#A Guy-a Girl-and some Goo|Eddie-Beth-Beloved

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave {{part the first}} It doesn't matter whether she pays or not. Beth has the double-edged sword that she's never wanted for any material thing, never had fear of covering a bill, never has gone hungry because of scarcity, and even if she spent her entire trust fund in pursuit of charitable things, she still has a good paying job. What upsets her is when he calls himself a name and she frowns, looking up at him sharply. She know's he's trying to make a joke but she hates it when he does that. "Don't." Beth rarely ever poses something as a demand. But when she does, there's a lasting weight to it. "No talk about yaself li'dat. Is not dat I got a problem wi' houseless people, an' you know dat but it hurts me wen you put yaself down." Another semi-awkward pause before Eddie flashes him that smile of his. He prologues his gift with a touch of playfulness, with his intention behind it. Her eyes dart toward his hand, first taking in the shape and landscape of his fingers before they lock onto the shape in his palm. She recognises the haematite immediately, it being one of her favourite stones, and she knows its properties, too. The absorption of negative energy and toxic emotions. Promotion of clarity and focus. Grounding with the way it strengthens connections with the earth, and providing security. It is a symbol of protection. The shape is a different matter. He knows she loves the silent, swift predators. She isn't sure what he thinks of them, but Beth… Beth knows Teanoi, the great shark, the father of all Rokea, as a war totem. He offers his children courage and strength, endurance and his all-powerful bite. The ultimate hunter, vicious and unforgiving of those who invade His territory, Shark is primal, unchanged since His beginnings. Gaia made him perfect from the start, so he is immune to time. Shark is perhaps unique amongst the totems as he is the most fair. He gives His favour as He sees fit, and asks for nothing in return from her kin. From kinfolk and menahune who seek His patronage, all Shark asks is that they protect the seas that are His home, and destroy anyone or anything that threaten harm to the world's oceans. Of course she will think of Them when she sees it, when it lay warm against her skin. Her hand comes to rest against his, the pendant resting between them, and her fingertips graze his wrist. "I don' t'ink dere's any material kine you could attach to da heart an' wha' it wants, wha' it loves. It's enough t' know dat you are happy, an' healt'y, and dat I…" She demurely dips her head in place of the words he knows she can't say. Dere was nevah any race, any cut. Not f' me, Ekkie." She rises like a fragile wave and sweeps slowly forward, tilting her head at the last minute and capturing his lips in a sharp but sweet kiss.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Name: "Edward Charles Allan Brock. Most people call me Eddie. Most people don't even know I got two middle names. An' only one person in the whole universe calls me Ekkie. Takin' bets right now on who that could be."

Age: "I'm, uhm... somewhere north'uh thirty. Maybe pushin' forty. Maybe just the slightest shade over it. That's not too old, right...?"

Do you like to cuddle?: "When it's someone I care about, hell yes. We oughta be promotin' physical contact more, y'know? Keeps us connected."

Can we make-out?: "I'm pretty much always down for that. But it happens only when you're ready. Not a single second before, an' not an instant longer than you wanna."

A night in or dinner out?: "If I'm honest? I like a nice night in. It can be small, intimate, a 'just us' kinda deal, where we can make googly eyes at each other an' say whatever comes to mind, not gotta worry about what anyone else sees or hears. Also, 'dinner out' has sort of a specific connotation for... Us. Means gettin' dressed up, one way or another. ... Hang on, why're you grinnin' like that? What'd I say?"

Whip cream or chocolate syrup?: "Hey, don't get me wrong, whipped cream tastes good an' all, but--" "This is not even a question. It is a matter of life and death. You do not wish Me to starve, do you?" "Okay, chill out."

Chocolates and roses?: "Think we've already established it, but when there's a Klyntar around, it's a 'hell yeah' on the chocolate. An' as for roses, I mean... I'm not really so much for flowers most'uh the time, but I gotta say, I'm lookin' right at the rose for me."

What makes you a good Valentine?: "Guess we could consider the source. Taken my share'uh beatdowns. Got my whole life stomped into the ground, really, for actin' out how people in charge never wanted me to. Maybe some'uh the stuff I've done was wrong, but I really try to do the right thing, an' I'm never gonna stop tryin' to do right by the person that saved me."

Would you cook for me?: "Point me in the general direction'uh your kitchen an' you'll see what I can whip together."

Would you let me cook for you?: "Let's be real, here, babe, you wouldn't let you cook for me. S'okay. Nobody's perfect at everything."

Where would you take me on a date?: "Clarion Alley, over in the Mission district. Artwork's incredible. Not enough words in the dictionary to describe the feelings you get when you see it. An' then, some Smitten Ice Cream. Get you a scoop'uh cherry, with sprinkles on it."

Who’s paying?: "Well... technically, it'd be you, wouldn't it? You did kinda pick up a bum on a bench."

What did you get me for Valentine’s Day?: "Yeah... so... you probably got like a dozen'uh these stashed somewhere, but, y'know, you find this in black an' you think, 'Maybe she'll think'uh Us when she looks in the jewelry cabinet an' sees it...' " An extended hand opens, revealing a hematite pendant in a very familiar shape, strung upon a simple black cord.

"T'be honest, if I had all the money in the world, still feels like there's nothin' I could buy equal to the task'uh lettin' you know just how much you mean to me. I'm the happiest man in the world just to get to see you smile. I'm glad I made the cut."

Better Together || -

The quiz had been tagged to her on her Adventures of A Nurse Shark blog. She'd mulled it over for a few days. No one could blame her for ignoring it outright; Valentine's Day has always been antithetical to every belief she's ever had about love and joy and trying to show the people she cares about just how much she does. But Eddie sees it the day before and over her shoulder he reads the questions. A kiss to her temple precedes him pouring her a cup of coffee. He returns to the kitchen and is gone for a few minutes before returning to the breakfast nook. The day is too wet and chilly to enjoy breakfast on the terrace and will be for another month or two. He slings himself into the booth next to her and she watches as he assumes what she sometimes thinks of as Interview Face. And with almost perfect recall he launches into answering each of questions. She will always be impressed with his way with words, maybe even to the point of envy. She also really likes his full name. It rings with something traditional, something that speaks to a nostalgic romance novel, in which he could very much be a rake of the Ton. Only Elikapeka Ailine Alohaekaunei Kahanuola'Ilikea'wahine Riley doesn't exactly fit in with that daydream, so she'll stick with what they have here. Hearing himself say Ekkie makes her blush. "Is fine. Gonna be t'irty-five come June, so we're of an age. An' I happen f' like a slightly older man." She winks, hopes he takes that playfully. She nods when he talks about cuddling, he knows her well enough now that she doesn't feel the need to explain touch. The making out part though? A slight feeling of discomfort that she can't put her finger on. "Dat's very noble, an' I mean…believin' li'dat certainly got you a long way wi' me…but you know it's two way avenue, right? I…nevah mind, go on." Eddie is a master, too, of subject change without making it feel like something awful to guilt herself over. "I happen to enjoy you in a suit…an' when Beloved makes himself manifest. Bo'd are dey own kind of sexy. And I would nevah starve you, Beloved. But point taken. Whip cream and chocolate syrup." Her smile carries through on the chocolate follow-through, and Beth would be a liar if she said she didn't like the Ghirardelli toasted coconut dark chocolate bar, and the dark chocolate raspberry squares. Of all the places Beloved could have found Himself with Eddie? San Francisco is a good choice. The mood turns a little more sombre when he turns his gaze inward. She hates that all of that is true as far as she knows. Comparatively, Eddie's ups and downs are worse and wide-spread than her own, and she doesn't have a leg to stand on when it comes to complaints. She could argue with him until she's blue in the face that he is a good man, and his missteps aren't really indicative of his personal character. "Dis isn't…I don' evah wan you t' feel like…you owe me anyt'ing. Dat wha' we have is base on what you do for me…I dunno how t' explain. But if I evah make you feel like you owe me anyt'ing, jus' tell me." There's a momentary pause and she fills it internally of an inventory to see if she ever took him for granted, or made him feel like their relationship was conditional. The fear of doing so tightens her belly. Outwardly she fiddles with the rim of her coffee cup before taking a sip of it. Eddie cooks for her because he seems to enjoy it and she's adequately explained that she doesn't because she doesn't need to burn down the house, or poison Them. What she's never had to do was explain the why, though with her prescriptions in the medicine cabinet she doesn't think she would have to lay it all out. Something he confirms a breath later and she chuckles about it. The date though? "Sounds wonderful, an' really very t'oughtful. I'd love t' go out wi' you." {{part the second}}

[brooklynislandgirl]

{{ 🥂💋 }}

New Year's celebrations in San Francisco have their own volume, pitch, and timbre. The feel of it is ill-defined, save that there are moments where Eddie senses a ring of familiarity to them… something in the air, the music, the camaraderie amongst street-bound partygoers that will catch his ear at just the right angle and velocity to make him think of Brooklyn.

