#Criss Angel is STILL a Douchebag|SPN verse au

[brooklynislandgirl]

💋 from Nil with romance and reservations on the existence of good luck :3

Tabhair póg dom, is Éireannach mé || Accepting

Beth cannot express how glad she is when she hears a truck outside and a peek out the window proves it's not one of the National Guard. A few hikers have turned up missing and so there have been search and rescue parties all up and down the mountains which has put the entire Sept on alert and tension. None of the packs have admitted to having anything to do with the people who have gone missing. Most conventional wisdom muttered or growled under breath is that a few stupid humans aren't anything to be sad about, but the kinfolk and the elders know that that's just the rage of the young. They know that things could go bad with so many strangers poking around the sacred lands. Cubs are kept close, and a couple of the packs are now involved in the search. Beth doesn't know what to make of it all, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. The last thing they want or need is a stand off between human soldiers and the tribes, the collateral damage is too high a cost. But for now, she lets out a breath and fixes a smile. In the reflection of the glass Beth finds herself trying to hurriedly fix a few stray wisps of hair back into place and straightens her dress. If she knew Nilza was going to come today, she would have put on her best dress. As it is, the light streaming in through the windows, the warmth from the over where supper's cooking, and the fresh baked scent of soda bread might have to be enough. The door is opened perhaps almost as soon as Nilza thinks about putting a hand on it and she's greeted with the warmest sort of welcome, a slim armed hug around her neck and maybe Beth lingers a little too long, breathing in the smell of her hair. By the end of the night though, Beth has forgotten all the things that had her blood buzzing like bees and while they curl up in front of the fire toasting the evening with the apple-shine, Nilza does mention her being at least part Irish. It's clear that the Latina doesn't really put stock in all the things Beth does, but they have different views. When Nilza asks if she really believes in it all, Beth laughs. "Better question would be…do you?" Her hand comes up and cups Nilza's cheek, feeling the smoothness of her skin beneath a calloused thumb which she's almost apologetic for, but not quite. She wonders if Nilza can feel the faint tremble to that touch. "Idea behind it comes from kissin' the Blarney stone in its castle. Supposed to bring you luck an' t' bless ya with the skill of smooth talkin' flattery. Of course,w e're a long way from the auld sod…so I guess the next best thing is…kissin' someone who's Irish." It takes those few moments to work up the nerve to lean in. Green-gold eyes half lidded she focuses on Nilza's lips. How pretty they are. How soft they seem. Imagining them sweet with traces of apple warmth, counterpoint to the almost cinnamon nature of her own. A compliment like carved spoons nestled together. She remembers what the woman had said about what she'd do to someone like Frost if he'd kissed her without permission and Beth knows she's playing with fire but she can't help herself. She's been daydreaming about this for a while now, and she doesn't mean Nilza any harm. When her mouth presses against Nilza's, there's a certain kind of delicacy. No great urgency or desperation that turns into a bite or a flail. If anything it's maybe a little uncertain, the hesitation that comes from someone who doesn't really have any experience. But there's the intention of desire. Fingers that feather through Nilza's hair, the start of a shy smile that parts Beth's lips. "You're beautiful," she whispers. "Sweet." Then even more quietly if possible, a fervent sort of prayer. "Please don't be mad." Then she isn't saying anything at all, as she's too caught up in pulling Nilza closer for another more solid kiss.

[brooklynislandgirl]

