#Honourable Mention: Zarek Morrians

[brooklynislandgirl]

12 - What’s the best memory of your father? // 15 - Do you want to parent like your father parented you?

Father Knows Best Is Not True || -

Beth leans against the jeep because she can still fit behind it’s wheel. Lunch had been a nice treat but when Vivian starts to ask...those...questions, Beth can only guess that either she misses her own, or that she thinks Styxx will fix everything wrong between the Admiral and Beth herself. It won’t. Mostly because she has absolutely no intention of letting that man anywhere near her son. Nor will she allow Z’s father either. No one really needed grandfathers.

“My bes’ memory, is no kine dat exist. I barely remember him from childhood, he spent mos’ of his time on his ship an’ wen he did come home, he would avoid me. He terrorise my maddah. He was terrible t’ everyone around him...an’ when I was sixteen...I lef’ home. Las’ time I even saw him was my braddah’s funeral. I t’ink dat pretty much says all need be said about dat.”

And she feels bad, that was more than Viv probably wants to hear. So she softens her tone and shakes her head. “Naw. Like I said...he was a terrible man, an’ we...Z and I...didn’t have to work so hard for dis...” And she cradles the bump that was her son, “jus’ to ruin it. To be as neglectful an’ abusive as he was t’ me an’ Andy. So no...if any t’ing, I’m gonna be da dead opposite kind of parent. I’m going to love my son, gonna be understandin’ an’ patient wi’ him, an’ see dat he has da bes’ life we can offer.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

D. 2. how would they decorate their child’s room?3. how do they decorate their own room? H - 1. do they rather a hot or cold room?2. do they prefer summer or winter?3. do they like the snow? V- 3. are they good at comforting someone ill?4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

Easy as 1-2-3s…|| Accepting

D: Decoration2. How would they decorate their child’s room?

She stands for hours even after he’s finished, staring at the walls. Reaches as high above her as she can to follow the flow of the river, to feel for herself every subtle nuance that Zarek has carved out. She doesn’t quite speak the language, one that is unique to him, to his experiences, and so there’s mostly just poetic imagery than actual history gleaned from every knot and hollow.She puts one hand on the still flat slope of her lower belly. He’s only the smallest of seeds at the moment, but she’s absolutely convinced Z knows more than he lets on, that maybe it was less a feeling and more a vision of the future. “He’s going to teach it to you some day. This language. And it will be important to you, just as your ‘aumakua.

She whispers to her son, softly and in her native tongue, as she decides on blues. Deep as the ocean, clear as the sky. Full of shadows, fully of the briney depths she comes from.Kracken tentacles?She turns and looks over her shoulder. Oh, yeah. Bigger the better.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

Beth is content to leave whatever he has made of his home as it is, the heavy solid furniture, everything tasteful and mostly neutral colours. She’s never forgiven herself for making him so angry he destroyed artwork in his wrath. She does leave one mark of herself in each of their bedrooms though. Somewhere in each of them, hidden from view and far from obvious, there’s one tiny piece of purple glitter. Star shaped. It started as a small rebellion, a private joke from when he kicked her out of his bed. And now it becomes a mark of ownership. Elsewhere in the houses there are more plants, she can’t help herself and the greenery thrives in her presence, though it’s kept in check by his own, in a happy medium. Most of her personal possessions remain in her apartment in New York. The Mustang in storage though he offered to have it brought down, though he offered to flicker there so they could drive it back. She keeps that life separate. It’s not hers any more, but she can’t let it go, either.The most personal spaces she carves out of his territories is at the cabin, where they first met this time round, where he married her, where he’d fathered their child. The little grove in the heart of his bayou, where her oak grows, blood red trunk from the sacrifices she makes to it. Where she’s warped the reality around the dripping moss and slender, leaning cypress trees to suit her paradigm. There she works her magick in secret, away from prying eyes. Where she grows her garden and marks the phases of nature. That’s her space, near up beside his and yet always in the shadow of him.

H: Heat

1. Do they rather a hot or cold room?

Beth could be in a wool suit, wrapped up in a holocaust cloak set on fire, and dipped into the very heart of Kilauea. Madame Pele herself could bless Beth with the secrets of flames, and her hands and feet would still be cold. And while she thinks winter is the neatest thing, Beth craves warmth. Unfortunately this means Z has to occasionally peel her off of him where she clings like a sticker to his skin.

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Beth is a native summer child, prone to soaking up the sun and gadding about in as little as humanly possible while still remaining decent. But if asked, she’d say late fall and winter, when the surfing weather is the best. She still has a weird fascination with Alaska but that hasn’t come up in a long time, since he rescued her from a very ill-advised barfight.

3. do they like the snow?

Beth thinks snow is the neatest thing in the world, the concept of frozen rain absolutely fascinating. And yet it’s something not exactly common during winter in the bayou. If he ever came out to her Grove when Midwinter approaches though, he’d find warm flakes of snow falling inside the confines of her little sanctum, and he’d find her dancing in only her skin beneath it.

V: Vomit

 3. are they good at comforting someone ill? 

Beth is literally a care-giver by nature, designed by aeons to offer succour to the sick and the poor and the weary. Her lap is surprisingly comfortable to take a rest in, her fingers soothing as she runs them through sweat-damp locks, and her lips are always cool on heated brows. That spark of life so deep and vibrant inside of her tends to leak out of her system and invade the body of those under her personal care, like an antibody, and affords her patient the same regenerative healing she possesses. Combined with her chronic insomnia and patience, she’s the perfect person to care for someone when they’re ill. 

And every ounce of her is actually looking forward to the midnight feedings, the wailing cries in predawn hours, the first cold, all the little things she shouldn’t know. And she looks forward to comforting Zarek for not having slept in ages, even if he doesn’t need it, and the first touch of grey in his black hair as he worries himself sick over their son. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to push his brow into her middle and let her stroke his hair, but there’d be time for that.

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

Beth is clingy at the best of times, she knows this and doesn’t bother to apologise for it. Now more than ever though, she wants to be close to him. On top of him almost in the literal sense, face pressed into his chest. She has no energy to do much of anything and spends these early days hibernating as long as he will allow.

