#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33

[brooklynislandgirl]

Stress

Driftwood || Accepting @therealgamble {for inclusion}

Arrest Me, Please

Fourth of July is a time for cook-outs, family, winding down with a bonfire on the beach. Usually Andy absconds inside with his noise-cancellation headphones and man’s the bar while everyone else is outside enjoying multiple firework displays, but it’s often not a big deal, less so here in California than in New York.  And Beth herself had wanted to be curled up between two particular cops that weren’t related to her. Sipping on sangria, nibbling on the vegan hot-dogs that no one else would touch.

She’s not that lucky. She is working a night shift in the ER as the front desk Triage nurse. And to call the waiting room a disaster would have been the understatement of the century. Every room in the hospital is full and out of the fifty bed ER, they are boarding admitted patients which effectively cut them down to thirty rooms, sometimes double and triple stacking the ER patients, trying to dismiss as many as possible at the most reasonable moments. But that doesn’t stop ambulances from bringing in more patients. The hospital never goes on divert protocol. They could have been on fire, with a hostage situation, no power, under a tsunami and the admins would still not go on divert. That and people keep walking through the door.

And that leaves Beth to be their most accessible whipping boy for all of their fear and anger and pain. She knows there’s at least fifty patients in the waiting room, each of them having at least one and up to ten visitors with them. She is in charge of making sure that everyone is assessed, has the proper labs and imaging ordered, and preformed. She is responsible for knowing the results of all these factors, prioritising them appropriately, ignoring the sound of beeping call lights, interns that don’t know their heads from their....holes in the ground, and an ever mounting set of charts sitting haphazardly at the corner of the counter.

Being the person who makes sure no one dies in the waiting room is enough to stress anyone, and she’s capable of recognising when someone is in dire straights and needing a bed she can conjure out of nowhere.

She’s leaning over the counter, several inches taller than she is, and grabbing a phone, ringing up the charge nurse.

“I need a bed. Got a patient here that’s hypotensive, history of GI bleeding and the lab drawn at the doctor’s office today came back with a haemoglobin of 4.1. This guy needs a bed and blood, because he’s still actively having bloody bowel movements.” There’s a moment of silence. “I don’t have any beds.” “Then clear off your desk and I’ll lay them down on it, because we’re coming back.”

“Alright. Alright. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Moana. Start walking. I’ll find you a stretcher somewhere by the time you get back here.”

And so it goes...for ten hours. She lets the racial slurs go. She lets the cursing and the crying wash over her like a big wave because there’s nothing else she can do, it’s the third of her twelve hour shifts in a row, and her patients are missing the same holiday she is with their families, and her emotional exhaustion has no bearing on the care they should receive. And so what if she’s got a splitting headache, is dehydrated from not having had anything to eat or drink, and she’s running on empty.

She gets her patients slowly situated, always returning to man her post. Walking with one physician who asks her for her assistance, she doesn’t see the woman running up to her until the woman’s hand comes down on her forearm, physically stopping her. Makes mention that Beth was her husband’s nurse the night before and was about to ask a question when she was flagged down. Beth kept walking with the doctor but she couldn’t leave it. Promises she’ll only be a minute. She isn’t the man’s nurse tonight but that doesn’t mean she can just brush off the wife’s concern. When she gets to the patient’s room, his eyes have rolled back and he’s clearly coding. Another nurse, the one assigned to him, looks up at Beth, white as freshly laundered sheets. She is young and new and is very tense. “PE! I think he threw a PE!”

Beth starts the cpr and tells New Girl to call the code, which she does.

The patient did not survive.

Her arms feel like noodles, she’s barely able to lift them without pain. Everything she’s feeling is shoved down into a box and she can’t let herself cry, can’t sit somewhere quiet and wonder if she did everything she could, if she might have done something different that might have saved his life. But the night carries on, and so must she. By four in the morning, she’s done. She hasn’t got anything left. That’s when Brian slips in. Coming up to the desk. Not an uncommon occurrence to find a cop there, usually looking for someone who was in a car accident, usually following up. He doesn’t get a word out. “I did it.” Brows gather over his eyes like thunderclouds, his expression clearly perplexed. “Uh...what?”

