#thread: david

[bruisedconscience]

@xgoldxnhour => Ellie, modern verse

Being outside of Clockworks was...bizarre. David was still on a strict medication regime, but they’d let him leave the facility with the promise that they’d be seeing him once a month, sometimes a few times a month if it turned out like he needed it.

But he was out.

David had learned to respond to the voices in his head internally, without using his mouth, and that made it a little easier to blend in with regular people.

Coffee. David and about 6 other voices wanted Coffee. This, he could do.

He waited until it was his turn at the counter before walking up. The lady—he shouldn’t presume. The person behind the counter had a name tag that read Eloise.

“Hi Eloise,” he said softly. “I’m David. Um...do you have anything with chocolate in it, mayhaps? And-and coffee? At the same time?”

[rissa--evans]

Clarissa laughed at the peppered kisses that Christian playfully placed along her neck, purposefully tickling her sensitive skin with the stubble that lined his cheeks. “Chris!” She squealed, trying to push away from him, but his arms were firmly wrapped around her bare waist, holding her tight against his body, quaking with amused laughter. In the weeks since their reunion, things were finally starting to fall somewhat into a normal rhythm. Those weeks included the little over a month since David had ended things with Clarissa while Christian had been away. With no real to end things, Clarissa had continue her relationship with Christian, using her ex-fiancee as some sort of band aid for the gaping wound David had left in her heart. To this day, David and Clarissa had not spoken or seen each other. 

The previously engaged couple had taken a huge step together a couple of days ago when Clarissa agreed to have Christian move in with her. Things were tense between them at first, but they slowly worked it out, learning to overcome the scars of the past and to move forward to their future. Last night had been a momentous night in their walk together, both deciding to rip the band-aid off and complete their reunion. It was the first night they had spent intimately together since Christian had slept with Addison and since Clarissa had been with David, though Christian didn’t know that part. And despite the initial tentativeness, it had ended up being a special night for both. It changed something in their dynamic, or at very least, gave them something else to focus on. It was the first morning Clarissa can remember in long time where things were almost as they had been back when things were good between them. Christian continued laughed at her, pulling back from her neck to press his mouth lovingly against her and Clarissa couldn’t help how she hummed into the kiss. “I’ve missed you, Clarissa.” The words were soft but heavy as the man whispered them against her lips and for the first time, Clarissa could be honest. The brunette pulled back from their kiss, meeting Christian’s baby blue eyes, small smile on her lips while her fingers trailed lovingly through his blond locks. “I’ve missed you too, Christian.” And she did. In that moment, she let herself miss the man she had fallen in love with almost eight years ago, the man she almost married. No words were exchanged between them as they gazed at each other, reminiscing all that they had been through together, of a love they were both trying to get back, and it wasn’t long before Christian had rolled them over. Soon, the room was filled with whispered words of love and affection as the couple made love again.

It was a couple of hours later, when the door bell of her….of their….home rang, and it gave Clarissa an excuse to dart out of Christian’s embrace with a laugh. The thin white sheet of their bed was wrapped tightly around her frame and dragged behind her as she rushed to the front door. Christian was left fixing up the bath they were both going to share while Riss raced to answer the door, expecting the delivery man with their breakfast to be on the other side. “Chris, sweetheart, use the lavender bath salts!” She called out, as she opened the door, and rolled her eyes at the “That’s the only one you have, Riss!” That was yelled back at her. It was only then that she turned her attention to the person on the other side of the door. The earlier joy had that enveloped her vanished, her happy bubble burst as her eyes landed on David standing there. What was he doing here? Clarissa became acutely aware of how exposed she was in that second. She hadn’t a care in the world if the delivery man had seen her just wrapped in a bed sheet. He would see her for a second and that was it. But this wasn’t the delivery man. This was David. The man she loved,even when he had told her that he didn’t want her. Clearing her throat, the smile on her lips thinned and she wrapped the sheets over her chest a little tighter. “David…I…what are you doing here?” She finally asked, her voice soft and almost ashamed as she adverted her eyes from the man before her. @dcviddiaz​

[clarissa--evans]

Clarissa inhaled deeply through her nose before exhaling nosily through pursed lips. She focused on her heavy breaths, the rhythmic sound of her feet against the cement of the sidewalk and the erratic beat of her heart. It was the only thing she could hear despite the fact that energetic pop music was blaring in her ears. Her muscles ached and her body was tired but she felt good, so good, and it only propelled the brunette to push herself, run a little faster. This was exactly what she had needed to rid herself of some of the stress and weight she had been carrying on her shoulders. She felt better, lighter and she decided to enjoy that for as all it lasted. In the few moments after a workout, Clarissa didn’t think about the complexities of her life - of Theodore, his relapse, her family, the town accident. 

