#Cedra Court moments

[brooklynislandgirl]

@ronmanmob {{xx}}

Where someone else might not think so, Beth finds something inherently sensual about discussing personal and physical boundaries outside of the bedroom. What soft and hard lines exist, how much trust and willingness is given to one's partner, what wants and dislikes one might have while under the covers not of the bed but civility. Tea steeping away while coffee is sipped and savoured mid-afternoon, and quietly posed questions careful in their structure. Conversation had against ears that are just breath and warm cheeks and a sense of insular intimacy while in the centre of a crowded restaurant. Over the course of seven years, as they grew closer inch by inch, emotion by emotion, Beth and Ron have discussed the things they are comfortable with, what turns him on, what she imagines lovemaking to be like, the curious differences between men and women ~something he has experience with and she admittedly doesn't~ and by the time they naturally arrive at being together li'dat, there is very little they don't understand about one another's sexuality. And with that comes a road-map so they know where and when they can go exploring. She'd waited until Ron's stars aligned and approached it great care, so as not to spook the part of him that might take her desire poorly. A few slight words in place of silk scarves, whispered in a confidence she is rarely robed in. He'd not stomach anything more binding. Beth would certainly be willing to trust him with that, hampering her ability to move with anything between his warm, broad hands to special silk rope but she doesn't make the same correlations as he might. They agree that hug-jackets are horrific for all they're meant to safely restrain. She needs the illusion of freedom, and so she doesn't fault him for his own lack of consent. But she knows, too, that as long as she asks so sweetly, and he agrees to it, there's nothing in the world more binding. At least until she stokes his fire to the point it becomes a conflagration. She's delightfully surprised when his body rises and flows not unlike the rushing adoration of the sea so quickly when she touches him. Speaks to his emotional state far better than any words between them, and her answer comes as her fingertips flutter around his calves. She pulls herself up slightly so that she can fully see his mouth, mouth curved in a sultry grin and eyes molten like the fire in the belly of the world. Her palms slide upward toward his knees and she leans into him, basking against his most sensitive skin with all the softness of hers. Allows him to feel the steady drumming of her heart as the song of her pulse increases in tempo. How her breath is just as erratic as his own. "All mine." She echoes and nods, the approval of his offering indicating that he said it perfectly, and what's more? She believes him. She hears him, and maybe more...that if he asks her to stop, to take a moment, to not do something or repeat it again and again, that she will hear him then, too. She turns toward her left and once more affixes her mouth on his skin. This time her tongue wielded like a fine paint-brush traces the lines of his lowest ink. Follows their patterns, then doubles back on itself and forges new connections amongst the pigments. The blood rushing through his femoral artery warms her lips. She has different ways to communicate, though, and seeks to tease him even if she can't afford him words. She grazes his most delicate skin with the idea of her nail tips. Not a scratch, not a pinch but an outlining. A mimic of her tongue on his kākau ever so slowly. Tenderly. A promise that in due time she will taste the whole of him.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth had the world's best intentions when she mentioned she might pick up breakfast on the way home. Overnights are often the worst shifts to take because mornings tend to be late, and making rounds and shift change a nightmare of an interminable slog. Then there were lines that seemed to go out the doors of all the places that they have tried, tested, and deemed safe for consumption between his particularities and hers. At this point she might look into hiring a cook for them or take up Auntie May's countless offers to feed them. Though that latter sticks in her craw, considering the woman's age and the firm belief from some parts of his family that this stage in life, they should be able to make something so simple as toast soldiers between them. She's greeted by the pack save Claude and at first she doesn't sense something amiss, giving each of the dogs a gentle pat and sweetly murmured words. Just in case Ron's dozed off, she doesn't call out to wake him but does take a moment at the door to slide out of her shoes and put her bag and her jacket on the peg by the door. Next, breakfast is tucked away on the kitchen counter where good boys and girls wouldn't dream of jumping up and helping themselves. This done, Beth takes a sip of coffee from her travel mug and forges into the rest of the flat. There, she finds Claude, lying low at Ron's feet, staring up intently. Finds her Kanuha sitting in his chair, head down, his body screaming misery and for a moment she honestly can't tell if it's his head, or his body, or both at once betraying him. She approaches slowly though is careful not to be too close. Not because she's afraid that he'll lash out, never that. Beth simply does not wish to add more stress until he's able to understand she is there. That she isn't some thing dredged up from the pit of his basement where he keeps his imposed horrors. That she is real and warm and loves him. Beth gently draws the curtains shut. Light only makes migraines worse. Very softly she says, "I'm here now, Ronnie. Would you like f' me make ya one cup of tea?"

@brooklynislandgirl

..He's sitting..Sitting still, yeah..Yes..Head's down..Heavy..Pounding..It's pounding..Hurts..Too heavy..Why's he looking left?..What's left?..Windows!..Light's too bright..The curtains, Ron..Shut 'em..SHUT 'EM!!..He can't..WON'T..No, can't..It's too much..There's too many..He's naked..He's NOT though..You're lying..Liar..See the dressing gown? He's touching its cuff..Look at 'im..Pathetic..Can't move..Won't move..Keep still..Keep still Ron, don't look..The cup..He's looking at the cup..Blue..It's blue, dark..Full..No, not full..He's drunk a sip..Ronnie..Ronnie..HE'S DRUNK A SIP.. RONNIE?!? WHAT'VE YOU DONE RONNIE!?!..

Where he sat, trembling and stiff, Ron jerked like he'd been shot. A sickly laugh, voiceless to the rest of the room, oozed up between his ears. Had he words to put to it, he'd call it evil. Weren't nothing he wanted less than--

.. ..Cunt winced!..

--than it's company.

..Scared 'im look..Poor bunny..Broken, 'ee's broken, May!..Broke 'im, didn't it, losing-- Rose..Why's his head in his hands now? Why's it low..Why's he scratching..S'like 'ee was..Rockin', broke in 'is room dahn Vallance..Aw Ron, why's y'not fixed? Why's y'not tryin'.

[tarantinolovesmyfeet]

Devotion And Desire -chapter5- An Oath is an Oath

The afternoon grew warmer, as Nymeria was cursing the dress she put on this morning. She knew she could change, Cedra could find her another dress, but would she want to bother her. She sighed deeply as she went to turn on her heel to go to her room, but feeling a presence behind her she peered over her shoulder to see Queen Alicent. Nymeria held a sigh before giving her a smile and bowing to the queen.

“I am not here as a Queen.” Alicent said over to Nymeria as the girl furrowed her eyebrows.

“You are in a hallway….as a Queen.” She said back to the red head with her hand out peering over towards the empty halls.

“But I am here to speak to you….as a friend.” She said softly her hands balled into another, Nymeria could see she was picking at her fingers, and it left a soft ache in her chest for the young queen.

A friend, a queen is a good ally but it is also a betrayal to Rhaenyra eyra but she knew the young princess would have to understand Nymeria couldn’t deny the queen either not only would it be politic suicide; it would be the end of Nymeria ever getting into the good graces with some of the other ladies who very much enjoy Alicent as their Queen. Nymeria looked over Alicent and she looked sad; even lonesome; in a world full of men, she didn’t have a true friend to talk too and now losing her father by her side. She couldn’t bare to look at her face, crestfallen and alone.