She had forever complained about the diminutive nature of her curves until the first time she noticed how heavy they felt, how sensitive and she regrets every single time she’s ever wished nature had been more generous. And then there’s the desire to cry. Fluctuations in her hormones, so she’d read, but she knows the truth.

Their son is trying to kill her.

And much as could be expected, he’s winning.

So of course, she calls out for reinforcements.

She looks a little green around the gills she doesn’t currently have. “Kealoha? Can we turn up the heat? I’m sorry, I’m just cold.”Even though it’s already almost eighty degrees..

“Or you could jus’…come curl up with me?” Which really sounds better than what she wants to say, which is to beg him to let her curl up inside of him. She doesn’t really want that, he’d be squishy and sticky and probably something that he wouldn’t recover from for some time, and would just make everything awkward. 

5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

“Oh god. Not again.”

She goes running to the bath and slams the door behind her, relying on her own understanding of forces to do so. There lacks a subtlety and finesse that his telekinesis possesses but it’s the best she can do with a sphere she’d never bothered to learn more than the rudimentary principles of. And there’s a thud as she hits her knees.

She can feel the ghosts of breakfasts she hasn’t eaten rising up in open rebellion, a second or two after she caught the first whiffs of coffee. And she tries to make herself feel better that she can start drinking it again in a year or two. She misses coffee. She misses the sensation of not having all the acid in her belly rising up in her throat, and next thing she knows, all of the nothing comes up. And she’s coughing and shuddering and tears are streaming down her face. The inside of her nose burns and the smell. It was never that bad watching other people do it at work, but when it was her going through it …

Eventually it subsides but she’s not foolish enough to go anywhere, and sinks down onto the cool tile floor, silently praising Z for keeping it bleached to within an inch of it’s life. She gulps draught after draught of air, trying to quell the last quakes in her belly.

After being bitten by the shark, Beth had never been sick a day in her life. And if this was normal for mortal women, she honestly didn’t know how the human race survived much less thrived.

[brooklynislandgirl]

20: Is your muse good at picking up on others’ flirtation/sexual advances or are they oblivious? (asked from whichever boy or girl takes la fancy)

Little More Conversation || Accepting

Beth’s hands stop stirring the brownie batter when Hannah asks the question, but she doesn’t look up. If anything, she squeezes her eyes shut and swallows down the lump in her throat. She shifts from one bare foot to the other and Hannah could easily be forgiven if she thought maybe Beth hadn’t heard her. Or that the red-haired teen had somehow overstepped invisible, inexplicable boundaries. By rights, she should have told the girl it was better to ask her mother or an auntie, but isn’t that sort of what Beth is?

Hannah is friends with the boys; Noah and Styxx. She is visiting from Tennessee, and maybe she just needs an outside perspective, or maybe she’s testing the waters, gleaning insight from the only other female in the house. Beth could never imagine her being so candid with Zarek. Or even as sensitive as her son can be, this is not the kind of thing anyone would ask him, and she thinks this as his doting mother. She sets the spoon aside, looks up, and inclines her head graciously to the girl before she comes around the counter, and sits beside her. One leg crosses over the other, foot tucked behind an ankle. She wipes her hands on a dishcloth. What Beth is doing is stalling and they both know that. “When I was your age,” she says slowly, carefully, recalling many years back, now. “I wasn’t the person you know now. If you can imagine, I was cripplingly shy, completely uninterested in boys or girls...or anything, really. When I thought about the future, I imagined I would be a doctor, and my brother would be an officer...Captain, maybe, or even on his way to becoming a General. Or maybe he’d follow in the Admiral’s footsteps and becoming a senator for New York.  “I’d already been accepted to Columbia and several other colleges for pre-med, and the mainland was so very new to me. I was probably too afraid, too busy getting my feet under me to notice if anyone tried to make gestures of affection. I spent almost all of my time studying, working hard. I barely had time to go anywhere with my hanai-sister much less anything else. “Eventually, Andy had his accident and there was a long time that we believed he’d died, and that put me in a very dark and terrible place. Eventually I came here, to New Orleans, and met Zarek.”

He’d tried to kill her. Right after or maybe during her trying to kill him, so that was fair. He tried to drown her. He called on Sin to pass judgement over her. He’d sent her away. Then he’d gone and found her and brought her back. During that trip, Sin had murdered her, but not before she and Zarek had consummated their relationship, though those are all details that she is not going to tell the girl. “Eventually, as sometimes happens, he married me, and we ended up having Styxx.  We both made some mistakes...” She still can’t say Garrett’s name without dying a little on the inside of shame, especially when she’d mistaken friendship for an advance. Moreso that she contemplated it for a whole five seconds. She also learned to stop asking if her husband loved her.

“...but here we are. I don’t think I ever really noticed that Zarek was flirting with me, at least not the way you see it in movies or read it in books. And the only time I ever saw Andy have to try was with Seren. So, I guess you could say...I’m the oblivious kind. “But I don’t think you really care about that, and it’s not why you’re asking. Girl to girl... do you think Noah’s flirting with you? Has he said anything, or has his behaviour changed toward you? Or is it someone else?” Beth’s perfect English drops into her more comfortable pidgin for the first time ever, something that could be mistaken for the local creole. “Go on, tell Auntie, make ya feel mo’ beddah.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Some HC questions stolen from the Dash

