callsign-voodoo

[callsign-voodoo]

Beth spent her day in a whirlwind, getting passed around by higher-ups to do their bidding until 6PM finally struck — like the Heavens raining down. She made her way from the office after clocking out, down to Kennedy’s office in a different wing.

She didn’t bother to knock, too tired for socially acceptable customs, and set her stuff down in his office. She barely acknowledged her, if at all, but he didn’t seem to notice her either.

“Daniel.” She said, firm and quick. His head snapped up and she looked at him, her eyes moving rapidly as she surveyed the scene. Something was different. Something was plaguing him. She walked to his side, pulling his head to her stomach. She knew what he was thinking about. What was causing him all this anxiety.

The same thing plaguing her mind. She felt like Lady MacBeth, manically scrubbing her hands for blood that just wasn’t there. Trapped in a lucid dream fueled by guilt, oh! Out damned spot, out! —

“Antoinette.” It was his turn to snap her from her inner monologue. He knew that look just as well as she did.

They both sat in silence for a while, Beth feeling a bit helpless.

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

SELKIE AU NEEOOOOOOWWEWWWWW

AAAAAWHHAHHAGAGHHH

I LOVE MERMAY!!!!!!!!!!

If I remember the bitch that is merposing, I’ll draw merkennedy and post it

[callsign-voodoo]

She nodded, sitting back down with him and getting back into bed. She didn’t want to face responsibilities, whatever lay outside for her today. Here, inside, with Kennedy, was all she needed.

But the day marches on, whether you’re in-step or not.

Eight AM came before Beth could beg time to slow, and she climbed out of bed — kissing Kennedy’s cold skin — and trudged to the shower. Exiting soon after and getting dressed purely out of autopilot.

Something nasty festered under her skin. The desire to go. To hide Kennedy away and protect him from the evil. But she wouldn’t. She wasn’t that selfish.

Instead, she bid him goodbye and went on about her day.

Images of that man from the woods flashing in her mind.

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

THAT’S MY HUSBAND Y’ALLLL

*drops four pictures of kennedy and runs*

[callsign-voodoo]

She paused. He noticed, of course he noticed. She was stupid to think he wouldn’t. She paused for a moment, her hand gently on his torso as she lifted herself to sit up. She cleared her throat,

“It’s mine.” She answered honestly, her eyes flicking over his face to observe his reaction. She thought surely he was upset, surely she’s already fucked up in supporting her husband’s new lifestyle.

“I’m sorry if that’s the wrong thing to do, I wasn’t sure. Maybe if you have like a little bit a day, y’know?” she began panicking slightly, her accent thickening again as a result.

“I’ll make you a new one,” she decided, moving to climb over him and get out of bed.

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

As Kennedy got some well-needed rest, she tossed and turned in bed. Her skin itching with the desire to just fix all of this. Go back on whatever happened to him and let him like like he used to. She saw the way the guilt weighed on him, dragged on his shoulders and bred a nasty tension in his muscles.

The night passed quickly, Kennedy waking up to see Beth already setting his morning coffee on the nightstand. Mainly black, with a spoonful of sugar and however much blood she could drain from pricking her finger with a safety pin.

“G’mornin’,” she smiled at Kennedy, the bed dipping softly under her weight as she sat down. Her accent accentuated by a lack of sleep as she mumbled about her plans for the day.

That is to say, a whole lot of nothing.

She crawled back into bed with him, cuddling up to him. He was so cold now, contrasting to how much of a human furnace he used to be. She watched him sip his coffee and nod contentedly, smiling.

“Is there anything else you have to tell me?” She asked softly, shivering subtly against his cold skin.

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

Beth giggled, looking at him with his fangs goofily tucked over his bottom lip. She sat on his legs, smiling at him. She gently observed his teeth once more, smiling at how seemingly harmless they looked. She loved everything about Kennedy, even something like this would never deter her.

“Are you ever going to want to drink from me?” She asked softly, pushing her glasses to perch them on her head.

Of course it was just a question, but if he needed to? He could. Beth was nothing if not her husband’s everything. Supporter, confidant, best friend. Everything. A blood donation centre would just be another part of being a wife.

“If you need to, you can,” she verbalized, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking her face away in the crook of his shoulder.

