still hurts worse than anything, and that’s just phantom pain that will hopefully ease soon. 

For a long time she just sits there, focusing on her breathing and the feeling of Shadi’s fur beneath her fingers. The smoke alarm cuts off right after the dog’s return, and she relaxes into the silence. There’s no fire, and no Kane. She’s safe. Bruno isn’t here, but he’s safe, too, and he’ll be back tomorrow.

Drawing in a deep breath, she pushes to her feet, Shadi jumping up and standing at attention. “I’m alright, girl,” Kamaria murmurs. Her head spins a little, and her legs feel shaky and half numb, but the worst of everything has passed. She purposely ignores the toaster oven for now. She’ll deal with it later. Her eggs are fried to a blackened crisp that smells horrendous, and she doesn’t want to deal with that right now, either, so she just flips the burner off and tosses the whole skillet, eggs and all, into the sink. She’s not sure the skillet will ever be the same again, anyway. 

Still leaning against the cabinet for extra support, she turns to look at Shadi, who has relaxed just a little but is still watching her. “So…it’s a hard no on the eggs and toast.” She glances at the upper cabinet next to her. “Think Bruno will be too mad if I have a granola bar for dinner?”

She knows he won’t. The man couldn’t truly be mad at her if his life depended on it, and once he finds out what happened he’ll fully understand. She should probably call him now, actually, he’ll want to know and it will help erase the last of the jittery feeling in her chest. 

So she takes her granola bar and goes into the living room, curling into a corner of the couch with Shadi tucking herself in right beside her. She turns on the tv to a classical music station for some background noise so that she doesn’t start hearing noises that aren’t there, and taps Bruno’s name in the recent calls on her phone.

A soft smile spreads across her face as soon as she hears his voice in her ear, the last of the tension easing from her shoulders. “Hey, hon. I’m…I’m good. I just, uh…thought I’d let you know that I’m never making toast again…”

[bermudezprojects]

KAMARIA SHEPHERD at Bermudez Projects | NELA/Cypress Park, Los Angeles

PROJECT SPACE:

KAMARIA SHEPHERD She Learned Herself Awake

July 10–August 28, 2021 1225 Cypress Avenue, Los Angeles _________

Bermudez Projects is pleased to present Kamaria Shepherd | She Learned Herself Awake, the second exhibit in the gallery’s new series of installation-based exhibits dedicated solely to BIPOC + LGBTQIA artists.

Composed with layers of fabric, plastic, small paintings on paper, and small sculptures, “She Learned Herself Awake” explores the myriad facets of self, identity, and emergence. Within this site-specific installation, fabrics digitally printed from photographs of the artist and by the artist, as well as from photographs of the artist’s paintings, Shepherd creates a deeply intimate space that is both engaging and eluding.

The “she” which exists in the space of the artwork is the artist. However, the artist’s image is used as either a symbol or repetitive print of a black woman.

Shepherd says, “Using this self-portrait as a motif addresses an often singular and one-dimensional stereotype of black womanhood in the United States. This universal “she” is being slowly awakened through the mediation of self and photograph, painting and installation, and artist and audience.”

Kamaria Shepherd’s (b. 1991, USA) artwork subtly touches on issues of identity, memory, race, culture, womanhood, and femininity as an African American woman in the United States. Paintings, prints, sculpture, video, poetry, and installations vacillate between minimal and excess; bold and subtle; loud and intimate. Shepherd writes about her work and the thoughts surrounding the processes, resulting in a hybrid of poetry/personal narrative/short story. In using found materials – clothing, bath rugs, pearl earrings – the artist gives citation to the “presence of a body, a female, and domesticity.”

Shepherd says, “I make paintings as objects, sculptures, or painted sculptural paintings. My sculptural paintings are called play-doh’s and are installed in ways where they make connections or conversations with each other while representing their own distinct personalities, like the parts of a person.” This approach allows individual works to be displayed singularly, as a whole thought; or grouped together in an installation, conversing. “[It’s] like a second-grader ready to present for show-and-tell. They perform.”