Beth Riley || The Nurse Shark I. Favourite flavour of Coke: Beth doesn’t actually really drink “soda” unless she’s using it as a base for a mixed drink and even then she prefers tonic water. And she much prefers to drink coffee or tea if she’s being social or the group’s designated driver. If she absolutely has to choose something, it might be a ginger ale or root-beer. II. Favourite Starbucks order: Beth could not literally be caught dead inside of a Starbucks, when her two best friends both own brick and mortar coffee shops of their own. Something about patronising a chain store, especially one whose quality has declined over the course of years just feels dirty. Her go-to order outside of being IN Hawai’i and having access to real Kona, is fairly simple. A four shot vanilla soy latte. Sometimes with a dollop of whipped cream. She will drink coffee year-round and at home, she has a pot almost continually brewing. III. Favourite non-lips place to be kissed: Being tactile and so sensitive to touch, Beth could make an argument for nearly any part of the body, ranging from the top of the head to the soles of feet, under the right circumstances. But if she had to pick one and only one? It’s the part of the neck that becomes the shoulder or maybe a little lick in the hollow between her collar-bones. IV. Does she believe in love at first sight: Absolutely not. She believes in recognition at first sight, that moment you know that the person you’re looking at is someone that has always been missing in your life until that very moment, or perhaps that this is the exact right moment you were supposed to meet them, but it’s a far cry from love. Neither does she experience lust or desire at first sight either. She cannot really wrap her head around the concept, nor really understand the feelings that might be had between strangers. Desire and attraction are very complicated emotions for her, both because she is demisexual and also does not distinguish the difference between romantic, platonic, or familial love. To her it’s all one emotion rather than variations. {the ONE exception to this is the first time she met Zarek in her main verse} V. Her karaoke song choice: Beth cannot claim to be the best singer {that was always her brother’s talent} but she enjoys singing along to the radio and she loves going to karaoke only slightly less than she prefers dancing. She doesn’t have a single go-to song choice but her style tends to flatter her naturally smokey voice. She tends towards singers like Norah Jones or Alannah Myles, Beatles songs, or surprisingly enough, older grunge acts like Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, Alice in Chains.  And given the choice? Literally anything by Pearl Jam, or if they have Braddah Iz...well, that’s what you’re getting from her. Preferably after two and a half glasses of wine or two shots of vodka. Disney character they feel like they relate to the most: With a bout of very personal self-accounting, Beth would have to choose Lilo from Lilo & Stitch. Firstly because Lilo is the only Hawai’ian girl she’s seen in a film, and while there might be cultural appropriation and some bloated saccharine sweetness to the film ~she absolutely hates how everyone now says Ohana means Family, without really thinking or knowing much about her culture~ she also appreciates that people can see class and economic culture in the film, can see what foreign influence can have on the islands, and she really loves the music.  But mostly, she can see parallels of a younger sibling being raised by an older one {Lilo’s parents are dead, Beth feels like her parents are dead to her}, how she doesn’t fit in well with others. She can identify with Lilo’s loneliness, with her sarcastic and enforced push toward a strange maturity that doesn’t fit a child, when said child is reacting to trauma, grief, depression. She also notes that one of the meanings of the name Lilo is “lost”. Beth is sometimes nicknamed Moana. And while the film isn’t complete trash, there are some elements she will discuss at length as absolutely wrong. But the music is glorious, and she understands there’s no harm meant in it; people have good feelings and see some of the character in her. At least Moana is pseudo-Pasifikan. Favourite Disney Character: Hands down? Scar. What? Don’t judge. You know you love the heck out of him too. She also absolutely loves Stitch, Pascal {the Chameleon in Tangled}, and she will die on the hill that says Cobra Bubbles is actually a cartoon version of Nick Fury.

Taco Bell Order: If she absolutely must choose, she’ll take two bean and cheese burritos with extra red sauce, cilantro lime rice, and an order of cinnamon twists. It’s certainly not her go to when she remembers to eat, but sometimes it’s all she can manage when working back-to-back shifts at the hospital. Favourite amusement park/boardwalk ride: Beth is adverse to most ‘rides’ due to questionable safety and physics. She has a terrible phobia of heights, high speeds, and things like that. But she absolutely loves the B&B Carousell in the Luna Park portion of Coney Island. Which Friends character would she be: She would have to say Phoebe, for a lot of reasons, none of which she’s ashamed of. But she more identifies with Lisa Kudrow, who plays the character. Both her easy portrayal of Phoebe and because in real life the woman is also an astrophysicist and incredibly intelligent. Favourite type of cookie: Beth also doesn’t really eat much in the way of sweets. In fact, Beth doesn’t really eat much of anything at all, problematic because of her hyper-metabolism. But she will never refuse the bar cookies that her best friend Jayden Morgan { @morgansmornings​} makes: they consist of sweetened condensed milk, butterscotch chips, sweetened coconut flakes, toffee chunks, toasted and glazed pecans, and what she can only assume is pure magic.

[brooklynislandgirl]

9. What's the quickest you've been turned on and what did it?

A Little Light/A Little Dark || Accepting

As far as therapists go, Kit isn't the worst, though Beth's benchmark for such things is set fairly low. And she's here for relationship guidance, though here is her home which doubles also as her clinic, she still hasn't even tried to go back to the cabin, and can one really call it therapy when you're talking to someone who is also your friend {perhaps a conflict of interest but Beth has a hard time opening up to strangers}? She doesn't imagine so, and therefore is more inclined to be honest with the other woman. She draws her bathrobe around herself a little tighter. It's a satiny thing over the top of a tee shirt and some boxers that she's sure she stole from Andy over ten years ago. It's still comforting, though. As is the coffee she's downing before shifting the phone from one ear to the other. "I suppose... it was da first time my husband's fingers settle around my t'roat, only we weren't marry den." It is in her mind as though it happened only yesterday. It was a ridiculous kind of dare, almost a game. He gave her a chance to kill him before he took his turn. She'd settled her fingertips on his chest, intending to reach through him figuratively and with her command of the Art of Blood, stop his heart. Nothing happened as she stared up almost defiantly, and lost herself in the impenetrable black gaze. The next thing she realised, his fingers tightened around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to stall her breath. She moved her hand away from his chest and her own fingers encircled his wrist. Something inside of her sparked. Caught fire. A part of her recognised this was not the first time such a thing happened between them, that she'd somehow known him before she'd ever met him in this life. It was both a feeling of coming home as it was terrifying. But it's not like she can spill the details to Kit, and she feels guilty for having to lie, just a little bit, to uphold the Protocol of Shade. "He was...ah...tryin' t' help me wi' a necklace, yeah? An' his fingertips grazed my collarbones and his hand moved upwards an' I knew...I knew no kine would evah be the same again. But if dat's true... den...why....why was I stupid? Why did I even t'ink of my friend da way I did, an' wonder wha' it was like, kissin' him? Dat's nevah happen before, an' I...I dunno, I just..." She's still trying to figure out why that had happened. Why she'd been dancing, admittedly drunkenly, with Garrett, and why had that thought crossed her mind? It wasn't as though she didn't love Zarek any more. It wasn't like she didn't want to be married to him. It wasn't like she even loves Garrett in a romantic way. But no matter how she examines the situation... Having had a romantic evening with someone she'd intentionally set up with one of her best friends, while her husband was across the country with their son...Beth can't get a handle on that. She never wanted to hurt Z. She'd never intended to hurt anyone. So...why? "I dunno. I jus' no can figure out how it even happen, an' why I did dat, Kit."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Are there particular scents/sounds that turn your muse on?