“I love you. I’m sorry this happened to you.” She leans her head up to capture his lips — and his newfound fangs — in a soft, quiet kiss.

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

She walked in, now dressed in only Kennedy’s clothes — having showered in her own room in the time that Kennedy was showering in his. Her hair was almost fully dry, long and cascading down her back and shoulders. Her nails finally clean of mud and her soft, brown eyes (and their glossiness from panicking) accentuated by the slight zoom of her glasses.

She sat on her haunches, her hands on Kennedy’s covered knees, and looked up softly at him.

“Whatever is happening, I don’t want to know.” She started off with, her voice rough from hours of panic. “I vowed to love you through sickness and in health, and I think that counts ‘right about now,” she chuffed. “I just need to know how to help you,” she pushed her hair behind her ears, standing up. “Tell me the truth and I will help you,” she assured him, gently pulling his head to her stomach and running her fingers through his hair.

“I am in way too motherfuckin’ deep to back out now.” She laughed softly, trying to make any light of the situation. “And it’s not like I would try to anyway,” she mumbled about something as she inspected his torso for any injuries.

And then, just because of the events that had unfolded, she gently opened his mouth and observed his teeth, running a thumb along them. Once she reached his fang, she nicked her thumb. Confirming all of her suspicions.

She rinsed her bleeding thumb under cold water, her mind running rapidly.

“How often do you need blood?” She asked, watching him lock in on the bleeding cut on her finger.

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

“Hush,” she reiterated, pulling his body roughly against hers in a hug. Praying to any omniscience that was listening to send her some guidance. On what the Hell to do. The trees rustled around them, which Beth took as a warning.

She laid the dazed and confused Kennedy up against a tree, letting him mumble incoherently about how sorry he was. She didn’t care. She needed to get this damn body hidden before somebody found him.

She dug into the soft earth with her hands, mud encrusted forever under her nails in the name of sacrifice, for what felt like hours. Until eventually she had a shallow ditch, into which she kicked the body and covered it again with mud. Hiding the body, check.

Kennedy was shivering and silent when she turned around, wiping her hands on her jeans and shaking Kennedy softly.

“Baby, you gotta listen to me,” she kept her voice low, but the tremble was still there, “I’m going to get you back to base, and we’re going to act like you were attacked by a wild animal while on watch. If anybody asks, that’s how he died,” she gestures to the general area of the buried body. “It’s okay. I will get you out of this,” she assured him, hoisting his body up off the tree and trudging them both back to base.

“Don’t ever say I ain’t do nothin’ for you,” she sighed.

*

They made it back to base in some unmeasurable amount of time, Beth taking Kennedy straight to his barracks and forcing him into the shower.

“Do not quit scrubbing until you are clean of every piece of mud, every bodily fluid, every trace of DNA,” she explained, pacing his bedroom as he showered.

What the hell was she thinking? Covering up a fucking murder?!

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

one moment he was holding back a surge of intrusive, instinctual thoughts and urges that overtook every nerve and synapse, and the next he was pinning whoever it was to the forest floor, the gasp as he bit into their neck not registering in his brain.

he couldn’t stop—he wanted to at some point, regain control of his senses, but it was too good, too satiating, too addicting. he needed more. fuck, he needed more.

the fading heartbeat, the rush of the warm, coppery liquid flowing into his mouth, the intense aching in his fangs finally, slowly, soothingly settling… it was enough to cause kennedy to pull away and take a breath.

he must’ve stayed hunched forwards for a while, considering how much his spine hurt, but he didn’t stop to take a break. he wasn’t full. he needed to be satisfied. otherwise he’d do this again, sooner than he would like, and god forbid it wasn’t on a mission.

with that, kennedy leaned forwards again, accessing the same punctures, and drank, albeit calmer this time. he was settling, no longer on edge and in constant need to control himself.

before he could truly get his fill, he heard footsteps, the unmistakable rhythmic crunching of the leaves and twigs. was it the enemy? maybe? or it could be one of his teammates—which would be hell to explain, considering… well… yknow, the whole vampire thing. whoever it was, the situation sucked either way.

he pulled his fangs out of and away from the person under him, already thinking of excuses and/or escape routes, depending on who found him. kennedy then made sure to wipe his face with his sleeves, figuring he could just wash the stains out later. sure he didn’t get all of the blood off of his face, but who was going to question a smear? they were on a mission, right?

