#&& helen of hell; iza speaks

[brothersgrim]

Send me ‘Mom’ + A Question and my muses mother will answer it || ACCEPTING

Anonymous asked:

Hey Mom, do you wish your family had stepped up and paid enough attention to keep... all that from happening to your kids?

“They should have.” There’s no hiding the malice in her tone. She is not happy. Her fingers dig into her sleeves as she crosses her arms. “They were supposed to.” Spiderwebs of frost dance across her skin. Smoke curled around her feet, thick and black and choking. 

"You would think," she begins, lifting her chin, "that a family that prides itself so much on legacy and name might do something to look out for their own. But no." She scoffs. It’s a bitter sound. Then she pauses, and the furrow in her brow becomes less fury, more distance. “I wonder if I could’ve done more to get their attention. If I could have reached out to any of them more… Maybe if we’d followed tradition, or…” There’s a set to her jaw that finds itself at home on her sons’ expressions, too, stormy and brutal. 

“Or if I’d cut Paul’s throat myself.”

[brothersgrim]

🌸 talk about your boys Iza!

A MOTHER TODAY– || ACCEPTINGSend ‘🌷’ to hear my muse talk about their mother, or a mother figure.Send ‘🌸’ to hear my muse’s mother or mother-figure talk about the muse.

She laughs, bouncing baby Kane in her arms while Adam fiddles with some blocks at her feet. 

“They’re growing faster than I can keep up with.” She says, freeing up one arm to brush some hair from her face (and out of her little one’s curious reach). “You never understand the phrase ‘growing like a weed’ ‘til you’ve got little ones of your own.” She watches Adam succeed in stacking a small tower before continuing. 

“They’re gonna be troublemakers, I can just tell.” Her voice is fond behind the outward amusement. “They get that from both sides.” 

“Both sides?” Adam pauses his work to look up curiously. Iza nods with a hummed ‘mhm’ and leans over to smooth out his hair. 

“Both sides of the family. It means it comes from your daddy and from me. From both of us.” Adam thought it over, then nodded, and offered an ‘okay’ as he went back to focusing on his blocks. Kane babbled quietly to himself, gumming at her hand. Well– Not exactly gumming. There were a few tiny teeth just barely poking through, all of which she was made aware of at that moment. 

“That can’t be too tasty, baby,” she chides - still smiling, though, she can’t be mad at a little one for doing what little ones do - and easing her hand away to lightly tap Kane on the nose. He’s too distracted trying to grab at the pretty colours on her nails to fuss.

“But,” she continues, “even if J and I will be running after them like headless chickens, once they start going off on their own, I wouldn’t trade them.” She smiles at Kane, still fascinated by her manicure, then down to Adam, who regards his tower with a great deal of contemplation - especially for a three-year-old - before knocking it over and nodding his approval. “Not for this world, or any other.” Adam watches a block as it hops into the bin. Iza lets Kane play with her hand as she shifts to stand up.

“All done, Addie?” She asks, and he nods, using his hands to throw a few more blocks away.

“Uh-huh. Sides–”

“Mama.” He’s cut off by Kane using one of the few words he’s picked up. 

“Kane’s hungry.” Adam finishes, plopping the last few blocks away.

“Is that what all that chewing’s been about?” Iza bounced Kane a few times, settling him in her arms. 

“Mmam. Mama.” Kane looked around, then found and stared at the kitchen. Adam nodded. 

“He really liked the food from last time. The orange one.” Adam spoke over his brother’s continued babbles. “He wants that again.” 

Iza hummed a soft laugh, bending over to press a kiss to her oldest’s forehead without smushing her baby. 

“What a good big brother. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She stood, then, carting Kane towards his high chair before he could get impatient, letting Adam trail behind. “Come on, Addie. You could probably do with some lunch, too.”

[brothersgrim]

“💑 + do you trust that i'll take care of kane?” jt. because who is paul.. sounds like a jerk 2 me.

TALK TO MY MUSE’S PARENTS || ACCEPTING

Send “👩🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Mother will answer

Send “👨🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Father will answer

Send “💑+ Question” and both of my Muse’s parents will answer.

Iza’s nodding before he’s even done speaking, and J.T. doesn’t seem to complain. 

“You been good to him.” J.T. says, adjusting his hat. “Better than most.” He doesn’t say it, but the expression on his face seems to show how low he thinks the bar is. 

“He’s happy.” Iza rests her hand on J.T.’s arm. “He hasn’t been happy in a long while. But he’s happy with you.” She smiles, leans against her husband’s side. J.T. nods his agreement. 

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I see no problem.” He pauses then, an almost bemused expression flitting over his face. Iza looks up at him, one brow raised and frown curious. 

“My son in law’s the moon.” He shook his head, letting a bit of amusement trickle in. The spectres turn to leave, fading into the ether as they go. “They’d’ve never believed this in Houston.” 

[brothersgrim]

SPOOKY MOM SPOOKY DAD ARE YOU TWO AWARE THAT YOUR CUTE SONS BECAME ABSOLUTE JUGGERNAUTS AND ARE STILL SMALLER THAN THEY COULD BE

The spirits glance at each other. There’s an unreadable expression on their faces - halfway between pride and misery. 

“Oh, we know.” Iza says. “They’re mighty imposing, aren’t they?” J.T. frowns and nods. 

“They’ve grown up real strong.” He adjusts the brim of his hat. “… Real strong.” Iza nods, casting her eyes to the ground as phantasmal lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t resist as her husband takes her hand in his, and uses her free hand to fiddle with the buttons on her collar. 

“Stronger than they ought to be.” Iza speaks so quietly it might have just been the wind through the dead trees. She looks up, then, still gripping her husband’s hand as tight as death will allow and squaring her jaw. “But strong enough to survive. And we’re proud of them for that.” J.T. nods, and from the way their forms shift it would appear he’s squeezed her hand. 

“We’re proud of our boys.” 

[brothersgrim]

fresh flowers

describe a scent to my muse and they’ll respond to it with their thoughts, feelings, and/or a memory. || accepting

Anything from ‘a garden of roses’ to ‘spilled blood’ to ‘rotten eggs’ is acceptable!

“Mama!” The clear afternoon air was cut with the shout. A few crows squawk their displeasure, but settle soon enough.