“Whatever it is you’re here for, Bri, whatever warrant for whatever crime....I confess. I did it. Please just arrest me, so I can leave.”

He laughs. “Sorry, that’s not how it works, Jellybean. Rough shift?” She nodded, the misery and deprivation written over her features, in the bags under her eyes, in the fact that he could bend a piece of rebar over her shoulders that have become like anvils from the tension racing through her system. The sun won’t be up for another hour, but she swears the clouds part behind him and light wraps him up in a holy nimbus as he lifts his hands. There’s a giant cup of coffee in one hand ~soy vanilla chai latte with a quad-shot of espresso~ and in the other is a paper bag that she can smell her cook out food still warm inside. “Your brother was winding everything down and I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

She comes out from the back office space and presses her face into his chest. Arms wrap around his waist. She can smell a lingering trace of wood smoke, beer, and all the other things like his soap and fabric softener. Nothing has ever been so welcome in her life, and it takes the last of her fragile emotional strength not to just cry.  They’ve talked for less than a minute, but this is the most compassion and kindness she’d been shown all weekend, and it’s a phenomenal salve on all of the rough, broken, bleeding, emotional wounds of trying to manage a hundred and twenty people on her own. Maybe Brian senses it too. Maybe he recognises the insanity of the job. That is isn’t necessarily what’s going on during a shift so much as how you can handle it. “Okay, Okay, let go or I’m drinking all of your coffee myself.”  It’s enough to pull her together. “You get off at six, right?” She nods, damply. “Great. I’ll be in the parking lot. We’ll catch breakfast at El Matador. Watch all the losers wipe out on the first surf, and make fun of them.” “Have I tol’ ya, I love you.” “Many, many times, and it’s never gonna happen, babe.” He brushes a kiss against her forehead, shoves the food and drink in her hands and walks out knowing he’s done a good deed. What he doesn’t know is how much better he makes the last two hours go.

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Honourable Mention|Brian Gamble #Thin Blue Lines|Swat verse #California Screaming #medical tw #hospital tw #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

There is a box with a button. If you push the button one random person in the world drops dead, however you will be able to solve world hunger. If you don't push the button that random person lives, but eighty percent of the world populace will be dead in four years. Do you push the button?

Ask Anything || Always Accepting

“Yeah, absolutely. In fact if ya lead wi’ solvin’ world hunger, I push da button, no need t’ hear da rest, an’ let’s be real...probably wouldn’t have undahstood da rest of ya statement anyway. “Don’ maddah to me who dat random person is...even if it were my braddah, or me, or my friends and family. Sometimes, ya goddah make sacrifice, ya know? Like... wha’ is it Spock an’ Kirk always talkin’ story about? ‘Good on da many outweigh good of da one?’ “Is...is li’dat, really.” A wildfire destroys but from that emerges a healthier ecosystem. A volcanic eruption leads to expansion of her islands. Sometimes a sacrifice is required for the rest of nature to be healthy, and it shouldn’t be that much different with people.