2. Are relationships ever worth it?

Generating Steam Heat || Accepting

The fact that Nilza even asks that hurts Beth's heart. The woman has been so damaged by heartbreak and trauma that even with all her skills as a granny-woman, she doesn't know that she can ever fix that or find some way to ameliorate the pain. Nilza has glanced over the details and from what she knows Beth hasn't had the gall to ask her for more than what she's shared. A wound needs to breath, it needs to drain, but once it's scabbed or scarred over, it's cruel to reopen it. There would be old pain and new and a potential to do more harm than good. Nilza helps her hang a sheet on the line; the sun as warm and bright as an embrace between old friends. The spring air is fresh and sweet with the scent of green growing grass and new flowers. It's beautiful and it will still be a few weeks before the rains set in. That's part of the reason Beth is airing out the cabin, leaving its windows and door open, why she's sweeping away the now stale winter from every eave and corner. "I…s'pose it depends on what kind ya mean. My brother was my closest kin an' we were inseparable, until his las' hunt….an' he never made it home. Nothin' in my life has been the same since, an' there's not a minute that goes by I don't wish I had gone with him, or I could bring him back. An' much as it might hurt, I don't regret the time we had together." A part of her died with him and she's been floundering ever since, not knowing what to do with herself, not knowing how to fill the hours now that she's alone. She picks up a clean pillowcase from the basket and hangs it on the line. "Amongst the Tribes," and using that specific word she means the wolves she calls family, "It is considered an honourable deed to choose a kinfolk ~a human like me or one of the wolves~ to be your mate. Every year, that honour increases, grows when you create offspring. So much importance is put on havin' a mate an' increasinin' our dwindlin' numbers." Except that she, as a choice, would bring dishonour, considering that she cannot increase the next generation. At best she might be chosen by one of the metis among their kind, just as sterile and third class a citizen of their cultural nation as she is, marked by the sins committed by their parents. But that's something Nilza doesn't really need to know. Maybe Beth tells her too much already. "But if I'm tellin' ya the truth, then I gotta say no act of love however brief or long-lasting is a bad thing. Reachin' out an' finding a life with someone else…however that might look like, for however long it might last…I can't see somethin' wrong in that. I mean who doesn't want to know that they're cared for, loved, missed, yearned for? That in all the world there's at least one person, maybe more, who sees you and knows you?" Beth pauses, digs a bare toe in the soft earth at her feet for a minute, feeling a rush of heat burning up the back of her neck. "D'you think it's so bad to be that someone, Nil?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

@southern-belle-outcasts  {{xx}} Unlike her cousins who become eight-foot plus snarling beasts of rage, Beth typically doesn't have much of a violent bone in her body. It was not the role of warrior that Grandmother had chosen for her, clearly. So in a way she might be just as surprised as Nilza looks when she shoves the other woman out of reflex. Beth has never really had cause to express the emotions that live so deep inside it would take an entire mining crew to bring them up if they could carve them out of her bedrock. But when Nilza is rocked a bit by her impetuousness, and more importantly made a sound something similar to a wounded pup? All low and breathy and not even proper pain? Beth's brows shoot up, her hands fly to her mouth and she gasps at the total outburst. It only takes a few seconds for the shock to wear itself thin enough for her instincts to put their boots on by the strap and get to marching. "Wha-what happened?" She asks, not that it matters. No, Grandmother had given her the gifts to see any injury that lay beneath the skin and gotten into bone and flesh, and sometimes a body's spirit. Also given her the means to heal all them sort like a proper Granny Woman should.With an entitled sort of personal invasion, Beth starts tugging up Nilza's shirt, baring soft and equally dusky flesh as she goes. There's no elegance or seduction here, only pure concern.Eyes reach up to meet Nilza's when she's fully exposed. "Once you're on the mend, I'll kill 'em. But...you don' mind if I treat this, do ya?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