Does your muse enjoy dirty talk? Do they like to do the talking or being dirty talked?

Is your muse noisy in bed? How noisy? What makes them reach that level?

Love like We Love || Accepting

Are there particular scents/sounds that turn your muse on?

Beth laughs over the atrocious swill that masquerades here for coffee, but even if it’s not such a funny question, this is the most normal that she’s been in months. If she closes her eyes, she can still smell him. His clothes. On her skin. The sheets. Everything. It’s leather and smoke and woods. It’s mineral oil with a hint of cloves and a metallic tang from the swords, his knives. Chicory coffee and her blood and a little mint in a kiss. It’s the low rumble of his voice that resonates just right when he growled into her ear the words ‘you’re mine’. She can catch bits and pieces of it now and again but never all together, never the way it was when it was... It’s like being haunted by ghosts you can never be free of.  One hand rises from her paper cup and she places her knuckles in the middle of her chest, running them up and down. His heartbeat still in echo of hers. A rush of tears rises and she blinks them back. “No, not any more. Especially not...here.” ~*~

Does your muse enjoy dirty talk? Do they like to do the talking or being dirty talked?

She manages to compose herself once more, and takes another sip.  “Dere were kine dat he would say dat could set me on fire. Demands not negotiable, ya know? T’ings he wan see, wan me to do...an’ in just dis particular way...but it nevah was like in dem moves wi’ all da naked people doin’...naked people kine. I t’ink he really understood dere was a line between titillation an’ abuse...an’ I’ve been verbally put down, belittle, insulted...since back in lil kid time by my own family. He was softer dan dat, ya know? If any kine, mebbe... describing what he was gonna do... step by step. Meticulous like. Just dat alone was enough t’ push me ovah da edge, ya know?” ~*~

Is your muse noisy in bed? How noisy? What makes them reach that level?

“I don’t t’ink I was evah a loud person.” That’s not true. He told you a thousand times that you were too loud. Maybe not in bed but still. It’s kind of a lie, Beth.

“Least, I wouldn’t say I was. More soft moans, little vocalisations. Words an’ stuff, as you know, kinda hard for me. Especially when I’m not in myself to focus an’ concentrate on. He could always drag his name out of me, d’ough. Particularly when he bite my inside t’igh. Hand aroun’ my t’roat, squeeze so hard I could see spots dancin’ light an’ dark in my eyes. I t’ink...if I was evah brave enough t’ aks about his knives? Dat might have done it. I mean, I remembah what ya said ‘bout dem safe word, but... I nevah felt one was needed. I trusted him dat much.” And then you screwed it all up, like you were bound to do. Did you tell Viv that part? Of course you didn’t. He’s better off without you. “How...how about you? Seein’ anyone? Girl down in records... I t’ink she was always too shy t’ aks you out. But she wan you. I could smell it any time we had f’ go down dere.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

David: Are you the bold type? Do want your ideas and thoughts to be heard all around the world?

Picture Perfect || AcceptingThere is no emotion, there is peace.

An antithesis to all that she has come to love, Melakeni sits absolutely motionless amongst the Thousand Fountains. Not a muscle moves, nor do eyes blink. Neither, if one were to look closely enough, does her chest rise and fall with breath. It is nothing so dire as death or paralysis that makes her so still, but a natural extension of both innate biology and meditative training. With no one else around, she can breathe through her skin. Feel the warmth of the sun on her through the tall, slitted windows. Hears the water around her flowing and ebbing in endless perfection.There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.They were supposed to meet here before finding a quiet place out of the way to practice sabre technique. She’s still too slow and she knows her Master knows this. That she is a disappointment to him, to his training and his own skill bothers her deep down, and if she were to tell the truth, she fears what that might mean. Her Master is patient but ruthless. Simply because she is a padawan and young does not mean he is kind and gentle with her.But Ani is. Anakin is also…not in the Temple. He isn’t coming. He has been shepherded away by the Chancellor, and she has to…search her feelings about this. She doesn’t like how much time is taken by the senator. It doesn’t feel right and Anakin always comes back sullen or withdrawn. Exhausted more than he should be.There is no passion, there is serenity.Every time that happens, a little fissure opens up; an unseen crack that doesn’t happen beneath her skin nor in her internal organs but some other part that she is entirely sure is made up of the Force. Unseen below its waters something inside of her stirs, thrashing in madness, in anger. A curious sensation of injustice that pervades everything she tastes and feels.Because no one else sees it. They think he is being stubborn. Or slow. Or that he doesn’t pay attention. They don’t notice the little things, like how he fidgets less and becomes thinner in a sense that if he stood still at all, he would disappear, ceasing to exist entirely. He doesn’t eat and sleep becomes a stranger… and sometimes, the worst of them, he doesn’t even really want to be around her. His friend, who loves him unconditionally. And being unable to reach him feels like… it feels like….how he describes sand.There is no chaos, there is harmony.It all becomes glaringly obvious, and puts her back up. She is going to march on the Senate building, right into the well appointed office that is everything they don’t have; it’s soft cushioned chairs and expansive views of the planet sized city. Its fresh air and bright sunlight and it’s power….To make decisions, to have a sense of autonomy that the Order doesn’t provide. It is the power to speak one’s mind whether in lengthy tirade or impassioned pleas, discussion and debate but most importantly, the ability to reach your own conclusion and walk away from the representatives of a billion worlds feeling as though you have been heard.

She is going to demand of the Chancellor that he leave Anakin alone, if he values his existence. That she won’t let him erase her friend bit by bit until he is palatable, compliant, a useful tool for whatever purpose Palpatine has in mind. She will let the creature come free, let it feed on the fear and feed on that power until it is glutted.

