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[brooklynislandgirl]

Green: What article of clothing is most attractive on your partner?

Colour Me Sexy || Accepting

She tries to keep a serious look on her face, but standing there in front of him, tilting her head up to look him in the eye, something slips and a faint smile clings to her lips, quirking their corners. Her hands fiddle with the hem of edge of dark wool, perhaps subconsciously brushing occasionally against his. When she finally gets around to answering him her voice is warm and soft and a little more quiet than usual, a whisper of sound ever frailer than before. "Dis ya aksin' cause... cause ya saw me pettin' dat one jacket of yours, isn' it?" There's little remorse in the question even if she is now uniquely embarrassed for the answer to be a nod of his head. It had been a temptation since she'd first spied it there, hanging against the wall like liquid shadow. The light glinting off the layers of wool and silk, it had been shiny enough to compel her to approach it, run her hands over the length of it, from shoulder to hem of the sleeve cuff. And once that line had been crossed, well of course she was going to have to press her face into it and breathe in deeply. There are hints of cedar and tonka bean. Light, woody. There is the occasional hint of blood, not his. Thankfully. Something that reminds her of chai but more subtle, more grounded. The earthiness without the sweet. And oddly, she can smell herself on it, moreso than she does him. Stands to reason, she spends more time wrapped up in his trappings that he does. And Beth had given into all the sensual desire that petting this particular coat of his had seeded in her. "Now, Mischa, gonna wan ya t' t'ink real careful about dis." She double checks to make sure his concentration has not faltered. "Now, dis my favourite t'ing you own, clothing wise, an' it does really look dead sexy on you. So I'ma offer it back...but if ya choose to accept... ya goddah realise...I've got not'ing on under it."

[brooklynislandgirl]

📼 Favorite movie romance?

Love, Love me do... || Accepting

Beth looks distinctly ill at ease. Even this town, small and backwards though it is, where they first met doesn’t fit quite right on her. The worn and sun bleached brick edifices ~ with shop windows more grime than glass these days~ are half empty but still too busy. Furtive glances are exchanged now and again. Comments are made behind the backs of hands covering mouths. Space is put between the women and others, children are clutched closer, husbands and brothers are dragged expediently along by their elbows. They are both strangers here; one garishly outlandish in attire, attitude and voice, the other a bygone from older times as stubborn as mountains and with a grudge perpetually teetering on too-narrow shoulders.

The linoleum floor tiles of the diner are dingy with age. The booths sag and bleed stuffing through red cracked vinyl. A half dozen decades of coffee rings and water glasses stain the sturdy, battered wood. 

Beth sits at the edge of her seat. Come down on high as a gesture of good faith but also as a preventative measure. The less curious Nilza is about her people, the better things are to be. A surreptitious glance around the mostly empty dining room has her hands plucking at the edges of the long black and button-less sweater, dragging it closed over the faded and dingy, plain dress beneath it. Hiding herself maybe. Or perhaps seeking comfort in the familiar, which seems less likely when she tucks one arm around herself, hand buried under the other arm. She picks up her cup and sips the unsweetened, creamless coffee.

“I...uh.. I’ve only ever been down to the picture-house one time, and that was years ago. I was near enough seventeen, an’ it was just after our pa had died. Andy come down to town to pick up supplies an’ ran into this gal he’d been sweet on for a while. And he didn’t want to leave me alone, so he paid for a ticket so he could spend time with her.”

There were details she was leaving out. Some not remembered, others didn’t matter. 

“Seems it was one of them made up stories, ya know? Two women havin’ trouble with their lives. One from out California way, other one’s from like England or somethin’ an’ they end up movin’ into each other’s houses. The California one falls in love with the other gal’s brother. And the English one sorta falls in love with the neighbour or somethin’. I don’t know. I...”

She looks up at Nilza finally and gives a half shrug. “T’be honest, I don’t think I really understand it much. But everyone seemed happy. And of course it was set at Christmas time, so it had to have a good end.”

She doesn’t know why the question is relevant except that either Nilza was just trying to find one more thing she could make fun of Beth for, or...

The hidden hand emerges and she reaches up and takes hold of one loose, messy braid, tugging at it gently as a way of soothing herself.

“I don’ know what kinda stories they been tellin’ when they shouldn’t... and while it’s true I’m a pretty good midwife, and have a gift for growin’ things, I can’t exactly help ya if you’re lookin’ for some kind of love spell. Not the way you might be meanin’. First it’s powerful bad luck t’ force someone to fall in love with someone else, and second... if ya gotta force it, maybe it ain’t worth the trouble. How would ya ever know if the feelin’s were real?”