“If you would like to have tea in my room.”

“Yes, that would be lovely!” Alicent seem to perk up at the invention of tea and Nymeria smiled back to her.

The walk to Nymeria room felt long, Alicent did not say much at all over to Nymeria. Nymeria didn’t know what to say and she wondered if people would see this and tell Rhaenyra, she knew it would somehow get to her; but she didn’t want it to sour their relationship. She told her stuff in hoping it would stay between the girls; if she thinks she betrayed her; she would just feel like dying there. It would be too much to bear, the thought to poison the young heir mind; would simply kill Nymeria.

Nymeria pushed opened the door and making a loud announcement to Cedra that she was coming in; she could see Alicent smirk over it. Cedra quickly ran into the room with a wide smile, but then look startled seeing the Queen. She quickly bowed before going over to Nymeria before Nymeria waved her off.

“I just need some tea and-“

“Do you want anything else, Queen-“

“I am just Alicent today, Nymeria.” She said over to the girl as Cedra looked between them, as Nymeria gave a look over to Cedra that screamed I don’t know what to do. “Also could we have the lemon cakes. I adore them.”

“Of Course…Queen Alicent.” She said before spinning on her foot and disappearing out of the room, as Nymeria narrowed her eyes at the door before looking back at Alicent.

Alicent didn’t present herself at this moment as a Queen; just a girl that wanted to talk. Nymeria sat across from her looking over at the girl, also thinking about the dress being heavy on her body. She felt like she was baking in her dress, as the Queen looked light, and nimble. Alicent wearing her red dress, with her hair up in a half bun, letting loose pieces fall by her face. Alicent looked very pretty but plain, and Nymeria wondered if it was to bring down her walls. Was there a reason for the sneaking about in the castle and the wounded look on her face.

Yes, it could be because of Otto being kicked out, Nymeria saw it and so did everyone else in the court but Alicent had to know it was because of Otto spying and going against the heir. She had to know that was going against the crown; the crown she is married too. Alicent could be trapping Nymeria into spilling secrets. Nymeria stomach tighten just thinking about the betrayal she could possibly have from the queen and all the troubles that could come from it.

“I know this is odd, as we haven’t spoken much.”

“No, we have not.” Nymeria said looking over to Alicent with a small smile. “I do wonder why the request of my time.”

“I-“ Alicent almost stumbled over her words. “We haven’t properly talked, and I did not want you to feel frost over how I may have acted.”

“Hm.” Nymeria looked over at Alicent with the same small smile; but curiosity behind her eyes. “I had no such thoughts; you are a Queen after all you all tend to follow a pattern of regard.” “None the less; I wanted to be more…friendly.”

“Well, Alicent I am honored by that, but as you know I will never be royalty-“

“But you could be a lady in waiting.” She said with a smile over to Nymeria and Nymeria felt herself slowly falling into dread.

Was this an ask?

Was this a way to be by Alicent side and only her side.

“Indeed.” Nymeria said but wished for the tea to come to break up this nonsense conversation. “I could or I could just be a lady in your court.”

“Yes, what would a Targaryen be as a lady in waiting.” She said rolling her eyes as they glistened. “How have you liked court.”

“It’s rather interesting.” Nymeria said with a smile and was praying to the gods that Cedra would be back by now with tea and the stupid lemon cakes.

“Have you found a man to marry?” She asked with a smile. “ I mean to stay in court you would have to marry someone here.”

“Really? I couldn’t marry anyone from Dorne?”

“From what I know of Dorne they do not wish to even be apart of this court at all.” She said now looking at Nymeria with a look not of before; of a hurt girl but more as a Queen in training.

“No, they do wish to have their own freedom.” Nymeria said “And they do.”

“Hm.” Alicent rolled her lips before titling her head over to Nymeria. “And Ser Strong doesn’t interest you?” She asked as Nymeria for a second showed shocked before hiding it back down.

How did she know of Harwin and her; they both moved in secret there could be no way. Unless she was spying on the girl, now she felt the walls falling into her. Would she ask to see if she had her virtue still; would she spread rumors about his honor.

“Ser Strong is an honorable man.” Nymeria said back to Alicent trying to find a way to get off this conversation.

“He is and has a reputation of breaking bones.”

“And?”

“Well, there could be a more suited man for your standard.” She said with a smile. “You are a Targaryen you should go to a man like the Lannisters.”

“Are you saying Ser Strong is not a strong suitor? He is a heir, and not only that he is the first son, something your culture loves so dearly. He also is well off; so he isn’t poor like your fellow men and woman down in flea bottom. He is a strong suitor.”

“Right, but you are so close to a Princess and-“

“I am not a Princess I am a lady, and if I recall you are the Queen and the step mother of Rhaenyra, you are not mine.”

Alicent looked a taken back as she looked over at Nymeria, feeling the heat on her words. Nymeria eyes were darkened in fear, and in anger. To question Ser Strong was to question his honor and she would have none of that.

“I did not realize you felt so strongly for the man.”

“He is a man with honor; I will not have you speak poorly of it.” Nymeria said over to the Queen and she felt like she walked right into the lions den. “Alicent, you need not worry for me, I can pick who I want and who I chose is never going to hinder you in any way.”

“I see.” She said over to Nymeria with pursed lips, and Nymeria wanted the ground to open up and eat her.

Cedra finally came back with tea and the stupid lemon cakes. It was enough to drive Nymeria mad, that it had taken her this long to be here. Cedria shooting an apologetic look over to the dornish girl, before setting the tea in front of Alicent and the cakes before setting Nymeria up. It was a slap in the face, Alicent knew it having her workers work for Alicent but she would have to deal.

“Tell me about Dorne?” she asked with a sweet smile, changing the topic and for once Nymeria thinks the gods are by her side.

The afternoon dragged on; and Alicent finally left causing the dornish girl to throw herself on her bed with a loud groan.

“I am sorry Nymeria you brother had stopped me asking me why I was without you.”

“Did you tell him I was with the Queen.”

“I did, and he instantly let me go but I saw him leaving.” Nymeria perked up looking over to the girl and she shrugged her shoulders.

“To whom?”

“Must be to the heir.” She said over to Nymeria as she groaned again, before burying her face into the pillows, before getting up.

“I need a new dress, I feel like I am in the seven hells in this dress.” She be moaned as Cedra ran to her closet where her clothes reside.

Nymeria thought to go to Harwin to speak to him to tell him about the Queen and their interaction, but she knew she couldn’t not just yet. If Alicent is spying on her; she would have to have Cedra go and speak to his people so they can meet at dark. Alicent doesn’t fall from her family tree and it was enough to make Nymeria sick. No, she would have to go to Rhaenyra to tell her everything before it turns into rumors, and she knew she couldn’t betray her cousin like that.

“Here, my lady.” Cedra showed the dress, gold, with red lining, the neck cut deep, and the sleeves cut so her arms could breathe. She quickly changed her jewelry with her fingers in rings, and her neck draped with gold, her hair in a long braid, with a jeweled chain place in the crow of her head. As she was to leave the room, the doors opened to Darvos and Rhaenyra at her side.