It's as momentary as it is ephemeral, though, and with the passage of an instant, the auditory tumblers click out of alignment and remind him that it's been years since he was there. Soon enough, there will be a fireworks display that's more bright and colorful than the glitz and glamour of New York, Chicago, or maybe even the likes of Paris or Sydney. The shine of it will reflect just as brightly against the waters of the bay as the sun does in the daylight.

In years past, the biggest problem has been the sound of the fireworks. Eddie might not take issue with the pops and booms and rattatattatats… but his Other requires a far different level of consideration. And so it has been for His sake that Eddie has avoided the show since Their arrival here.

It's only now, on the screen of Beth's television and through the modest windows of her townhouse, that They can finally enjoy the display as They need to. In safe quietude, dazzled by the light.

But maybe more dazzled by the young woman who has him trapped adoringly beneath her on the couch. Whose arms are wrapped about his waist. Whose face is nuzzled against his sternum, where she can smell his hoodie and the scent of the man beneath it.

He brings one hand up to stroke her hair, hoping he might inspire her to glance up at him as the final seconds of the countdown ring in excitement over the television. It is the final New Year's countdown of the Lower 48. Hawai'i will follow up in two hours.

They wonder if Beth will want to make special note of that moment. Eddie tucks it into the back pocket of his short-term memory while he reaches for the bottle of beer he's been sipping at, and smiles when Beth lifts her head from his chest.

God, she's gorgeous.

His full lips curve more, into a grin just a slight more crooked. "Always wanted to know what it feels like, ringin' in a new year with a kiss."

Champagne Kisses || -

Beth often tells Eddie that being a witch comes with a lot of baggage, rules, inconveniences. All magick comes with a certain kind of cost. Or, more correctly, she tells him being a witch means she has phenomenal cosmic powers but an itty-bitty living space, to quote one of her favourite childhood films. She waited until he told her he'd be swinging by Mrs Chen's store on his way out to grab dinner ~she's not sure if he means theirs…or Theirs~ to get some last minute things. And in the time that he was gone, Beth used her mana to provide an extra buffer of sound-dampening throughout the house. It is a fairly minor alteration of forces to create the ward, but the reasoning behind it is beyond meaning to her, and to Eddie, too, if she'd felt the need to explain. It is simply an act of love to protect their Klyntar from things that could hurt Him. Beth didn't mind in the least; even on her best days she struggles with sounds. So many of them are far too loud that they drown out all the other things going on. This way, she can ensure that neither she nor Beloved have to struggle while still enjoying the lights of the season. The night passes peacefully. They eat together while watching one of his favourite movies, and even Beth has to agree it was pretty funny. Eddie doesn't mind that she has the captions on. Or when he has to explain a joke to her. They do up the two whole forks they've dirtied and put the trash out and the recycling in their respective bins. They settle in for the Rockin' New Years special, though they both lament that Ryan Seacrest isn't as good as Dick Clark. It could have literally been anything though because she's more interested in burrowing herself into Eddie's chest, a time or two managing to actually get her head and shoulders under his hoodie but above his tee-shirt. Scent has always been her second strongest sense, and she finds the combination of his soap, antiperspirant, his skin, and the traces of Beloved that linger on the surface to be the most welcoming and comforting ones in her life. That and Eddie is perfectly wonderful to star-fish as she likes. He doesn't seem to mind it either. She wonders if he noticed that she'd kissed him at nine pm on the dot. Which is midnight in New York, the first breath of the New Year. There should totally be something about the two things having the same initials but Beth can't quite think of it as she glances into his gaze afterwards. It's now almost midnight in San Francisco and even without being able to read minds, she can feel him coaxing her into sitting up. Hard to kiss one another when she's face-planting his heartbeat. For the tiniest fraction of a second she thinks about being an absolute goblin and refusing to move but she knows he might not find that funny and even go so far as to think she's mad at him, rather than teasing. It also would mean she'd miss out on her second big kiss. She might also be a tad jealous of that bottle and strikes even by relieving him of it, and putting her lips where his had just been. "Couldn't tell ya," she says, and giggles. A blush shines across her cheeks and nose. Nothing at all to do with the minuscule sip of beer and everything to do with the man it belongs to. Eddie is beautiful. She adores that crooked grin of his. The way it always seems to shine like starlight in his eyes. And Eddie is hers, something that surprises and delights her every day. She leans into him and her mouth is soft in its fullness as she presses it to his. In the way her lips part with a breathy smile, and then wider still as she seeks to deepen the kiss. Her arms leave his waist and wend their way around his neck. Her whole body shifts to that she can straddle his lap and properly hold him close to her. Light and love flow through her, ever steady on until at long last she has to pull back if only to catch a bit of that depleted breath. "Hauʻoli Makahiki hou, Ekkie," she whispers, nose tip to nose tip.

She'll tell him that again, if she's able to speak in another two hours as they lie tangled up in each other. When she nuzzles her way up from his neck to his lips at the last yawn of this beginning. Maybe she'll even make it a point to do it every day for the twelve months to come.

[brooklynislandgirl]

"She's a 10, but that's only because the dial doesn't go any higher." (Eddie)

Wait For It....||

It's been over two months since Eddie has seen Beth. She's been there every day, but the light in her eyes was eclipsed by an imbalance that she has little control over. Overtures he's made in trying to offer her companionship, comfort, and nourishment through grilled cheese and even protein shakes to little avail. During those days she was wholly aware of his concern and the moment it became fear but there was little she could do to allay those worries. She's been living with this for twenty or so years now and she's well versed in the little signs that a low was coming. She managed to hide it for so long by renting a hotel suite under a multitude of shadow-names and using only cash so he didn't see any of the charges she would rack up; one of her greatest fears was for Eddie to see her when she was in the thick of an episode. But they've come to a point in their relationship that this isn't a feasible strategy. So Eddie got to see the listlessness that eventually teeters into testiness. The days and days of sleep broken up only by occasional trips to the restroom. By his willingness to more or less doing all the heavy lifting when it comes to getting her in and out of the tub. Of letting her cry or curl up into him. Yesterday had been better than most. She moved around the townhouse slowly but of her own accord. Managed to make it into the yard and sat beneath her Tree for a little while. Afterwards she gets out a struggle of an apology and he's quick to allay her qualms. When he suggests maybe getting her some coffee, she actually says she wouldn't mind going with him. Maybe getting a sandwich while they're out. It isn't much but she knows it's a small victory with him. They're sitting in the sunshine and Beth already knows. There are bags under her eyes and her tawny skin is a touch sallow. Her hair is freshly washed but not styled; it looks like a mess. She knows she's a mess…but he doesn't seem to care about it. She toys with the edge of her napkin, having taken a single bite of the sandwich, but she's managed to get half the vanilla soy latte down without trouble. The women the next table over are the nasty kind, casting glances their way and as they leave, they make sure Beth knows Eddie could do so much better. For a minute, she is absolutely certain Beloved would take the opportunity to snack on fresh meat but Eddie is a little quicker than even his Other. He leans over and addresses the tie-dye clad Uncle at the table on the other side and makes the comment he does. It earns him a mayfly laugh as she looks away because she doesn't really believe it. It has to be enough that Eddie does. She, too, addresses the Uncle. "An' he a ten…but…he's mine…which makes him bo'd a ten-t'ousand, an' my one an' only."