Until she is HEARD.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Even if they send her away for it.Even if they forbid her to associate with him.She knows that no matter what THEY say, there will be a way. That she will defend him if no one else will. Not because he is the fabled Chosen One. Not because he’s already so much better a padawan than the rest of them possibly combined. Not because he is weak, because he isn’t. He’s just…different. And different isn’t bad. And she knows that the Will of the Force, the very same thing that has brought them together, will always supersede a bunch of old and purposefully awful sentients, who probably can’t even agree what to have for lunch.  There is no emotion, there is p-“You are so loud, Ivers, that it is most likely your vitriol that gives them indigestion.”For a moment if it was possible, she would have turned to stone. The churning emotions in her belly go stock still, and she feels as if she’s just gone from the heat of the sun into an icy sea.Slowly one eye cracks open, and then the next and she looks up from the rock she is perched on. Her Master’s aquiline, dark features are stunning in the soft glow of the room. He is terrifying as he towers over her, and at the same time, he is simply…breath-taking. It is not often that he makes jokes, and she isn’t exactly sure if what he has said that has interrupted her meditation is just that…a joke or if it is the prelude to a Lesson.

She isn’t prepared for that. Doesn’t want…Long, elegant fingers reach out. The back of one follows the stubborn curve of her jaw from the fox-point of her chin to the softer round of the hinge itself. She is torn between stiffening in anticipation, and simply staring at the implacable void of his dark eyes.

“Someday, perhaps. But not today, not now. You must learn patience. You must learn to temper your urges with the wisdom of knowing when to strike, unseen. Unexpected. Lethally.”“Yes, my Master.”

He crouches down in the water and tilts his head, examining her. His voice is a silken whisper that is as unsettling as it is gentle.“Someday, the galaxy will tremble with the power of your single whisper. I do not envy that day.”But she doesn’t need the galaxy. She only needs one person to hear her.“Come.”“Yes, Master.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

@ronmanmob {{xx}}

At fourteen, Styxx Morrians has more in common with his father than he does his mother. For one, he towers over the woman, able to meet Ron eye to eye, though he doesn’t. He’s all arms and legs that will some day fall just short of his sire’s towering frame, though throughout his face, he’s a little more delicate. Eyes so dark that they rival night rest beneath thick lashes and he stubs a toe in the dirt as the man shakes his hand. “Good morning, sir.” Crisp, clean, respectful diction. None of his mother’s zephyrs on his tongue though there’s a hint of a grin that’s all her sharpness, her bite. He turns with Ron over his shoulder to see his mother buried in dogs. Can feel his father’s presence in the shade beyond the yard gate, hears her laughter and the chaos of wuffs and yips that tells him she was missed. He turns his not-quite gaze back to the man. “No, sir, but mother...speaks highly of you and often. So it’s like I know you.”

He’s not quite disagreeing with Mr Kray, merely explaining the situation better. But of a sudden there’s another presence and that makes Styxx look up quickly, with a voracious curiosity that had been lacking a moment ago.

He didn’t have any siblings. Most children at school had already learned the hard way that he had his father’s mercurial temper and thus were not inclined to spend much time with him. Not that he ever said so to his parents, he mostly didn’t care one way or another as long as no one breached his sensibilities of what acceptable behaviour was to him. But this boy... he’s lovely. He’s shy.  And he’s making little gestures that are reminiscent of his mother’s dancing.

Hearing his name, he tenses, waiting for the other boy to laugh or say something mean because while he liked it...most people thought his name was unusual at best, a reason to be teased at worse, and for a split second he almost adopts a boxer’s footing. Eyes unmoving from the other boy’s face, Styxx waves back.  “Ya sou,” he murmurs, before he glances across the yard to Beth. “Boró na páo kai na paíxo, mitéra?”

One tiny hand rises up from the pile of dogs, shaped very much like a sock puppet minus the actual sock, and the ‘head’ bobs up and down for a moment. “Neh,” she replies in a muffled tone.

Permission asked and given, Styxx sidelong glances at the boy. “Mother says I can play.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Favorite piece of clothing?

Softly || Accepting

Beth has heard just about everything in the years that she’s been a nurse and a witch. When people are afraid they will latch onto almost anything to mitigate the uncomfortable emotions that race through them directionless and repetitive in that mimicry of of adrenaline-surge. So when Mrs Delacroix ~call me Ms Ruby, chile~ poses the question as Beth concentrates on taking her blood for labs as carefully as she can it comes as no surprise.Spurred on by her admiration of Ms Ruby’s Sunday bonnet, or perhaps because the elderly woman’s skin is paper thin and almost velvety, Beth smiles, gently tapping a vein.“Grey tee-shirt. Now, lemme ‘splain. See my kane…ah..husband…he always wear dark colours, when he wear anyt’ing a’ all,” she looks up and grins. The woman has buried three men and is possessed of a small country worth of children, grandchildren, and great grand babies, so Beth isn’t shy at all saying that to her. 

“It’s old, in real good condition, soft like flannel. An’ m’ husband’s very tall an’ I’m very not, so I like f’ wear it. Hem goes down t’ my knees.”“An’ if ya do it right, Doc, betcha can fit both of ya in it.”“‘Zactly!” Beth laughs despite her cheeks turning a little pink at the tone of her patient’s voice. “But I especially t’ take it from him right aftah he pull it off an’ it still warm from his body, an’ smells like him. Or when he goddah go way f’…ah…business….”

“Mmmhrmm. You’re in love, honey-chile.”Beth looks up again as she slowly withdraws the needle and staunches the wound with an antiseptic cotton ball. It’s all there in her eyes. “Always.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

~*~ Still and Discreet ~*~ What is the closest you’ve come to death?