“I was just coming to you.” Nymeria said with a smile as Rhaenyra smiled back over to her, looking over the gold that glisten on her body.

“We heard of Alicent having tea with you.” Darvos said closing the door as Nymeria saw Rhaenyra men at the front of her door.

“Yes, she spoke freely of my own hand in marriage.”

“Odd.” Rhaenyra said now grabbing a cake and chewing into it. “Why would she want that?”

“She wanted your alliance.” Darvos said over to Nymeria with a head shake.

“What?” Rhaenyra said over to the pair as they looked at her with kind eyes. “What do you mean alliance?” “She did want me to be her lady in waiting.”

“What?” Rhaenyra said loudly. “You are a Targaryen youre not a lady in waiting; as she lost it?”

Darvos looked over at his sister with worrying eyes as he looked over the pair of girls, realizing that Nymeria has to play a game more on a very thin line. She can’t now be so up front with her love with Rhaenyra but how does he tell her without hurting their own relationship. He sighed deeply now sitting in a chair across from the girls, he grabbed a lemon cake and shoved it in his mouth.

“I do think she wanted me away from you.” Nymeria said softly now grabbing at Rhaenyra’s hands bringing her close to her. Nymeria placed her forehead on Rhaenyra’s with a soft sigh, feeling welcomed and at home. “If I am away from you; then you lose a close ally.”

“Why would she be working against me this is madness.”

“Her son, would be king if you were not called heir. They do not want a women sitting on the throne they do not think us good enough; all we are to these westro men is to make babies and heirs.”

“They swear an oath.” Rhaenyra said pulling only slightly from Nymeria and Nymeria smiled over to her.

“And we will remind them when the time comes but you must play the game. Learn from your father what you must know and then gather your allies.” Nymeria said to the girl. “I think I have a very strong ally for you.”

“Who?”

“Harwin Strong and the Strong family.”

“His father will be the new hand, my father spoke to me about it.”

“That’s lovely, they will be at your side, I swear it.” Nymeria said with a smile before looking down. “I must speak with both of you about…something.”

She let go of Rhaenyra’s hands turning her back to Darvos and her, going over to the window that is blessed her room, letting the sun light hit her perfectly. She loved the warmth and has flourish under it; but she turn to look over the pair now. They sat close to each other but not in a way to cause a scandal, Darvos knew better.

“I want to be betrothed to Harwin Strong.” She said over to the pair as Rhaenyra eyes showed a flurry of emotions before settled to stoic. “I know this must seem rushed and I know if you don’t understand but-“

“To a man from the riverlands?” Darvos asked with his eyebrows in his hair line. “Not a Dornish man? A man that will respect you and your rights?”

“Darvos-“

“No, I must meet him. He needs to prove to me he is worthy you even touch you.” He said shaking his head.

“Do I not have a right?” Nymeria asked him with anger in her eyes. “You speak as if you have a choice in the matter..”

“I don’t but father will, let me speak with him.”

“We don’t even know if he will! I am just telling you before Alicent does!”

They both looked at her with wide eyes after her shouting that, Alicent spied on Nymeria and they knew it. She knew it, and it was enough to cause her to be upset; to let out a secret she wasn’t ready to tell. She liked Harwin and knew she could love him; he was strong, sweet, and kind to her. He touched her tenderly but she wasn’t rather to tell anyone yet.

“What do you mean before Alicent does?” Darvos asked with a sneer to his lip. “Was she spying on you?”

“I don’t know-“

“She had to have.” Rhaenyra said “How else would she know before anyone else…Otto has spies all over this court, any way to destroy your honor.” “Did you sleep with him” Darvos asked as you turned to him wide eye. “We have to get ahead of this before she does-“

“NO, I did not sleep with him. We just went to ride horses and we talked; just talked.”

“Talked?” Both of them said in surprise before looking at each other with smirks causing Nymeria to roll her eyes. “Is talked another way for saying fucking?” Rhaenyra said with a laugh throwing herself onto Nymeria causing the girl to roll her eyes again. “How was it? Was he big? Was he too big?” She asked giddy pulling Nymeria down on the bed with her.

“I did not sleep with him.” Nymeria said loudly pulling away from the girl. “He wants to protect my honor and I to him.”

“He’s slept with women please; Nymeria do not be daft.” Darvos said with an eye roll, as he leaned on the wall looking over to the girl.

Darvos rubbed his chin as Rhaneyra giggled over to the girl as Nymeria pouted. Nymeria knew Rhaneyra did not believe her words which caused the girl to feel discomfort. She knew Rhaneyra didn’t believe her because what she spoke to Alicent about Daemon but she was being a truth telling. Harwin and her did just speak because of honor.

“We have to get father here quickly.” Darvos said with a groan. “Your stupid honor could be ruined by rumors alone.”

“I would not allow it.” Rhaneyra said with a smile. “Do we need to get you moon tea?” She asked to Nymeria with worry in her eyes.

“For the love of gods, I DID NOT sleep with Harwin, we just spoke.” She said growing annoyed by the questions. “I wanted to sleep with him, but I couldn’t bear the rumors, I already am not enough here. I am a savage to these people, and I will not have any men ruin this for me.”

Darvos and Rhaneyra looked over to her with sad eyes, and Nymeria hated it. She groaned turning her back from them both. She folded her arms looking out the window with a sour look on her face. She watched as people rode by on horses; or even spoke with one another, with kind smiles. Then she saw Harwin, walking with his brother and a smile grace her face.

“If you didn’t sleep with him, we will stop the rumors; but I must speak to Harwin to protect your honor.” Darvos said as she sighed. “You know if this was Dorne no one would care-“

“I know.”

“I must leave.”

“Then do what you must.”

she stand there looking out the window sighing deeply, she watched Harwin walk with his brother in a slow pace. She could see Harwin looking at others as they looked at his brother and she smiled; knowing he would always protect him. She turned to see the princess sitting on her bed with her own smirk.

“I wish Uncle Daemon was here.” She leaned back on the bed. “He would help.”

“I thought you were mad at him.”

“I am, livid. I have to marry cause of him.” She said looking back at Nymeria. “But he is still my uncle and I love him.”

Nymeria sighed now laying on her belly in the bed next to her Princess. They both sat in silence for awhile as she could heard Cedra moving the tea cups and lemon cakes away, she knew they both would have to rise for dinner soon, but she just wanted to be by her side for now.

“You will marry, and so will I….our lives will be so different.” Rhaenyra said softly. “And I don’t want it to be.”

“It wont, I promise.” Nymeria turned to her side with a soft smile on her face, as Rhaenyra smiled back.

“How can you promise such a thing?” She asked as Nymeria laid her head on her chest, as the Princess rubbed her fingers in her hair, rubbing at her scalp causing the dornish girl to close her eyes and purr like a cat.

“Because I will always be at your side.”

“You swear it.”

“I swear it.”

Nymeria falling fast asleep cradled against her chest, as Rhaenyra smiled at her. Both girls turning into women, making choices to bring them into adulthood. Choices they don’t know the future will bring but an oath is an oath, and it shouldn’t be broken.