Not that Beth believes in true love, not like that. She likes it well enough in stories, and she genuinely enjoys it when some of her folk go pairing off together, but she’s never actually experienced it herself.  

[brooklynislandgirl]

♥ Do they make it a point to eat at lease one meal a day together with their partner, or do they do as they please?

Love and Courtship || Accepting

Sometimes a meal in a single day is all that Beth can manage, depending on verse.  As an emergency room nurse, Beth works the 7pm-7am night shift, which means she leaves for work between 5pm and 6pm {the extra time built into her schedule to accommodate the subway running behind}. She also tends to work most holidays. When she is strictly running her own clinic as a nurse practitioner or doctor, then her schedule becomes much more flexible. Beth doesn’t cook, and so she relies on her partner for that. If she doesn’t have one, she will rely on her brother{s}, roommate, or the house-keeper/cook. Otherwise, there’s a kingdom of take-away cartons in her fridge.

If scheduling doesn’t permit a meal to be taken together, she will find other ways to spend quality time with her partner; a long bath, close-cuddling before the other has to get up and out of bed, a phone-call or text/time spent in a video conference.

Food though is a kind of love language for her, especially culturally. She’s used to having large gatherings where everyone contributes to a communal meal. She still prefers these kinds of meals here on the mainland, and they are especially important to her during the holidays, which she might celebrate a little early or a little late, to ensure that everyone who wants to can be a part of it. Beth also spends her days off volunteering to work in her church’s soup-kitchen, whether that means she’s serving, doing prep-work, or clean up. Sometimes, if it’s slow going, she will sit with parents of babies and small children, helping feed them or keep them entertained while the parent{s} eat.

As she is vaguely dependant on her partner on what they are having, if someone is kind enough to make her a meat-based meal, she will not complain and will, in fact, eat it graciously and gracefully, even though she is primarily pescatarian. Other than personal preference, she has no dietary restrictions or needs.

One of the interminably awful, most torturous events for Beth is having Dinner with the Admiral, which is typically a once a month standing date. As unfair as it is to her partner, she tends to need a very long run up to, and severe after care from this event as it is viewed by the man to be open season on his daughter, and he will run her down in every way possible over the course of three and a half to four hours.

Side-note: Though she sees food as culturally important, and will shove snacks at anyone who will take them, surprise people with baked goods and the like from local businesses and the like, she herself doesn’t eat much or regularly unless someone does sit down with her. She also has a hummingbird metabolism and could eat the same portions as two people twice her size.

Side-Side note: When Beth was pregnant with Styxx in A Little South of Heaven {Main} Verse, her son insisted on her becoming a very hands on carnivore. A lot of red meat, the rarer the better. She has not yet emotionally recovered from this.

~*~

Specifically in Across the Universe {Star Wars} and it’s AUs... Anakin and Keni almost never have the luxury of being in the Temple at the same time together, and haven’t for years, much less able to carve out enough time to eat together. Things were simpler when they were younger, and were in the same youngling clan. During their early years of training they would have go to the smaller breakfast rooms set aside for them on the rooftops. On nice days the transparisteel windows would rise into the ceiling to let in sunshine and fresh air in, allowing them to experience a cool breeze while still being surrounded by the safety of the Temple and it’s guardians. Occasionally Jedi masters would join and speak to them, in what they believed was a privileged visits, but what actually turned out to be clever interviews to look for potential future padawans. Anakin and Melakeni would always find a way to sit together, whether directly beside or directly across. Food was passed from one to the other as favourites were decided upon. This sharing of food didn’t stop as they got older, and instead began to take meals at one of the refectories scattered around the temple. The refectories always had a kitchen and a dining hall, and were supplied from the Storage level and the kitchen gardens. When she feared not being chosen by a Master, Keni thought she wouldn’t mind working in the gardens, and could maybe at least catch a glimpse now and then of Anakin. While the refectories were designed for beauty, they maintained a sense of utilitarian purpose. They were connected to the service corridors, were attended by droids who would hover around the rooms to clear away spills, forgotten dishes, and to dispose of any undesired waste. The kitchens were large enough to service over a hundred Jedi at a time. Large stoves and ovens lined the walls. The dining halls themselves were filled with long trestle tables and accompanying benches. Holodisplays hung along the pillared walls to show news from across the galaxy. Meals there were often sombre affairs for the two of them, who never really fit in with clusters of other padawans. Especially the ones who decided to pick on Anakin and mess with him, or his food tray. 