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

Word Drabble: Betrayed

Driftwood || Accepting

Beth leans against the counter closest to the fridge, fingers slackly holding a cup of coffee. Her gaze riveted to the dark liquid surface. Little waves appearing because those hands shook with the want to forget the last four days. Erase each horrible moment from the recesses of her mind, to regain a sense of the innocence lost with those moments as they were created. Drown out the screaming. Drown out the blood and the chains. Drown out as she watched the violations occur, heard the offer of self-sacrifice for her own physical well-being. To be rid of the niggling sense of doubt at the information she could only now begin to understand. The look on the boy’s face before she obliterated it with a single gun-shot. All of it. She doesn’t feel him come up. Doesn’t acknowledge that she’s been there long enough to turn to stone, that the scalding coffee had become colder than the chill air outside. How pulling the cup from her hand was not unlike he’d taken the gun away. ‘Beth?’  She shudders to life, bringing both hands up and instinctively taking up a defensive posture, almost a cat-step kata. The cup gets knocked out of his hand, dousing him from shirt to pants, before he manages to catch it, and put it on the counter, but not before cursing, because of course he does. She apologises profusely, instinctively reaching for the shirt as if she can pull the liquid out of the material, off his skin. She can’t. That isn’t her magick. He shrugs her off and takes a step back and that hurts her. He has no reason to be afraid of her. Her face shifts by micro-expressions, her nose scrunches, and she catches a whiff of burning food. She apologises for that too, mentioning that she’d spaced out and it’s true. She’d gone back to that basement, back to the incredible horror of it. The wink he offers is playful and doesn’t really register. He tugs at the shirt. “Suppose now that you’ve soiled my clothes, you’ll have to get me out of them.” She doesn’t take that as the invitation it sounded like. The smile offered less than stellar, less at home on her lips than it’s ever been. She takes a dish cloth, holds it underwater and squeezes it before making a little sound at the back of her throat. She’s always liked his sense of humour, but the words won’t come, neither will the laughter. The parallel in her mind is terrifying, in a way. She hears more than sees him backing away, pulling the shirt off. Uses it to mop at his leg, drying his chest. She doesn’t feel the way he eyes her, and maybe that’s a good thing. She could always turn her bones to jello with just a glance. She pushes his hands out of the way before he can do any more damage, and runs the damp cloth over his skin. No need to talk. No need to think. Gentle and slow, meticulous so as not to abrade the wounds he’s still healing from, despite an exhaustive expenditure of mana to heal him inside and out. All of her mocked by the one angry red at his ribs, the one that refused to obey her alteration of reality. He takes her hand and carefully twines their fingers together, enough give in that hold that she can escape it at will. She thinks it’s funny that he thinks she wants that. His whisper is soft, achingly tender, wraps her up in the dark silk of it as if nothing can touch them here. And it can’t, the entire building was warded against almost every possible intrusion. It’s why she insisted in coming.  “I’m alright,” he says. “I’m not,” she snaps. An arm on her shoulder, resting. “You will be.” ~*~ The Man in the trench-coat, tall and blonde and afflicted with a now familiar accent, looks at her expectantly, and quietly repeats himself. “Ye gotta light, luv?” The Man is not John. No matter how much she wants him to be. She sticks her hand in her pocket. ~*~

Beth reluctantly pulls her hand free and in turn pulls him closer, close enough that he can’t just disappear, turning his half hug into a full embrace. Winds her spindly arms around his waist. Rests her head against his chest because she needs to hear his heart beat. She needs to feel it strong and close and half belonging to her, even if it doesn’t, not really. She doesn’t care if it’s his turn to be stiff and unappreciative. And maybe that gives him the room to put his hands on her hips. Fingertips warm and calloused in a comforting way. He kisses her but not where she wants him to, settling instead for her hair.

She wants to tell him everything inside her head. Inside her chest. She still can’t get the words out though, not through the thickness of them pooling in her throat, threatening to choke her. So she holds him tighter, hoping he can feel them instead. His fingers climb up and down her spine, comforting or seeking comfort, occasionally fiddling with the robe she wears like armour. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “Jus’ a lil kine longah.”

“I’m sure I’ll cope somehow, in the meantime,” he says in that perfect deadpan.  That teases a short snort of laughter out of her and she manages to push at his shoulder. “I’m havin’ a moment,” she admonishes, not really angry. “No be one okole’ akamai.” “Thought ye liked my arse just as it is.” She disentangles herself, which might have been his goal, and scrubs at her face with the heels of her palms. There’s tears on her skin even if she doesn’t remember crying. Breakfast is ruined now, and she hates herself for being unable to give him even that, something to put in his stomach that doesn’t taste like death and char. “I burnt breakfast.” “Yes, you did.” He wouldn’t let her get far though, would he? Arm still heavy across her narrow shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Like he had to. He is nothing but the desperate gravity of a black hole. She could no more keep her distance than she could...finish a sentence with the right metaphor that didn’t sound stupid, apparently. “Why don’t you sit down before you murder any more defenceless breakfast foods? Ol’ John’ll make us some beans on toast.” “If dat’s exac’ly wha’ it sound like, mahalo an’ no.” Oh no, no no. Her stomach can’t handle the thought. Not that the sausages were any better, truth be told. She doesn’t put up any more of a protest, allowing him to take her silence as consent to sweep her away to the couch. She’s grateful to all the fates when he comes back with tea instead of food. Gives her something that feels almost normal. And she is grateful for that.