[brooklynislandgirl]

"--D'you get--?" Ron's question paused as he reached for Beth, glancing up from his book towards the kitchen. It was a recipe book he had open that contained some delicious sounding ideas he fancied trying, but the moment his mind lit on that notion and his eyes flicked up to the kitchen...something inside him sort of...felt...heavy? Overwhelmed but not in the I gotta escape sense, just...

The vocabulary wasn't with him. He needed another brain on this. Hence, a gentle touch of fingers to Beth's forearm.

"...Is it wiv cookin', luv, i's all...too many steps? Got th'step by step-" He gestured to the book, regarding Beth curiously as he tried to explain the grief he was having. "Got th'energy. Wanna do it, jus'...Y'go t'do it 'n it becomes a billion steps 'n which is first? Where'd I start? S'too many, so put it dahn 'n get a cuppa instead?"

Beth has been hovering on the edges of the counters. Her rather problematic relationship with food being what it is, she can't help but to want to nose around. Settle into the idea of a meal much in the way some folk do a too-warm bath. Just a bit at a time. Acclimation. The spinach looks fresh, the cheese does not immediately put her off, were it not for the tomatoes coming in a tin, she would have gleefully crushed them in her own small fists and letting the juices run between her fingers. Not a thing wrong with the ingredients, then. Of course maybe the wine is the star, but she doesn't touch for lack of knowing if it's going in, or to be savoured along side the food. Ron graces her with the herald of touch and that moment allows her not to flinch. She likes that better than she likes the wine, and so she abandons her project of stacking the penne noodles in little log cabin configurations. She nods in her silence. Follows his shepherding toward the cookbook, then right back to his face, his mouth. Her lips part and close a time or two, almost like a goldfish as she searches for her own contribution. "Madmatics all wrong. Fractions an' decimals for ingredients. Ratios, yields, percentages. Dey beautiful an' precise...it's da moving parts dat don'...don'...Algebra all wonky. Results...non-Euclidean." She frowns. Ron understands the need for numbers to bear true. In many ways his life tends to run on them, especially eights. Infinities. Another pause, an even quieter voice. "Andy says always start wi' prep. Have every kind in its...mise en place. Dat is where ya start. Cut veggies. Measure an' mix up dairy. Boil waddah for pasta, pinch of salt for flavour an' for some alchemy I don' understand dat make it not stick. I can chop if you give me da kine... dat needs cutting. I know how to dice, chiffonade, all kines. But I t'ink we should have a cuppa togeddah, an' start ovah. No Colonel go into battle wi'out his armour, yeah?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

Playlist Title: Lazy Sunday

Tunes || Accepting

I. Coastline || Hollow Coves II. Autumn in New York || Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald III. Just The Way You Are || Diana Krall IV. I Just Dropped BY To Say Hello || Johnny Hartman V. Hope || Old Sea Brigade VI. Made to Find You || Belle Mt. VII. Irreplaceable || Chad Lawson VIII. That Moon Song || Gregory Alan Isakov IX. Dirty Paws || Of Monsters and Men X. La Vie en Rose || Emily Watts

[brooklynislandgirl]

An antiqued bulb cast warm, low light on the couple who lay entwined; a tawny leg hooked over a broad, ink-painted shoulder the only sight of them glass and filament could make out from its perch upon a distant, stout armoire. All it knew was that they'd not been there too long, and that something silky and lacy and barely there at all had been thoughtlessly discarded before a head of cropped, jet black hair dipped low and nudged from she who owned the lean appendage draped over that shoulder the most erotic sound.

A purr of equally sensual enjoyment escaped on the breath Ron let out and then drew in again near Beth's skin; his nose and lips at home upon her pubic bone and drifting southwards, kiss by kiss, at a torturously, purposefully languid pace. Nothing bar Beth begging him to would make him rush. He enjoyed worshipping her like this far too much, and he told her so-

"--luv th'taste'a yah"

-in the same sultry tone he'd suggesting retiring early in. Eyes that most thought were black and doll-like, dead of feeling, shone in the inviting dim their natural rich, chocolate brown as Ron gazed between kisses up along Beth's dusky planes; lean and supple and stunning to him, for all it'd taken a little time for him to understand precisely how. A broad hand stroked upwards from her hipbone to the very base of her ribs as he bent his head to continue his worshipping, another of those sensual purrs - encouragement, affection and want shot through it - easing free as his lips parted and he sampled again that taste.

Sense and Sensibility || Accepting

For all the night might be damp and the rain pattering a hymn from far asea against the windows of Cedra Court, it isn't her Mother's embrace that she feels, nor is it that particular dance that sweeps through Ron's soul. The moment is theirs alone and his breath is a sirocco against her own shores. One that raises her back as a perfectly arched question mark, that is paired with a sound that might be carved out of a particularly sinful sultry answering breath. The sole of one small foot flattens against his back ~nebulous ground between scapular muscle and intercostals. Toes curl and dig in to remind him of their presence. She'd been no lamb to the slaughter after supper when she reclined on the far end of the sofa, nimble fingers and slender needles knitting yet another one of the dozens of afghans she'd worked diligently on to donate to Battersea ~he'd mentioned that the walls were slightly cool the last time he'd gone to spend time with the dogs there and she hated the idea of any one of the animals knowing cold~ while Ron'd been reading in his chair as was his wont. She was preternaturally aware when he'd placed his marker and set the tome aside, picked up their cups and placed him into the sink A wink and a heartbeat later, his hands hand rounded against her shoulders. When she tilted her head to the side to better accommodate him, his lips had been at her ear. Her answer was the rush of a smile and the heat that flooded her features. She was certain he could hear her pulse pounding loudly in her ears. His hands had slid her camisole from her body, she'd undone his shirt button by button. Suspenders allowed to hang about his hips. Her skirt had fluttered to the floor before she'd felt the bedding at her back. Felt his hands draw the last barrier of silk and lace from her skin before he'd nestled there. He stokes that ache with his nose, with his mouth, lush lips sliding against sensitive flesh. He'd brought her hips that much closer to his questing tongue by giving one leg up to rest beside his neck. She feels what he says rather than hears it and he most certainly cannot miss the reciprocating slickness that pools within her. She feels like she hovers on the threshold of divinity itself. Her throat is full of broken words, shattered by every pass of a calloused finger or the sweet agony of his tongue, and come out in those fragments of sound, gentled but guttural. She musters a moment when he gives mercy. One hand, previously a claw clutching their sheets in a grip like iron, manages to unclench only to reach down. Nails graze through his shorter locks to leave their spectral passage against his scalp. "Warn ya, Ronnie…I'll exact same same from you because I wan savour ya forevah." No other words see the dim light that gleams against their skin, but neither is she silent either as she writhes beneath him.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@ronmanmob {a lush drop of beauty}