[brooklynislandgirl]

When it comes to the gifts that Eddie Brock possesses, clothing is little more than an affectation. Strictly speaking, he doesn't need it. For more time in his life than he's prepared to admit to most people, he went almost entirely without it; his Other did the heavy lifting for guarding his modesty. But there are some places, such as beaches -- no matter how secluded Beth assures him this one is -- where he finds it easier to conform to the societal expectation that certain bits be stowed from sight.

Not that it matters much. The look on Beth's face to be so close to Pacific waters is nearly as radiant as the overhead sun, with nary a cloud in the sky. There's no hope for him out here. Regardless of how much sunscreen she had helped him apply, he still feels like he's a cookie mid-bake. And his heart is melting into chocolate goo over that beaming smile of hers.

He really has no regrets about coming out here. Not at all. Not even when he'd faltered seventeen times in a row on the surfboard she'd loaned him and eaten -- not gulped, he would insist, but eaten -- seawater each and every time. Nor when he'd trailed his bedraggled behind back onto the beach and slumped ignominiously down on the hot sand beside her beach towel. She's aglow with the kiss of the sun, and those sunglasses are almost comically too large for her face, but damn if they don't complete the look. She is a picture of absolute adoration.

And then he risks ruining it by opening his mouth.

❝ I got sand in places sand should never be… ❞

In The Summertime || Accepting

She pulls her sunglasses low to watch Eddie over the top of their rims, wearing the smile of a woman so incredibly in love, because that is what she is. In love with the world right now, the familiar salt kiss of her Mother, the whisper of Her waves that doesn't carry any traffic or city noise. The Pacific stretches endlessly toward the horizon and if she had far enough vision she might catch a glimpse of her islands. She is in love with Helios and the heat shining down onto them, a change from San Francisco's mild temperatures and drizzle. But mostly, Beth is incredibly in love with Eddie Brock. For all that he is red despite the sunscreen, and wearing board shorts because Beloved might not enjoy the heat like she does, he is still beautiful. He's done everything she could possibly ask; from coming on this impromptu vacation, waking at sunrise for dawn patrol, practising his own prowess ~or lack thereof~ on a borrowed board; one of the largest ones in her quiver, because her smaller ones were not really a good fit for the big waves. She beams at him, and for once doesn't seem so self-conscious in this, her natural environment, her still drying hair gone fully native and framing her face. Her skin tawny and glistening in the afternoon light. She laughs crystalline and pure when he grumps at his travails, making it only worse for himself when he doesn't bother with the towel she'd brought for him. Taking her glasses off and setting them aside, atop of her book, she scoots closer to him, before leaning her head into the solid wall of his chest. The kisses pressed into his sandy skin are softly romantic, lacking teeth but no less passionate for all that she is feeling tender. "We could go back up f' da beach house, an' I could help you shower all of it down da drain. You could stretch out on da bed, an' I'll rub da stiffness out of your muscles, den you can take a nap while I make dinner." By dinner, she means making the chicken-pecan-cranberry salad that she recently learned how to make. There's no actual cooking involved, more simply mixing and toasting the sourdough bread they'd brought to the bed and breakfast she'd rented for said holiday out of the city. They are still within delivery range if he wanted something more substantial that didn't require Eddie to do the lion's share of cooking, but she seems intent on spoiling him. Her fingers flirt with his ribs, and she fixes him with a deliriously happy sidelong glance. "I even have a surprise...dere's a flourless dark chocolate an' raspberry torte for dessert."

[brooklynislandgirl]

[Within the context of BEddie-verse!]

👅-Would they rather give or receive oral sex?

👙-Favorite outfit in the bedroom?

💦-Best place for their partner to cum on/in?

Sin a little Sin || Accepting

The nature of their relationship grew slowly, like a flower in nature. Seeds were planted over early morning coffee, the roots establishing themselves in shy soil. New stalk burst through on the rooftop, growing leaves when he finally chose to accept her offer of a not-home-cooked meal. Of afternoons spent simply hanging out and talking. She nurtured him over X-box or PlayStation games, walks around the city, little things. She invited him to stay. On the couch, in the guest room, in her own...after playful pushes with her toes became cuddles...became all manner of other things. They'd shared their secrets, introduced each other to their demons, which in Eddie's case could be said quite literally, and Beth never shied away from his Other, whom she quickly came to call Beloved.A less secure man might even be jealous in regards to her clear adoration of his Klyntar. The first time they made love, it had been a hazy thing, both half asleep. Soft kisses pressed into the back of her neck as the rain poured outside of the windows wakened her to snuggle deeper into Eddie. Kisses turned to exploration and Eddie introduced her to certain intimacies she'd not imagined before. Since then, they've shared that and quite a few other experiences. Awakened desires, discoveries that some things are best left in cinema and literature, and while she is ever enthusiastic about new or trusted practices, she never really tells him how nervous she is to taste him, though coated in Beloved does tend to lessen that outright fear. Beth is well aware of her less than human habits and instincts, and she is terrified of losing control at some point. Of actually biting. Not even the idea of too quick, too hard but just closing her teeth in general. It hangs like a millstone from the neck of pleasure and sharing, and sometimes she is a little reticent about reciprocating. But she does absolutely unfurl herself for him, and it might be one of her favourite things to experience. ~*~

For the most part, if there is anything as difficult and uncomfortable for Beth as words, it is in fact, clothes. Eddie has come to experience certain aspects about life with her, such as...the second the door closes behind her, she starts stripping. First her shoes ~Doesn't want to track the Devil into her home, and she's not talking about the one from Hell's Kitchen~ and socks. Her cardigan or coat next. Then her scrubs in no fathomable pattern. By the time she reaches the bedroom all she has is her skin. Mainly a texture thing. She much prefers the feel of Eddie's old, worn in tee-shirts, or sometimes just his hoodie and whatever underpants or bikini bottoms happen to be grabbed from a drawer. The more exposed her skin the better. Which is sometimes at odds with the fact that Beth Riley is sometimes made out of ice. She prefers an almost eighty-degree, somewhat humid environment, like a hot house flower, though San Francisco is almost never that kind to her, even in deepest summer. When she flashes a bare leg while the rest of her hides behind the wall, she's clearly teasing Eddie. The leg disappears, and is replaced with an arm. That retracts too. There's an entire parody of a burlesque show he's treated to before she makes it to the end of the bed. Ruined only by the shark-patterned bikini she has on, though the top doesn't stay on long after she unpins her hair enough to provide herself some modesty. Under the covers, and she ditches the bottoms. All of her from scalp to toe flushes a faint pink when she glances at him and clears her throat. "Is...is it okay wi' you bo'd...." she begins with some hesitation, as she always does when making the request of Them. "...F'I can wear....Beloved? Jus' for a lil while? Try an' mahalo." ~*~

If asked, Beth would blame Eddie's stamina on his peak physical condition, his natural athleticism, his determination to give as good if not better than he gets, and maybe a little maniacal enthusiasm from Beloved Himself. Their Klyntar doesn't have much in the way of restraint except when such is needed to keep Beth and Eddie safe. They have had a long discussion over the word Pineapple. Even so, it hasn't come up yet, tonight. The bed dips slightly when Eddie ends up on his back, not an ordinary feat considering how little motion transfer there is to her mattress and how firmly she's been wrapped around him in every conceivable way just moments before. Her rasped breaths are punctuated with little satisfied vocalisations, not defined enough to be any particular type of sound. There's a thin layer of sweat but that's fine, laundry's being done tomorrow any way. She wants to know what's in Eddie's head. If he has thoughts, maybe she hasn't worn him completely out. But she knows his heart is as full as some other parts may be empty. Her own legs, her whole body in fact, feels boneless. She can taste him on her lips and in her throat still. She can feel the evidence of his completion still hot, sticky, and heavy inside of her, and for a moment... For a moment, she feels her heart spasm, before she brushes the errant thought away. Once she's caught her breath, once she doesn't feel incapable of movement because the entirety of her being is of the same amorphous nature as Beloved's, she keels toward him and rises up on one elbow. The flat of her palm comes to rest on his solar plexus. She gets as close as she can, and there's a hint of a smile laced through her whisper. "Hana hou."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave​ asked:

Eddie plucks a French fry from the oversized sleeve and plunges it into his equally oversized chocolate mocha shake, chuckling as his gaze sweeps from Beth to the view they have of the Bay. A date? In broad daylight? Given their respective night lives, it's maybe the least crazy thing of all. The bench they share is far larger than they actually need; he's already seen her glancing toward his lap a couple of times and imagines she's probably gauging how much it would matter if she just poured herself into it.