“Fags?” He knows she doesn’t like that term, even if it’s mental muscle memory for him. “Oh, I um... bought ya one new pack, but I smoked most of it.” “I appreciate the effort.” He accepts what’s left but made a face. Not his usual brand but they don’t sell Silk Cuts here, and she didn’t want to range too far afield. “But, where’s my coat?” “Charley took it.” “I see.” His body sinks heavily down beside her, while she’s still working things out, trying to figure out where to go. “Ya no seem very upset abou’ dis.” “Last time someone stole that coat, it killed three people and drove a professional hit man insane before I got it back.” She doesn’t even know if he’s making a joke of it, and she’s afraid that maybe he’s not. She side-eyes him. He only leans back and flashes her that smile, the one that makes the world fade out for the duration of its existence. “So good luck, Chuck.”

She can’t help but giggle. Which becomes a laugh, which in turn becomes so hard that she has to take shelter in his umbrage so that she doesn’t double over. She can’t tell if it’s hysteria or just them emotional dam giving way, but it’s something. She is amazed in the moment of his strength, his resilience. She knows if she’d been in his place back in that basement, there would have been nothing left of her worth saving. “You’ll be alright,” he says again, this time a little surer. Or maybe that’s the echo of his laughter.  “Yeah,” she had told him then. Rested her head on his shoulder and breathed everything about him in. ~*~ Little did she know then that she’d be lying through her teeth. Everyone had warned her. From Charley on down to the paperboy. That John would sell her out. That he’d leave her. That he’d take something from her. That he was a con artist as much or more than one of the most powerful of magicians. And on some strange level, it was true.  But the betrayal in the situation is hers. She’d vowed to do no harm, and shot a man in the face, killing him. She’d left her cabal without a single backward glance to follow him into the night. She’s given every bit of herself to John without reservation and expected that for once she might be different. Here she is, years later, still waiting for him to come back.

The man thanks her for the use of her lighter and hands it back to her. He doesn’t make mention of the seal she’s had engraved into the brass. John had promised she’d be alright. She should have known he was lying.

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #{{A remix of a story written by @pettydabblermysticboy from our shared RP}} #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

NSFW rumor - Beth bathes in the blood of virgins beneath the pale moonlight

Whisper in My Ear || Accepting

“Yeah, no. Ya t’inking of da kine... oddah Elizabeth. Hungarian Countess Erzabet Bát’ory de Ecsed. Rumour has it dat...like she an’ her servants kill over six hundred young women in order t’ maintain her yout’ an’ beauty. Personally, if I had dat much blood goin’ on, no would waste it washin’ up. Besides...when it dry, gets all sticky an’ gross...”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

Why do you and your brother have such different accents?

Pono | Accepting

The question is clearly an uncomfortable one, because to answer it is to drag out the family’s dirty laundry and put it on display. Something she’d been raised her entire life not to do. Maintain the walls of silence, preserve their reputation, and for God’s sake, Elizabeth, keep it to yourself.

But the Admiral isn’t there, at the moment, is he? He has no more control over her as any force in the universe.

