veritydedominicis

[veritydedominicis]

declan graham​.

“Fuck you,” he scoffed. A lightweight! Ridiculous! Verity had a way of getting under his skin, though she was always great company. He waved over the bartender and ordered another drink, as well as a shot– she would eat her words, Declan was sure of it. 

A growl of disappointment followed by a curse. Drinking and smoking went hand in hand, just like salt and pepper, or  Thelma and Louise. But then the bag appeared. Small white pills, at least a handful of them. His own lips pulled into a crooked smile as he snatched the bag from her without a thought. Verity was right about one thing– Cass would definitely be bitching about this later tonight. Declan tossed a handful into his mouth and followed it down with beer, hoping to feel the world slowing down around him. Driving would be a bitch, but thankfully he wouldn’t have to do that til much later. “Merry Christmas to me,” he slurred out.

.

By the time that she realized it probably wasn’t a good idea to dangle a bag of painkillers in front of Declan Graham like the fucking apple from the bible, it was too late, and Verity simply watched as he washed down the pills with his beer. A soft curse left her lips, followed by a long-suffering sigh, though it was moreso directed towards the slew of angry texts she was sure to receive later that night. 

“Really, Dec.” She shot him a dry look. “How short of a leash does Cass have you on? First you take up a gig as an Uber driver from parties. Now it seems like you haven’t had a good time in years.” Verity batted her lashes at him in mock pity. Although it most likely wasn’t a great decision to provoke the man beside her, Crescent Harbor had become boring, and it was almost a travesty that Declan seemed to blend in with the rest of the sleepy town. “What’s next? Baking cookies for the PTA?” Verity lightly flicked his nose, half in affection and half in condescension. “But I suppose if you’re happy...” Her voice trailed off at the end, lips curving into a cheshire smile. 

[veritydedominicis]

closed starter for: @westonkeller​

location: weston’s home

Was it considered breaking and entering if she knew the security code? 

How about if it was to the home of a man she had spent quite a number of months actively avoiding, after leaving through a window in the dead of night?

Verity let out a sigh as the quiet beep of Weston’s front door sounded. Casual drinks with Declan earlier in the day had turned into a challenge to see who was better at holding their liquor. And afterwards, to add to a string of increasingly bad ideas, she had routed the Uber to Weston’s place, her alcohol-addled brain somehow reasoning that it was closer than her apartment. Nevermind that she hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. Nevermind that she hadn’t elected to even text him to let him know she was coming. Nevermind that she wasn’t sure if they were even friends. 

Even as the room was beginning to spin, she found her way easily through the familiar surroundings and to his room, happily noting that its owner didn’t seem to be home. (And when he would be? Well, that was a problem for a future sober Verity). She unceremoniously flopped onto the bed, quickly falling asleep. 

[veritydedominicis]

leslie bowman​.

Leslie heard Verity as soon as the pounding began – she was sure the neighbors two floors down heard it, too. She leaned forward on her couch and laced her fingers together, her eyebrow twitching in a pang of something close to annoyance. Not at Verity showing up, or even at Verity at all, but with herself. Apparently, something about her personality told the two people she was closest to that showing up at her apartment drunk whenever they wanted was welcome. What other vibes did she throw off that she wasn’t aware of?

When the Shakespeare started, she pulled herself out of her momentary introspection with a short laugh, yanking open her door with all the force she had. Part of her hoped Verity would surge forward with the sudden movement, if only for a little amusement.

“You better tell me you got this drunk on the plane or my feelings will be fucking hurt,” Leslie warned, her eyebrows raising as she took a step back to let Verity inside. Not that she would have had a choice either way. “When did you get back? And what the fuck was with the clown emojis? Is that the only one you know how to use?”

.

A soft curse fell from her lips as the door opened, world momentarily careening towards the hardwood floors of Leslie’s home before she managed to catch her balance on a piece of furniture. Verity attempted to shoot her friend a knowing glare, but instead groaned as soon as her head snapped up. She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness. “Clown emojis?” she echoed faintly, brows furrowing in mild confusion. “I thought they were smiley faces.” 

Verity made her way to the couch out of sheer muscle memory, unceremoniously flopping onto the soft cushions. “Your feelings are safe. I don’t even remember when I got drunk.” Tuesday night? Earlier that morning? Time had become hazy. “For my bachelorette party.” A pause. “Is it still a bachelorette if it’s after the wedding?” Another pause. “What about if the wedding never actually happened?” 

She opened one eye to peer over at Leslie in a not-so-subtle attempt to gauge her reaction. 

[veritydedominicis]

nate blackwood​.