All she really has to do is ask. And even then... she doesn't really have to. He knows he'd welcome her there with a smile no less broad than the one he wears now.

"All right, so, yeah, Mrs. Chen doesn't, like, try to sic me on bad guys or anythin' like that, but ever since that day? She definitely gets that look in her eye like... 'I could just call Eddie, They'd probably take care'uh this idiot.' Dunno what to make'uh that, 'cause she's never done it, actually I never gave her my number, but somehow I feel like she's got me on speed-dial."

He chuckles again, then looks back to Beth. God, she looks just perfect with that sprinkle-covered ice cream cone in hand and her heart in her eyes. "Okay, so, your turn. An' I wanna really know. What was it about Us... not me, not Him, but Us... that really caught you? Like, when you saw Us for the first time... an' when you see Us now? What..." He stops and chuckles again. "Feels like a dumb question. But, what do We make you feel like?"

{{ 🖤 }}

A Little Me, A Little You || Accepting

Lāʻau Make || Venom Lethal Protector || Venom au

He teases her sometimes, when she chooses to take a mental health day and tells him, with certain seriousness, that she's 'too rich f' work today'. Few and far between as they are ~she and Eddie have an inborn work ethic that makes it hard to justify being selfish~ this is the claim she made when one little wrist snaked out from beneath the covers and retrieved her phone. She texted her DON and her clinic in record time, then not caring what happened to the device, she'd moulded herself to his back. Nuzzled the channel of his spine, breathed him in. Muttered the phrase and as her hand slid around his hip with a mind of its own, she determined that he too had to call out. And here they are, looking out over the Bay, her Mother's currents strong today. The waves whisper softly and maybe the weather is too cool for ice-cream. She justifies braving the chill because she knows Eddie runs hot, hotter than normal and she guages the distance between them, wondering what it would take to breach the space. To pour herself into his lap and maybe squish herself inside of his hoodie so that she can steal some of that comforting warmth. She has enough manners waiting until he ~and through him, Beloved~ has a chance to finish eating. In the meanwhile, she listens with abject adoration written in her features and eyes swimming with all those feelings she never really talks about out loud, as he talks about his experiences with Mrs Chen, though for the life of her, she can't remember what the question was that she initially asked. Occasionally she licks at the melting ice-cream from her waffle-cone, a scoop of haupia flavoured with rainbow sprinkles ~she still thinks it weird that he sometimes calls them Jimmies, the way Andy used to, and she'd once teased that she has a more formal relationship, and they prefer her to call them James. After that, they became sprinkles again~ and while the gesture is sensual, it isn't intentional. That look of utter adoration freezes on her lips when she watches the question form on his lips and in a moment of rare and pure trust, she blinks fully. Even in sleep her eyes rarely close to the full extent, and she's always given the impression that she is missing a nictitating membrane. The blush that makes strides towards her cheeks starts somewhere around the neckline of her sundress. "I...uhm." Eddie is too familiar with that false start but is kind enough to know better than throw a flag on the play. She is far too sensitive to take it well especially when it comes to navigating the complex feelings she harbours, the ones as deep or deeper as her beloved sea and nearly as primordial. Eddie knows it took some time for her to connect with him, days of simply sitting beside him in silence, then a trickle of words. She was never afraid of how massively larger he is than her. She's never been afraid of him hurting her ~reasons that wouldn't become clear until the night they shared knowledge of his Klyntar and her ancestry and mana~ and when it comes to the melding of man and alien, their version of Standing Jaws, it's exactly her ancestry that touches everything. She'd never been afraid of Beloved, either. If anything He brought out the desire to nurture and protect Him for the rare and beautiful Creature He is. But together? She lets out a shiver of breath. "Clearly, by da time you told me about Him, I'd already fallen for you. An' in all of my life, I've nevah seen someone as beautiful as He is, all on His own. You, Beloved, are... da epitome of One who Became Two, t' me. I t'ink I was a little in awe of you, of Him. Lil bit like bein' kahuna an' seein' a miracle unfold before ya eyes." That might sound silly, considering her mana allows her to alter reality at whim according to the spheres she's talented in but it does not make her words untrue. "Dere is a poverty of words in da ones I know to truly describe you bo'd when ya Venom. It goes beyond desire or lust. It expands into somet'ing...holy f' me dat I feel profane in knowin' d'ough dat ya bo'd make my knees weak an' set my blood on fire. Makes me...makes me t'ink mebbe Grandmaddah intended dis ~two  of ya~ f' me. Make me feel... hanau Po'ele i ka po he wahine, first woman. Look wi' new created eyes on my intended mate." There's a dangerous confession in those words, more than just the L word, if he knew how to read between her lines, or if They could feel the echoing ache inside of her right now.  The desire for the ice cream in hand wanes to nothingness and she switches hands holding it to take up the recyclable cup that her water had come in. She drains the remains dry, then lifts the lid, to fit her cone inside. Maybe she'll finish it later. She sets the cup down at her feet, then draws her legs up onto the bench, leaning toward Eddie to a slight degree. That flush of her skin deepens and takes on a shade of not-quite-fear, but something similar. What she chooses to tell Them borders on blasphemous, a voluntary revealing of secrets long held by her kin. "Not only do you both resemble to Haole depictions of Kōjin, as dey call my Samebito family, but in Venom, I see so many of our sacred laws. You're respectful to membahs of ya tribe, an' dose who know you as deir Let'al Protector honour Ya in return. You care for da people most turn away from; ones dat struggle, ones dat have no kine t' give in return, ones who would be used, abused, discarded by almost anyone. You see dishonour as a mark of lower beings, an' ya even fight fair wi' ya mortal enemy; I know, you have bo'd share wi' me stories of you an' Spidah-Man. An' every day ya learn an' grow. You help protect da territory granted by Grandmaddah, wheddah ya know it or not. Five of da six rules right dere. I was never once afraid of You, even with Your teeth deep in my flesh and bone. "But even wi' out all of dat, dere is no one I trust more, an' I would like t' t'ink dat if da kine was different between us, if You'd have chosen someone else, dat we would still find some way to be part of each oddah lives." There it is, that little bit of doubt in her voice. The very fear that lives inside her that she will never, no matter how hard she tries, be good enough. The damage that began in her infancy at the hands of her father, reinforced by others who had abandoned her whether willing or not. It lives just as clearly in her eyes and trembles in her voice as her earlier affections. But before Eddie or Beloved can make some sort of gesture or comment to set her at ease, she surges forward. The way her knees edge around his hips and the way her arms wend around his shoulders are a perfect mimic of the night she and Eddie chased their first foray into passion, the same night that he introduced her to Beloved. But rather than chasing sharp kisses around the thickness of his neck, or along his shoulders, she tucks her head down so her forehead rests against Their steady heartbeat. "What was true first time I saw ya, is true now, an' will be as long as dere is brea'd in me. I belong t' ya bo'd. Jus' as you bo'd belong t' me."