“So Andy’s maddah was off da boat Irish, ya know? Someone da Adm...dat our fadd...someone that was chosen for him, I t’ink. I dunno. Happen before I was born an’ so ya have t’ aks someone who was dere. But he was born in N’york, all right an’ proper, an’ was taught how f’ talk by da Admiral, long before dey got move t’ Hawai’i. I t’ink f’ him, holdin’ onto da accent is his way of connectin’ wi’ his past. T’ da woman he nevah got t’ know. An’ it wasn’t dat long before we move back, an’ so in comin’ back t’ his home, he surrounded by it, is natural t’ him as breathin’.”She glances at Andy, standing in half dim shadows of the far side of the pool table. Wrist in motion as he chalks his cue. The way he talks, fast and clipped and sometimes running over other people as well as the particular lilt of Irish in his tone, it suited him like dark colours and IPAs. Her gaze slides over to Billy. Stretched out across the table, the muscles of his left arm gathered as he braces his own stick with his right hand, there between the thumb and index fingers, all of which the tips curl into his palm in a loose hold.“Billy, well. Firs’ of all... like da rest of us, hapa-ohana, in a way ya know? Different maddah dan me, different maddah dan Andy. So I...I t’ink his maddah eiddah Irish or British. But aftah she... she pass away, undah questionable circumstance, his Uncle came. Took him away, f’ t’ keep him safe. Da...Da Admiral no seem t’ care. Mebbe was a relief. Mebbe he no goddah explain. But if ya lissen real close...ya can hear a middlan’ accent in Billy’s voice. From Leicestershire side. Can sound American when need to, but it always slip in. At da edges. Pryin’ up at da deep of it. Cling mebbe like a dream.”

She shrugs and takes a sip of her rum and coke.

“Me? Goddah learning disability, no kine I will evah ‘grow out of’ an’ no amoun’ of Speech Language t’erapy will help it any more. But a’ least dey realise back in small kid time dat I no was deaf like dey firs’ t’ought. It’s a processin’ disorder. An’ speak pidgin, is easier f’ me. T’ talk, t’ hear. But it nevah gonna be hundred percent.” She clears her throat, speaks slower and more thoughtfully with longer pauses, speaking as perfectly good haole as she can manage. “We all have deeper voices. People say mine is smokey but soft, usually expect me to have a higher pitched, girlier voice because of my size.  Andy and Billy both have those dark voices, the kind that come up from their knees and work their way through their chests, though Billy can be softer, gentler when he wants. And I hope that answers your question cause it looks like it’s my turn, and I have to go kick some butt.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #We All Have Our Secrets|WOD verse #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

you should kiss brian. For no other reason than it might give your brother a stroke.

Truly, Madly, Deeply || Accepting“So, lemme getcha straight. Ya wan me t’ pick my braddah’s partner. An’ ya wan me kiss him right on da face...da mout’. Jus’ so ya can see Andy have da kine... melt down. Which would provoke beef between him an’ Brian. Which would mean Brian no wanna be friends wi’ me any more, certainly no li’dat. Which would mean my braddah get even more mad an’ more serious about nevah lettin’ me out of his watch?”

The face she makes. One part hurt, one part fearful. Another bit of it is wistful before she surrenders to the order of the universe.“Dat no happen. No can. No will.”

It had been easier to give Brian a peck when they were alone. To reach out, to test bite, without the pressure of knowing Andy was RIGHTTHERE.But in acknowledging that she must acknowledge also that Brian deserves someone braver, better experienced, someone not related to him second hand. That she can’t be casual and he can’t.... She finally gets why they call it a crush.“I don’ wan talk about dis, okay?”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #First Flash of Freedom|Brian and Beth #Thin Blue Lines|SWAT #California Screaming #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

Is there an aspect or aspects of Beth that, regardless of what she's gone through in the RPC, have never changed?

I don’t think that the rpc has a lot of bearing on Beth. Originally I’d intended her to be a Marvel OC {drawn heavily from the Mage the Ascension rpg}, but upon first real contact here on Tumblr… she kind of became a mostly fandomless creature, or one that could easily assimilate into practically any of them. I think it’s probably because I just can’t get into huge groups. I have always liked to lurk on the edges. Find a small handful of people I enjoy building stories with and disregard all the rest.I am essentially too old and cranky for the endless arguments, call outs, disapproval from people who think its their divine right to dictate what can/should/will be written about, how canon should be interpreted, etc.