Nate wasn’t sure when he’d finally fallen asleep, but as soft golden light began to dance outside of his closed lids, his mind began trudging sluggishly towards consciousness. He tried to fight it, tried to will himself back to the sleep that found him with her warmth pressed against him, his arms tightening around the shape of her. He wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible, sure that the harsh light of day would tear it away from him the moment he opened his eyes.

It would be harder, he knew, this time around. The last five days had been brutal and empty, but seeing her again– the way she’d called to him in her sleep, how peaceful she’d looked as he crawled into bed beside her in the early hours of the morning– would rip into that wound so thoroughly that it would never be able to heal. He thought he’d made up his mind, thought that being left on the steps of the courthouse told him everything he needed to know, but he didn’t know how to not want her. He didn’t know how to not be consumed by how much he loved her. 

And as if his subconscious needed to remind him of just how badly it all hurt, he heard her voice, quiet and pleading, begging for the very same things he so desperately wanted. Yes, he answered her. Stay for as long as you can.

But his mind, still inching towards consciousness, registered the sound of her breathing, the shape of the body beside him, the gentle touch of her lips against his skin. His eyes snapped open, blinking against the light and the sharp headache as last night’s overindulgence returned with a vengeance. 

And she was there.

It took him a moment to understand, to take in the tears on her cheeks, and his hands reached for her face before he’d even given them the permission to do so. The night before, when she’d called for him in her sleep, he’d begun to think that maybe she did need him. But he’d shut the thought down before it could bloom into hope. But now? Now, he thought maybe there was something to it. Maybe, like him, she just didn’t know how. Maybe together there was still a chance to figure it out. Maybe.

His thumbs gently brushed away the tears that gathered on her cheeks and he leaned forward, his chest tight, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Hey. Shh. Baby, you’re awake,” he whispered, his voice rough as though he’d been up all night screaming. “Stay anyway. Stay forever. Just… stay.”

.

For a moment, she simply leaned into his touch, his palm against her cheek, his thumbs gently brushing away her tears. She wanted to close her eyes, to focus her senses on nothing but the familiar texture of his skin against hers, but she couldn’t — not when she wasn’t sure if he was simply a figment of her imagination, a dream that would slip away if she so much as blinked. 

But then he spoke and Verity’s brows furrowed as the words registered, unable to truly believe the reality she was presented with. 

Because she had expected him to leave. Or, at the very least, she had expected him to look at her with anger simmering within the depths of his eyes, a mirror of what she had seen the night before. She had expected harsh words and accusations. And he would have been right; he would have been justified. For all of it. 

Yet instead, as she searched Nate’s face, all she could find were love and a sort of desperation that so closely matched her own. Acceptance. Forgiveness. 

The tears spilled out more heavily now, and she folded herself into him, just like she had countless times before, her smaller frame easily becoming engulfed in his larger one. “Forever,” Verity agreed, words muffled by his chest. 

She felt breathless, untethered against a wave of emotion she had never known. And Verity wondered if this was what she had been missing all her life. Behind the rebellions and the recklessness, the arguments and the defenses. This was the sort of love she didn’t existed, the missing piece she had never known to look for. Acceptance for who she was. And forgiveness for what she was not. A love that wasn’t built on shame and the need for control. A love that was unconditional. 

Verity untangled herself from him then. “Nate, I—” She bit the inside of her cheek, voice sounding strained as she tried to sort through her thoughts, suddenly overcome by a need to tell him how she felt, even as a part of herself rebelled at the idea. 

She sat upright, unable to meet his eyes. “You know, I write books. Children's books,” she began quietly, staring down at her folded hands. “And I always thought it was a sort of curse. Because kids before bedtime, their parents will read them a bedtime story. And the lights are dim and the house is quiet and under the warmth of their blankets, they know that no monsters can touch them.” Her voice was wistful, gaze far away. “It’s a book that’s been read to them a million times. But they still get excited at every plot twist. They still laugh at every joke. It’s exciting but comforting. And I—” Her voice cracked and she took a shaky breath. “I never had that. I never knew how it felt. And I always thought it was a sort of curse. Or punishment. But then,” she paused and her gaze moved to meet his. “Then I met you.” 

Verity’s hand lifted without her permission, longing to touch him, to confirm one more time that he was actually there, in front of her. But she quickly let it hang back at her side. “I met you, and all that safety, that peace and comfort, I know how it feels now. And it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want to be like the kids. I don’t want it all to only be a memory.” Her voice grew thin at the end, frayed as she tried to keep the desperation from her tone. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I know I’m fucked up. But I love you, Nate, and I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” She allowed herself to touch him then, her hand moving to rest upon his. Slowly. Softly, as if she was afraid he would pull away. “If you’d let me.” 