~*~

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

[brooklynislandgirl]

He offers a gentle caress of his knuckles against the line of Beth's jaw, shifting just beneath the curtain of her hair to tuck it behind her ear. Reluctantly his lips withdraw from hers, but follow the path of his touch, ghosting tenderness and whispers beneath the edge of her cheek and up to the shell of her earlobe.

"Tell Us, babe," Eddie murmurs. "Tell Us where you want Our touch the most... so We can make you feel nothin' but the same pure joy you give Us..."

( 24: Three spots that drive you insane )

Things That Make You Squirm || Accepting

One hand is lodged against the small of his back where Beloved's thick black ooze holds her close to him, inky fingers so to speak entwined with her own from where they extrude from Eddie's skin. The other strokes mindless designs from Eddie's collarbones down the midline of his chest then back. The same trail she'd only tens of minutes before she'd dragged her lips. In those previous moments he'd stopped her travel and brought her face back up to his where he then kissed her in tender savagery until she was breathless. Until her heart drums against her breast bone and thunders in her ears like her Mother's tides. When he pulls way and works his way toward one sensitive lobe, she makes a tiny sound of protest. Nails bite into muscle. But then he lays her low with those few words, the resonance of his tone not leaving any way to mistake them.

Evidence of his own desire twitches against her belly as she straightens up and leans into Eddie. A twist of her wrist and she draws Beloved's tendrils out from behind Eddie's broad back and carefully encourages them to wind around her throat. Not tight enough to prevent breath but she knows well what it feels like when He coils around that slender column then fluctuates the strength in His grasp. She's mentioned that it's as pleasurable as when He sinks His maw into her skin, biting as tenderly and sweetly as she bites back.

"Hold me here," she whispers in a nearly broken plea.

Her eyes become green sparkling glass as they roll upwards offering him nothing more than the whites as it pairs with a two tiered gasp. Her mouth curves toward a smile that doesn't fully blossom into one of her radiant smiles, though not from a lack of pleasure. It is diminished only in her concentration of extracting herself from Eddie's hold so she can recline on the pillows at her back, regal as any queen he could name. Her hands flow down her own skin from just below the stark edge of Beloved's contrast of midnight to her sand, over the clearly stiffened peaks of her modest bosom, and down to the lower slope of her belly where they become shaped like a heart or like a planchette, though Beth does have some deeply negative opinions of spirit boards. She makes landfall in the depths of his sky blue gaze without an ounce of her normal reserve for such things.

"Feelin' you here. From outside. From wi'in. Watchin' you rise an' fall like an empire, surrounded by all of me holdin' you tight. Some times so deep, it's a bittersweet ache. Feel ya strain eventually, fightin' agains' da inevitable and da way you surge even harder den." Some times she wishes she could be so brave, so bold enough to whisper against his shoulder, or against the flat dark as Beloved swallows up her vocalisations. Something he might not understand, something that might seem anathema all things known about her considered in that moment just before.

"But mos' importantly?" And she can see the keenness in his mien when she goes to impart the last secret. She knows it will be a disappointment to Them but that does not make it any less true. One hand comes away from skimming so dangerously low to the mid of her chest. Holding her palm as flat as can be, the rhythm of her heart beat can be seen as clearly as Beloved can sense it at her throat. "Here. Touch me here, every day. Live in dis part of me. No mattah how tight, or how deep. Nevah let it go. Dat is where your touch an' His bring me bes' joy."

[brooklynislandgirl]

The morning is not just cool, it's unusually crisp for San Francisco. The dawning light is just beginning to creep above the horizon. And Eddie had come down to the hospital long before the sun's approach just for the privilege of getting to walk Beth home.

He stays curbside as they pace the sidewalk, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie as he cuts glances every so often in her direction. He's asked about her night… she's asked about his… and they both seem content to leave their answers on the dark hours brief and to the point. Both pleased to ask after things that might strike others as odd, perhaps intrusive, and yet somehow it just seems to come out naturally when she asks him if he ever wants kids, and how many he's thought about if so.

The question earns a wry chuckle from his Other, who knows well the answer is far more complicated than a single conversation can cover. For Eddie's part, he offers a listless shrug. "To be honest… it seems kinda like a pipe dream to me," he responds. "I mean, a bunch'uh stuff would have to happen, right? I'd have to get my life right. Put a roof over my head, food on the table. Find the future Mrs. Brock."

A small chuckle escapes him. "The cosmic tumblers don't really have a habit'uh all clickin' into place for a guy like me. But… if I ever got that far… I'd wanna have a boy. Just one. If only so I could raise him exactly the opposite way my old man raised me. I could give him what I never got."

His brow creases, and then he looks over to Beth. He can already feel the chagrin starting to pour from her at having nudged him towards some foul memories… but then again, when it came to his childhood, there weren't many bright ones. He decides to shift the tone.

"Hey, but listen. There's not a rush on it. I'm… I dunno, I'm not super seriously lookin' for a thing." Not entirely true, otherwise why would he seek to spend so much time with Beth? "Things didn't exactly end well with my last relationship, so I'm okay takin' my time to the next one." That much is true. He still struggles with his leftover feelings for Anne. Then he looks down at her and tilts his head, daring to put forth a probing inquiry.

"What about you? Do you got a need to be in a relationship, or is it more of a 'if it happens it happens' feeling?"

It's cold, cold, cold. A pallid darkness half due to a struggling sun and a thick blanket of fog rolling in from the bay. None of these things would induce her to take the long and winding sidewalks toward home, if Eddie hadn't been waiting for her outside. He's pulling out all the chivalric stops by posing himself between her and potential danger, which is terribly sweet, and she does her best not to shiver in her thick, knee-length cardigan. If he noticed, he'd try to offer up his hoodie, and he needs it as much if not more than she does. The little witch can't quite risk even a minor rote to even out the morning's temperature so when they get mid-way to their destination she'll suggest the second best choice; coffee and maybe breakfast. It will be nice to just sit for a few minutes. In the meantime, she keeps up with the conversation with only minimal struggles. She still has the assistive devices in her ears, more than half-hidden by the up-do she still unpinned. His explanation about wanting children breaks her heart both for him and for the tapestry of his life to this point that he fills in with broad strokes. She almost regrets the asking when she catches the thickness to his tone. Getting his life right is something she can help with, if she could find a way to offer without taking away his agency. She could buy a modest house with a yard, lease it to him permanently. The Mrs Brock bit is harder. Beth could only consider one woman good enough for him, and she's back home in New York. Jay tends to dislike her meddling when it comes to the lawyer's love life. Beth offers him one of those small closed-lip and otherworldly kind of smile. One that suggest she's got a foot in the real world and one somewhere else, near but unreachable by anyone else. "Dat's a wor'dy goal, for sure. Every keiki deserve to know dey are loved an' wanted. Protected, nurtured..." The list trails off. "An' sometimes, goddah fight da Cosmos because even if every star is fire, dey burn cold sometimes." Eddie is buffeted by that sudden melancholia, and she tries to express her sympathy and apology both at once with the way her eyes soften, the way one slim hand brushes his arm before retreating back into her pocket. She hadn't remembered to bring her gloves. "Neiddah did mine," she murmurs and is flooded with relief when he doesn't ask about what she means in saying that. Eddie doesn't need to know that it was one sided. That it existed only in her mind, and that it had ultimately changed the entire course of her life. No, instead he changes the subject, or at least the mood. At first, her whole face seems to wrinkle, from the flash of a frown to the knitting of her brows, the tiny flare of her nostrils. She's got to take a few seconds to work out what he's asking before the clouds lift and she relaxes, the tension she hadn't realised she'd dragged on fading from body and view. "I..." Well. Here she is, raw and bare-boned. "I've always been really close wi' my braddah an' my hanai-sistah. Whenevah I use t' go to social functions, dey were usually family affairs, or I'd have a Midshipman escortin' me. Sometimes I'd only meet dem ~sailor, dat is~ at da door of da function. Sometimes I went wi'd my mentor." She slows to a crawl and her hands reappear to rise up when she shrugs, splaying out in front of her. "I don'...I don' really...we talked small kine about dat before. Not really da dating type. Between da hours I work, an' da kine, don' really have time for it. Or desire. I...don' really see a relationship in my future, much less a weddin'. Besides, I'm a handful an' I'm not sure dat I could really see anyone wantin' to put up wi' dat kine." A sort of wistful sadness wraps itself around him, tight as a rash-guard. "So, uh, wha' you t'ink. Wanna try west-coast breakfast burrito, or have ya been to dis one place here dat actually makes a really good Brooklyn style bacon-egg-an'-cheese sandwich? I dunno 'bout you, but I'm kinda starvin'."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Z for Zoo (from Eddie)