“Yes, baby?” Iza looks up from her garden. Well, one of them. There were a few. The two flower beds out front, the two out back, and various little pots around the home. The wildflowers in the yard, too, though those tended to be just fine on their own. Her little ones, on the other hand, needed a bit more care.

“Mama!” Adam called again, even as he and Kane rounded the side of the house. The two of them could outpace every racehorse in Kentucky when they got themselves worked up like that. She wasn’t sure which side of the family it came from.

“Whoa, there!” She set aside her trowel and turned to hold her arms out to them. The impact of her boys running right into her almost knocked her off balance. They were getting so big. Shooting up like weeds. Someday soon, she might even be looking up to them. “What’s all the fuss?” She pulled back, hugging Kane against her side and petting Adam’s mop of bright red hair.

“Mama-!” Kane gasped, huffing for breath. “Mama, you gotta-”

“Come see this!” Adam finished, without any pause. Kane nodded, a bright grin splitting his tiny face. Iza smiled in spite of her bewilderment, peeling off the battered old gardening gloves her mother had passed down to her so long ago.

“Did you find something?” She rose to her feet (though she did have to bend over a bit when little Kane grabbed her hand).

“Yeah!” Adam is already off running, and she’s laughing. Whatever it is has him so excited that he’s forgotten you’re (apparently) supposed to be ‘cool’ when you hit double-digits. “C’mon, Kane!”

“C’mon, Mama!” Kane tugged her hand to urge her faster. She laughed again and jogged behind her youngest.

“I’m coming, Sugar Kane, don’t you worry.” Gardening could wait. She’d already been thinking about how big they were - they wouldn’t be babies forever.

“Hurry up!” Adam called, stopping a few paces ahead and scuffing at the ground impatiently.

“You hurry up!” Kane retorted, though the tinges of a smile danced around every word and she felt no need to intervene.

“I’m in front of you.” Adam turned to start walking again. Iza could’ve predicted the outcome of that even if she was the least-magical person in the world, and she let go of Kane’s hand a second before he let go of hers.

“Not for long!” The two of them took off sprinting through the yellow-green grass, apparently oblivious to the sun that tried to beat them down. Two boundless wells of energy.

“Careful!” Iza smoothed her hands over her dress and followed them at a more reasonable pace.

“We know!” They said in chorus without slowing down. Birds chirped in the air and a cool breeze strolled by to offer some respite from the summer day. The stream burbles happily to itself. The boards were on the other side, so J must be tending the yard. She takes a second to admire the sunlight glinting off the water before a tug on her skirt draws her attention.

“Hey, baby.” She reached down (a little less far down than she used to) to pat Adam’s head.

“We seen things swimming around in there.” Adam stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. “More than usual.” Kane crouched down to throw pebbles into the water, nodding with appreciation when one made a rather large splash.

“Papa says it’s dangerous.” He says, scratching around until he finds a rock to hand to Adam. Adam nodded and hurled the stone. He watched the ripples fade then nudged Kane for another one, and was obliged. Iza frowns to herself and nods, folding her hands in front of her.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Iza sits on the grassy bank next to her boys. Adam sits as well, and, after a second of fiddling with his handful of pebbles, Kane flops down, too. “There are a lot of strange things in this world. Things most people can’t rightly explain.”

“Like Adam.” Kane grins.

“Least my face don’t look like the Necronomicon.” Adam shoved Kane, and none of them knew if the resulting ‘HEY!’ was in response to the verbal or physical rebuttal. Both, probably.

“Boys.” Iza chides gently, and they both look up from the heap they’ve wound up in. Adam sits up, but does squash Kane for just a second longer. “You know you oughtta get along. You know how the rules go: As long as you’re…?”

“Smart.” Adam crossed his legs and bunched his hands in his lap. Iza nods.

“And?”

“Careful.” Kane bounced a bit when he answered. Iza nods again, reaching over to take one of each boy’s hands in her own.

“And together.” She gave their fingers a gentle squeeze even as her boys exchanged a glance and an affectionate shoulder-nudge. “Because the world’s strange, yes, but so are we. And taking all that strangeness and making it do what we want it to is in our blood. It’s who we are. And if you’re together to watch each other’s backs, there ain’t nothing in this world or any other you need to be afraid of.” She turned her attention back to the river and watched as it froze into a thick layer of ice. A second later, something from below struck the ice with an audible thud. The boys jumped, then stared at the cracked ice and then each other with wide grins. Iza grinned back.

“You understand?” She beamed at the chorus of ‘yes, Mama’s and reached over to pull her boys into her arms. “Good. Now, then - what’d you two want to show me?”

“Oh, right!” Kane chirped, and Adam stopped pretending to be ‘too big’ to be smushed by his mother in his excitement.

“It’s by the flowers!” He said, squirming loose to chase after his little brother. And there they went. She shook her head with a fond quirk to her lips, dusting away a few stray pieces of grass as she went. Behind her, the stream thawed, and - after a somewhat perplexed pause - resumed its customary burbling.

“Look, Mama!” Kane was back to bouncing. Up and down, up and down. Adam, by contrast, was on all fours, carefully sorting through the leaves and stems.

“It’s right here.” He said. He pointed at something Iza couldn’t quite see yet, and Kane crouched down to look, too. Whatever it was, they were fascinated. It was always nice to see them so enraptured with the world around them. She could teach them all of the magic she knew (which she liked to think was quite a lot), but she could never teach them how to wonder. They had to learn that themselves. She hoped they’d never forget it. She carefully stepped between them, kneeling down and idly scratching her nails through their hair. She had to peer a bit closer, squint just a bit, before she noted what looked like a small trail of footprints. She hummed to herself, then moved her hands to her boys’ shoulders as she glanced back to the stream. The boards were up, but, all the same…

“I think,” she began, turning back to the footprints, “it’s high time I taught you boys the difference between imps and fair folke. Then you can tell me what made these.”

It would be a good experience for them, and would keep them occupied. … It was also an excuse to bring out some of the Old Books.

She hoped she was wrong about what those were. She wasn’t in the habit of being wrong.

But things like that were attracted to…

…

No, that was ridiculous. They were careful. They had rules and practices that had kept the family safe for four hundred years.