While the logic centre of her brain was absorbing cutting edge technology, advancement, promising research that would lead to improved treatments, the dreamier parts of Beth's mind flows through conversations she's witnessed by default at work. Things she doesn't comment over in the moment they happen because it takes her too long to process the conversation of the younger women and the various nonverbal retorts from the older women. Beth feels no shame in broaching subjects with Ron that some people might gasp at, hide their mouth and turn stark pink at ~Frances' face swims by, especially when Beth lets slip even the blandest mention of her relationship with Ron, prompting the little nurse to feel an ocean of sorrow for his sister-in-law. And if she ever thinks of the other woman's love life, it's with sorrow. Being with Reg might be enough to ruin anyone's idea of romance. The physical practicalities must be, at best, terribly boring and at worst, so unsatisfying that it's a miracle they're still married. Ron rescues her from that particular rabbit trail of thought, understanding her in a way she doesn't think she'll ever get used to, ever take for granted. The warmth of his smile sidles over far sooner than he does. It envelopes her just like one of his cardigans on a cold, rainy morning and settles into her bones. They are rare. Perhaps that's what makes them truly special. He prostrates like a fairy tale knight offering her the token of an ear-bud, and with her assistive devices charging in the next room, there's a place for it to slide into. She nods when he explains, half knowing the answer making it easier to digest the words and have them make sense. She, too, has difficulty with words. Over their time together, first as friends and now as friends and lovers both, they've developed a system of communication all their own, exclusive to the entire world; Half each from two islands, east and west meeting in an embrace that includes sign, para-linguistics, touch, glances. Music, not surprising, is a part of it too. The song begins to play and envelopes his borrowed phrase. Heartbeat drums a heavy anchoring bass. That's the first thing that sinks into her as her eyes shut. She stretches in the chair, feline fluid, that copy of the Lancet falling to the floor unheeded. The fingertips of one hand flow across his nearest shoulder to stop at the mid-point, before coiling lightly at the back of his neck. The leg farthest away from him bounces in rhythm, her body swaying in the chair. Before the song is even a minute old, she pours herself out of the chair to kneel with him, pulling him closer. Points of electricity spark here and there as she brushes against him, inviting him to sway-dance with her.

[brooklynislandgirl]

((STEPHEN - Would your character enjoy getting roughed up in a sexual scenario?)) "Y'know I'd nevah 'urt yah, darlin" Ron purred, easing up behind Beth so he could curl his arms around her. The right held her about the waist, and the left, though there for a moment, trekked north; the backs of Ron's fingers stroking lovingly upon her throat as he went on. "Bu' I do wondah--" He caught her eye in their shared reflection in the kitchen window and gave, along with a wolfish smirk, a little wink. "I seen y'face sometimes when we's makin' love...When I get a li'le roughah wiv yah--" The hand at her throat turned its palm inward and took a slow, very much escapable should she wish to grip where it lay. There was no real pressure to it; no threat of anything at all but the gathering of warmth at present. But...

"--Specially rahnd y'neck...Would yah like sumfin' like..."

There came the barest of tightenings; the implication enough to get his message across before he relaxed the hold again.

Whatever You Please || Accepting

"I know," she says almost too quickly, but softly as to not interrupt him as his voice rumbles just at her ear, and the tonal vibration shimmies its way down her spine. She melts against him and the bare skin above her denim shorts, below and around the bandeau she's wearing, breaks into a faint layer of goose bumps. She has enough presence of mind to set down the empty coffee cup she had been rinsing out. She watches the ghost of him in the glass, tall and broad, as he speaks, though through half lidded eyes. Her blood ignites in her veins with many tinders carrying the fire; the scent of his aftershave and the way it blends with his skin, the warmth and tender caress of his fingers as they trail upward, that rare smile. All of it a heady cocktail, though for once she doesn't blush for wanting to wallow in his affections. The further she leans into his shoulder, the higher her chest rises. Gently as he holds her throat, she believes he cannot miss the uptick of her heartbeat. The way it throbs deep but fast over the subtle connotations of what he's describing only to flow behind with an a whisper of illustration. Her own hands reach behind her and make landfall around his hips. Evocative of some more tender moments from when the kitchen sink gives way to the tile of his shower, or the sumptuous bedclothes tangled up around them. She still doesn't flush scarlet as she might have even a few months ago, before things had changed between them. Their friendship too affectionate and full of love to remain completely innocent had caught on the edge of what some might call accident but felt more like homecoming. With some wiggle and a little indulgence on his part perhaps she leans into his softer-than-clouds grasp in order to lean up and nuzzle his jaw with the tip of her nose. Without a better toe hold or both his hands lifting her in the position she's in Beth isn't quite tall enough to crest that strong bone-line with her lips. "Dey say dere's a hint'a danger in…brea'd play. Too hard hold an' you risk cuttin' off blood an' oxygen t' da brain," she says though she knows Ron already knows this, and that it is one of the things he fears. The other thing is in his abhorrance of there being violence between himself and his loved one…regardless of whether the person is as delicate as she is, or as strong as he. "But t' me? Is all about trust. About how havin' your hand there, feelin' my life pulse benea'd ya fingers, ya palm, an' knowin' you can feel wi'out words dat I'm not so good wi'….all da kine you need to know. All da kine I feel for you, dat I want you. Is kind of a case of 'as above, so below'. Same-same wi' when ya teeth graze my skin, or you let dem sink down jus' a little. Brings t' mind how ya face look when we're togeddah and ya eyes close, roll back a lil when my tongue finds dat one spot an' my lips curl around rest of you…an' den your hands flex in my hair." She pulls herself away from him only that she can turn. Hefts herself up onto the ledge of the sink and in place of hands, her legs snare him around his hips and crossing, pulls him closer. A flick of her gaze to nearly reach his own before those now more honey-than-green eyes saunter down to address his mouth. "Or mebbe in slow gentle kisses dat nevah seem to end, one flowin' into da oddah."

[brooklynislandgirl]

"--Is one orgasm enough? Are multiple orgasms necessary?" Ron read that out in as close to the King's as was possible for him - the question printed on a scandalous slip of paper that was part of a scandalous game they'd took up on a bet. The bet was between themselves so it didn't really matter for much - wine if we enjoy the game; favourite snacks if we don't - but here they were, giving it the old college try. The Devil stole into Ron's grin as he eyed Beth, who sat beside and just across from him at the corner of the kitchen table. "Be 'onest" he purred. "So I know bettah f'next time."

Things That Make You Squirm || Accepting

She sits so primly in her own way as Ron reads the question aloud, and there's a little inward drawn gasp of breath that coincides with the flush that spreads from her crown of hair, down the delicate slopes of her face, to disappear into the depths below the scoop neck of her dress. She starts to apologise before she's taken by a fit of stifled giggles. The reaction is both modest and yet child-like but her laughter is the bells of summer rains. "I am an adultiah adult...I can answer dis. Firs' I mean...it's nevah one guarantee dat person wi' internal sexual organs will always have even one, an' dat is no failure on dey partner's part, right? Is just how dem bits work. Some don' evah experience it in dey life. I t'ink dat why sometimes, us built dis way also have a chance t' experience more dan one before we're done. Balances out da fact dat people wi' uhm...outside parts almost always experience one." That feels too clinical, not at all what he was asking. "I'm nevah greedy a person, I t'ink you know. Envious sometimes, I'll admit, but not gluttonous. If one happens, den dat's wonderful, an' you know what dat look' an' feel like. But I also don' wan ya feelin' out of sorts or disappointed if sometimes it no happen. Causes can be up an' down in hormones, in medication, an' simply because while I live t' bein' wrap around you, have you inside me, or whatevah we get up to, sometimes...I jus'... it's not an imperative? I don' need sex, good or oddahwise, to... to feel da way I do about you, yeah?" Her hand rests on the next paper, but she doesn't read it. "What's one t'ing you want me to do wi' or to you dat I nevah have?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