Anakin’s question comes softly. Barely the brush of words at the back of her mind so that she doesn’t know if he’s actually spoken them or used the Force to whisper so that no one can hear. Perhaps it’s a little of both. It also takes her aback a little because he is so rarely direct. He approaches conversation much in the same way he does other things. Hovers at the edges. Little false stops and starts as if gathering the courage to let himself be seen and heard, to be known in any fashion outside his own head, and that is something that has been a part of him since the beginning, from the moment they first met, and likely before that. He has his reasons, ones that she could take lifetimes to try to undo, but when it is just the two of them, he’s a little more forthcoming. The rain patters just beyond the cave mouth, the air tastes wet and green as she breathes it in. The heat from the fire behind her and its flickering light lets her see just a few feet into the dark and she wonders what is waiting out there. She can sense them; clone troopers trying to find their rest. The ones sleeping off the worst of their injuries. The absence of the ones who are gone like pinprick holes in the Force. All of it pales when Anakin’s mere presence draws her awareness. Reaches out for her, envelopes every part of her. He can feel the same sense of loss and melancholy, she knows he can. And perhaps that is why he asks her. She drops the heavy tarp over the entrance to the shallow cavern and turns slowly. He stands there mostly in shadow, his face and his hair limned in flickering light.

How many times have you come close to it? Each one I have felt. She doesn’t say that aloud, doesn’t let it leave the tight confines of her control. She doesn’t want him to know how deeply she feels connected to him not merely in each other’s company but across star systems, not across the galaxy. She will never not feel Anakin. Languidly she slides her outer robes off her shoulders, her head bowed and unwilling to meet his eyes. Between her multicoloured skirts and the half-tunic that keeps her modesty gleams tawny before her hands move to her waist and drag down the fabric to just this side of indecency. A scar greets him in answer, white and thin and unmistakably precise, from the bottom of her hip to the middle of her side. Such a sabre-wound would have been murderous in anyone else that is not Melakeni. And to her it is ugly. It is a constant reminder that her Master does not tolerate disobedience for very long. “It took months to heal. Layer by excruciating layer as the fibre began to re-knit. And the remains...well, clearly they never went away. A warning that if need be...the second time I would not be so lucky.” She drops her hands. It is foolish and vain to hate it so much. More so the look that had crossed her Master’s face and the way his fingers brushed her face after the scream died in her throat.  “Nothing so terrible as what you’ve suffered. What thousands of others have known in this war. But enough that I...I know my place.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Fig: Something my muse sees as forbidden but still desires Grapes: What would my muse want as a reward for hard work?Lemon: Something in my muses life that went sour Orange: What small things in life make my muse happy? Peach: If my muse was immortal what would they do with their time?Pear: Something my muse wouldn’t want to be separated from. Pineapple: How does my muse handle long-term relationships?Plum: What are five things that make my muse happy?

Fruit Basket || Accepting

Fig: Something my muse sees as forbidden but still desires?“Wan my faddah in law’s head spitted on a pike an’ put on display at da foot of Zeus’s throne itself, an’ I’ll bloody well pu’i’ dere m’self.”

Her friend is a goddess in her own right, and must understand how she feels about these sorts of things. She feels Ares has earned every ounce of Beth’s spite, every ounce of her minimal blood-thirst. For every scar he allowed to be put on Zarek’s body, every one he inflicted himself. For every time he’d failed to be a father, just like her own. Some day she will find her way to Olympus or wherever it is that they all reside and she will find a way to burn it all down to the ground, those fires slaked only by rivers of divine blood…from everyone who has ever failed her husband.Zarek’s wife is a gentle soul, it’s true, but she would be nothing if not vengeful when she ascends.

Grapes: What would my muse want as a reward for hard work?

“Don’ need a reward, nevah been a materialistic person in my whole life…but mebbe…mebbe some day I’ll see sovereignty restore t’ my islands. By dat I mean put a Kanaka Maoli king or queen back in dere rightful place, give back da land dat was stolen from us, let da land an’ her people’s be free like she was only a few hun’red year ago. Same wi’ Ireland too, come t’ t’ink of it.”

Lemon: Something in my muses life that went sour?

“My relationship wi’ my braddah. We use’ t’ be so close, we migh’ as well have been twins. Aftah da acciden’ when he lost his leg, everyt’ing between us changed an…we went bittah wi’ each oddah. I miss dat. I miss him.”

Orange: What small things in life make my muse happy?

“Seein’ people be kind t’ demselves, t’ oddahs less fortunate. T’ see dem treat da earth an’ all of its creatures wi’ gentility, without fear or greed. Children laughin’ an’ playin’. Ocean waves against da shore. Sound of da gators callin’ across da bayou. Butterflies. Grill cheese san’wiches. Very sharp knives.”

Peach: If my muse was immortal what would they do with their time?

She laughs at this because, well… “Work as a doctah in any an’ alla places dat need medical care an’ don’ have adequate access t’ it. Like Africa, Sout’ America. Parts of Asia. Anywhere I was needed.It’s all about keepin’ balance, yeah? My husband is very good at da darker aspects of nature, an’ mine are about growth an’ life. So dere’s dat. But also get more time t’ read, an’ travel, an’ jus’ about any kine we wanna do.”

Pear: Something my muse wouldn’t want to be separated from?

 “Par’ of me…always t’ought if I no were Awakened…if I could go back t’ Sleep an’ nevah remembah wha’ it was like t’ have dis magick inside me, t’ jus’ be one normal person…dat I’d have been happier somehow. Different. But since dis lil shark came along…”Beth fondly lays a hand on the rounded swell of her growing son, and gave the bump an easy, gentle rub.“….I’m no gonna lie…bein’ cut off from certain aspects of dat magick…is like losing one of my senses. It’s really strange not to feel life all around me. Not bein’ able to look a’ someone an’ see what’s goin’ on inside dem. Not hearin’ da earth whisper t’ me. An’ I dunno if it’s evah gonna come back.”Pineapple: How does my muse handle long-term relationships?

“Surprisinly…it’s a struggle, ya know? It was terrible a’ first. I didn’ know how t’ be wi’ him. I didn’ know how t’ lissen t’ not wha’ he was sayin’ but more wha’ he meant. I dunno how f’ explain it, but it was very rough startin’. But once I came to a certain understandin’…da kine start t’ smooth out. Bein’ able t’ show him I’m faithful. Dat I’m loyal. Dat I always wan’ what’s best f’ him, even when sometimes dat’s not me or my involvement. I do know dat I’m a damn sight mo’ beddah for him dan any of his previous women.” 