There couldn’t be anything so evil in the home as to attract Others. There couldn’t be.

The peaceful afternoon was briefly shaken by the faint protests of an engine as Paul’s car crunched into the driveway.

[brothersgrim]

"Dad" : Were Kane and Adam well behaved kids? ; "Mom" : Do you ever worry about your sons?

Send “Mom” or “Dad” and a question and my muse’s corresponding parent will answer. || Accepting

“Sure, when they aren’t making like two tornadoes and tearing up the place.” In spite of his words, his voice is fond, and he chuckles and shakes his head. The smile lingers on his face, caught by the light of the afternoon sun. He glances over the stranger’s shoulder to watch the boys scampering around the front yard before returning his attention to the conversation “They’re good kids. Hearts are in the right places. Sure, they get up to trouble every now and again, but that’s just part of growing up.” He shrugs. 

“Suppose that kinda thing’s subjective, besides; what ‘good behaviour’ really is. But for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t change those two for the world.”

“Of course I do.” She says. She sits on the edge of a stone fountain, worrying a lock of hair between her fingers. The water no longer flows, so she feels no need to move. A few dried leaves blow through her, but she doesn’t seem bothered. … At least, not by the leaves. 

“I never got to finish teaching either of them. There’s so much they don’t know. I know that’s a small worry, but…” She tries to force a smile at the ground, but it’s a sad, hollow expression. The regret etches itself clearly into her eyes. “Maybe it could have helped.” Her brow creases, her fingers tighten around the stray bit of hair that sits on her shoulder. 

“… I did get to teach them about the Rule of Three. It’s an old philosophy in magic - if you cause harm to someone, there is a chance it will come back to you three times as worse. I have to say, I no longer believe that’s true. … Nothing my boys did could justify what all they’ve been put through, especially when the ones responsible are much better off.” 

The grass around her starts to wilt. 

“They’ve been through so much, my boys, and they’ve had to face so much of it on their own. I know they’re hurting. I know. They try to hide it, as boys often do, but you know what they say about us mothers.” This time, the attempt at a smile is broken by glistening eyes and an undertone of pain in her voice. “We know everything. … We know everything.” She folds her hands into her lap, looks at the knuckles clenched bloodless even against the lack of a pulse. 

“For example, I know my boys are strong. Stronger than they should have to be. I know that, now, at least they have each other. And what I think is most interesting of all,” when she looks up, the flesh of her face is already blistering in an unfelt heat. “I know that the people who hurt them? They’ll be coming down here, in time. No escaping that.” There’s no change in the saccharine tone of her voice, but the local birds have fled, leaving only the crows and the ravens to skulk in the branches. “And I like to think of myself as a patient woman. I can wait.” She smoothed down her blouse, even as the edges of the fabric browned, curled, and caught aflame. 

“The people who’ve been hurting my boys, they don’t need to be afraid of coming to Hell.” The smoke circles her head like a choking wreath, a saint of all that the world left behind.

“They need to be afraid of coming to me.”

[brothersgrim]

Mother's touch!

Send ��Mother’s touch’ for my muse’s mother || Accepting

She sits alone in the graveyard, hands folded neatly in her lap. The moonlight seems to shimmer off her skin, her hair, her soft blue dress… And to shimmer through her, of course. Because she’s not there. She hasn’t been ‘here’ for thirty years. But on nights like these, even those who have been forsaken by the land and by the cruelty of man might slip back into the world of the living. She’s never been the sort to let such opportunities slip by. So, here she sits. The night breeze stirs her hair, and a quiet, contented smile graces her lips, even as her eyes closed. 

“I’d ask if you’ve been here before,” she says, keeping her eyes closed, “but I think we both know the answer.” After a beat of silence, her smile warms and she turns to fix dark eyes on the young starchild. 

“You’ve been keeping an eye on my Kane, haven’t you, Mr. Srisati?”

[brothersgrim]

A young woman approaches the yard with a letter and a bouquet of roses. She kneels before the gravestones, gently placing both on Isa's before crossing herself. "Happy Mother's Day, dear Isa. You've given me a wonderful husband and an amazing father to my baby girl. Thank you," she whispers, tracing Isa's name with her finger.

💮  My muse is now accepting Mother’s Day asks! 💮 || Accepting

While it would be appreciated, there is, unfortunately, nothing left. The crumbling gravestones sit in front of the scorched earth, unevenly replaced after having been dug up by unclean hands. At least someone made an attempt to stack up the pieces.

The grave of the warlock, the mother of monsters, the former matriarch of the valley, sits empty. Iza is gone. Her remains were burned long ago. 

Only the morose cries of the ravens answer back.

[brothersgrim]

🙌

Send a 🙌 and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse. || Accepting

This means any minor ‘background character’ in my Muse’s life, such as a relative, coworker, friend, rival, etc. that they interact with in their personal canon.

And you asked for one for each so let’s go.

Name: Isabelle Patricia Valdis-Cowell (Nee Valdis)Aliases: [Miss/Mrs./Mama] Iza, Mama (by Adam and Kane), the funeral witchGender/orientation: Cis female, pansexual panromantic (She/her/hers)Species: Warlock, humanity debatableFamily: J.T. Cowell (Husband), Adam Valdis-Cowell (Son), Kane Valdis-Cowell (Son), Abraham Bernard Valdis (Father, deceased), Tulip Marie Valdis (Nee Baines) (Mother, deceased), Vanessa Leanne Valdis (Sister, deceased)Residence: Valdis Family Funeral Home and Mortuary, Death Valley, TexasOccupation: Secretary, sorceress, graveyard keeper, matriarch of the Valdis clan’s valley (main) branch, technically cult leader, mortician, coroner.Face Claim: Janet Montgomery (especially in Salem)Skills and Abilities: Black magic, demonic rites, omens/fortune telling, safe passage through the yard, shepherding of souls; Makes the best blueberry cinnamon pancakes, according to her boys (cooking/baking); Sewing, storytelling, quite good at lullabies; frustratingly good at poker, sudoku, and crosswords; history buff who can and will go on about it all; upsettingly high pain tolerance; can work around any schedule and balance any finances. Always on time. Also, not bad at dancing. Biography: Isabelle Valdis is the first in line for her family. That means a lot in the Valdis clan. It means that she gets control of the yard, and all the power it brings. … All of the responsibility, too. She’s known that for her whole life. Her father’s raised her to take on his duties when he passes. Most people hear that and think it must have been a loveless, or at the very least difficult, upbringing. Yes, there was a lot of work. Yes, there was a learning. But she was happy. She was loved. Her mother had been a witch, but had left her coven and so abandoned the title, but not the knowledge that came with it. For first four years of her life, Iza was the only recipient of that knowledge. Then her sister was born. Vanessa, Nessa to her friends, was next in line. That meant, no matter what she did, she would never have the power that Iza had. There were times this caused tension, of course, but not much. It’s just how it was for the family. And, as they got older, Vanessa decided she’d be happier without the responsibility. She could travel. Do as she pleased. It was nice. And Iza, for what it was worth, could stay in her yard as the matriarch of their clan. (And it never coven, always clan, just like it was never Izzy, always Iza.)