Deeper than Skin || Accepting

It creeps up on them both; in innocence he is with her when she buys a fistful of new sable brushes ~some of which she stroked across his palm so he could feel the full softness~, a basket-full of charcoals, pastels, and oil paints. He signs for the delivery of canvases, frames, bottles of gesso. Art and its creation is one of her favourite hobbies. Much like yoga and surfing and sometimes dancing, it is a solitary pursuit. There are worlds and alien vistas that live and thrive only inside of her head. Only a fraction of which make it to the waking world where others could see or touch them. And of these, nearly none of them feature humans. The faces, body references, and perfectly reproduced anatomy both inside and out are confined at best to sketch pads. She portions off a small part of the living room where the light comes streaming through the windows in the morning, where the dogs can't come in contact with the oils and the gesso. Sets up a little electrical kettle and a station of flavoured coffees, different trees. The first day she even has breakfast; fresh fruit slices and berries in her water jug, refrigerated to near icy perfection. She stretches the canvases, primes them. Sometimes she murmurs to him about the Van Gogh that the family owns ~hangs in her Auntie's study~ or how she prefers Impressionism over Vorticism. Soon though, conversation falls by the wayside as she puts in her air-pods and begins to work in earnest with only music in her ears or lips. The opening salvo. Food is the first casualty. Never really one with a robust appetite, she first picks at the things she collects for herself. Then they get set aside, in favour of the very same hot drinks she'd laid in before she started. Short sweeps of the charcoal outline her dreams, long and slow fine brush strokes bleeding colour into the work. Increasingly erratic movements, multiple projects in various stages of completion when he finally steps in at day four stretching into five, after she's passed on sleep, personal hygiene, barely takes the time to tend to other imperative functions. Deep shadows etch hollows beneath her fervently bright eyes. She puts up a token protest, explaining that she has to finish them. They need life. She squirms, wriggles, writhes within his gentle grasp, one heavy arm beneath the crook of her legs, the other wrapped securely around her shoulders. One thing Beth tends to forget is that most of his dogs have a good three or more stone on her and he wrestles them for fun and exercise. She stands petulant as he takes care to strip her out of the things she wears. As he pulls the pins out of her hair so that it falls down her shoulders. She finally concedes defeat when he sets her into the tub and the hot waer works to soothe the muscles she doesn't realise ache as if tormented by fiends from the pit. And even if she turns her face away, his hands stay gentle as he draws the sponge over every tawny inch of her with the same meticulous patience as she had shown with her paintings. He tries to coax her into conversation with the simple sounding question, punctuated with a little vocalisation on either end of it. She'd ventured into portraits this time. One hand drips soapy water to soak the white dress shirt he's wearing, sleeves rolled up to show his ink and the veins beneath his skin. She strokes his traps carefully. "Dis." Fingers saunter down and stroke between elbow and wrist, then each of his fingers in turn. "Dis." She glances toward him though her gaze rises no higher than the plush tiers of his lips.

"But really, mebbe is da liver. No one really stops to t'ink about alla crazy kine it does or can do, when it function properly. "

A small pause.

"Hyoid bone. Is horse-shoe shape bone you find in da anterior midline of da neck between da chin an' thyroid cartilage. When it rest, it lie between da base of da mandible an' third vertebrae of da c-spine. Is da only bone in da human body not connect to any oddahs near by, so I often wonder if it get lonely. It is anchored by muscles from da anterior, posterior, an' inferior. Dey discover a modern lookin' hyoid bone in a Neandert'al man from da Kebara Cave in Israel, an' dat lead to an argument as to wheddah Neandert'al had a descended larynx, an' was capable of makin' human like speech. Plus, I t'ink it kind of neat. Look like dat movie Loki's horns."

[brooklynislandgirl]

"--Perfect f'you, luv...I fink would be someone 'oo makes y'feel seen 'n 'eard. Someone 'oo don't jus' watch 'n feel th'ebbs 'n flows'a y'tides, bu' learns 'em; learns t'ride 'em wiv yah when they're gentle 'n weather 'em - 'n pr'tect yah from 'em - when they're 'eavy. Someone 'oo appreciates y'culture 'n yer intelligence. Someone 'onest 'n sincere 'n 'oo don't jus' talk like they are them fings, bu' proves t'yah again 'n again, jus' by bein' 'emselves, tha' they are. Someone y'can put yah trust in 'n know it won't get broke."

A Million Reasons || -

Sitting in front of her vanity, Beth quietly removes one set of earrings. She puts them with care into the small jewellery box. She'd been telling Ron about the portions of the evening where they'd been, by virtue of being good hosts, separated. Little things of no great importance before that question. She hadn't known the woman who asked exactly what would make for her a good partner, and Beth's smile had faltered a moment. She'd glanced over her shoulder and sought out her Kanuha. Was it not obvious that they were together? That Beth had no intention of meeting someone ~cousin, sibling, niece or nephew, parent, old friend from university~ new because she could not ever picture herself as being any luckier than she is now. "I…" False start. As if all the things she wants to say pile up like a motor-accident behind her teeth. He's described himself through a lens of emotional action. Ron has never made her feel difficult. If anything he'd been one of the first people ~in fine company with Jay and Tabby~ that didn't treat her like fragile porcelain nor like some alien to be pushed away because she couldn't human like everyone else. And she recognises the reasons behind it, he'd needed and wanted the very same thing after life dealt him a terrible hand to play. Does he know how incredibly unique he is? He's told her about his impoverished childhood, and now he's a respected man of business. He and his brother are familiar names on everyone's tongue. Every investment he's made has been to the benefit to his family and their community. His charitable soul pours out in the way he sees to the health and welfare of the least important people in the social sense, and the deference afforded him is easy to see. If she had any doubt as to his character, all she needed to do is see him surrounded by troubled and 'dangerous' dogs, or the equivalent of distressed youth. Ron Kray is a good man. Better, really, than maybe she deserves. She removes the other set of earrings, putting them with their mates in the same little drawer, then she turns on the little bench seat, gathering her dressing gown and makes her way to the bedside, silk whispering across her skin. She raises her hands but that doesn't make anything else come pouring out of her with any degree of success, and it's just a little breath. She doesn't want Ron to have to ride those tides as he delicately put it. She doesn't want him to have to watch over her, make sure she doesn't do anything crazy or stupid. It's a heavy burden and no one, not even herself, can carry it for long before they burn out or realise just how little reward there is. Not that he would ever say that. Ron would be horrified if she did. "…Dunno wha' I did t' deserve ya, but mahalo f' lettin' me be a part of ya life."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Scent meme: "Manicured grass 'n summah air, night-time cooled."