Plum: What are five things that make my muse happy?

“My husband. My son. Surfin’. Music. Dancin’. I’m a real easy person t’ get along wi’ an’ my pleasures are simple.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

👀 + Beth and Jay

Three Glimpses From the Inside || Selectively Accepting

I. Small, Medium and LargeAt first glance, most people didn’t bat an eyelash when they saw Jay and Beth flanking Andy. One leather clad arm around each of the women’s shoulders, matching grins as they did whatever happened to take their fancy. He introduced them as his sisters. He always had, except for that year and a half that Andy and Jay had dated.

“I t’ink i’ funny, look on dere face when dat las’ bit come out.”“Yeah, kid, but that’s mostly you. Senor Grumpypants has no sense of humour, remember?”

“I’m sitting right here.”

“Is almos’ li’dat...if ja’lissen...ya can hear him still talking.”

“I saw his liver the other day, by Bethesda Fountain. I don’t think it recognised me.”“Still sitting right here.” He throws a french-fry at Jay.

She accidentally splurches ketchup over his knuckles.Beth steals a sip of Jay’s milk-shake.

They certainly act like family.

II. Midnight Margarita Parties

Jay’s freshman year of college paired her with sophomore pre-med Beth. And in turn Beth introduced Jay to Practical Magic, both the book and the movie. She was absolutely convinced that it was a twist of fate that two Awakened witches ended up being roommates, despite the difference of Tradition.

Beth isn’t sure when MM became a thing exactly, but they became a mainstay of late night cram sessions, end of the semester blowing off steam, and soon after, just because.

And the recipe is a mix of them both. Coconut tequila. Cointreau. Fresh-squeezed lime. A rim of mixed Dead Sea salt and Brown sugar. Loud music and deep breaths. A pitcher later and there’s dancing. Singing. And never a single hangover.

That’s the real magick.

The music and the dancing are just a bonus.

III. Auntie Jay

Beth chose Jay to be her midwife for many reasons, despite the fact that the Janissary needed a crash-course in Life to do so, and those lessons had to come from Luc. It was an easy choice for her despite the somewhat dark looks that passed between Z and herself. He had never liked Jay. Would never like the woman. 

But Beth trusts her more than anyone else. She was the first and only person who knew about Zarek in the first place. And despite Jay’s misgivings, she tried to be supportive of Beth because the Incarna makes her happy.

“You sure you wanna do this naturally, swee’heart?”

“No,” Beth grins weakly. “But gonna.”“Okay. Why? I mean...you’re already gonna be pushing out my nephew through the play-dough fun factory of life, why add no drugs on top of it.”Beth frowned. “Cause...I don’ wanna risk...”“I was kidding.”“I’m not. Only got dis one shot.”Jay...doesn’t press the issue further. “Okay but...if you bite me, I’m gonna have him knock your ass out, you know that, right?”

She laughs. “Yeah, fair enough.”

What’s the threat of bodily harm between friends?

“I just hope the little proto-shoggoth isn’t Wyrm tainted.”“Really, Jay?”

[brooklynislandgirl]

“I didn’t know where else to go...” Asp

Begging for Grace || Accepting

It took Beth much longer than she liked to move through the old antebellum house than she might have otherwise liked, but with her due-date looming ever nearer, she had to put in more effort than she should have to get everything ready on time. And while a smart woman, especially one married to a protective and powerful demigod, might have recruited her husband for things like heavy lifting and all but jogging up and down several flights of stairs, it made her feel better. And for his part, the thunderstorm ~not quite a hurricane, at least not yet, thank goodness~ didn’t seem to be bothering Styxx much at all. 

A few kicks now and again as he settled himself, that was about it.

She didn’t hear the knock but the doorbell that followed had gotten her attention, unexpected as it was. The clinic was closed on Sundays, to allow her to do her charting at home, and take a day of rest. She set down one of her boxes in a corner of the attic and then started her descent. The third floor that were actual bedrooms and closets. The second floor that were offices, an overnight observation room and a pair of guest bathrooms and lab, and finally the first floor. The main reception, the staff lounge and kitchen, her office and the room separated from it by French doors that Zarek had turned into a nursery for her, as well as exam rooms.

She was a little ashamed to be out of breath by the time she got to the door. A feeling that was subsumed by shock and then upset when she saw Aspen on the other side of the door, taking shelter on the wide porch that ran the length of the house-clinic.

Beth didn’t need life magick to see the smaller woman was in fairly bad shape. The bare skin of her arm slithered across Aspen’s leather jacket and pulled her into a gentle, almost maternal, side hug and she guided the woman indoors.“If this was Tal or one ya oddah biker boys,” and Creed certainly came to mind, “dere not gonna be enough of dem lef’ to autopsy cause I will personally feed ‘em to our gators.”Or Marion if she were in the mood for long pig.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Biscuits: What would your muse wear to a costume party?

Summer Carnival || Accepting

She glanced over her shoulder at Tabby, warming their cups while the kettle whistled. One of the things she loved about having her clinic in a three story house was having a full kitchen at her disposal. Today’s schedule had the clinic on limited hours so she could catch up on her paperwork, check lab results, and schedule the next few weeks.

After that, she’d be taking her maternity leave.

“Well, is no really one costume party, yeah?” Beth’s pidgin was beginning to adapt to the Crescent City creole, but so far was still decipherable. “June Undah Da Moon is more like a carnival but since it’s comin’ close to da Solstice an’ all.. I was gonna wear bandeau top an’ mebbe some kine broom skirt. Wanna highlight my son now dat he’s really startin’ t’ show.”

With that, she set everything she needed, the tea and cookies and tiny finger-sandwiches, cream and sugar all on a tray. She balanced it expertly as she turned and slowly made her way back to her friend. “C’mon. Show ya my day room.”The Antebellum house had a narrow sun room with beautiful windows showing off the back yard and Beth’s gardens. Most of it had been there before she’d taken over the practice but Zarek had spent so much time and effort helping her make it everything she wanted, much as he did back at the cabin. He even planted the seedling of her World Tree so both places would be connected.

“If he no mind, wanna do some face paintin’ or henna too. Mebbe a Earth Mother motif, whatcha t’ink?”