Shepherd earned a BFA in Painting from the Rhode Island School of Design and an MFA in Painting/Drawing from the University of California, Los Angeles. Her works have been included in group and solo exhibits throughout the United States. The artist lives and works in Los Angeles, CA.

She Learned Herself Awake is the second exhibit in the gallery’s new series of installation-based exhibits dedicated solely to BIPOC + LGBTQIA artists. Funding is provided by the Bermudez Projects Exhibitions Fund and Bermudez Projects Collectors.

Additional support by MORALES + MORALES

[actress4him]

Some Nights Are Just Like This - Brumaria AU

This is kind of an unspecified modern au. It’s not the college au, it could be the future of the soldier boy au (I’m using the moodboard for that one for lack of a better option) or another au of Bruno’s canon.

Anyway, enjoy some angst and domestic fluff. The amazing BruBru belongs to @painful-pooch !

Brumaria taglist: @sssunshinebreeze

Contains: lady and dude whump, nightmares, romance, blood, noncon touch, mild self harm

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The mumbling and twitching muscles begin to wake her up at almost the same moment that seventy pounds of fur lands on the bed. Kamaria’s eyes fly open and she immediately rolls toward Bruno, blinking to focus through the darkness. She almost can’t see him past the large dog lying on his stomach, whining and poking his nose into his chin, but the glimpse of his face she catches is clearly distressed and not waking up quite yet.

“Dante, down.” Snapping her fingers, she points toward Bruno’s side of the bed. The German Shepherd shoots her what she’d swear is a dirty look, but obeys, jumping down and resuming his duties by nosing his master’s arm, instead.

Kamaria scoots in as close as she can get, propping herself up on one elbow. Her other hand comes to rest on Bruno’s cheek, thumb stroking gently across his stubbled skin. “Bruno,” she murmurs. “You’re safe. It’s a dream, you can wake up now. I’m here.”

Unlike her, he usually actually likes touch when waking up from a nightmare. He wants the reassurance that they’re both safe and he’s not alone. There have been a few occasions where he woke up violently, taking a minute to realize where he was and who she was, and those times scared him even more than the dreams despite her claims that she can handle it. He’s begged her to let Dante do it, or for her to try to wake him from a distance, but she’s too stubborn to listen. It doesn’t happen very often, especially not anymore. And if touch makes him feel safe, then touch is what she’s going to give.

“Come on, love. Wake up.”

He does, finally, with a start and a quick intake of breath that have her tensing, ready for his reaction. An instant later his body relaxes, though. One hand ruffles the fur on Dante’s head, who does a happy dance that his owner is awake, then he rolls over and envelops Kamaria with both arms, pulling her in so tight that she can scarcely breathe. His face is buried in her shoulder, muscles shuddering as he inhales slowly and deliberately. She rests her cheek against his head, fingers playing with his hair, and lets him settle in silence.

“Sorry,” he mumbles after a couple of minutes.

“Stop it,” she admonishes gently.

Slowly, he loosens his grip on her, one hand sliding up into her hair as his face tilts back to peer into hers. She hates how worn out he looks. If she could take all of his pain, all his heartache, and make it her own, she’d do it without hesitation.

“He…he had you.” His voice is ragged, eyes flicking back and forth between hers as if trying to reassure himself she’s really there. “He had you, and he hurt you, and…and the team, the team was there, they were hurting, and Miranda, she…her…” He swallows hard, fingers gripping the back of her neck and her shirt as he grows more agitated. “She was…”

Shaking his head, he sucks in another breath. “But it wasn’t just her, it was you, it was both of you, and I couldn’t…I can’t…” He brings his hand around to her face, desperately stroking her skin and hair. “If anything ever happens to you…I don’t think I can go through it again. I can’t lose anyone else, Kamaria. I can’t lose you.”

“Hey.” She leans forward, pressing her forehead to his. “You’re not losing me. Nothing is happening to me, no one is hurting me. Those days are over, okay? I’m here, I’m safe, and I’m not going anywhere. We’re both safe.”

“Yeah.” He returns equal pressure, sniffing and trying to control his breathing. “Yeah.”

They lie there for another few minutes quietly. “Do you want to go work out or something?” Sometimes he can calm down without it, but this doesn’t seem to be one of those nights.

