#I know i have a very pale face but I’m romani and my father is brown

[lemongrass77777]

are fanon marauders fans(who hc James & Remus to be poc) aware that brown & black men don’t have to be ridiculously buff to be shipped?

[apollos-olives]

Hey, this is a somewhat complicated personal thing? But I’d really like your weigh in on it— you’re a blogger who’s perspective i respect a lot. I’m wondering if i have the right to call myself palestinian.

A bit of background- i’m a romani-jew. My family is, as far back as i can trace, indigenous to palestine, but when my grandmother was a baby was forced out and fled across the continent to romania, and eventually she left for the US to become a doctor. I believe this was around 1947 when they were forced out, if i’m pinning it to other timelines, but she isn’t sure and neither am i, so i don’t think i have the right to claim that. She doesn’t identify as Palestinian, only roma, and practically raised herself without her parents (who were absent via work) and identifies as jewish, vehemently anti-israeli and not actively practicing because of that. I was raised jewish, but really often with scorn to most local jewish orgs and institutions, and i know my family is very actively excluded from the bullshit ‘right to return’ programmes in our area because we are, well, roma, despite how at this point compared to my grandmother we are very pale— to them, it’s a blood thing. My father is no contact with my grandmother, so i was not raised with her. My father does not identify as Palestinian as well. I wasn’t raised with her culture and practices because of that— I am almost completely divorced from what would be my own culture, but i still, when i hear her stories now, and her perspective on the very active genocide going on, wonder if i have the right to speak on it as a voice with any authority on the matter. Am i able to identify as palestinian? Do i have any claim to it at all, really?

i wrote practically a whole essay and then tumblr deleted it right before i could post. so i'm gonna make my response significantly shorter, but i'll explain why.

you are not allowed to call yourself palestinian. you were never raised as one, you were never part of the culture, and your family does not identify at all as the people of the land. you have not lived your life as a palestinian, and you do not have claim or authority to speak on the matter at the same level of other palestinians at all. it is not your right to call yourself palestinian, and claiming to have any authority of what the palestinian experience is like is incorrect. i assume you're about a quarter palestinian, yes? but only by blood. not by culture or connection or anything. your family identifies as romani, and do not identify with the palestinian identity. you have not experienced life as a palestinian, diaspora or not, and you have not suffered the same type of oppression that indigenous palestinians have faced. while your father would be half palestinian (i assume), he could technically be considered as palestinian diaspora (as would your grandmother), but since both of them have been disconnected from the culture, and don't identify as palestinian, then you do not have claim to that identity. like for example my grandma is half (i'm unsure about the percentage) turkish and palestinian, but my mom does not identify as turkish, and i do not identify as turkish either, because i was never part of the culture and never lived my life as a turkish person. i can say im part turkish by blood as a random fun fact, but claiming i have authority to be a turkish person is not correct. i also want to mention that being palestinian is a nationality, not a race or a specific ethnicity, so that is another factor you must consider when evaluating your identity.

you can, however, look more into palestinian culture and try learning about it. i hope when palestine is free, you can come visit and fall in love with our hospitality and culture, and look into your ancestors who lived there. and if you'd like to connect back with your palestinian roots, that's absolutely something that we are welcoming and would love for you to do. many palestinians who fled during the nakba have a tough history and connection with the land, so i'm sorry your grandma had to leave and disconnect with palestine, but i hope one day you can come to a free palestine and celebrate with us.

if your grandmother was a baby during the nakba, i assume you're very young. around teenage years (early twenties maybe). i know that figuring out your identity is a big part of this stage in your life and you're probably looking into your family's past. i suggest to look into palestinian culture, but don't discard the romani and jewish part of you. being part of those communities is a very culturally rich experience and you should be proud of that. don't stress too much on having to "choose" what you're trying to connect to.

in the end, i can't tell you what to identify as with your romani-jewish family and your palestinian ancestry, but calling yourself palestinian currently is not right. i hope i answered your question.

[smcc212]

Uncommon, Yet Perfect

Pairings- Bonnie Gold x fem!Reader x Isiah Jesus(Bonnie x rem!reader, Isiah x fem!reader, Bonnie x Isiah)

Word count- 1,319

Warnings- Morning sickness, child birth(not in detail I pretty much just let you know it’s happened haha), People not understanding polyamory, fluff, not proofread. I think that’s all.