That being said…

Physically, Beth in whatever incarnation or verse she happens to be in tends to be small. Petite, perhaps is a better word for it. She always has green eyes. They may be bright or dark, they might have some hazel traits, but always green. These two things are because she has a trait called ‘Primal Markings’, and thus no matter who she is or where she goes, those come through.

Emotionally, Beth typically tends to suffer from depression and anxiety. This is not for funsies or because RP muses need to have tragic backstories, but as a way for me to exercise control over things I don’t in real life. Same with issues concerning Parents and Siblings. That is all I am comfortable saying about that.Other nebulous things is that she tries so hard to be supportive, kind, caring, gentle and patient…until she absolutely cannot be. Then she gets a little murder happy. But that could happen to anyone ;) I think it’s the spark of rebellion in her soul that never changes.

And one last thing. Something that never changes? Z. She is and will always be drawn to him, regardless of verse. Whether they meet or not, whether its romantic or not, there is something about him, specifically. Every lifetime over thousands of years. Sometimes she doesn’t find him. Sometimes she does. And then there is the ONE time that he kept her.

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #The Turtle Speaks|Mun Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

You saved my life. You're my superhero.

Blow Up…the Inside || Enthusiastically Accepting

“A’o pilikia,” she murmurs awkwardly, not knowing what she could have possibly done, or how. And the two words…no problem… don’t seem to convey what she actually means.“Mo’ beddah I say…I’m glad I could be of help, in any way. An’ I hope if ya evah need me, ya feel like ya can reach out.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

I ate your yogurt. Thank you for your donation.

Blow Up…the Inside || Enthusiastically Accepting

She stares at the note. Hopes that it will reveal the name of the miscreant who ate her yogurt. Like. come on! Who does that? It’s not as if she’s ever taken anyone else’s food out of the communal fridge. And it had her name on it {that she imagines many other people are buying organic soy and coconut milk almond cherry yogurt all the time}. The ink on the paper is not her brother’s heavy handwriting and the typo stands out at her. Martin, maybe? Brian? It had to be one of them.It had to be.One of them.

So she retaliates.In purple sparkly gel pen, she leaves a new note on the one taped to the fridge.“Hope you enjoyed my yogurt. And my birth control. 💜 ~B.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

What do you enjoy most about writing Beth?

Stuff and Thangs || Accepting

I think…my favourite thing about Beth is how…strange she is. On one hand, she sees horrors and terrible things and manages to be so compassionate about everyone she meets. She is generous, loving, forgiving and good natured if a little squirrely sometimes. She is so optimistic for other people, though sometimes she forgets about herself.And on the other she’s so ridiculously naive and innocent, that even I sit here and go ‘kid, even you can not be THAT dumb.’ And yet… >.>

It’s a very fine line between those two things.

And I suppose, realistically… Beth is the better person I want to be. Andrew is more the person I am, in all my bitter cynicism.

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #The Turtle Speaks|Mun Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

What’s the hardest aspect of Beth’s character to convey?

Stuff and Thangs || Accepting

For me, the hardest parts about her character to convey are as follows:I. Her deeply spiritual connection to her land and culture. I am not myself Hawai’ian, nor am I Pacific Islander. So when I made Beth, I incorporated aspects from my daughter’s friend’s family {They are Samoan from Hawai’i}. I have done everything I can to learn the Hawai’ian language, as well as pidgin. I am constantly researching and adapting things so that I am not appropriating anything in an offensive manner, and the mistakes I do make are simply ignorance. I admire and respect the Hawai’ian people and would never want to offend anyone.II. The psychological/emotional damage from growing up the way she did where essentially she was abandoned/abused by her parents, and had only her brother as a buffer between her and  the  rest of the world. This combined with the fact that she has clinical depression and learning disabilities that don’t just…go away, makes it hard for her to express herself sometimes, and there’s a layer of fear that lurks deep in the back of her mind.