The sisters grew up in the valley, as did generations of their family before them. And they could both tell you exactly how many generations, too. Even name them off, if you asked, with, of course, emphasis on the first borns. They went to the same school as all of the other valley kids did. They played and swam in the reservoir. Skipped through the gravestones and hummed to the crows. Minded their sacrifices, and because of that could tell time at a much younger age than their classmates. They kept their secrets, and, with their parents, kept the oddities and abnormalities of the valley at bay, just as they always had, and so the townsfolk tolerated the strange family out by the graveyard, just as they always had. It was a nice life. Unconventional, but nice. As did all members of their family, they counted denizens of the underworld among their peers just as much as denizens of the valley. It was through eldritch whispers and phone calls that the sisters stayed on contact when Vanessa decided to strike out in the world. It was these whispers that notified the remaining Valdises of the Valley that the lifestyle of Las Vegas had caught up to Nessa a little too quickly. They mourned, of course. It was a tragedy. Being surrounded by death from day one does little to numb the loss of one of your own. That’s not to say any of them were surprised. There had been a single crow flying overhead when Nessa left. That always meant bad luck. It also meant that Iza was the last person left to keep watch over the strange little graveyard on the edge of the valley (excepting, of course, for her parents).

Iza was well-known for being pretty. Some would even call her beautiful. It was a distant sort of beauty, though. Ethereal. Off-putting in its unnatural-ness. She wasn’t a cold person by any means. She always had a smile and a joke or quip to share. She just seemed constantly detached from reality, just by a hair’s breadth. She had a few suitors, here and there. Some claimed to have gotten past that stage, but nobody ever knew if it was true. If you asked, she’d just as soon as laugh as shrug it off. Nobody could ever figure her out. And, of course, nobody wanted to stay at the funeral home on the edge of the valley, especially over night. There were… Stories. The sort of Stories that were always referred to with a capital S, even in verbal conversation. Nobody wanted to see how true they were. So, she remained unmarried. She was asked once by Mrs. Ludgate, while delivering a special package designed to ease Mr. Ludgate Sr.’s arthritis, if that bothered her. She had paused a moment, tilting her head just to the side and quirking her lips in that peculiar way of hers, before decisively brushing hair over her shoulder and replying that it didn’t. These things had a way of sorting themselves out, after all. Mrs. Ludgate thanked her for the package, hurried inside, and wondered if she ought to pray a bit extra on Sundays.

It was not long after that particular conversation that a sandstorm came to the valley. It brought with it one J.T. Cowell, ragged and weary from travel. Of course the Valdises welcomed him with open arms. They’re warlocks, not savages. Sometimes you have to take what fate throws at you in stride. Besides, what you put out into the world will come back at you threefold; everyone knew that, they’d say. (False. Not quite everyone.) So, provided they knock the appropriate amount of times, you can never be too generous with your hospitality.

That one dinner turned into a string of dinners. Iza thought he was charming. It did make things more difficult, though. He wasn’t Of the Blood. The more he knew, the more danger he’d be in. Besides, telling everything would spoil the fun.

She kept up with her studies, of course. Honed her family’s craft under her father, and learned about the matrilineal magic on her mother’s side. Not quite on par with the gravekeepers, but useful and interesting, nonetheless. She kept up her business about town. Many folks came to her to ask about the newcomer. Small towns, even those as secretive as the valley, love gossip. She rarely fed into it, though. Only ever tilted her head in that way of hers and smiled and gave the most sparing of details as she brought a special bottle (and some homemade cookies) to Mrs. Winters, who’d been having terrible back aches recently.

It was about four years later that the rumour mills got some new gossip: J.T. (still called the newcomer by some, but in an almost fond way now) and Iza were getting married. Some people thought they took things a bit fast. Others said it had taken more than long enough. Iza, for the record, thought it had taken the perfect amount of time. He’d become acclimated to the yard, and it to him. With the right steps and rituals, he’d be safe enough to start really knowing things, too.

She could finally introduce him to the hooded folks who insisted on forming cults around the family. They’d been starting to ask after him, so it was about time. They were at the ceremony, as well. Or, a few of them were. Not all of them, as they wouldn’t fit. The townsfolk came, too, though Mr. Reid, the preacher, sat in the crowd. Abraham conducted the ceremony, and nobody questioned where his authority came from. (You learned not to question the Valdises.) It was short, but everyone would agree, lovely, in its own detached, ethereal way. Very fitting. There was dancing, and music, and food and laughter. J.T.’s city dancing was a bit different than the local style, but after a few fumbled attempts, most people had found a happy middle-ground. The wine helped speed the process along. They were expecting their first child not long after. This set Iza’s mind at ease, as the succession would be carried on, and also, her parents hadn’t been faring very well. Adam was able to meet his grandparents, but only briefly. They’d retired long before he was born, so their passing didn’t change much for J.T., but it changed quite a bit for Iza. She was in charge of the yard, now, and all of the oddities that came with it. Of course, she was no stranger to death. Nobody in the family was. But it always hurt to lose a family member. The infernal beings she communicated with were quite happy to let her check in on the two of them when she’d like, so long as she kept up with the sacrifices, which helped, but it was never quite the same.