Spell It Out || -

Her hair pools out against the pristine white pillows like ink more like Beloved's skin than she realises. Closer to her face tiny wisps of dark curls damp from the sweat created by the heat between them. She flashes Eddie a snarl and though there aren't as many teeth there as could be found in Beloved's smile, there are still many. They glitter needle sharp and white, white, white against the backdrop of her tongue. Pinned though her legs might be, doesn't stop her claws ~oh yes, they are also sharp, longer and wickedly curved as they only are when they find themselves entangled~ from deliberately raking down Eddie's broad back from shoulder to hip and leaving pink furrows behind. She isn't so far gone in the throes of passion that the swipe she takes leaves blood in its wake. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was the distraction she was looking for. Maybe its that she wants to leave him marked so that anyone looking at him in a certain light knows that he belongs to her, and his Other is the only one she willingly will share with. A warning perhaps of the kind of damage she's capable of inflicting. Or it could be some other combination of all those things. Whatever the case, she manages to shift her hips against him, a slow and calculated amount of friction against his mounting hardness. She radiates slick heat, her pulse can be felt even in brief contact, what should have made it easy for Eddie to slide into her. But that doesn't happen. Her mouth brushes his collarbone. Teeth sink in into his flesh, crimson stains the corners of her mouth even with a greedy sort of gulp. Hands clasp at his hips and it's a lazy sort of death roll where she leverages all of her insignificant weight against him. Maybe later, he'll blame Beloved for giving her the assist. For now? Eddie's the one on his back, with Beth settled atop him. The way she angles herself, there's only brief contact between them, just a whisper of welcoming wet flesh at his most sensitive place. Daring him to pull her close, to seat himself to the hilt within her. One hand braces her against the bed. The other pins one wrist down and maybe this is how she makes them even. She continues to lick and lap at the bite she's given him. It will heal to nothingness in an hour maybe two. All the while her eyes are half lidded and there's a thrum of sound in the back of her throat. No one could be blamed for mistaking it as a purr. Yes, Beth absolutely has shark DNA in her make up, but sometimes, she's almost cat like in the need to hunt and feast on him.

[brooklynislandgirl]

★ Venom

Little Every Day Blessings || Accepting

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill for you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d bond with you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to hunt // I’d lend you any part of me you'd need // I’d borrow your money // You’re indescribably beautiful // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better being than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[brooklynislandgirl]

🔥 + teeth

Jurassic Memes || -

Cloud-white sheets. The bedroom illuminated by hurricane oil-lamps, the fire far from the bed and contained by glass throwing flickering and monstrous shadows against the walls. Drips of dark ruby, copper and tannins and red fruit notes mix with a sweet vanilla and soft smoked chocolate, mingle in pools; the stains indecipherable from what is wine and what is blood. Her heart throbs to an unheard bass heavy song while her tawny limbs flow almost as fluidly as Beloved does over, around and through Eddie. His breath at her ear is hot. The things he whispers are scorching as he makes her promises of the things he's going to do with her, but his voice is sultry, it's low. It also carries the echo of Beloved's reverberation, things the Klyntar is going to do as the length of His tongue flickers over her thigh, as His teeth come so very close to the most delicate parts of her. Her hands can only make fists in the sheets, her toes can only curl into the mattress as she is inescapably held in place. Lucky, Lucky girl, to be with a pair like you. Eddie's fingers stroke her throat and feather their way downward. Her skin prickles with the anticipation of feeling ever single point of contact between the three of them but not quite able to view beyond her own chest. Eddie's every exhale sends a delicious shiver through her. In turn he waits for her to offer permission for Them to continue or They do as They please. His eyes blaze with a hunger growing in the crystalline gaze. They would devour her in an instant. She trembles from the intensity of it all, this ritual of Theirs. One that is often held in reserve for moments when They know she's stressed out of her mind, and sometimes when Beloved's cravings aren't fully satiated through hunting or chocolate; she's sure He can smell the heavy concentrations of phenethylamine swimming through her veins from simply being a person but also a build up from her anti-depressants. What makes it all a true delicacy is the oxytocin and the dopamine rush from both His bondmate and her. The alchemy of love and desire. But it's Beth that feels like They need to have her, or she is the one who will perish from starvation. There's a thickness in her throat as her lips part slowly and she gives them a single nod of shuddering consent. Eddie's lips on hers breath out a raw sort of energy, a mixture of his ha but also the softness of his pure affection for her. He prefers it when it's her teeth buried in him and the way she drinks him down, appeasing her own primordial nature. Without needing to be able to flitter through his mind Beth knows he hates the idea of hurting her in any meaningful way. He can eviscerate someone in his writing but there isn't really a blood-thirsty bone in his body. Beloved, though. His mouth is a thing of beautiful nightmare. There are more teeth than many of her cousins can boast. They are excruciating aciculate. Time seems to cease and takes with that expiration any sense that spans beyond her bed and her lovers. The previous anticipation shrieks like sirens in the back of her mind, every sensation amplified. Her body grows taut. Eddie smiles against her lips. Beloved's maw grazes her skin before slowly, steadily pressing down. Breaking skin. Prying her lips apart in a way few things can, but the moan that roils up her throat, and is delivered into Eddie's kiss is as her tongue presses into her own teeth ~far fewer without mana to change them, and far less sharp~ is not in any way born of agony. There is no edge of acutely unbearable torment, no scream even partially halted. It might be a function of how differently she is wired physically or mentally. It might be the thing that draws her to her Tradition, or a result of their practises. It could be as simple as deep down, Beth has always been somewhat of a masochist. Perhaps it is a melange of all those things. But the sound she emits is one of unspeakable pleasure, and it is. Every time, whether she is pierced by Beloved's fangs, or Eddie's. Maybe particularly when it's Them both .

[brooklynislandgirl]

Advent Calendar: Day 7 @tangleweave​

“So, uh…” Nothing good ever really starts that way. So in that moment, when Beth has barely set her purse down and kicked her crocs off at the door, and finds Eddie standing beside the stairs, hair slicked back, wearing a gorgeous Armani tux ~one she bought for him for the first benefit evening he suffered through for her~ and looking for all the world like he’s swallowed bees, Beth feels her heart tick up its pace, hammering like the sea tide in her ears. She watches him as he pulls out his phone and he swipes a few times. He glances from the screen to her face. Nervousness practically drips off him. “Sometimes, a gift isn’t just’a gift. It’s a key to a new world. A young heroine, a Nutcracker-turned-prince. The small but mighty army of mice. The beautiful conclusion of a sugar plum celebration. It’s a story so good…” Whatever else was written on his phone is tossed aside as he smiles at her. “Look, Beth. I know it’s not Moscow, but it’s still your favorite ballet. Curtain call in three hours, figured that would be enough time for you to get dolled up and ready to go. Merry early Christmas?” It takes several seconds and then a few more for Beth to catch up with everything he’s said. To net from the stream of his conscience the meaning of his words. But when she does? The exhaustion of a pre-holiday emergency room shift ~shorter than usual, but also more brutal~ simply melts away. Her eyes prickle with tears as her heart lodges in her throat. First of all, not many people know that the Nutcracker is her favourite ballet. Nor that her dream is to see it in Russian, danced by the Bolshoi. And she knows for a fact that tickets have been sold out for weeks now. She’d checked for a matinee performance. Her hands come up and cover her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