[veritydedominicis]

closed starter for: @blackwoodsylvia​

location: some street?? in town, mid-october

She was in a bad mood. But really, was she ever in a good mood?

Verity’s purposeful steps were punctuated by the rapid clicking of her heels on concrete, the probability of running into someone she knew in a small town like Crescent Harbor beginning to fray her nerves. She’d never been one to favor long term relationships, preferring the anonymity and quick turnover within big cities. Her disinclination towards small talk was, perhaps, a self-fulfilling prophecy, because in the next moment, her shoulder bumped into another, the passerby walking in the opposite direction. A scowl began to form on her features, though it quickly faded when her gaze landed on the other woman. 

In a move that would have been a beat too late to be a true knee-jerk reaction but still quick enough that calling it intentional could be up for debate, Verity’s hand shot out to knock over the cup of coffee Sylvia had been holding. She gave a wide eyed gasp for flair as the dark liquid spilled onto the street.

“Well. Little Sylvie Blackwood,” Verity all but cooed in place of an apology. “A pleasant surprise.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk, a silent dare for Sylvia to dispute the statement. 

[veritydedominicis]

closed starter for: @leslie-bowman​

when/where: leslie’s house, pre-halloween party

“Delysia Iris Bowman,” came the slurred whine, followed by heavy pounding on wood. “Let me in, o’ love of me life.” Verity squinted at the door, as if to confirm that it was still closed. 

It was. 

She gave a frustrated huff, bracing her forehead against the doorframe for balance. So what if it was only 8pm? Leslie had seen her in worse conditions — specifically, half dead in an alley somewhere in the lower east side, one of her sleeves torn off, and wearing shoes that weren’t hers. She knocked harder. How long had she been waiting? An hour? Three? Verity glanced down at her phone. 2 minutes. “Open, Leslie, you wretched heathen. You trunk of humours, you bolting-hutch of beastliness, you swollen parcel of dropsies, you huge bombard of sack, you stuffed cloak-bag of guts, you roasted Manningtree ox with pudding in his belly, you reverend vice, you grey Iniquity, you father ruffian, you vanity in years!”

[veritydedominicis]

declan graham​.

~*~ t i m e j u m p ~*~

Declan sat next to Verity, eyes glazed over as he sipped on his…third? fourth? drink. There were unread messages on his phone from some group members, curious as to where he was– he hadn’t missed a meeting since he started. But he never got to hang out with Verity. A friend. Cass would be happy that he was beginning to have a social circle, even if it was his college ex. “I’m–I’m good,” he snickered. The bar might have been a bit wobbly and the wall might have been swirling, but he was fine. This was fine. He could control himself now. “Tell me you’ve got somethin’ in your pocket that I could smoke?”

.

Verity snorted lightly at his words. “Are you?” she murmured faintly, her tone indicating that she disagreed. She added a suspicious squint of her eyes for dramatic flair, though it quickly dissolved into a small laugh. “Declan Graham, a lightweight.” A disappointed click of her tongue. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” 

She downed the rest of her glass, the room starting to grow hazy at the edges, but she’d expected nothing less when in the presence of the man beside her. “Nothing to smoke,” she shrugged, though there was a subtle glint in her eyes as her lips curled into a mockingly innocent smile, “but I may have something else of interest to you.” As she spoke, Verity reached into her pocket for a small bag of white pills. Her gaze met his for a beat of silence before her smile widened. “Painkillers. For the headache Cass will give me for hanging out with you.”

[veritydedominicis]

some time later

Verity jolted awake, as she had for much of her life, as she had every night since she’d gotten onto the plane that took her away from Washington and the only person whose presence could help her sleep soundly, undisturbed by nightmares that now seemed too intertwined within reality. Her fingers clutched at the sheets as she tried to physically force back the scream that was clawing its way up her throat. 

Hazy sunlight filtered through the curtains, the soft glow of dawn unperturbed by the darkness that plagued her dreams. It was comforting in the same way that pain had become comforting — to know that the world still turned, too large and too indifferent to be affected by the cold that had been passed down to her and made everything shatter between her hands. Verity sighed, her senses gradually coming back, the last tendrils of nightmare dissipating under the promise of another day. Idly, she wondered if it was more of a curse than a promise. 

It was then that she registered the soft breathing beside her, the arm that her head had been resting upon. 

And she wondered if she had really woken up at all. 

Because surely he was a figment of her imagination, a too vivid rendering of her guilt. And her heart. 