As always, she left most of the practical work to her husband, and his apprentice. She handled the more important things. The magic things. The things the other two couldn’t do. Not of the blood, you see. It would be dangerous for them to get too involved. So, she just handled it all on her own. She handled the phone calls, too. (Sometimes, those were part of the magic things.) It was one of these magic things that resulted in the conception of Kane. It was a simple ritual, really, and harmless if you ignored the fact that there was at least a 50% chance that the other party involved would end up dead. If not for that, she would have just relied on her husband. Interestingly, Paul did not die. Iza did not know how to feel about this. She settled on vaguely curious, somewhat surprised, but otherwise indifferent. Whatever. At least it meant less work for her husband. Then baby number 2 happened. It’s an interesting sensation, not being clear on who the father is. She already had to deal with the fact that it was going to be a magic child. She figured she’d deal with it as it came. There wasn’t anything she could do (or, wanted to do) to change this. She liked kids, and it would be good to have someone for Adam to play with. … Someone like him. It’d be good for all of them. She didn’t expect for Paul to be there forever, either. He was just learning. She figured he’d get his degree and move on to the city. The death valley yard had always been a family affair, after all. The boys would take over when they were old enough.

So now she had two little ones to teach the old ways. And to teach other things, too, of course. Important things. How to read, how to get all the extra icing off of the mixer when they were helping to ‘clean’ it, how best to win over Old Mrs. Miller at the bakery. You know, the real life skills. She made sure they minded their sacrifices and learned the importance of punctuality. How to properly respect Them. Most importantly, she taught them that they would always belong to the yard, to the family, and they would always be safe and loved within the home. It was safe.

She thought it was safe. She’d thought it would be a normal night. A normal sacrifice. As normal as anything ever is around the yard. Maybe she had a bit of a bad feeling, but that was to be expected on a night such as that. She’d distracted herself with thoughts of what to do for Adam’s birthday party tomorrow. The process she’d been practicing year and year again. Then the explosion rocked the house. Her home. Her family’s home. 

The fire spread fast. Faster than she’d seen before. She barely made it out of her room, flames gnashing teeth against her skin. She found her baby in the inferno. Held on to his hand as desperately as she could, letting him know that he wasn’t alone. She was there. For whatever good it did, she was there. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t know what to do. The last coherent thought she had was that, if any of her sacrifices had ever meant anything, the powers that be would make sure that her little boy survived.

Themesong: The Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars || Shuteye - Stealing SheepQuote: “That’s right. You respect them, you be polite, and you mind your pleases and thank-yous, but you don’t be afraid. You don’t ever be afraid. Because they can’t hurt you, not in this house.”

Name: Jacob Theodore CowellAliases: J.T., J (by Iza, mostly, though some others use it as well), Jake (Early childhood only), Jakob Jr. (Early childhood only), Teddy (Early childhood only), Teddy Jr. (Early childhood only), Pa[pa] (by Adam and Kane), the mortician, Red (by Nel and Joe)Gender/orientation: Cis male, heterosexual heteroromantic (He/him/his)Species: HumanFamily: Iza Valdis-Cowell (Nee Valdis) (Wife), Adam Valdis-Cowell (Son), Kane Valdis-Cowell (Son, not biological), Anabelle Louisa ‘Nel’ Cowell (Sister), Joseph Patrick Cowell (Brother, deceased), Liam Douglas Porter (Brother in law), Irene Heather Sutherland (Nee Cowell) (Sister), Oscar Howard Sutherland (Brother in law), Ryan Edward Cowell (Brother), Emmaline Daphne Cowell (Sister, deceased), Theodore Bartholomew Cowell (Father, deceased), Julia Kathrine Cowell (Nee Fontaine) (Mother, deceased) Residence: Valdis Family Funeral Home and Mortuary, Death Valley, Texas (current), Green River Ranch, Houston, Texas (childhood)Occupation: Gravedigger, mortician, coroner, carpenter (currently); previously: ranch hand, groundskeeper, chef, dishwasher, dogwalker. Face Claim: James Badge Dale (Especially in the Lone Ranger). Skills and Abilities: Carpentry, grave digging, motorcycle repair and riding, can and will hide cookies and snacks everywhere without people finding them, can quote most old crime dramas or detective books, very good at cutting grass, can play a harmonica, decent shot with a rifle, sons say he gives great shoulder rides, an odd ability to accept the weird things that go on, remarkably fast learner, somehow does not terribly embarrass himself in front of his crush, can and will nap anywhere, great with a lasso, horseback riding and cattle herding. Biography: J.T. likes to call himself a simple man. Always has been. nothing special there. He came from a big bunch of kids who grew up together on the family ranch on the outskirts of Houston. A bunch of hellions and rascals, people would say, but good kids. Spent most of their day at school or doing chores, and when unoccupied, each and every one of them had stories of sneaking into the Erikson orchard or playing with the calves or getting caught up to their knees in river mud hunting frogs or trying to charm the folks at the cafe out of a milkshake or two, with mixed results. They bickered and squabbled, as siblings sometimes did, but they loved each other, and any grievances were as short-lived and inconsequential as the mayflies that buzzed about their ears.

J.T. was the third oldest. Joe came first, and then Nel. She was only three minutes older than J.T., but she liked to pretend that counted. He always disagreed. After him came Emma, then Ryan, then Irene. J.T. was the first of his many siblings to go through a crisis of identity. He was named for his father, Theodore (Theo for short), and his grandfather, Jakob. When he was young, people referred to him as Jake. Some called him Jakob Jr., even though it wasn’t spelled the same way, and grandpa’s name was said closer to ‘Yakob’ than anything with a J. That didn’t work. Some people tried calling him Teddy (and Teddy Jr.). That didn’t fly, either. When he was on the cusp between twelve and thirteen, he put his foot down. From that day on, it was J.T. Most people were just glad that the confusion was gone. One Jacob - or Yakob - one Theodore, one J.T. Much easier come dinner time.

Like all of his siblings, J.T. helped out on the ranch. He liked riding the most, and had a knack for getting mischievous calves to behave. While he wasn’t the best at hiding, he was great at seeking, and, as any older sibling knows, being able to keep kids entertained is a quickly-learned skill. He didn’t really have much of a life plan. Didn’t think he’d need one. He just assumed he’d work at the ranch when he got older. It wouldn’t get passed to him, of course. Not unless his parents decided to be weirdly spiteful. It’d go to Joe, but he’d always promised that he’d never let his own brother go hungry. If J wanted to stick around and work for him, he’d be more than welcome.