A/N- So... I wrote a thing... I don’t really know what to say about this. So... Enjoy!

P.S. Why is there only like two Isiah gifs??

You and Isiah had been together for a year when both of you fell in love Bonnie Gold. After a long and awkward conversation, the three of you started dating. The three of you had been dating in secret for a year when you realised...

“Are you okay, ves’tacha?” Bonnie’s concerned voice flowed through the door. Once you’d finished throwing up, you sat back, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand.

“Bon, do you know when my last period was?” You asked after you opened the door.

“Erm... eight weeks ago? Why? Is that ba- oh.”

“Oh my fucking God.” You rushed passed Bonnie and sat on the bed. “Where’s Isiah?” You breathed out.

“He’s making breakfast, want me to get him?” He asked, his voice shaky.

“Yes, Bonnie! Of course you have to get him!” You exclaimed.

“Okay.” He walked out of the room, returning a few seconds later with Isiah behind him.

“What is it?” Isiah’s face had confusion written all over it.

“I-I think I’m pregnant...”

“Wh-what? That’s amazing!” Isiah looked at Bonnie, both exchanging wide smiles.

“No! It’s not! We have to tell my family now!” You shouted. How could they not see the problem here.

“Yeah, but they can’t break us up anymore, can they?” Isiah chuckled.

“Yes they can! Once I give birth, they’ll make whoever’s not the father leave!” The smiles fell off their faces as they realised, one of them would have to leave. Either that or... they’d both leave you. This couldn’t get any worse.

“Alright, (Y/N), why have you called a family meeting? And why are Bonnie and Isiah here?” Tommy spoke sounding bored.

“Well... I, erm, I’m pregnant...” You trailed off.

“You’re fucking what?!” Arthur shouted.

“Wait, are one of them the father?!” Tommy shouted, suddenly no longer bored. I nodded. “Which one?” When you didn’t say anything Tommy got more annoyed. “Which fucking one, (Y/N)?!”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! How can you not know?!”

“Because we’re both dating her,” Isiah spoke up, sounding a lot more confident than he really felt.

“What..?” Confusion was clear on all of your family members faces... all a part from Polly, who now decided to speak up.

“Fuck sake, you’re all blind if you’ve not seen the way they all look at each other.” She then turned to the three of you. “Congratulations.” She smiled, the three of you smiling back at her.

“Thank you, Mrs Grey,” Bonnie mumbled, smiling fearfully. “Mr Shelby, I promise that myself and Isiah will take care of (Y/N) and the baby growing inside of her. We’re both madly in love with her.” Tommy stared at you and your boys, perplexed.

“He’s right, Tom,” Isiah said. “We love her, more than you’ll ever know.”

“(Y/N), you love them...both...as well?”

“Yes, Tommy. I’m in love with both of them, and I know that they’ll both look after this baby, regardless of who the biological father is,” You spoke as clearly and with as much confidence as you could. Tommy looked at the floor, clearly thinking about everything that had been said.

“Okay, okay. I’ll allow this, but if either of you dare lay a finger on her, I’ll kill you both, blinder or not,” He stared the boys down. “Got it?”

“You don’t ‘ave to worry mr Shelby, neither of us would ever hurt the best thing that’s ever happened to us, right, Bon?”

“Exactly, Iz.”

“Well, one of you are going to have to marry her. You’ll have to choose one.” You hadn’t thought about that, having to get married to only one of your boys.

“Shit...”

“Isiah, you can marry her,” Bonnie spoke, looking down at the floor.

“Bonnie, are you sure?” Isiah asked, taking in the sadness that radiated off Bonnie.

“Yeah, yeah, you can do it. Your dad said that’s all he’s ever wanted for you, so you’ll marry (Y/N).” You had to speak up when you saw how upset Bonnie was at the thought of never marrying you.