When she ran, she could tune everything out and Clarissa took advantage of that. But as a song she couldn’t stand came up on her playlist, the brunette grabbed her phone, growing distracted as she worked to change the song playing when she accidentally ran into someone. The impact knocked the wind out of her and she gave a gasp. She stumbled, trying to regain her balance before holding a hand out towards the victim of her distracted mind as an apology. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying --” Her sentence trailed off as she glanced up to see who she had run into and froze immediately. It was a face she hadn’t seen in over a decade; the face of a man she didn’t think she would ever see again. It couldn’t be him. How could he be here in Crownsville? Her breath caught in her throat and her hand fell to her side as she took a step back. “David?” The name of her ex-boyfriend, her first love, fell from her lips in disbelief as she plucked her headphones from her ears.  // @dcvidjcmes

[singingrass-archive]

Spotting newcomers isn’t difficult when it comes to a small parish such as St. Francis. Though the largest congregation in a town of four thousand, the parish consists of only four hundred people, only about a third of which attend church regularly --- half, if Boucher is being generous. Suffice it to say a foreign face sitting among the back pews easily sticks out like a sore thumb --- though past the sermon, past the chatter afterwards, once the preacher has bid his farewell to the last of the parishioners at the modest building’s doors, he turns to greet the stranger with as warm and kind a smile as he would any of his children (the latter being a metaphoric term, of course; for David, a man of the cloth, has never and will never be wed, nor father any biological children).     This he does despite every fiber of his being telling him that this stranger is different. This is more than just a gut feeling, one he has learned to recognize nearly thirty years ago --- one that tells him this man is more than he appears to be. The preacher is not certain he would be able to describe this feeling --- a sort of drawing from within himself, a vibration, one kind of power calling to another like wolves howling in the night --- but he does know, with conviction, that he can feel it in his bones. Curious. He has only ever felt this way towards the Edwards kid, and only when they have been within physical proximity --- something that has happened so few times he can count the amount on one hand alone --- but this cannot possibly have any relation to that, to him. There are only that infuriatingly dumb boy and himself --- the Prophecy has never pertained to a third party.     Very curious indeed.

“Anything I might be able to help you with?” He offers, signature disarming smile stretched all across his face, hands humbly held in one another in front of his body, “It isn’t every day we get to see a new face around here.”

@halfwaytohades plotted a thing.

[noholdsbaird-blog]

Another Textbook Situation || David

It wasn’t a secret that Harry Baird wasn’t phenomenal at Physics. In fact, it was a pretty well known fact that any kind of maths screwed with him in ways he didn’t like to consider. He’d just never really gotten the concept of numbers meaning something different, meaning something more than the sum of their parts. And that was all Physics was, really - maths. With letters. And equations. And hidden meanings and complicated signs and he was just awful with it, if he were honest about it.

Which he was. Painfully so.

It was for that reason that Harry was skulking around the doorway near Mr. Nolan’s room, glancing down at the homework they’d been set a few days before and that was due in the following day. He’d tried his hardest, sat at the kitchen table away from all distractions, his phone switched off and in his room (just in case frustration and temptation got the better of him), but it just wasn’t making sense to him.

“Do physics in your freshman year, Harry,” he mumbled to himself, kicking at the floor as he fought with himself. His voice had taken on a deeper pitch, nose wrinkled as he mocked his dad. “It’ll be good for you, Harry. Make you take your Math more seriously, Harry. You can do it, Harry.” He dropped the mockery and sighed to himself. “Yeah, right.”

Standing around in the corridor wasn’t going to get his homework done, however. With a deep breath, he took the final step to bring him in front of the door to an empty classroom (thank heavens for breaks) and knocked before turning the handle and peeking his head inside.

“Mr. Nolan? Can I have a word?”

At least he was one of the friendlier teachers in the school. If he had to go talk to his Math teacher... It didn’t even bear thinking about.

@familyandholsters

[bruisedconscience]

@00110000exe​ liked for a david starter 

“So you’re...another one of me, right? Like, I’m... You’re the DVD, or... Which one are you?” This version of him had...lines down his face, and different colored spots of skin... What was that called? Heterochromia? No... Vitiligo, David thought. 

[singingrass-archive]

The St. Francis Parish is a modest church; one will not find stained-glass windows or dark, dramatic baroque-esque art here. It is a simple wooden structure, single story, its walls painted white, its pews plain and worn with age, the pulpit a modest wooden block. Even the sole depiction of Jesus on the cross hanging on the wall behind it appears... tangible; perhaps fleshy is more appropriate; lovingly hand-crafted by a local, surely. Despite the unforgiving weather of wintertime Montana, whatever light manages filtering through the windows is a warm yellow; specks of dust hanging in the air as though the innards or the church have been suspended in time. This place is loved by the little town in which it resides; that much is obvious.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a new face around here.”       Boucher speaks softly as he steps out of the shadow cast over his little office door, hands modestly held in one another before him. Taking in the image of the visitor, he offers him a gentle smile.       “New to town or passing by?” But before the boy can answer, he raises a hand to waist-level, palm upturned, as though to apologize. “Forgive me for overstepping, child --- mere curiosity.”

@inrovina.

[singingrass-archive]

      “Welcome, child.”

      He looks down at them from the full extent of his mildly-impressive stature, all blue eyes and soft smiles, both hands held in one another before him in a compliant gesture. It’s sometime in the late morning, too late for the morning service and too early for lunchtime - soft morning sun filtering in through the modest, non-colored windows of the church. It isn’t too hot yet in Montana - just the perfect weather, which seems to please Father Boucher most of all.

      “Pardon my crudeness - but we’re a small parish and I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. New to town, or just passing by?”

@wingclipped asked for a starter from David because of reasons?