“I don’t want to leave you,” is his immediate response.

“I can come with you. I don’t mind.”

“You need sleep.”

“I said I don’t mind.” She pulls back so he can see she’s serious. “I’ll do whatever it is you need. Besides, I can sleep anywhere.”

Without waiting for him to protest further, she sits up and swings her feet over the side of the bed. Shadi is sitting up on her cushion against the wall, ears pricked forward and head tilted, watching all of the goings-on and waiting to be needed. The American Akita jumps to her feet as soon as she sees Kamaria standing, curled tail wagging.

Bruno is sitting up, too, elbows propped on his knees and face buried in his hands. Kamaria carefully grabs his arms and pulls him to his feet, wrapping her arm around his waist. The dogs follow close at their heels as they exit the room, Shadi ready for adventure and Dante still obviously concerned about his owner.

The lights of the garage are too bright after the darkness of the rest of the house. They stand in the doorway for a moment, blinking, before Bruno reluctantly pulls away, silently going through the motions of wrapping his hands and setting up at the punching bag.

Kamaria settles down on the folded training mats in the corner, pulling the fuzzy plaid blanket she’d snatched off the back of the couch around her shoulders and leaning back against the wall. Shadi jumps up next to her and immediately curls up again. Dante sits at attention near Bruno’s feet, watching his every move.

Tension that she hadn’t realized she was holding in her shoulders starts to ebb away as Bruno begins his workout. It’s always hard, seeing him like that. Seeing him broken and afraid, and knowing there isn’t much that she can do to help. The mind is a cruel place. She may not understand exactly what goes on in his, but she can gather enough from the snippets he shares to put together a decent image.

Tonight, the “he” was obviously Kane. There’s no one else that Bruno is that afraid of. She can also guess that he was probably reliving Miranda’s death for the hundred thousandth time, maybe the rest of the team’s, too. Plus some bits from when the two of them were at his mercy. A concoction of all his greatest fears and worst memories, in other words.

Sometimes she wishes she could resurrect Kane just to have the pleasure of very slowly killing him. They both had their own issues even without his interference in their lives, but it seems like he single handedly managed to double those, and still manages to mess with their heads on a regular basis.

She doesn’t realize she’s getting lost in her own tumultuous thoughts until a warm tongue runs over her knuckles. Glancing over, she sees Shadi giving her a hard stare, as if daring her to continue down that path and cause even more problems tonight. Kamaria grimaces and pats her head in thanks, earning a huff from the dog.

Maybe she should just focus on Bruno and the punching bag. The rhythmic thuds are soothing, in a way, and watching him throw all his effort and attention into his exercises has always been satisfying. Eventually, eyelids growing heavy, she lets herself drift downward, curling on her side with Shadi’s shoulder pressed against the back of her head.

It isn’t surprising, really, that she dreams of Kane. They’ve fed off of each other’s nightmares before, and she should have known better than to let herself dwell on the content of his.

He’s in her face, he’s on top of her, and she’s too weak to fight him off. She can’t even move, can’t scream, can’t call out for Bruno even though she desperately wants to. His hands are all over her skin, and everywhere he touches leaves a brilliant red handprint behind. Red like fire. Red like the blood that’s running across the floor from some unseen corner. Bruno is somewhere over there, screaming. She can’t save him.

“Too weak, too useless, too broken, just a worthless, broken toy. Not even good enough for a brute like him.” The words are in Kane’s voice despite the fact that he’s just grinning at her. Laughing at her. “He never loved you, anyway.

“Never loved you, never loved you, never loved you.”

Bruno screams again, and more blood trickles by.

“I’ll show you a real man.”

His hands are around her throat. She can’t breathe.

“Kamaria…” That’s not Kane’s voice, it’s Bruno’s. He needs her, but she can’t move, can’t breathe.

Her hand feels strangely wet. It’s blood, it has to be, but is it hers, or Bruno’s?

“Kamaria!”