..Would Smell Just As... || Accepting

Even on the roughest of days, in all the time that Ron has known her, Beth has never given any indication of having even the most temporary palsy. So when her hand takes on a faint tremour, visible only because she's got her coffee cup half way to her lips and he can see the deep beige of cream-splashed wave of this external tide. She also doesn't let her gaze stray near him much less her automatic habit of eyes-nose-lips habitual circuit. Maybe she hadn't made a connection between supper out, and a little spot just beyond the outskirts of London with clear open skies. Maybe she'd subconsciously pushed her thoughts aside until he elaborated the question. She tries so hard to keep the natural terror from her face, from letting it strip her voice down to bare-bones a whisper. "Fresh mown grass is one of my favourite kine," the hesitance carries flags in those words. "Reminds me of green tea, an' dis drink you can get a' Starbucks... Like how it feels undah my bare feet touched wi' dew or still sun-warmed. Second only t' walkin' on sand from home." She takes a dainty sip and sets her cup down. "Summah air here is different. In Honolulu. I really like London, but whole island is so cold to me. O'ahu ranges from twen'y six or seven degree in January an' February, alla way up to mebbe t'irty-one or two in summah months, an' dere is a lot of humidity. So mebbe I'm a hot house flowah. Might need, in ya case, f' bring cardigan...or parka. Mebbe some sled dog." An indulgent hand pets Noe's head, which is resting in her lap. "It...it's night time dat...I...I know you know dat da dark scare me, but mebbe it will all be okay if ya promise stay close an' hold my hand, yeah?Cause I nevah really been star gazin' before except a' one planetarium an' I kinda fell asleep."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Ron's affirmation is rewarded by one of her nose-crinkling smiles and a little fingertip-to-fingertip clap of enthusiasm. Childish? Perhaps. But it is genuine glee and all because he played along with her. Beth requires so very little to find happiness most days. Another thing that brings her joy is watching him procure their tea and snacks. The way his muscles shift beneath his shirt, the growing confidence as he feels like he's wading more familiar emotional waters. One thing Beth has learned is you can't force something if deep down you're not ready for it. They are not on a clock, lives do not depend on whether or not they eat pasta tonight or the next or the next after that. Maybe after three days they'll have to make a hard choice, but that's a three-day from now Ron and Beth problem. Now Ron and Beth just escaped the hook. Beth's attention is partially splintered toward the container holding the tea, the colours and pattern feeding an artistic streak in her soul and she thinks maybe she can get Ron to call in rich this weekend, stay in with her, and maybe paint. And if he can't bring himself not to attend his regular patrons, they could do so on his day off. She makes note of exactly how he prepares the pot so that she can reproduce it faithfully in the morning while she toasts bread and applies avocado, sea salt, and whatever else appeals in the morning. Toast isn't cooking, and doesn't come as a disaster. What might accidentally land in a bowl as opposed to a plate, and may or may not get snatched up by a dog, well…no harm, no foul. She misses the first couple words as she was entirely taken by the faeries of her Ron and plans for the weekend, and only raises her head in time to catch him saying he'd meal prep. "See, dat's really smart. Got all our mise-en-place, which Andy say means every kine in its place, an' dat actually cut out steps an' time f' da recipe." She nods in appreciation for this plan. "So yeah. T' my mind, is like surgery. Ya get all ya sterile instrumentation in place, get scrubbed up, go in ready. Very helpful." There's a delicate pause before she softly suggests, " 'F ja like, I could do most of da cutting, an' you can pack 'em into da prep-bowls. An' because ya so close t' my heart, I even letcha snag a bite now an' again. Promise dat it won' compromise da recipe." She doesn't want him to have to worry about that, on top of choosing to put it off. She follows Ron like heliotrope until he pulls out the chair for her and offers a softer, mostly closed-lip smile, the smoulder in her gaze gentled to something warm. She crosses toward him a few seconds later and at the end of his request, brushes a kiss against his jaw. "Mahalo, Kanuha." She settles lightly, still not taking her gaze off him. When he seats himself, she takes one of the Hobnobs and chews a few minuscule bites along the edges while the tea steeps. "How ya fancy stay in dis whole weekend…an' paint wi' me. You could live whole Bohemian life…. make pasta wi' me. Drink wine, mebbe scandalously out of da bottle…paint…dance…mebbe make love right dere in da parlour…"

"--Always wiv th'chocolate bits" Ron replied, his attention split between his dainty companion and the fixings for tea and biccies he was carefully removing from the cupboard. Her perking up did the trick in assuaging what lingering malice any unwanted, unseen but always heard third parties might've tossed his way at side-stepping cooking - at least for now. In these his scattier moments, when keeping track of newer processes was a trial that truly taxed, it was for the best. Better they postpone for a little minute than Ron try and force himself foreward beyond the bounds of his present capability. There only frustration lay, and with that would come a sour temper, snarling remarks that were unbecoming the affection he felt for his darling and that, bless her heart, she didn't deserve.

Down was bought in the ensuing minute or so a long-handled spoon and a cyclindrical metal tube that was patterened and coloured in a way that evoked the Middle East. Within lived Ron's preferred blend of the moment, kept double-fresh by the silver foil bag it was kept in. Three scoops from this were decanted into the waiting teapot - a glass number, this one, with a filter built into its lid; hardly traditional in its look, but Ron enjoyed watching the leaves dance inside while they brewed and it was with that in mind that he clicked the kettle on before wending his way over to the snack drawer in search of Beth's choice of biccie. They kept their stash well stocked, always. Days like this - where the simple beat out the complex - weren't uncommon enough for them not to. Commentary then-

"--Fink aftah-" After tea and biccies. "I'll…meal prep. Yeah? So i's ready f'when we wanna cook it." He fished a packet of Chocolate Digestives out the drawer and put them on the counter. Those ones had chocolate on one side, but not bits in. He went in again, just in case it was the Hobnobs Beth preferred. As he searched for them, a question escaped.

"--Fink y'd 'elp?"

She'd said before she was a dab hand with cutting and prepping activities of other sorts, had his darling, and while Ron could certainly manage on his own - scatty brain or not - it would be a more restive activity if he had someone to focus on; someone his brain could latch onto comfortably during a process it found otherwise hard work.

Out came a packet of Chocolate Hobnobs. It joined the Digestives on the side and Ron, attentive to the kettle having boiled in the interim, poured water into the glass teapot and pressed its lid down firm. Their mugs and the pot were then ferried to the kitchen table, the biccies following swiftly. Ron pulled Beth's chair out for her then, nodding welcomingly.

"Please" he said, a smile's ghost in his voice.

He was relieved that she'd understood his trouble.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Which of her many relations would Beth most like Ron to meet?