“I’ll marry you both.” Your boys opened they’re mouths to explain that wasn’t possible, but you cut them off. “No, I know that I can’t legally marry you both. I’ll legally marry Isiah, but the ceremony will be for the three of us. I’ll marry both of you, even if they government won’t recognise that I have,” You explained, happiness flooding your veins when you saw wide smiles spread across your boys’ faces. Without thinking, the two of them kissed each other. If your family wasn’t confused before, they definitely were now. However, what confused them more was the smile on your face. Seeing how much Bonnie and Isiah loved each other always made you happy.

“We’re getting married!” Bonnie exclaimed, wrapping one arm around you and one around Isiah. The three of you stayed in that warm embrace for awhile.

“Right!” Polly clapped her hands, cutting your three-way embrace short. “We’ve got a wedding to plan! For once,” She mumbled the last part making you laugh.

The wedding was perfect. It was a small affair, just friends and family-for obvious reasons- but it was amazing. Both Arthur and Tommy walked you down the aisle, your boys waiting at you in front of a proud Jeremiah Jesus. Aberama Gold sat next to Tommy, smiling happily at the three of you. You couldn’t have been happier.

When you found out you were having twins, the boys would consistently joke about having a baby each.

You were at church with Isiah and Bonnie, listening intently to Jeremiah, when you felt a pain in your abdomen. It wasn’t long after that your water broke, you grabbed both boys arms making them look at you.

“What’s wrong?” Isiah whispered.

“My water just broke,” You panicked. The boys instantly stood up, helping you out to a private part of the church. An office, you assumed, but you didn’t really care at that moment in time. They put you down on the couch, panic coursing through all of you. “Polly. Get Polly here!” You demanded.

After about twelve hours, your babies were finally coming. You were breaking both Bonnie and Isiah’s hands as you pushed your babies out. Screaming out in pain as your first baby came out. Polly cut the umbilical core and handed the baby to Ada who quickly wrapped them up, cleaning off the blood. You were too busy pushing another human out of you to pay attention. Bonnie and Isiah, however, turned their heads and saw smooth pale skin on your baby’s face. They were, biologically, Bonnie’s... or so you thought, but seventeen minutes later your other baby is born. Ada hands you the first born.

“Congratulations you three, it’s a girl.” You smiled down at your daughter as Ada went to wrap up and clean your second born child.

“Oh my God,” You heard your sister mumbled.

“What?!” You panic.

“Your son, he’s-he’s... Isiah’s.”

“What..?” Confusion filled you and your husbands. When Ada turned around, however, you knew what she meant. In her arms was your son, with smooth dark skin, only slightly lighter than Isiah’s.

“That’s...possible?” Bonnie asked.

“Clearly,” Isiah responded, going to take a hold of your son.

“What’re you going to name them?” Ada asked, looking at your babies in awe.

“Jaheim and Roma,” You mumbled back, looking at your perfect babies.

“Jaheim?” Jeremiah asked with a smile.

“Yeah, Jaheim is a Caribbean name and Roma is a Romani name. Fits well with who their, biological, fathers are,” You laughed quietly.

Your families were in love with Jaheim and Roma, as you were the three of you. Yes, people weren’t very accepting. Yes they called you a whore. But you didn’t care. You had the best husbands in the world and two gorgeous kids. Plus, your family put a stop to the rude comments the only way they knew how, threats and violence. Your uncommon, yet perfect family.

Tags:

@the-makingsofgreatness

A/N- For anyone wondering, yes, it is possible to have twins that have different fathers. It’s incrediblely rare, but not impossible. It’s called hetroparental superfecdunation.

[nimbostrxtus]

Wait, are people still arguing about whether Tseng and Tifa are Wutai?

Guys, it's an anime, the characters look like whatever the game developers want them to look like, regardless if they fit their environment or not. Other than Yuffie and her village, the game is not asking you to think too hard about the ethnicities of the characters.

But it is fun to speculate.

Some things are pretty straight forward, like how Nibelheim (and Gaia by extension) has a lot of Norse mythology surrounding it, so Cloud being Nordic/Germanic makes a lot of sense. Midgar also has a lot of references to Norse Mythology, but the city itself feels very American, and the Shinra family consists of pale blue-eyed blondes, so either headcanon works.