Later, the closer that they came to the Clone Wars, whenever Anakin returned to the Temple and Keni happened to be there, she would find a way for them to end up in her quarters. After their ritual re-acquaintance which largely consisted of Anakin standing there while she breathed him in and nuzzled his throat and petted or stroked every bit of him that was polite, he would often bestow upon her off-world treats that he had acquired, though none so rare as the occasional wullah fruit picked up from traders who exported it from Zelos. Other times they would smuggle tidbits out of the refectories to share later, things nibbled off one another’s fingers, usually fruit and vegetables. Occasionally a bit of bread or special pastry.

In later years, after the fall of the Order and the rise of Imperial Rule, Palpatine cleverly arranges social gatherings and it is rare that they are both allowed to be in attendance. But still, they manage. When it is possible, they do share meals together. Keni continues to threaten the Impending Doom of both cooking him a meal and making one of him.

Anakin continues to hope that she will.

Side-Note:  One thing that has never changed in all of their years together, Melakeni always shares her food with Anakin because she doesn’t technically need as much as other humans, and because she is, in fact, biologically capable of photosynthesising, and able to survive up to three months or so of going without anything more substantial than sunlight.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Blindfold: "We can leave the blindfold on, if you wish. Some say that when you lose one sense the others are heightened."

In the Dark || Accepting

Soft, silken whispers at her ear. Barely enough breath to utter the words. And Beth can only respond with two incredibly heightened emotions at the moment... twin spikes of fear and a strange eroticism she has no name for but that isn’t inherently and exclusively tied to sexuality, per se. It is also a display of an incredible amount of trust. Beth doesn’t enjoy the Darkness. Bred deep into her bones there is something not right about it, she knows if she allows it to, it will devour her and not bother to even spit out her bones.

But there’d been plenty of wine, hers. And poetry, his.

Electric candle light because he isn’t very fond of living flame, no matter how much comfort she might find within the little flickers. The tips of his fingers along the bare skin of her shoulders. The way they pooled at the hollow of her throat sent goose-flesh prickling to the surface. It was a half insinuated suggestion that she found herself nodding to. And now?

Now her pulse flutters wildly along the sides of her throat, hands laying in her lap and fingers twist in the closest lengths of her skirt. She tilts her head just a little closer though he doesn’t give off much in the way of warmth. He is a solid presence though. The tip of her tongue drags across the full tier of her lower lip and her voice is a smudge of smoke when she take a breath and speaks at last. “C-can leave it.” A pause, an exhale. “For now. But...wha’ ya wan me sense dis way, eh?”

[brooklynislandgirl]

“Before worrying about my soul, I suggest looking at your own.”- Nilza

Season of the Witch || Accepting

She runs the tip of her tongue along the row of small, sharp teeth that get bared in a tight lipped smile at the taller woman. 

“Not yer soul I’m worried about. I jus’ don’ wanna hafta clean up after someone else’s mess. We’ve had peace in these here parts f’ a while now, an’ I don’ need ya t’ come stirrin’ up ole bones tryin’ t’ make yours. You ain’t mountain born, an’ yer not a townie, neither. Which makes you nothin’ around here ‘cept wha’ folk think of ya. An’ before ya go runnin’ yer mouth ‘bout how ya don’ care an’ ya don’ need no one cause you’re big an’ bad all on yer lonesome, let me tell you. Goin’ up there to hunt you down some what? Leeches? Wolves? You ain’ gonna come down. Outsiders never do.”

Beth’s said her peace. She has worked too long, too hard to make things civil amongst the various factions. These are her hills. Her mountain. Her people. Even the ones that really... aren’t.

“So mebbe you should run along now, ge’ back in yer truck an’ pretend you never come this way? Can prolly get yerself t’ Gatlinburg ‘fore nightfall.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Arctic Char- What are you thinking about right now?

Ocean Themed Asks || Accepting

“Dat is late, an’ I should be gettin’ home. Trut’ be told, I...I don’ like walkin’ back or takin’ da subway a’ night.” She winds a hand behind her neck and offers him a grin but the blush speaks to her embarrassment admitting this.

Especially being a woman, a small one at that, New York at night was a dangerous and alien place. And while she’s not exactly a damsel in distress or an obviously weak target, she looks it. “I’m also not imposin’, eiddah on ya lettin’ me stay or ya comin’ along wi’ me. Dere’s been some pretty awful kine happenin’ of late...crime rate bein’ wha’ it is an’ all...and I don’ want ya t’ risk gettin’ in any kind of trouble.”

Andy’s been bothered the last few weeks, but he’s not exactly forthcoming with the case. In fact, any time she brings it up, he immediately changes the subject and puts his notes or file away. And while Mikhail is not even remotely a girl, she doesn’t want the beat cops to harass him based on spur of the moment suspicions. “Sure dat sounds silly t’ you, but I’m kind of fond of ya.”