III. In verses where Beth is a Mage… the belief system/cosmology/and interpretation of magick are extremely difficult to express outside of the actual game rules and no one is going back to 1990 just to play an rp. So I try my best to give the feel/flavour of the system without getting bogged down in terms and aspects unfamiliar to other people, and often I just have to tone it all down.

{and no one really understands just HOW much she loves Eddie Vedder, not even me. This right here may or may not be a joke.}

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #The Turtle Speaks|Mun Answered Asks #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

Lorcan is a horrible thing y do u entertain?

Truly, Madly, Deeply || Accepting

“Look, Lorcan firs’ of all…no da kine. No…Thing. Get dat straight or catch crack, okay? Okay. An’ if ya mus’ know… He one Celestine. Son of Sun an’ Earth. Personification of da Moon. Right dere in da word. Say i’ wi’ me now… Person. Person. PERSON.

“An’ now dat is out of da way, wha’ make ya t’ink any kine about us has to do wi’ entertainment? “Mebbe i’ is f’ him. I’m no ‘xactly da bes’ judge of character, clearly. So go aks. Mebbe he tell ya. Mebbe he rip ya spleen out an’ leave it somewhere drenched in darkness. Hard t’ tell wha’ he’ll do.

“F’me… bein’ wi’ Lorcan is like dis weight off my chest. Like I no goddah t’ink ‘bout wha’s right an’ proper, an’ I don’ always goddah be da forgiving one, da one always put everyone ahead of myself, at my own expense, ya know? I can be howevah I wanna….an’ a’ worse he gonna aks me if dat’s da bes’ I can do.“An mebbe is cause he owes me one. A life for a life. Mebbe is as simple as dat, or more complicated.”Or maybe it…just happens to be that he isn’t pining away for someone else that she can be a very poor substitute for. He hasn’t convinced himself that some past life her avatar lived is the woman he’s half mad for. That maybe he might lo….Because he sees her despite the fact that her brother exists, that he actually…

….no. No.Everyone knows the moon…is an utter void.

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #Shadow Wolf|Lorcan Mac Lugh #The Darkening of the Light|Lorcan and Beth #Tra la la la la/SBN verse #A Grim Dark Faery Tale #What Lies in Dust|American Gods AU #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

y z?

Truly, Madly, Deeply || Accepting

“Oh, yay! I love da alphabits game. But I t’ink…ya forgot da ‘x’…” She waits for a reaction and when it doesn’t come she shrugs and smiles anyway.

“Lotta people no undahstan’ us. Every kine differen’. He Greek, I’m Polynesian. Differen’ gods. He jus’ about t’ree t’ousan’ an’ some hundred year oldah dan me…an’ sometimes a lil grumpy an’ sometimes a lil stabby an’ sometimes a lil full on murdery. Where I’m a mornin’ person, an’ no make stink eye, an’ all in all try f’ be one gentle person, yeah? Try live as pono as can. But is no….no abou’ any of dat really. “See…f’ long time…I t’ought I was broke in da heart. Mebbe da head. Oddah people I know go ‘round, makin’ couples, havin’ sweethearts an’ f’ me? No kine. No feelings. Wan be friends, yeah. But no undahstan’ wha’ everyone else see, wha’ everyone else feel.

“Den…one day… in da bayou, I see dis kane. An’ dere he go…makin’ big body a’ me. Show his teeth. T’reaten t’ drown me…mebbe feed me t’ him gators or bury me on his land where no one find me.

“But…touch no lie and from da first moment we touch each oddah, we know dis  meant to be. Had been meant to be over dozen lives. Guess, simple answer is… I love him. He my kealoha, my incarna… my husband. Faddah of my son.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Hello Darkness|Zarek Morrians #A Little South of Heaven|Main Verse #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

Who is your least favorite person? Would you cause them pain if you could? (emotional or physical)

Truly, Madly, Deeply || Accepting

It takes her a almost no time to answer this.“Padme` Amidala.”

Padme, the perfect one. The beloved queen. The brilliant and compassionate senator who spends her days lobbying for peace in the galaxy. They cheer her name and the words that fall from her lips are said to be honey and wine. They speak of her delicate beauty and the fashions she wears all over the holo net. They speak of her charm, her charity.And all of it makes Keni sick to the nearly vestigial stomach she has.