Then the war started. The Cold War may not have seen any battles, but it did see conscription. J.T., for his part, had seen what conscription did. An old soldier - Old Man Black, Fred to his friends - lived not too far from the ranch, and, sitting on his porch chair with his crutches across his lap, he’d told more than a few curious young boys stories of what war was really like. J.T. didn’t want anything to do with it, so he ran. He didn’t know where he was going. All that mattered was that it was wherever the war wasn’t. (Joe didn’t run. He joined the army and was moved away, leaving the ranch to Nel. He’d later pass away during a tour. When J.T. eventually got in contact with his family again, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for this.)

J.T. was on the road for some time. A lot of walking, a lot of hitchhiking. A lot of sleepless nights and odd jobs to put a roof over his head. A lot of skipping to the next town when people started to get suspicious. That’s how he found himself in the valley.

He didn’t even know there was a town there.

He was sure it hadn’t been on the map a minute ago.

But, then again, who was he to question it? So he did what he did whenever he came to a new town; He tried to find a place to stay. The valley was a typical small town in that its residents were not kind to outsiders, especially raggedy ones that showed up out of the blue with little by way of money and rifles slung over their backs (he wasn’t dim enough to travel unarmed). Unsurprisingly, no doors were opened to him. With a dust storm visible on the horizon, he had no choice but to turn to the last remaining option: the eerie funeral home on the edge of town. There was a car in the drive, so he had to assume people were there. He knocked on the door. It opened. J.T. found himself looking up, which he was not accustomed to doing. Before he could get a word in edgewise, he was told that he looked exhausted, and all but shoved into the entrance way. According to his new host, he was just in time for dinner. The towering statue of a man (who J.T. would eventually come to know as Abe, the master of the yard) called to someone inside the home, and J.T. found himself suddenly unable to speak.

Oh.

Well, he might not know how the valley worked (or, in that moment, how to form coherent sentences), but he did know how to behave in front of a lady. He was raised beside a barn, not in one. He joined them for dinner that night, was given a hot shower and a place to stay. Even got to wash his clothes. At breakfast the next morning, he was told that he could stay as long as he’d like, provided he helped around the property. That seemed fair enough to him, and so, once he could tear his eyes away from the sly smile of the mortician’s daughter, he agreed. And so it was that he became the mortician’s apprentice. It wasn’t all at once, of course. It started with simple chores around the house. Then helping him measure out the wood. Keeping tools organized, cataloging the different chemicals. Before he knew it, J.T. was building caskets of his own, and dressing up corpses… Well, not with the best of them. Abraham was the best, is what J.T. would tell anyone who asked. He himself just did the best he could. That applied to his work as a mortician, and his attempts to woo ‘Miss Iza’. He was head over heels, as anyone could see. He found her to be whip-smart and beautiful, but even more than that, she was funny. They had a similar sense of humour, and could often be found laughing together as he trailed along behind her like a faithful bloodhound. Anything she needed done, he’d do. In turn, she helped him feel a bit more at ease about all the odd goings-on around the home. Yes, it was normal to have that many crows. Yes, that head did move around the yard sometimes, but no, it wouldn’t hurt you. Yes, we do hang cinnamon in every outwards-facing door and yes, it is important. It became a running joke in the family that, whenever J.T. called Iza’s name in a bewildered and slightly hesitant voice, it meant he had discovered something new, and that it ought to happen at least once a day or they weren’t doing their jobs right.

Eventually, he just stopped being surprised. There’s only so much weird one can take before it stops seeming weird and just becomes normal. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bat an eye when the young man who would become his assistant showed up at their door. They let him stay the night, gave him food and a place to sleep. Adam, not quite one year old at the time, was quite perplexed at all of this, and preferred just huddling in his parents’ arms and staring. Abraham had passed not too long before, and so J.T. thought the Newcomer’s (a title no longer belonging to him) arrival was quite timely. Work had been piling up, and he was the father of a young child. So he took Paul under his wing. The man was relatively quick to learn, J.T. supposed, if not a bit socially awkward. It would be a bit longer before he got invited out with his mentor to drinking and pool nights down at the pub.

Much like his wife before him, J.T. would be flocked with locals asking after the stranger he’d taken in. He was much less secretive, and spent more than a few nights regaling the friends he’d made with tales of his apprentice’s oddities. He couldn’t complain, though. The boy was clever and got the work done, and that’s all he could ask. He gave Paul a lot of work, especially when his second child was on the way. Had to take care of the missus and the little one, after all. And the soon-to-be little one. He was happy. He knew he probably wouldn’t have as many kids as his own parents had; the funeral home wasn’t big enough. Hell, he wasn’t sure that the valley itself was big enough. But he thought that it was important for his son to have a sibling. He couldn’t imagine growing up alone.

Parenthood, he’d discovered, was not too dissimilar to being an older sibling. there was more to it, of course. More work. More sleepless nights. Oddly enough, more embarrassing things saved up to talk about at weddings. (He hadn’t seen that one coming.) His boys were troublemakers, and he didn’t understand one half of where they came from (he made sure to make himself scarce when they were doing the Unexplainable Business with their mama), but he adored them. Little scamps. He had no idea where all of their energy came from. One second, they’d be in the yard, then the workshop, then the embalming room, and he’d have no idea how they got there. Adam especially was good at turning up in otherwise locked rooms. It took a while for J.T. to stop jumping out of his skin whenever that happened. Just part of parenthood, he told himself. Didn’t seem to be hurting anybody. At least he hadn’t set the couch on fire, like Kane had that one time. It had taken forever to get the smoke smell out.

J.T. didn’t feel like an outsider in the valley any more. He hadn’t felt that way for a long time. Hadn’t left, either. The need never arose. He had come to the realization that the valley was about as self-contained as it got, and that he didn’t mind at all. … But his family was out there. Not his wife and kids, but his siblings. He realized about then that he hadn’t spoken to them for a while. Not since before he got married. … Oh. He had a few things to catch them up on. Whoops. Might want to do that now.