Aerith has a longer face than Tifa and dominant western facial features. The Cetra are a race of nomadic people, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the game developers took a lot of inspiration from the Romani people when designing Ifalna and the Ancient's clothing. Or at the very least were inspired by real nomadic ethnic groups in the Northern European area (which might also include Sephiroth since the game developers kept both his and Aerith's original designs from when they were meant to be siblings. So there's another headcanon for you.)

Tseng has a tilak on his forehead so there must be a form of Hinduism in Wutai if we're gonna shove all the Asian countries into the most western part of Gaia. We know the Da-chao Statue in the game is based on Buddhism, and while Hinduism is not all Buddhism, Buddhism does form parts of the ethos which is essentially Hindu. So that checks out even if Tseng is never outright stated as being from Wutai or of Wutai descent.

All of that was pretty straight forward, but some areas get more complicated the more you try and fit everyone into this 1 to 1 parallel. Tifa being the most notable example. She has the most obvious Eastern design out of the entire cast, second only to Yuffie, with her round face and black hair greatly contrasting with Aerith's more Western character design. However, Tifa also comes from Nibelheim, just like Cloud, which we just established has heavy Nordic influences. So is she biracial or did her family move to the Central continent at some point? Both are valid headcanons. But then it gets even weirder when you also consider the fashion in Nibelheim, or at least what we see Tifa and her father wear, which is clearly meant to be from the old west...despite them living in the cold mountains and not a desert. Heck, we even see her open an Old Western-styled bar, so I have no idea what the game is trying to imply anymore. Is Tifa Eastern/European/American? A mixture of all these ethnic groups with her Asian(Wutai) genes being the most dominant? I don't know and it does not matter!

And then you get small things like Zack who comes from a village in the middle of the jungle despite being one of the palest characters in the game. Explain that one to me.

Barret is from Corel which is near the desert and has an old west theme so we can confirm he's most likely African-American, even though Corel is in the Central continent which has the most European influences while the East has a very American influence.

Genesis is based on a Japanese rock star, but comes from Banora which is literally on the other side of the map from Wutai, but he was sent there with his Foster parents, so he could still be from Wutai, but if he is then it's kinda weird to think about him being inspired to work for Shinra in the first place considering he fought in the Wutai War (try not to think too hard about GACKT being in a Final Fantasy game).

I'm not even gonna try and guess what Cid is meant to be since his entire aesthetic is SPACE (American/Russian?), and we don't talk about Reeve potentially being Scottish because Cait Sith's accent only exists in the English dub as a reference to the Gallic origins of the Cait Sith folklore, but it's still a fun headcanon to have if you like it).

Personally, when it comes to anime and JRPGS I work under the assumption EVERYONE is Japanese until the text says otherwise. I don't see Rufus as American and I don't see Cloud as Nordic. To me they are Japanese even if they don't look Japanese. That's just how my brain is hardwired to think when it comes to anime.

If you want to make the argument Tseng being of Wutai is problematic because it implies his people were on the losing side of a war and Tseng happily continued to work for the opposing side with the plot never once drawing attention to it, then that's a valid complaint. It's just hard to justify because the game literally shoved the whole of ASIA into this one tiny continent. Then again, Hinduism is a religion and not an ethnicity, so it is possible he took on the faith while still being from Midgar. I don't think that was the original intent, but you do you. Just don't be a racist asshole about it.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Downfall Of Us All: Chapter 4

Downfall Of Us All

Chapter 4 

Warnings: Mentions of past sexual assault, held captive and forced breeding.

AN: Special thanks to @jtargaryen18​ who is an absolute ge in having helped write this story with me, I couldn’t have done it without her amazing ideas and help in making the story dark.

Natasha's grip on her hand was gentle, the emotions that flowed from the spy gave her a small bit of comfort. "And that's how you became pregnant?" Bobbi asked in a voice that was anything but sympathetic.

Natasha turned to look at her. "Get out," she told her. That got a reaction from the suited agent. "What did you say to me? We were both told to interview this woman and I—" "Clint?" Natasha spoke into her com. The door opened instantly and Clint, marched in practically pulling the other agent's chair out from under her. Clint's gaze met Grace's briefly as he took Bobbi's arm none to gently. His thoughts were apologetic.