[brooklynislandgirl]

🔴

BloodLust ||Accepting

3. our  muses  cleaning  up  blood  together  from  a  kill.

Savages

There’s a specific kind of sound that you can’t easily ignore. It’s wet, pulpy, grinding, raspy…all of those things at once and it makes a shudder creep down Beth’s spine and turns what she would consider her once cast-iron stomach a little queasy. She doesn’t bother to look behind her, part of her doesn’t want to know. Part of her says it’s just meat now, the spirit gone to wherever it would in whatever afterlife it believed in. So she stays on her knees, spindly arms sweeping back and forth, the scrub brush more pushing the slick sloppy red around than actually prying it up. For a moment, she watches the crest of it rise, turn to pink, bubbly foam.

This had never been her intention. Beth tended to foster life, tended to nurture it back to a place where it could thrive and grow and be part of the cycle of nature. And yes, dying was also a part of that endless round, but…it’s different some how. She tells herself the man had it coming. That he deserved every ounce of pain that had wracked him as she cracked each of his long bones when she snapped the twigs in her fist. Tries to tell herself that was the only choice she could have made; and maybe that holds some truth.

~*~

She’d been in the kitchen, prepping the vegetables for dinner when the feeling came over her that something just wasn’t right. Zarek frowned when she said she’d be back, but he didn’t do anything to really stop her. He never did, not when she had that particular look on her face. And while she never could quite figure out how her husband could move as he did, she did not have to rely on her own frail human stride, once she’d slipped into the copse of cypress trees. There’d be a trail of clothes littering the marshy swamp near the cabin, she could collect those on her return. She didn’t take off the necklace or the ring, but rather took them into herself where they sat heavy and foreign in her favourite other shape…a white-tail doe with a band around one foreleg, and a dark ring around her long neck. The distance between her home and Marion’s were quickly covered, and she shifted back. The dogs were poisoned, but they would recover.But her hackles raised when she saw the door clinging to its frame, askew and gaped open. Inside she could hear commotion, some kind of struggle, angry shouting, inhuman growling and then…then a loud rapport that startled her and the birds in the trees, the unmistakable sound of gunfire.She was in through the door in a burst of fear for her friend.The carnage struck her.Two of the men lay in gory glory around Mar….around the rougarou. She’d..no, not she. The rougarou done what it could and fought well. It was easy to see, but she hadn’t expected the third, maybe. Younger than what Beth could assume, scanning the rapidly cooling meat of the other two. Barely out of his teens and he looked almost as terrified as she felt. But the symbols painted onto his leather jacket, the boots and weapons festooning his body...there was no mistaking him for anything other than the Hunter that he was, and not just that. From what she could gather, one of those who had splintered from whatever organisation they had. A cult, by any means, dedicated to eradicating all things they considered abominations under the eyes of their vengeful god. And their definition of the word was broad. Hand with the gun shaking, he turns on his heel and faces her. Surprise registers in his eyes as he looks her over, raises the weapon. She can see it all in a slow-motion, and ducks aside, pitching herself toward Marion’s fireplace. Mind racing how to stop him. The second shot rings out, deafening Beth with the blast of sound in such a closed space, and the acrid smell of spent round lies bitter on her tongue. Reflexively her palm hits the ground so that she can push herself up and maybe find cover. Underneath her grip she can feel sticks. So she grabs them. Winds them into a vague man shaped thing, bound by a little bark that dangled from the largest piece. She recites words that are in an old tongue, one not heard since before the occupation of her homeland.She draws his power into the stick figure, trapping his mana there. Creates a spiritual connection between the figure and the man and then begins her real magick. She snaps a twig with intention. A compound fracture of the ulna and the radius and the gun is no longer an issue even though his scream is. He stumbles forward, remaining arm reaching for a knife...and she smiles. Almost piteously. Knives she doesn’t fear. In the right hands....well. His are not that. She lets him get a few paces and then snaps another twig. A third. One by one his bones cave to the pressure of her magick until the screaming becomes a gurgle. That becomes silence.~*~

She doesn’t know when the crunching noises stop. When the flick of a tongue slurps the last viscera from the rougarou’s muzzle and nails tack on the floor. A rush of fetid breath wafts over her cheek.

“Honeychile, hush...dey don' deserve yo tears.”She almost flinches when there’s pressure on her arms. Not claws but hands, worn and scarred and lined with a hint of the woman’s age. Beth...leans into Marion. Eyes closed and a hitched breath in her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t.....come sooner.”Of all the things Marion could say, all she does is pull the scrub brush out of Beth’s hands and leans against her hair.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Amaranth

Leaves from the Tree of Life || Accepting

AMARANTH - If offered immortality, would your muse take it? For what reasons would or wouldn’t they, and under what conditions would it take to change whatever their answer is?

She quietly considers the Incarna’s question. Carefully too, because he was the one being in all the universe that both demanded and deserved the most honest of answers. But it’s not...easy.

“If offered...I suppose wha’ da situation is...would be important. Would someone else...or many oddah people...have t’ die for it? Would I be stealin’ life from someone or somet’ing else? Would it cause suffering or sorrow? If so...dere’s no way I could literally live pono wi’dat.”

She half smiles and her hand drifts up toward where her heart rested. There, beneath skin and bone it beat once, twice, and then a shadow echo on the heels of the rhythm.

That hadn’t been a choice, really. Sin had murdered her in the darkness of her bedroom. He’d been careful, he’d been sympathetic and kind, and he’d changed the very nature of her soul and avatar to bond her with Zarek. Without consulting either of them. Because he thought he was protecting her. Because he thought he was doing something....good.  

And now, now Beth shared her husband’s immortality. A touch of his own divinity in her. And she didn’t know if that meant Sin freed her brother’s spirit to carry on his journey, or if they’d condemned him for the sake of having one another. But what was done couldn’t be undone without consequences. 

“I...I dunno if I...I could change m’ mind though.”

Soft green doe eyes rise up to meet the Incarna’s face. And there’s something sad but welcoming in that expression as her hand covered one of his. “May I ask why ya wanna know? Wha’ ya maybe lookin’ for?”