“I’m getting the feeling that…now wasn’t such a good time?” “Oh, Ekie,” she whispers, and his answer prickles the small hairs at the back of his neck, just where his hand goes to rub. It doesn’t stop her from dashing up to him, throwing her arms around his waist and pulling him down enough that she could kiss him. ~*~ He survives the first fifty minutes inside the packed War Memorial Opera House with his body mostly intact. Maybe his arm is a little numb because from the moment the curtain rose, Beth leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, absolutely lost in the beauty and pageantry on the stage. There’s no missing the sigh she breathes when Herr Drosselmeyer appears, it’s the same one that graces his ear when his lips glide along the shapely bones of her collar. Not even a surprise to him. A mysterious old..er…man who is the catalyst of the whole story. A good guy or a bad one left up to imagination. Sweet or Sinister? A merry magician or a scheming sorcerer whose motivations are never quite clear? He knows how she would answer if asked but all he does is press a kiss to her brow. He excuses himself to the men’s room, where he splashes a little water on his face and removes the near invisible ear-plugs. It isn’t that he hates the music, but in getting her orchestra-pit centre stage tickets, he’s playing a deadly game with the welfare of his Other. Still, he doesn’t want to ruin his girl’s gift, either. So it’s a compromise he felt best about. ~*~ The cab drops them off in front of the townhouse and before the door is even closed, her shoes are dangling from her fingertips. She slides an arm around his back as they drift toward the door. One dark tendril oozes around her skin under her coat-sleeve. “Dat was amazing. Mahalo nui loa, Eddie.” “I did good, huh?” “More dan good.” They pause on the doorstep, light streaming through the glass and the middle of the wreath, spilling onto them as she tip-toes up for a kiss.

[brooklynislandgirl]

"How many shots would it take for you to sleep with Eddie Brock?"

Pour me something tall and strong || Accepting @tangleweave, @morgansmornings {for reasons}

The truth is that ever since Eddie'd moved in with Beth, and spends a lot of his nights out with his Other protecting the streets of San Francisco that he's found a lot less time to drink, and an even smaller desire to do so. Even so, he never comments on the times when she comes home, not saying a word, barely taking time to kick off her shoes at the door and dropping her bag beside them before making a bee-line straight toward the wine chiller in the kitchen. He can tell by which of the reds inside that she selects what kind of a day or night she's had, twelve or more hours on the floor. The rare few times when she bypasses those and chooses instead one of the aged single malts or the vodka from the freezer, he knows that things have gone beyond pear shaped and she's in no mood to talk to anyone or anything because it's all she can do to keep things together. Those are the nights when he and Beloved carefully flank her from either side and approach with caution, black ooze-like tendrils enfolding her in bits while Eddie murmurs to her softly. Tonight is definitely not one of those nights. If it is anything, it's like the night they first made forays toward their current relationship. Eddie'd sipped his slow way through a lager and a half while she'd limited herself to a single glass of Amon Ra. Slow touches on one another's knees, fingers straying close to one another along the back of the couch had led to her explaining a kiss, and her sultry little whisper of mo'beddah, I show you. And show him she had. That kiss led to another, a third, to an uncountable amount. His hands scaled from her hips to her ribs, and flirted with the edge of her camisole. Eventually it landed elsewhere and her soft skin was pressed against his chest. There's no telling where the night might have gone had he not known that she would have to meet his Other just then, to make things right between them. She might have had a glass or two the first time they end up being with one another, the details of the evening prior to waking up in his arms are more than a little hazy but she sees no shame in it. Tonight, though, she'd not even had a chance to take a sip as they sat across from each other at the little bistro down the street. Between the appetizer and the salad, Eddie'd whispers little seductive tidbits in her ears. She'd watched his mouth and he'd made promises he intends to keep. She'd dropped two crisp hundreds on the table, not caring to wait for the bistro to run her credit card. She'd taken his hand and slipped out before anyone even noticed they were gone. He'd been careful to clutch her to him lest she slam into the door but they hadn't even gotten inside before they were all over each other. He closes the door with his foot, Beloved ensuring that it locks behind them. The stairs aren't so lucky when they crash down on them, her pulling Eddie down into a eager devouring kiss. ~*~ "Earth to Konachino," Jay murmurs as she snaps her fingers in front of Beth's face and waits to see the awareness return to her hanai-sister's face. "There you are. Was it a nice trip, and did you even hear what I asked you?" The blush on Beth's face confirms that she did, and that she's going to answer. "I mean, I could technically say one or two but...yeah, naw. Nevah need to, all he goddah do is look a' me li'dat an'..." "And that's the sound of Andy rolling in his grave. Good job, kid. Still gonna threaten him though, and slap him with an iron-clad prenup."

[brooklynislandgirl]

♥   When they have a crush on someone, how do they let them know?

♥ Do they have at least one bonding activity they devote to doing with their partner exclusively?

♥ Have they had dreams about their partner/the person they are courting? [specifying Peter / Spider-Man]

♥ Tell us about a sacrifice they made for their significant other. [specifying Eddie / Venom]

The Courtship of a Nurse Shark || Accepting

“Yeah...how ‘bout...no, and why would you? Wha’ is even da point?” Beth replies quickly, but so thin, so quiet as to almost not be heard. She angles her chin down and pushes the chili cheese fry around on her plate with the same fork she had just about speared it with before the question was asked. Some people say that she doesn’t blink. Or if she does, it’s some half-lidded attempt that sees her rolling her eyes upward. Maybe they are right. Maybe its because she lacks the nictitating membrane to do so properly. But she does so now, with her face angled out of the way, and it is a long one. She doesn’t need to cleanse dust from the green depths, nor does she need to moisten them any more than they already are. It’s better this, though, than heaving the sigh that seems stuck in her throat. “All it evah does is bring hurt dat broke da heart, da kine can’t be put back togeddah. If ya lucky, it’s a chemical imbalance in ya brain an’ it eventually wear off. S’why dey call it a crush, right? If ya so lonely, an’ ya need love an’ companionship, ya much beddah off gettin’ yaself a pet.” ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ It was a mistake. Coulson was known to make a few, he can’t be human without them. She and Jemma get on like a house on fire, at least without the screaming. They’re much too civilised, according to Simmons. It’s because she doesn’t want to end up in a cell, Beth would say, if she said anything at all. He says it takes time to settle in, like finding the right space for the right piece, and with that he fits two seemingly incompatible pieces together on the puzzle they’re doing. She looks at him, then at the box, brows knitted. The lid doesn’t have a complete image on it, and she doesn’t know how he makes it look so easy. She asks how he knows. He gives her that smile of his, infinitely patient. She doesn’t come out of what amounts to her room unless it’s the dead of night. She takes a thermos of coffee and three energy bars from the kitchen area. And Coulson nearly scares her half to death by sitting on her bed when she returns. He tells her to walk with him, it’s a little too cramped and too inappropriate. They end up sitting in Lola in companionable silence. Eventually, he tells her stories. ~*~ Fitz sides with his partner. Everyone knows they are lock step. Skye has Ward. Coulson has May. In the cockpit, the woman frowns. “She’s taken to staying in her cabin. Only way I’m sure she’s come out is we’re an extra person short on coffee, and I think there was three missing energy bars. Are you sure this was the right decision?” “She left three books outside my door.” May looks unconvinced that that means anything. In return, Beth finds three CDs outside hers when she is sure everyone else is asleep and goes to refill her thermos. How does he know, she likes classical music, and in particular that she loves cello most of all? There’s no file with that in it. No interview. She wonders if maybe Uncle is a little magick, himself.