When Bobbi had recovered her composure, she glared at both Natasha and Clint. There was something, something between Bobbi and Clint. Whatever it was, or had been, it was a cold, angry thing now. Cold as Bobbi's eyes when she turned back to Natasha with a finger pointed.

"Ross is going to hear about this," she warned the other woman. "Count on it," Natasha told with a cold expression of her own that would have terrified Grace to have been on the receiving end of it. Clint pulled the other woman from the room and Natasha waited until the door closed before speaking again. "I'm… really sorry about that," Natasha said with complete sincerity. "I'm sorry about what happened to you. How long were you their captive, Grace?"

"I don't know, maybe five months. After he attacked me.... they kept on giving me fertility drugs, and each time he would do it again. I escaped when I heard them talking about the Avengers. I just ran into the forest, until a group of Romani found me and looked after me. They took me to a hospital," Grace said quietly, a single tear falling down her face. She had never gotten over what had happened to her, she probably never would. Rape wasn't something to get over quickly, and it had only been almost seven years. "Was that when you found out, you were having Zach?" Natasha asked gently, Grace nodded, and she looked at her locket silently for a minute. "The doctor did a pregnancy test, and it was positive. I loved my son; I couldn't hate an innocent baby that hadn't done anything wrong. He was mine." She said thickly, Natasha reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Grace." Natasha said quietly, Grace nodded numbly and took in a few deep breaths.

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"What's going on? Where's my sister?!" Sophie asked worriedly, her voice getting angry as she looked at Bucky and Steve who had decided to question the young woman. "She's safe, Sophie. We just need to ask you a few questions, and then we'll bring you to Grace." Bucky said reassuringly, Sophie nodded hesitantly at his words. "There's no easy way if saying this, Sophie but you and your sister were conceived out of raped." Steve explained quietly, hating that he had to tell this horrific ordeal to Sophie. Bucky watched as Sophie's face paled in horror, and she shook her head in denial at Steve's words. "No....no, no! You're wrong, my parents loved each other! We were born in a village that was in Siberia, you've got it wrong." Sophie said desperately, denial in her tone. This couldn't be true, she knew her parents had fled the Soviet Union after her father had been beaten nearly to death. She'd only been five, and Grace had been three. Bucky felt sympathetic for Sophie, she was being told that her whole life was a lie. He hated being the one turning her and that of her sister's lives upside down. "Your father was a test subject in the Winter Soldier Program, the same one I was in, and your mother was a Red Room Operative," Bucky explained gently, showing her the pictures. Sophie stared at the pictures numbly, her mother looked young in the photo, as did her father. This didn't make any sense, were her parents spies for the Soviet Union? "So they were Soviet spies?" She asked numbly, trying not to cry but was failing miserably. Steve and Bucky exchanged a grim look, and Bucky spoke up. "They were working for HYDRA, Sophie. Your mother and father were both experimented on by HYDRA."

"HYDRA," Sophie said numbly, swiping at her cheeks with the back of one hand. "I hope you understand why this is really hard for me to take in… Our parents loved each other. Loved each other. How do you explain that? Huh?" Bucky scrubbed his flesh hand down his face. "Maybe they were two great people who both found themselves trapped in terrible circumstances. They found their way out together and they brought you and your sister with them. They took care of each other just like they took care of you. It's easy to see how love could come from that." "But you'd have me believe until that time they were what? Killers trained by HYDRA? That they signed up for that?" Sophie wanted to know. "I never signed up to be in the Winter Soldier program, Sophie," Bucky explained carefully. "I was their captive for more than seventy years, but I wouldn't have been there if it had been my choice. I'm just saying the same could have been true for your parents." "I'm sorry," she said to Bucky and clearly, she meant it. Sophie nodded, blinking back tears and glancing at him and Steve in turns. "Okay. Let's say what you're telling me is true, and I'm not buying it right now. If what you're telling me is true, and our parents were HYDRA, what does that have to do with me and Grace? We didn't do anything. We run a cake shop and try to live normal lives. That's all." Steve's sigh was a loud whisper in the room. "Because of your abilities. The powers you were given as a result of HYDRA's experiments." Sophie motioned to Bucky. "He's not incarcerated, and he was experimented on by HYDRA. He got his abilities from them, right? Why are we here?" "She's not wrong," Bucky muttered. "It wasn't easy, I can tell you that," Steve told her. "I fought long and hard for Buck, damn near tore the Avengers apart. Otherwise, he would have been incarcerated… or worse." Sophie was slowly losing her composure. "We don't have anyone fighting for us. We're just… trying to live. You know? We don't want to hurt anyone. We don't know anyone from HYDRA and don't want to. Is there anything you can do to get them to just… let us go back to our lives? My nephew was taken away from us already and that broke Gracie's heart. I don't think she'll ever recover from that and now this?"