@southern-belle-outcasts   {{continued from: here }}

Beth's head whips up at the threat of violence; clearly such a thing is as foreign to her as life down in town, with the world that Nilza describes sometimes. The width of those green eyes also speak to a touch of fear. Maybe she's never seen the Cousins in their full form of rage, the warrior bodies they wear. Knowing what she knows, Beth hopes that Nilza never does. The sight of one is enough to cause gibbering madness in the stoutest of hearts, an instinctive terror from ancestral memory. Aeons ago when humanity was still in its infancy, the wolves' duty was to cull the herd, to keep them in their place. The practice eventually ended but the fear of the dark, terror of the howls and sheer blood-thirst have remained with vivid results. Descendant kin spread amongst human and wolves were mercifully spared that delirium but it doesn't mean that Beth wants Nilza to ever be in that kind of danger. There's something very sweet though that she's worried about Beth all the same for different reasons, and that she's offering a kind of apology for it. "I don' mind. Andy used to swing me 'round all the time when we were young'uns." It becomes Beth's turn to be confused and she pauses, squinting up at Nil. She knows the woman's speaking what can only be assumed as her native language, but Beth doesn't really know Spanish. Has no idea what the woman is saying, though she thinks it does have something to do with Spirits, though likely she's thinking of very different ones than those that Beth means. By virtue of being a witch, she can hear the wind and the plants, she can hear almost all of natural world. She doesn't know if that's whom Nilza has a problem with, or if she means the restless dead. Beth's own father had said the same thing more or less. A shudder runs through her spine though making her quiver like a willow leaf. She doesn't think about it, muchless ever talks of it. Andy had taken care of it anyway, and that had been years ago when Beth was still barely a stripling. She also can't help but be a little jealous. She has had dreams about the idea of school. There's a picturesque one down in town, and though the boards are now boarded up and the building sits empty, it used to be red brick and white boards. The idea of spending wet autumn days and cold winter mornings inside of its thick walls learning about things has always caught her imagination. She would have liked it quite a lot. But the story that Nilza tells her breaks Beth's heart in a way she can't explain. Maybe because she can't imagine sharing herself with someone she wasn't in love with. She can't imagine what knowing someone like that could even possibly be like but the sorrow clings to Nilza like cobwebs, doesn't it? Beth gets up from her knees and brushes the dark loam from her hands almost in mimic of the other woman's pantomime. "Sometimes, ain't about what is meant for us, or what we want. Sometimes's about what we need, deep down, all of us." And just like that, she closes the distance between them. Carefully as though she were trying to cradle a spring lamb she put surprisingly sturdy hands on Nilza's arms and leans her chin down onto the woman's shoulder. A hug that leaves room, an expression of understanding and care. A little awkward, sure, but only because Beth herself is so deprived.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Advent Calendar: Day 5

@southern-belle-outcasts​

Beth has spent weeks leading up to Solstice night to prepare for Christmas. She’d scrubbed every last inch of her cottage from roof to floorboards, on her hands and knees or standing atop the chair. Just because it was old and sagging in places didn’t mean it shouldn’t be neat as a pin. It’s a bit of a point of pride for the little kinfolk, even if that pride is small. Once that was done, then it was time to lay in fresh wood ~Frost-Rends-The-Bane, the Wendigo packmate most know as John, had been kind and stacked enough for her to get through the winter. While it was his favourite season, he knows she would never survive without the heat. Most of the wood is old, felled by age or death or storms. And in collecting it, there’s greenery ~pine boughs and cones, mistletoe. She’d brought up apples from the cellar, dried to perfection. The rest is just as rustic; flour and spices, molasses and buttermilk, a touch of bourbon she keeps for medicinal purposes. It takes her an entire day to make the apple stack cake, but traditions are what the season’s about. She hangs stockings and fills them with little things; fruits and nuts, a jar of restorative tea made with chickweed, wild cherry bark, dandelion, and prized ginger root from town. There’s a tin of molasses pulls, a jar of blackberry sugar. All things she’s made herself, like the rest of Nilza’s gifts, though she had spent a precious few dollars to get actual paper and ribbons to wrap them in. She’d knitted the blanket over a course of months, shaded it in blues and greens with dyes she’d made herself. A matching sweater and bones for Saphira. To go with the straw stuffed pillow she’d made for the pup to lay on. Perhaps not as special as the little bone fetish she’d bartered for. It’s a simple thing, carved in the shape of a wolf with Luna’s face smiling down upon it. When in an uncertain situation, the fetish will react to the presence of the Wyrm by turning a mottled, bilious green. The darker or more powerful the evil, the darker the hue it would turn. If Nilza brings it back to the Sept, it will become purified again. Just some way to help protect her as she pursues her vengeance against evil. And in its own way, it might also remind her to come and visit more often than she does, something of a gift to Beth herself. She takes down the old family bible, brought when the first of her family had come across from Ireland, and ancient then. The Nativity story is marked with page markers, ribbons long faded and frayed but still soft, satiny. It is the only thing she will ask of the woman, if she’s willing to read it aloud to her. Normally it had been Pa’s job, which then fell to Andy when he’d passed. Now that her brother is also gone to his eternal life, there’s no one left to read it to her. And last, of course, was to set the candles in the window, dipped beeswax and scented with wildflowers. She would keep them burning night and day as a symbol of welcome and guidance as tradition dictates, from the Solstice until Old Christmas, just in case her friend is delayed and can’t get into the holler before the new year. Oh, but how she hopes otherwise, the sooner the better.   