…

……right?

( - @danielkennedy-asks )

(this is giving me deja vu and I don’t know why)

Voodoo stopped. Dead in her tracks, hand hovering over the knife hooked in her belt loop. Eyes scanning over the scene in front of her. Scrutinizing every detail in the sake of understanding. Her feet stayed planted in the soft earth, damp dirt sinking under her weight. Leaves crushed beneath her boot, immortalized in the sole of her shoe.

Her own breathing felt too loud, too … intrusive. Like she was breaking in on an intimate moment. But… she caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. The attacker’s hand. A shiny, silver wedding band.

With her initials engraved into the ring, albeit now covered in dirt and blood encrusted along the delicate lettering, but she recognized that font from anywhere.

“It’s soft, and fancy. Like you,” Kennedy’s words echoed in her mind.

That was her husband. With his lips to another man’s throat. Theories bred themselves in her mind before she caught a glimpse of him wiping his face.

Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh, fuck.

She ran to Kennedy’s side, hands gripping him at his torso to keep him from fainting.

“Fuck,” she said, wiping his face and checking him for injuries as he sputtered explanations. She shushed him, her hands shaking as she held his bloody face.

“Just tell me, do you need more?” She asked, her voice low as her eyes darted between the body on the floor and Kennedy.

[callsign-voodoo]

They exited the pool all pruned and a little tipsy, laughing together and tripping over their own feet. She handed him a towel once inside, drying herself off before tossing the towel in the laundry room.

“The guest room is set up for you. And if you want to shower, that’s fine. I cain’t hear the shower from my bedroom. You wouldn’t be botherin’ me, sugar.” She smiled, handing him a water bottle. “In case you get thirsty in the night. If you get hungry later, there’s leftovers in the fridge.” She sighed, kissed his cheek again and padded off to her room.

closed rp w/ @danielkennedy-asks

Navigating hectic Texan highways at this point was a joke for Beth, the drive to the airport nearly second nature because of how much she damn traveled for work. She drove through the terminal — cussing her fellow Texan drivers, who she genuinely considered to be blind for a few moments — before making her way to Kennedy’s gate.

The last text from him was “Taking off. See you soon,” with a smiley face. She saw his plane pull up, nearly rocking on her feet like an excited teenager on Christmas.

Get it together, Beth.

When he finally got off the plane, she watched as he met her where she was standing. Beth went to hug him, before deciding against it. Southern hospitality, yeah — but she didn’t need to smother the poor man just yet.

She looked up at him, suppressing her excited smile to maintain her little tough façade.

“Welcome’a Texas,” she drawled.

[callsign-voodoo]

The regret she felt was almost an instant sober-up, still a bit conflicted as to whether she wanted to kiss him again. Afraid deep down somewhere that he didn’t actually want this and was just trying to save her ego.

She sighed, hands traveling down chastely to hold his waist as she bit her lip in thought. She wanted this, yes. Duh. It was clear as day. But she didn’t want to scare him off. She was a normal person! Someone who definitely didn’t love way too hard! Nooo…

So she settled for resting her arms on his shoulders and softly swaying to the music in the water with him, just admiring his face. Trying to contain her excitement at being so close to him.

She gave him a little cheek kiss, smiling softly as the music played.

closed rp w/ @danielkennedy-asks

Navigating hectic Texan highways at this point was a joke for Beth, the drive to the airport nearly second nature because of how much she damn traveled for work. She drove through the terminal — cussing her fellow Texan drivers, who she genuinely considered to be blind for a few moments — before making her way to Kennedy’s gate.

The last text from him was “Taking off. See you soon,” with a smiley face. She saw his plane pull up, nearly rocking on her feet like an excited teenager on Christmas.

Get it together, Beth.

When he finally got off the plane, she watched as he met her where she was standing. Beth went to hug him, before deciding against it. Southern hospitality, yeah — but she didn’t need to smother the poor man just yet.

She looked up at him, suppressing her excited smile to maintain her little tough façade.

“Welcome’a Texas,” she drawled.

[callsign-voodoo]

he does! :3

((y’know. i’ve always had a thing for older guys *looks at you with my big beautiful eyes*))

-birdie

you take that attitude outta here this man has a GIRLFRIEND!!!!!! (I think)

[callsign-voodoo]

he’s so fucking real for that… me with escalators

kennedy has a genuine vendetta against stairs.

he has verbally threatened a staircase before.