It is jealousy but not in the way most people might think.

She could live and die her entire life without a single person knowing her name or that she even existed. Her soul is written in Anakin’s heart, and that is all that matters.But what bothers her is how benevolent people want to make his senator. They don’t see how she treats him. How she uses him for comfort, for safety, because she is in love with the idea of him. But Keni? She has seen how remote Padme`’s eyes grow when they fall on him. How she recoils from his presence those times he dares draw near. How she folds up like a flower at the coming of night and every lilt and aspect of her screams she would rather be anywhere but at his side. That his touch is somehow bitter and painful.Worse, everything comes before him. Her work. Her associates. Her planet. Her life. Had she not needed him to take her away to Naboo, Keni swears by all that is good and green and holy, that Anakin would have found his mother in time. That between his efforts and her own, they could have kept Shmi Skywalker alive. He does not see that, and she hopes he never does. He already can’t live with himself.

Keni has never seen her so much as whisper about about slave worlds, their sentient chattel who bend and toil until all of their lives are used up. Like the Jedi, she turns a blind eye because of resources and benefits from keeping those worlds within the Republic, the flow of credits and need giving permission to agree that everything, even life, has a price. Neither did she choose to stand up to end the War that has killed millions and is still being fought. She could have voted to allow the Separatist governments go, departed from the Republic with the best of wishes. Was that not the point of the Senate? To speak for All worlds, not merely a few? Where was she when people were dying? When children were starving? When sickness and disease runs rampant through lesser developed worlds, while Anakin and Keni herself were on the front lines trying to stem the tide of loss?Oh. That’s right. She was sitting in her luxury penthouse in Galactic City. Doing fuck all.

“If there was a moment that I thought it would cause Anakin not a single breath of pain to do so? I would take exorbitant amounts of time with her demise. To let her know every agony he has suffered. To let her know just how deeply I despise her. To make of her an artwork of such exquisite misery and torment before watching the light fade from her eyes that even my Master would take a step back in fear or pleasured awe.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #The Dreaming Tree|Melakeni Ivers #Across the Universe|Star Wars AU #tw: fantasy politics #tw: war #tw: death #tw: torture #tw: abuse #tw: character hatred #tw: Being THAT BITCH #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

Since Z isn't around very often does Beth have any significant crushes on anyone else?

Truly, Madly, Deeply || Accepting

“Yeah, actually. He dark eye an’ dark hair an’ jus’ totally sweep me off my feet. Now, he a lot shorter dan Z, an’ mebbe no talk as pretty, an’ no can use sword, an’ kinda dependant but he a youngah man dan me so dat’s forgivable...an’ I like call him....”

“My SON.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #A Little South of Heaven || Main Verse #Hello Darkness|Zarek Morrians #Apple Doesn't Fall Far|Styxx Rau Morrians #Anonymous

[brooklynislandgirl]

What is Beth’s fondest wish for her son?

“A maddah always hopes for everyt’ing. She wan’ her child to grow up happy. Dere is no kine we no can give him, but he gonna earn it so he realises dat hard work an’ patience are virtues. Wan’ him t’ grow up strong, healthy. But…all ya goddah do is look at Zarek. Wha’ is he if no both dose t’ings? An’ Styxx gonna take after him physically. I can already see it.

“Gonna be smart like me, an’ handsome. Sweet and brave and…hopefully he will be kind. Want him to know he’s safe, an’ free t’ express himself, be who he wanna be.

“So…I guess… my fondest wish…is dat he knows above all else, dat he is loved. Dat he is wanted. Not a burden. Not a hand-me-down, not a t’row-away. I nevah wan him t’ t’ink dat he was a mistake, dat he was some random whim of da universe. “His faddah sacrificed so much so dat we could have him. He is da mos’ special, mos’ precious, an’ mos’ perfect kine I have evah done. “Basically, I no wan him grow up like me.”

#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms} #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #Anonymous