[brooklynislandgirl]

🏢-Most public place they’ve had sex, or would like to have sex? Nilza

Sin a little Sin || Accepting

The rain is heavy on the roof, and the fire in the hearth is banked low. In a rare display of magick, Beth kept a few candles burning to provide light without shedding heat or melting the precious bee's wax. If they fall asleep before snuffing them, there won't be a chance of burning down the cabin. Beth's head rests on Nilza's shoulder as they lay at one another's sides, fingers clasped with one set of arms. She is not really shocked by the question, it seems innocent enough, and they've long been treading the delicate dance of courtship. Still it does earn a little giggle from the granny-woman because she knows Nilza already knows the partial answer. That she hasn't yet, at her advanced age, taken a lover or a mate from amongst her wolf kin. Partly because she can provide no children for the tribes, which defeats the point of even being kin ~a complicated relationship that she's tried and probably failed at before~ but that her skills and talents and ability to work small miracles through Gaia's will keep her safe enough. To add insult to injury, Beth has never found herself to work the way most people do. It takes more than a pretty smile or a drunken come-on to attract her. The few people she has kept company with either eventually move on to likely partners, or she's never around long enough to find a connection with. It's a compliment then, that Nilza is different, and that she's been steadily laying a foundation for that kind of romance with Beth, though honestly Beth could even begin to say why. With her beauty and her worldliness and in some ways not being from the hills or the closest towns, she could have her pick. Beth has very little to offer in the face of what could potentially be. "Anywhere in th' woods, I s'pose," she says gently, hesitation laced throughout. "I mean, s'where our lupus ~wolf born kin~ do their mating, an' there's a sort of…understandin' I'd guess that just inclines a body to give someone else privacy. Maybe by the creek or the lake. S'nice there, especially when the moon's grown full an' th' lightnin' bugs is out. Look like a lil quilt of stars, you know?" She laughs a little more richly and gives her hand a squeeze. "Don' think I could do…down in town. Wouldn't feel comfortable, the idea of all them strangers starin' an' all. Wha' about you? I'm gonna go out on a limb an' guess…someone pretty caught your eye outside a tavern of sorts, an' ya made it far as yer truck."

[brooklynislandgirl]

❝ you feel like home to me. ❞ - Nilza

Sense and Sensibility || Accepting

"Then stay," she whispers. "Don't pretend any more that is doesn't hurt ya even a lil bit t' slip out the door when you think I'm asleep. Don't make up excuses on how you happened to be in town when I know you couldn't be happier'n a pig in mud when you put it in your rear-view mirror. But you keep comin' back an' I'd like t' think that maybe, just maybe...I don' got a lot to offer, but what I do...." She looks down and away. She doesn't sound convincing, even to her own ears. She has a cabin that's barely a single room with everything in it sixth hand at best, and living in her holler is hard work. Her hands are often rough, stained with soil and blood and it's more eking an existence than really living life. But there's family here. There's community. The mountains that loom over one and all still echo with wolf-song and old, traditional ways. Everyone in the Sept looks out for each other. It's safe, here. Mostly. But as far as Beth herself goes? She's not got an education, doesn't even know how to read, can just get by with numbers when she has to go into town for supplies. She isn't glamorous, she isn't anything special really, beyond being the Sept's granny-woman. But she'd be willing to learn, to be all the things Nilza could want... "Stay."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Have they had sex before knowing they’re asexual and how did they feel about it? 

The Real Feeling || Accepting

She kneels there in the dirt, hands caked with it, patting new plant clippings into place now that their roots have grown enough to be transplanted. These had spent the last month or so waiting for the spring thaw, inside little Mason jar pots. There's no waste anywhere on the mountain; the dress she wears is clearly one handed down, about seventy-years out of fashion, and three sizes too big. Her feet are bare, but the boots by her door are also old. Everything that can be repurposed is, everything that can't is not enough to leave an ecological footprint. The sun will vanish soon, but she looks up and is bathed in its golden light.