Suddenly she’s back in the garage. That’s Bruno, actually calling her name. The wetness on her hand is Shadi desperately licking it, but it still feels like blood. Bolting upright, Kamaria slings the blanket off and shoves herself away from the dog. The chill of the garage against her skin is welcome. She can’t have anything touching her right now. No touch, no warmth, no…no air, she still can’t breathe. His hand is still there, still choking her. Are there handprints on her skin? She can feel them, they have to be there. She has to get them off. Has to get rid of them, scrub them off, scratch them off, she can’t have anymore of his marks on her body.

Canine teeth gently close around her wrist, stopping its movement. Kamaria responds with a strangled sound, deep in her throat.

“I know it’s hard, but I need you to breathe, love. Take a breath with me.”

The sound of Bruno inhaling reaches her ears, and her body immediately moves to copy it. Clarity floods into her mind along with the oxygen.

“There you go. That’s perfect. It’s just us here. We’re both safe.”

They’re both safe.

Shaking off Shadi’s grip, she grabs fistfuls of her pajama shirt, tipping her head back against the wall and continuing to focus on breathing. There’s still a slight burning sensation on her arm, but she can tell now that it’s from her own scratch marks, not from any handprints.

Kane isn’t here. She’s safe. Bruno is safe.

“You’re doing great.”

The mats shift as Shadi jumps down. A moment later, she returns, dropping something at Kamaria’s side with a thud. She glances down to see a water bottle, wet with condensation from the mini fridge.

“Good girl, Shad,” Bruno praises.

Slowly, Kamaria reaches out, hesitating slightly before burying her hand in the dog’s thick fur. She can usually handle touching her before she can deal with human touch, but only a little at a time. Right now just this is good, it’s grounding. She swallows thickly, draws in another deep breath, and blows it out through pursed lips.

“I’m okay.” Her voice wavers, but it doesn’t frustrate her as much as it once would have. She doesn’t need to be strong in front of Bruno. He knows her too well for that, anyway.

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have told you -”

“Stop it.” Her eyes finally slide over to find his. He’s crouching about a foot away, a towel slung around his neck and a half-empty water bottle by his side. She hadn’t interrupted his workout, at least. “It’s not your fault, and even if it was, I’d still want you to talk to me about your dreams.”

He still looks guilty, gaze shifting away from hers as he wipes at his forehead with the towel. “Do you want to? Tell me about it, that is?”

She immediately shakes her head, hand beginning to drift across Shadi’s fur. She doesn’t ever want to talk about her dreams, but it’s nice that he always offers, just in case.

“I just need to…do something.” Distract her brain, somehow, make it forget until enough time has passed that the dream isn’t looming anymore.

Bruno stands, tossing the towel to the side. “Want to watch a movie?”

She frowns at him. “It’s like, three o’clock in the morning, and you were probably ready to go back to sleep. You don’t need to stay up with me.”

He holds his hand out, available for her to take if she’s ready. “Come on. There’s still some good ones we need to catch you up on.”

She knows very well he won’t take no for an answer, just like she wouldn’t with coming out here. But she lingers a moment longer, staring at his hand, trying to decide if she can take it. She can still feel Kane’s hands on her skin, still see his laughing face. Bruno’s touch will be different, though. His touch can help erase the ache of the dream.

Giving Shadi one last pat, she reaches up and grasps his hand. It’s warm, and rough, and gentle. A hand that will never hurt her, that will always be there to hold her but never force itself on her.

He pulls her to her feet, and she takes an extra step forward, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder and inhaling deeply. He stands very still, allowing her to control the situation.

They’re safe. They’re both safe.

Straightening, she gives a tug at his hand, and they head back into the house. A few minutes later, they’re settled on the couch, Netflix loading on the tv. Kamaria sits up with her feet stretched out on the ottoman, while Bruno mans the remote with his head resting in her lap. Dante is draped across his legs. Shadi sits by Kamaria’s side, watching her, still not completely convinced she’s okay until the movie starts and everyone begins to relax. Then she lies down as close as she can get, sharing Kamaria’s lap with Bruno and ruffling his hair with her contented breaths.

They may or may not get any more sleep tonight, but some nights are just like this. It’s alright. It’s good, in fact. These moments of all being together, of being surrounded by love and care…it’s far more than she’d ever hoped she’d have.