Asks Open Forever {{tagging @morgansmornings and @big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo for reasons:tm:}} A twenty minute drive, give or take, is eschewed in favour of a leisurely late afternoon-early evening walk for those three and some miles back to Cedra Court from Vallance Road. The late spring weather is mild, free of rain, and there's a gentle breeze in the canopy of newly leafed treetops lining the sidewalks they amble along. For all that Claude could strain his broad shoulders and barrel chest, half dragging Ron in his wake, the giant black Cane Corso prefers the more sedate pace. Focused, alert, and a little less interested in the smells that seem to draw Topper's nose. Beth's hands are equally occupied with much more sedate friends; Mo is graceful and Noe ~their smallest, and the one gifted to her by Ron himself~ is simply content to be included. A good five or ten minutes flows by with companionable silence; little noises or tugs on leashes to communicate with a portion of the pack surrounding them, the sound of the occasional traffic be it automobile or pedestrian, greetings murmured in passing which Beth had come to realise a year or two ago was a distinctly American trait. Too friendly, Reg called it. With the implication of nosy, of being a bee in everyone's garden. Normally Beth might be a brook of chatter, words spilling out over the banks of her lips, filtered over teeth and tongue to be as crystalline as their mixed slang can be to them. She'd have questions about the things she's learned, the customs observed, and she might, in a rare moment of particular joy or vulnerability, dislodge a similar experience or tid-bit about her own family. A glimpse of a life she hardly bothers to talk about. Best put though, it seems some of the Ink that Ron vigilantly guards against has splashed up on tawny skin. Muddied her thoughts and put clouds in her internal sky, and her silence comes away with a hint of trouble she has no defense against. The only good part about all that is that Ron seems to understand the source of her mood. He doesn't need to ask what in particular his mother had said. What particular piece of wit from his brother is taken like something she'd need scrape off her shoe. Why Frances eats into her like a worm does a ripening apple. His armour is often thicker than her own in different ways. So instead, after a time, he makes that rumbling little beckon in the back of his throat,herald to something he'd like to say, and when he's certain she's paused and her eyes linger on his mouth, he asks her gently about her own clan and kin. Beth has never felt quite so bankrupt in the history of her existence. Takes at least two more drag-heel blocks to even pry loose her voice. "I s'spose firs' an' foremos' I'd like ya t' get t' know my hanai-sistah. Like some of ya aunties, we're not blood-blood, but could be. I was her roommate durin' University, start a year before she did. Been bes' good friends evah since. She date Andy briefly, but it became kinda obvious dat dey were too same-same for it to work out, an' he became jus' as ovahprotective of her as he was wi' me. She's supah smart, she funny, an' she bakes like no one's business. She's also my lawyer even dough she gave up practising for da most part. Keeps her license wi' da Bar current jus' for me. I love her." Talk of Jay does brighten her up and puts a soft smile on her face. "Den dere's my cousin Tony. Funny enough, if we nevah were anyt'ing more dan friends, he'd be da one I try f' introduce you. He smells nice, dresses well, is smart an' is funny, great hair, amazin' cook, writes his own songs, play piano, I mean I could go on f' days but really he has da worst luck wi' guys. Mebbe because he's sorta like a Military Cop...but not like in da Military, but a separate department of investigation. He also has an attachment t' his boss even if da man is horrifically toxic to Tony. An' tru'd be told? I t'ink its because he had an off relationship wi' his dad, too. Guess dat runs in da family."

She catches the corner of her lip between her teeth and worries it as she often does. "An' lastly, my Auntie Aishling an' her wife Siobhan. She's fiery, Irish as can be, an' I suppose you could call her da current matriarch of da clan, much t' da Admiral's knicker-twist. She is also a peer, so I dunno if you wanna boddah wi' all da fancy formality of one of her social get togeddahs. Of course, I could arrange for us t' have a private dinner wi' her. We could fly an' get picked up Belfast Airport, or we could drive an' take da ferry..." She glances up to try to gauge his feelings about that.

[ronmanmob]

🛁 Take a bubble bath with your muse

Quiet Moments Of Affection Meme

They might've, in hindsight, overdone it a smidge on the bubbles.

It wasn't their fault though - Ron would maintain that to the grave. He and Beth had pottered out shopping on this, the 19th day of June. The weather'd been gorgeous, cloudless blue made up the sky and, between delicious snacks at their favourite street vendor's stall and the happening upon of a brand-spankers luxury good shop on the corner of Henrietta Street and Tavistock, they'd earned this late afternoon turn to the bubbly-gorgeous. The fact Ron had fallen in love with half the stock, dropped £500 on the gobsmacked cashier and waltzed out humming Bizet's Toreador - Beth on his arm - was neither here nor there. There were sandalwood scented bubbles to sample! And oh what a fine lather they did make.

The architects of the glorious confection in their Cedra Court bathtub looked on in amused amazement as the "-couple'a drops" of the witchcraft concoction that'd made up some 75£ of the sum happily paid for their excesses exploded into the Mount Everest of bubble baths. They shone blue-gold in the light, Ron would swear it, and had somehow leant the bath water the same, almost magical hue.

It enthralled him so that it was only by dint of Beth catching him that he didn't go in part-dressed.

Cottons and blends hit tile though, quick hands making light work and then, ungainly as fawns on ice 'til they'd settled and arranged themselves comfortably, they navigated the bath's hills and valleys and found their way into what felt almost like a secret dell surrounded by bubble-hills. In this place they relaxed, Beth's weight leant back against Ron's stomach and chest as they both marvelled at their newly found geography; especially at how, with barely a breath as encouragement, some of those blue-gold bubbles slipped their moorings and floated through the air above them like dust motes suspended in sunbeams.

As if that same light shone through their windows at once, a delicate hand and an iron paw raised up as one to sample this fresh wonder. Neither hesitated at the presence of the other, undeterred by this same mental road being walked lockstep. They were long used to concordances like this by now, Ron and Beth. It was part of what made them them; part of what was usual and fine and good about them, so much so that it stirred a wisp of delighted mirth from her and the same from Ron, but deeper. He may as well have purred as her fingers uncurled and pressed into his.

This was shaping up to be another of their hour long soaks. Ron was delighted.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@ronmanmob​  {{who liked for a smol starter}}

"Ron?" Smoke soft voice barely announcing her presence. Fingertips graze his shoulder as she slides by him where he's perched on the couch. She's been a transient ghost for most of the day. She does not enjoy Reggie's company and certainly not in their home; and make no mistake, that is what Cedra Court has become. She's given up the separate apartment. She's doesn't count the days down from ninety-to-one now that she's got a work visa and is in the process of becoming a citizen, due largely to her auntie's sponsorship. They share the their bed with their dogs. They share the kitchen, even if it's just reheating the food they've ordered in. This is their home, the first brick of the life they are building. At the same time, she wouldn't dream of trying to be the wedge between Ron and his twin. She knows what would happen if someone had tried that with her, with Andy and she would not be a source of grief for her publican. But she won't volunteer to share hostile space with the carbon copy of him, either. It's for the best. Reg is only a fan of hers insofar as Beth proves there's something... less ...wrong with Ron ~Reg's words, never her own~ and because of the glamour, respectability, and prestige that the Krays have bagged a Riley. It's the money, the history, and the ridiculousness of having peerage in the family that makes him so often solicitous if "Liz". Now that he's gone, and with him, the miasma of discontent, she's re-materialised but in her chest is a troubled heart. She can tell now, without seeing, that Ron's still exerting himself. He's still got his mask in place, as if he's got two musketeers at his side to end his life if it should slip. She sits in front of him, just to the side of Claude and lays a cheek on his knee. "Why you do dat?" A hand rises and claw-like fingers brush the air  in front of her face to indicate the forced countenance he adopts with everyone but her.