"Oh, psh." The sound she makes is part whistle, part snort. A strangled little laugh that barely makes it past her lips. "Andy'd never let me go sparkin' an' none of the pack have shown any interest." Colour creeps into her cheeks as she swipes her brow with the back of an impossibly dainty wrist. "Firstly, I ain't nothin' but kinfolk an' really not to a one of them. Secondly, the elders know I ain't got the right parts t' make little ones, which if not for my skills at bein' a granny woman would make me a burden to the tribes. "One time, though... Frost-Rends-The-Bane....my friend John, you met him. He was pride-drunk after a successful hunt, an' was howlin' his victory round the fires, an' I guess he got his blood up. Scooped me up an' spun me around til all the stars were a blur an' he stole a kiss. Now, I should have known better but I let him cause I ain't never...done that before. Imagine my sincere disappointment then where there weren't no butterflies in my belly, an' no women's fire to answer his. I don' think he liked it much either, because he blinked at me owlish an' set me down before apologisin' best he could. "Made me realise, Gaia is merciful. I can't do my part for Her, an' so She took away that part'a me that would want to." She goes back to her seedlings and lets her hair fall into her face. She doesn't want Nilza to see the loneliness or sadness that comes with admitting such a thing outloud, no matter how many times she repeats it to herself like a mantra or a prayer, in hopes that if she does it enough, it'll all be true. That she will be content, fulfilled by taking care of the young cubs and helping where she can instead of having a mate and children of her own, some day. "Wha' about you? You're different. Spirits say so. They say yer heart's been broken, and they grieve with you."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@dcddyrecper {{xx}}

That faint sound of his laugh came very close to the sound of leaves rustling along a cobble walk, and it was warming, putting her in mind of autumn. Autumn had always been her favourite season; best for surfing. Best for evenings curled up by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. Best for mulled wine and the smell of baking in the air. It inclined her to like the man before she really knew anything about him. It wasn’t enough to stop colour from rising up into her cheeks at the sound and she adopted an even more apologetic body language. He had a lovely hint of a smile, too. She watched as he rose and of course he would be so tall that she had tilted her head up to keep her eyes steady with his gaze. It took another second to realise he was offering her his hand and she slipped ribbon thin fingers toward his palm with a gently murmured, “Mahalo.”

His skin was as smooth as she suspected it would be, and a little cooler to the touch than she expected, but not off-putting. When he turned to look at the cat, she took it as an opportunity to study his expression, the lines of his character and she decided right then and there that she needed, more than anything, to get him to sit for her some time, so she could sketch him. Of course he was welcome to say no, but she hoped, when she got around to it, he’d say yes.

Once resolved to ask, she followed where his head turned and noticed the cat. He was a beautiful creature too, regal and unimpressed despite being a stray. And on his comment, Beth decided he must have been owned by at least one or two cats to know them so well. “Not much t’ tell, really. He started turning up a couple weeks ago. We call him Shere Khan, li’dat tiger in da Jungle Book. He’s got a limp in his fron’ paw but doesn’ let anyone get close enough to look. Been feedin’ him so maybe he come t’ trust us, let us ge’ him safe t’ the vet an’ get checked out.”

 Beth smiled softly, affectionately at the little terror. Only drawn away from the cat by the man’s renewed conversation. “Dat’s very kind of ya t’ say, but I still feel terrible ruinin’ ya snack. I like where your head is at, though.” And she did then pull her hand from his, having forgotten that she’d still been holding it. She did as he’d bid her, and crept back down on her knees before carefully inching her way until she was nearly a half foot away from the cat who, predictably, retreated back into the foliage at her approach. It was all fair, she’d not really want her waiter to watch her eating either.

Standing back up again, she dusted off her hands and knees and gave a little shrug. She then offered him her arm and gestured at the door of the coffee shop. “I’ll tell ya a secret. This is my bes’ friend’s shop. You’re not local, though, are ya? Can hear in ya voice. Just visitin’ New York, or mebbe move here recently?”

There was a moment of hesitation, her cheeks once again filling with colour and warmth. “Oh. I suppose...’fore I ask ya personal stuff, should a’ leas’ introduce myself. M’name’s Elikapeka...but ya can call me Beth. Everyone does.”