Verity tried to grasp at her memories, details of the night blurred by the alcohol that had flooded her bloodstream, unable help but flinch at the image of Nate, hazel eyes bright and burning — but for once, it hadn’t been with love or desire. There was Nate, his muscles tense with rage. Nate, withdrawn and hopeless, stepping away from her touch as if her fingers had been coated in poison. 

It was a stark contrast from the Nate beside her now, his arms wrapped around her and features softened with sleep. Verity found her hand shaking as she reached over to trace the slope of his nose, the outline of his lips, the curve of his lids. Slowly. Gingerly. As if any sudden movement would shatter this dream and bring her back into reality, where she would wake up, cold and alone. A nightmare of her own making — one that wouldn’t fade away when the sun rose above the horizon. 

Her cheeks were damp with tears silently shed, but for once, she couldn’t find it within herself to care. “Please,” Verity whispered, gaze still on the man beside her, even as she wasn’t sure who she was speaking to. Perhaps to some higher power, to a deaf God. “Please. If this is a dream, just let me stay here a little longer.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lashes, then the corner of his mouth, breathing uneven as she desperately tried to cling onto this momentary reprieve, this small beam of light and the comfort that Nate’s presence brought.

[veritydedominicis]

samar amin​.

Sam’s room had always been some kind of sacred space to him. A place in which he found shelter from the rest of the property - a place that actually felt like it was his. Granted, he loved the privilege of living in that house almost by himself. His dad had never been around much, making it his responsibility to keep an eye on it, which wasn’t something he was very good at. House parties were part of Sam’s life, always had been much to his father’s dismay so right now, he was thriving. 

Looking for a moment of quiet though - and to check on whether or not he should’ve locked his door after all - Sam pushed the door open rather swiftly and was immediately greeted with a bunch of condoms flying right at him, the packets scattering on the floor after one had hit him on the cheek, making him blink back at a familiar face dumbfoundedly. “Holy shit! You’re banning me from my own room? Also - those are the good ones, Ver. Why the fuck would you throw these!” He complained, not even going to bother to ask why she’d found them, considering they’d been hidden away in his nightstand. Leaning down to gather them from the floor, Sam let out a breath, suddenly painfully aware of how not sober he was while holding them in his hand as he made his way over, his stance a little wobbly before he flopped down on the edge of the bed. “What’s up? Are you hiding away or plotting your next strike?”

.

“The good ones?” Verity echoed, the bottle of liquor pausing in mid-air when she was greeted by Sam’s familiar voice. “And for what purpose do you keep the not-so-good ones?” She shot him a chastising look before her expression softened into a small smile as she watched him pick up the plastic packets from the ground. Although she’d been determined to hide away from the rest of the party, she supposed his presence wasn’t wholly unwelcome — their friendship had always been one of the easier relationships in her life, glued together by a shared affinity for dramatics that it felt oddly comforting at times. 

His next question, however, made her expression sour, bottom lip jutting out in reproach as he somehow managed to pinpoint exactly why she was sprawled on his bed when there was a bustling party downstairs. “I’m not hiding,” Verity answered, “I just didn’t want to share.” She took a swig from the bottle, as if to demonstrate her point. It sounded unconvincing even to her own ears, but she was too well into her cups to properly school back her features into something less defensive. 

She used a beat of silence of study Sam’s profile thoughtfully. “Do you miss your mother?” 

Verity bit down on the inside of her cheek, eyes flashing in surprise at her own words. She had never spoken to Sam about anything that bordered on emotional, and a party was exactly the wrong sort of place to start. Still, she didn’t rescind the question, fingers absently tracing the stitching on his comforter. 

[veritydedominicis]

“Is he looking at us?” “Mhm..”

[veritydedominicis]

Alicia Vikander Photographed by Carter Smith (2018)

[veritydedominicis]

raymond nathaniel blackwood: a mood

[veritydedominicis]

She had spent almost a decade loving and hating him in equal measure. Sometimes both at once. But it was in moments like these — moments where the rest of the world stilled and the air caught in her lungs — that Verity wondered if the distinction mattered at all. 

Because either way, Nate Blackwood would always hold the entirety of her heart. 

[veritydedominicis]

NARITY AU → Captain America x Winter Soldier 

Who the hell is Nate?

[veritydedominicis]

@nateblackwood

Of course I want you to stay. Then of course I’m staying.

[veritydedominicis]

Somewhere in between you and me,           there’s a  s p a c e  I’ve made. Somewhere in between you and me,                    there’s a line that I drew.

[veritydedominicis]

@blackwoodsylvia