So he did. Took some effort, but he was able to call the ranch again. Nel answered. Their parents had retired (still alive, fortunately, just retired), Joe was dead, and surprise, she was now an aunt to two kids. Both of them were faced with more information than they’d expected upon waking up that morning. It was another phone call or two before the awkwardness faded. There was something odd about knowing someone like the back of your hand, losing sight of them briefly, and then suddenly knowing nothing. It’s jarring. They had a lot of things to work out. Once it was all taken care of, they actually arranged to have the boys come up to the ranch a few times in the summer breaks. Might not have been the same as living there, but he was glad the two of them got to experience Houston life, even a little bit. They talked about making it more of a regular thing. Let the boys learn how to ride, how to herd, how to run a different kind of yard, and give the ranch a few extra hands.

He’d had a lot of plans for his boys as they grew up. He never got to see it happen.

He’d been downstairs when the fire broke out. He could have made it to the door. He wasn’t that far away, just in the waiting room going over what he’d have to get done tomorrow. Yes, they should have been celebrating, but there’s only so long you can postpone an embalming before it becomes a mess. He could have reached the door, could have broken a window. But his wife was upstairs. His youngest was upstairs.

(He was grateful for having sent Adam out for those extra chores. At least he would be safe.)

If he left them to die, he’d have no reason to live. 

Given that he never made it out, it seemed he didn’t have much reason to worry about that.

Themesong: Crazy Train (Wild West Edition) - samuraiguitarist || Way Down We Go - KALEOQuote: “And Paul… Paul, my oldest friend this side of the Mississippi. I only got one thing to say to you: There ain’t no laws in Hell, partner. I’ll be waiting.” 

[brothersgrim]

◇ taker and raile or grandparents and Emmy uwu

Send a ◈ for a first kiss between our muses. || Accepting

“Oh, hello!” She’s delighted. Utterly delighted. It’s been so long since she’s seen a baby. “Hello, angel! J, isn’t she just the sweetest?” The specter that had once been Isabelle leans over the edge of the crib, beaming and cooing as she presses a kiss to the baby’s head. Her husband stands at her side, wiping hands on his incorporeal jeans. Even in death, he feels almost too rough around the edges to handle an infant - but that doesn’t stop a smile from curling underneath his mustache.

“She’s got his nose,” he agrees, propping his elbow on the cradle’s corner. “Don’t she look so much like her daddy?” Iza mimics his grin and lightly bonks her head against his shoulder.

“Oh, she does.” Iza’s voice is almost a singsong as she leans back down. “Is this your first Samhain, sweet girl?”

“Must be.” J.T. reaches down to tickle the baby’s tummy with his pointer finger, just like he did to his own children over forty years ago. 

… They both freeze when the baby giggles and tries to grab onto his hand.

“Uh.” J.T. blinks. “Iza?” She puffs the air out of her cheeks and shakes her head.

“We’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do when the night’s over.”  

[brothersgrim]

Mom and Dad, what are your thoughts on Raile and her persistence to be Adam's friend? What about Elise and her gifts for Kane? Do either of them seem trustworthy with your boys?

Send “👩🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Mother will answer || Accepting

Send “👨🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Father will answer || Accepting

Send “💑+ Question” and both of my Muse’s parents will answer. || Accepting

Isabelle raises an eyebrow and shrugs. 

“I’m not sure about them, yet.” Her words are honest, if not a bit detached. 

“They seem alright, I suppose.” J.T. rests his fingers on the brim of his hat. He squinted up at the sky. “The one giving things to Kane-”

“Elise.” Isabelle cuts in. 

“Right,” he nods, brushing his knuckles affectionately over her shoulder. “Her. Assuming she has good intentions, then, it’s high time people started taking Kane’s condition seriously. High time. People have been pushing him around for far too long.” He hooks his other thumb through his belt to hide how his hands tense. 

“People won’t believe us,” Isabelle leans her head on his shoulder. “And Kane probably won’t accept it, not at this point, but he needs people to be more patient with him. Even if that means accepting that sometimes he just needs to write things down.” 

“But with Kane’s luck, I’m not so sure it’ll turn out that way.” J.T. frowns. “I just hope he and his brother can stay on speaking terms. Adam’s always been good at letting Kane know when things ain’t right.”

“Speaking of Adam, that other girl, Raile? She’s got her work cut out for her.” Isabelle folds her arms loosely over her chest. “Like I said earlier, he’s never been very cuddly. There’s nothing wrong with that, he just likes to keep himself to himself.”

“Dunno what she’s looking for in him. Most would say chasing Death ain’t the healthiest habit.” J.T. shrugs. “But, I’ve been a corpse for over forty years, so, maybe I can’t be talking.”

“Either way, I think it’s fair to say we don’t know either of them well enough to say we trust them. Especially not with our children.” 

“Let’s just hope they don’t screw it up.”

[brothersgrim]

💏 what do you think about Kane's daughter?

Send “👩🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Mother will answer || Accepting

Send “👨🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Father will answer || Accepting

Send “💑+ Question” and both of my Muse’s parents will answer. || Accepting

“Well,” J.T. takes a moment to gather his thoughts (and there are a few of ‘em). “She’s a good kid. And he deserves to have someone like her.” 

“It’s been a long time since he was happy.” Isabelle runs her fingers over a stray lock of her own hair, staring at something imperceptible on the ground. “After all he’s been through, I was worried he never would be, again.” She smiles, pushing the stray hairs behind her ear. 

“But, that little one’s doing him good. So I think he’s gonna be okay. They’re both gonna be okay.”

“What I don’t understand,” J.T. begins, brow furrowed, “Is the whole ‘keep it secret’ business. Why not just kill the husband from the start?” He shoots his wife a quizzical look, and is rewarded when she laughs.

“I think that might land our boy in a bit of hot water, J,” she doesn’t bother to hide her grin.

“Not if he burns the evidence.” J.T. is convinced this plan is foolproof, resting his arms on the shovel as a show of confidence.

“That’s true.” Now she’s seriously considering this. “The folks down here aren’t too picky. They’d take him as a sacrifice.” 