[callsign-voodoo]

Her face flushed softly, her tough, nonchalant act dropping for the first time that night. Oh, how the turn tables. She smiled softly, tucking her face away against his chest. She mumbled a soft ‘whatever,’ before playfully rolling her eyes.

At his last comment, she stilled. He wasn’t just flirting for fun, was he? Like… he actually felt something. Why had it taken her so long to realize that he’d shared her feelings? Was she actually stupid?

Without thinking, one of her hands slid to the nape of his neck, bringing his face down to hers (damn him for being taller) and kissing him. It was brief, but it still felt like tectonic plates were shifting in her mind.

She truly had never felt this way about anyone.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologised, her eyes wide with regret as Kennedy’s body stilled.

closed rp w/ @danielkennedy-asks

Navigating hectic Texan highways at this point was a joke for Beth, the drive to the airport nearly second nature because of how much she damn traveled for work. She drove through the terminal — cussing her fellow Texan drivers, who she genuinely considered to be blind for a few moments — before making her way to Kennedy’s gate.

The last text from him was “Taking off. See you soon,” with a smiley face. She saw his plane pull up, nearly rocking on her feet like an excited teenager on Christmas.

Get it together, Beth.

When he finally got off the plane, she watched as he met her where she was standing. Beth went to hug him, before deciding against it. Southern hospitality, yeah — but she didn’t need to smother the poor man just yet.

She looked up at him, suppressing her excited smile to maintain her little tough façade.

“Welcome’a Texas,” she drawled.

[callsign-voodoo]

“Well, you’re here for two weeks nearly. We’ll just laze around tomorrow and check some stuff out another day,” she smiled, her arms finding purchase around his neck in a loose hug.

“I’m glad you came down. Took a few months for us to work out a good time, but I’m glad you’re here now. Need’ a hear that accent you kept talkin’ ‘bout.” She teased him, her hips subconsciously swaying to the 2000s R&B playing off the speakers.

“What do you want for dinner tomorrow? Any ideas?” She smiled, clearly a bit tipsy but overall alright.

closed rp w/ @danielkennedy-asks

Navigating hectic Texan highways at this point was a joke for Beth, the drive to the airport nearly second nature because of how much she damn traveled for work. She drove through the terminal — cussing her fellow Texan drivers, who she genuinely considered to be blind for a few moments — before making her way to Kennedy’s gate.

The last text from him was “Taking off. See you soon,” with a smiley face. She saw his plane pull up, nearly rocking on her feet like an excited teenager on Christmas.

Get it together, Beth.

When he finally got off the plane, she watched as he met her where she was standing. Beth went to hug him, before deciding against it. Southern hospitality, yeah — but she didn’t need to smother the poor man just yet.

She looked up at him, suppressing her excited smile to maintain her little tough façade.

“Welcome’a Texas,” she drawled.

[callsign-voodoo]

She laughed at him, sipping her drink and walking to him, patting his back softly. She tried to stop laughing, but her shoulders shook softly anyways at his theatrics.

“I’m sorry for splashing you,” she said, singsongy, failing miserably at holding back her giggles. The sun dipped below the horizon the longer they stayed out there, the pool lights coming on.

“We can laze around the house tomorrow,” she said, “or we can actually go and do something. There’s a ton of shit in Houston, not too far from here. Whatever you want, babydoll.”

closed rp w/ @danielkennedy-asks

Navigating hectic Texan highways at this point was a joke for Beth, the drive to the airport nearly second nature because of how much she damn traveled for work. She drove through the terminal — cussing her fellow Texan drivers, who she genuinely considered to be blind for a few moments — before making her way to Kennedy’s gate.

The last text from him was “Taking off. See you soon,” with a smiley face. She saw his plane pull up, nearly rocking on her feet like an excited teenager on Christmas.

Get it together, Beth.

When he finally got off the plane, she watched as he met her where she was standing. Beth went to hug him, before deciding against it. Southern hospitality, yeah — but she didn’t need to smother the poor man just yet.

She looked up at him, suppressing her excited smile to maintain her little tough façade.

“Welcome’a Texas,” she drawled.