~*~ A few weeks later, he finds her sitting in Lola, again. Soft cloth in hand. She’s wiping down the dash in slow, purposeful circles. She doesn’t greet him but she doesn’t flinch, when he pops the hood. She doesn’t also seem to realise he’s giving her a blind to hide behind. “You know fantasy isn’t really my thing,” he says. “But the common theme I noticed was a sense of not fitting in. Do you want to talk about that? Or are you saying you feel like you’re being sacrificed to Lloth?” For the first time in a while, he hears a particular sound. It’s soft, barely audible, but it’s a giggle. The giggle becomes a hushed sort of laugh and eventually she makes her way out of the car and to his side. One spindly arm wraps around his waist, her cheek presses into his arm. Her other small hand hovers over the pristine engine. A beat goes by. Another.

“She say you’re a good man. Dat I goddah keep my promise. An’ dat ya pronunciation of Menzoberranzan is atrocious.” ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Summer in New York is something of a different beast. It isn’t the heavy wet-heat of the southern states, where even a single step outside coats you like a blanket pulled out from the dryer while still soaking, and making it hard to breathe. Even if it is humid. It isn’t the heat of the desert, bone dry and similar to a kiln, sucking out any sort of moisture and making everything into weird kinds of jerky. Even if it is hot. Heat settles like breath between buildings in the city. Gets trapped there. Reflects from the side walk and the asphalt, bounces between the high rises. That’s not to mention the certain pervasive smell of the garbage bags stewing in a morass on the walks waiting to be picked up. Maybe Beth is lucky then, to live in Brooklyn, and a particularly well kept, upscale neighbourhood made for a different sort of life. It’s hot but she can appreciate it. She leaves a window open and a fan blowing softly and it’s almost enough to pretend she’s home. She can hear the water calling to her. A lullaby to nudge her into the little sleep she gets by on. And perhaps the dreams that flitter at the edge of her mind take on something of a sultry nature. Her heart races as they swing over the city, only her infinite control over her own body controlling the urge to expel the contents of her stomach. Not that she thinks he will drop her. Not that she imagines falling at all, but Beth is a creature of the earth and the ocean, not one meant to fly. Eventually the sensation flickers, becomes a thick hammock of webbing, swaying gently in the breeze. She should find this as unnerving, but she knows that Spider is a totem of cunning, even if allied with with C’et. Her boons and bans seem to serve Ku’uku’u well, even if he doesn’t feel Her...well would it be hands? Beth doesn’t know, but he seems in no danger from Her. What is dangerous is the way his hand trails up and down along the curve of her side, from the edge of her bikini top to the top of her skirt, though never straying impolitely beyond each physical border. Makes a light layer of goosebumps come alive and makes her fingers tighten at his hip. He’s whispering things in her ear and while her dream-self seems to be enjoying it, the rest of her mind doesn’t record the actual words. Languidly she stretches. Becomes a canvas for his touch. The mask slips up and allows his lips to forge new pathways. Her body reacts to her dreaming one’s stimuli and she writhes in the cool sheets beneath her. Warmth paints her skin in shades of blush. Limbs curl and shift. Her knees come together as do her thighs, trapping some of the thin cotton of her nightgown. Her breath is shallow, quick. Becomes a gasp.  A name. “Pika.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Please...” “You are in control of this. You can cooperate, and we will let him be.” Through the glass, she can see Eddie laying on the floor, coated in sweat and dried blood almost to the point of anonymity. She doesn’t have to hear him to see the rictus of his face, the muscles pulled taut, lips cracked and desperate for moisture. All of him vibrating at a frequency she cannot calculate, that he is screaming enough for the both of them. “Stop. Stop, please.” “Come along to the lab then.” Whatever sound was being broadcast seems to die out as she turns away, in time to see Eddie curling up into a fetal position. She couldn’t say what hurts more; watching Them be tortured, or seeing even a glimpse of the aftermath. Eddie. Her Eddie. So strong, so powerful but still gentle. Stil out to serve truth rather than violence. “In order to do what you ask... you’ll have to remove this collar.” “And how long do you think the specimen will live if we are forced to kill the host?” Long enough, she hopes. Long enough.  “You needn’t have to threaten me,” she says with very brittle English. “You want me to engineer a more perfect host. You want me to...recreate...what They are. And how do you expect me to do so, if you cut off the very ability you require? If the price is keeping them both alive, and unharmed, then I will do it.” She only hopes that they forgive her. ~*~ Every attempt she has made comes to nothing. She can duplicate Eddie’s genetic code down to the smallest quirk of dna. She doesn’t recognise the specific Klyntar material she has on hand, she can’t even be sure it is Beloved’s, and she is as intimately familiar with it as she can be. She can reproduce the feel of His substance. It is certainly organic. It should have life, but it doesn’t. And worse, it breaks down within hours. Every failure is met with reprisal, Eddie’s to bear, and Beloved’s. Not hers. Never hers. But not all of it is fruitless. There’s a degree of control that they don’t realise she has. She alters herself to be immune. The one time they let her see Them again, it’s through glass. That is all it takes. They don’t realise touch is a luxury she gives herself, but if desperate enough... And Beth is desperate.  She is a shepherd of Life. Her duty is to protect it, guide it. She’d made an oath to do no harm. Not just to a medical board, either. She’d promised him. And now, she’s breaking it. ~*~ The first people who end up on the floor look like something out of a horror film; hemorrhagic fever is potentially life-threatening, which is why Dengue, Ebola, Lassa are all so feared. Tiny blood vessels break. They cause the body to be unable to form clots. The fever is a nice touch, but is meaningless once the organs begin to break down, the liver...the kidneys...eventually the heart. And it’s in the air vents. It’s in the hallways. Like sand, it’s everywhere. She grieves for the loss of life, the innocent ones. The ones who like them are here only because they are different. This does not fall on Beth’s shoulders, but rather the Admiral’s. She takes the required key cards and makes her way down the hall. Her bare feet leave sticky red prints in their wake. And soon, the alarms die with a simple wave of her hand. They don’t like that much noise, her Beloved and Eddie. And soon, They will be free.  She’s made sure of it.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave   {{xx}}

Her laugh rings in the corners of their luxurious bath, bouncing off the marble’s perfect acoustics. Of course he’d temper her seriousness with a glib tease that rolls off his tongue as easily as his hands can cup her almost entirely. It’s a distraction technique and she allows it to be because she knows the mind is often a messy place, his more than most, with the added presence of their Beloved. To ignore that would do them both a grievous unkindness. And maybe a little grossly she licks a space up the channel of his freshly showered back. Her intention both wanting to lay claim but also to show him that there is no part of him, scar or freckle or any other so-called imperfection that isn’t a part of an adored whole. “’M’a hold ya t’ dat. And t’ me, latah.” Sure she could have used a more menacing threat but such is not her intention. Slowly, she lets him go and then turns to the task of prying his hands from where they rest. If she doesn’t, they won’t be going any farther than the perhaps fifteen feet that lies between them and the bed. Not a terrible way to spend an afternoon, but they do have chores that ought not be put off.

“We have t’ stop by da farmer’s co-op f’ deliver new invoice. Won’ take it ovah email. I’d like t’ stop by da clinic an’ jus’ double check new patient scheduling. You need a few photos for your article, den da afternoon’s ours.” She shimmies her skirt over her head and settles it about her waist.

At this angle, the scars look worse than they did with a straight on view, some suggesting particularly deep wounds. That weighs on her heart and she’s careful to never accidentally listen to the song his body would sing. The broken bones, the lacerations and gashes, all of it takes a toll and makes phantom music she’s sure would scream if they could. But that does make her wonder if Beloved also bears scars, if it’s even possible given his semi-liquid make-up. Eddie calls it goo when he’s feeling peevish or funny. Maybe she’ll ask Him the next time He comes out to spend time just being with his bondmate and her. 

“Does He need or want anyt’ing in particular?”