“Exactly.” Now there’s triumph in his voice and a sparkle in his eye. “She’s gonna need her daddy, just like he’s gonna need her. Besides. Real men don’t hit their wives and kids. Real men hit people for their wives and kids. End of story.” Isabelle smiles and loops her arm in her husband’s. 

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Nothin’ to argue about.”

And they walk off as they fade out of reality.

…

…

…

Oh! There’s someone else here!

The new specter fades in slowly, hesitantly, looking this way and that before fully materializing. It puffs out its chest in a show of confidence far too grandiose for its nervous entrance. 

“Now, I don’t know if my eyes are failing me in the afterlife, but I do believe this was supposed to be answered by Kane’s father.” That last word is said with a bit more emphasis, with the new ghost leaning forwards to spit each syllable in the direction the other two had gone. Paul’s spirit lets out an indignant huff as he stands, gripping his lapels. 

“That girl of his ain’t nothing but trouble. Sure, she’s all cute and sweet now, but that’s just gonna make him soft.” His face contorts in exaggerated disgust. “I helped him, out of the goodness of my heart! I helped him get to where he is today, as one of the most feared men to ever step in that ring! I raised him all those years and asked nothing in return, excepting what a son owes his daddy,” (an almost self-satisfied smirk that falls flat), “And now he’s gonna throw it all away for some trumped-up jezebel and their brat? He’s pathetic. I thought he was better than that.” Paul shakes his head.

“And, besides. He ain’t cut out to be a parent. You know how he gets.” And his expression softens, suddenly full of concern for the child he just denounced. “It’s only gonna be a matter of time before he burns that house down. It’s not safe for her, either. He should just give up and come on back to me - it’s what’s best for everybody.”

… Perhaps this ghost was smart to wait until the other two are gone. It seems that they might not get along well. 

[brothersgrim]

SEND QUESTIONS TO MY MUSE’S PARENTS!! || ACCEPTING

Anonymous asked:

Iza, are you disappointed with your family for losing track of your sons?

“Yes.” She’s not mincing words. Brow tense - not quite furrowed - and eyes sharp - not quite a glare. Jaw tense in a way that her sons replicated so well. “Of course I am.” Her arms are crossed, and if the ends of her dress are smoldering, the specter doesn’t notice. Or, more likely, she doesn’t care.

“For a family that places so much value on lineage and the importance of the name,” she frowns derisively, “they’re awfully quick to forget their own when it’s convenient.” A pause, and she looks to the side. The anger simmers and fades into grief, to guilt. A softening of the eyes, a sinking of the shoulders.

“I can’t help but wonder.” She raises one hand to play with a lock of hair, smoothing the ends over and over. “What would have happened to my boys, if they had been picked up by another branch? Obviously, it couldn’t be any worse, but...” She sighs, closes her eyes for a moment. Sinks her teeth into her lower lip to steady herself.

“I just...” Another breath in and out. A bit shaky, this time. “They didn’t deserve that. No child deserves what my boys went through. There’s not a lot of point in dwelling on the past, I know that. No use in would-haves and might-beens. Won’t change nothing. We can only look to the future through the lens of the present.” She folds her hands in front of her. It’s a soft grip, at first, but gradually tightens as she continues to speak. “I just wonder what it would’ve taken for my boys to be allowed happiness. What I’d’ve had to do to see them treated well. What miracle,” her frown deepens, “I’d’ve had to perform to get the attention of the family. My boys were just children...” Her hands are tight, now. White-knuckle grips even as her face remains... Neutral is not the best descriptor, but it is close.

Cold.

That was the word.

In spite of the billowing smoke and cracking, snapping sounds of an inferno, she looked frigid.

“But again, no point in dwelling on the past. Only thing we can do now is remind ‘em all why they need to fear the future.”

[brothersgrim]

Jewel: ‘ you call that a hug? ’ - literally the both of them

* soft family things

The boys let go. Adam looked at Kane. Kane looked at Adam. There was a few seconds where neither one said anything. That was a challenge. And as any boy their age knows, you don’t back down from a challenge. Without warning, but with much enthusiasm, the two brothers tackle their new favourite sitter, wrapping their arms around her as tight as they could. 

“You know,” Iza says, looking up from where she’s penciling in the Ryans’ appointment for casket fitting, “They’re never gonna let you leave.”

[brothersgrim]

“💑+ do you watch over Adam's daughter when he is away? A small child in the underworld can get into a lot of trouble."

Send “👩🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Mother will answer || Accepting

Send “👨🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Father will answer || Accepting

Send “💑+ Question” and both of my Muse’s parents will answer. || Accepting

The specters shoot each other a look that’s almost… Nervous? Somewhat. 

“Not in the Keep.”  J.T. looks down, digging the heel of his boot into the earth (the dirt remains undisturbed; he has no physical bearing on the world, after all). “Never the Keep.” 

“Most souls don’t go anywhere near there.” Isabelle shrugs. As usual, she’s much more comfortable discussing the occult than her husband is. “It’s not for us. It’s a fortress, you see. The Devil himself runs it, and Adam- Or, the Stygian, I suppose, rules over it personally. Nobody gets in or out without his permission.”

“Not that there’s any bad blood,” J.T. adds. “Just that he- It-? He, doesn’t really let anyone in. For our own good. That place is bad news.” 

“We have met her,” Isabelle folds her hands in front of her apron. “Between his work in the keep and his work on the mortal plane, he can’t keep an eye on her all of the time. Kane helps when he can, but he’s busy, too. So we’ve shown her around some of the safer parts of the underworld, before. I used to sing her to sleep when she was a baby.” 

“I know we haven’t aged a day since we died,” J.T. smiles along with his wife. “But nothing makes you feel older than chasing after a little kid when your own are all grown.” 

“You don’t need to worry about her.” Isabelle brushes some hair from her face. “Nothing can hurt her, there. Nothing would try. And if she does manage to get out, well… We’ll always be here to make sure she gets home safely.”

[brothersgrim]

👩🏻 'finally a witch at the home'? aren't you a witch??

Send “👩🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Mother will answer || Accepting

Send “👨🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Father will answer || Accepting

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“Oh, no, no no.” She shakes her head. “That’s a common misconception, but, no.”

“I’m a sorceress. One of my ancestors was a warlock, though. So I suppose I do have ‘witch blood’, as folks are fond of saying.”