"Sophie, we won't let Ross or S.H.E.I.L.D try to arrest you, we know that you and Grace are good people." Bucky reassured, he felt terrible that he was turning the young woman's life upside down. Steve nodded in agreement, when they saw Tony knock on the door, and he entered the room quietly. He looked at the three quietly, before handing a file to Steve and left. "Sophie, gave you ever seen this man before?" He asked gently, Sophie frowned and looked at the photo carefully. She'd seen this man before, on the news when the Avengers had been in Lagos. "I've only seen him on the news, he's dead though. He killed himself by using a suicide bomb vest?" Sophie asked confused, why were they asking her about a dead terrorist. Bucky and Steve looked grim, and Bucky spoke gently to her with a compassionate tone, in his voice. "There's no easy way to say this, Sophie but we believe Brock Rumlow was the father of Grace's son," Bucky said quietly, sympathy showing in his grey eyes.

Sophie felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. Grace had never said who Zach's father was, she'd refused to talk about it and said it was something she'd rather not talk about. She knew her sister had witnessed terrible things in Sokovia, while working with the Red Cross but Grace refused to talk about it. "My sister would never willingly sleep with a man like him, Sergeant Barnes. She's a good person, who'd always help people!" Sophie snapped offended, her heart racing. Bucky took in a deep breath and looked at Steve. "We believe that while your sister was in Sokovia, she was kidnapped by HYDRA. While she was held, she admitted to Agent Romanoff that Brock Rumlow would regularly assault her to conceive a child." Steve explained gently, knowing how traumatic this would be for the older woman. Bucky watched as a mixture of emotions, flashed over Sophie's face in five minutes that were horror, anguish and lastly hatred. "My little sister was.... was raped?!" She whispered horrified, her expression a mixture of anguish and grief. "I'm afraid so, is there anything else you can remember? Like anyone actions suspiciously, the day your nephew was taken away?" Bucky asked gently, and Sophie frowned. "There was a blonde-haired woman, she came into the bakery to collect a birthday cake for her husband. And then when it happened, there was man called Gonzalez." Sophie explained quietly, and tears stung her eyes. Why didn't Grace tell her? "What happens now?" She asked bravely, Bucky was about to reply when Ros spoke to them through the coms link. "Report to the conference room, both of you now!" Ross snarled furiously, and Bucky sighed quietly. He hated that man, Ross had never liked that he hadn't been able to throw Bucky into the Raft. "We have to go speak with the Home Secretary, but is there anything we can get you?" Bucky asked gently, Sophie blinked in surprise at his kindness. "A glass of water, please and can I see Grace?" She asked bravely, hoping her sister was alright.

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Natasha showed Sophie to a holding cell. She was surprised because it seemed very upscale for a place, you'd hold someone in detention. There was a chair, a sink, a bed, and a small bathroom. Still, she'd been in cheap hotel rooms that had made this seem luxurious. "Can I please see my sister?" Sophie begged her. Natasha's gaze moved behind her and back. "I can give you a few minutes. Okay?" Sophie nodded eagerly, grateful for anything. Natasha locked the door behind her, when she returned, she ushered Grace in. The tears on Grace's face broke her heart. "They are meeting in the conference room with Ross," Natasha told them. "I can't give you long." "Thank you," Grace told her, sinking onto the bed next to her sister. Neither of them spoke until Natasha had left. Sophie noticed her sister's shoulders shaking, fighting back sobs. Sophie took her younger sister into her arms, holding her, rocking her the way their mother had when they were children. "What's going to happen to us?" Grace whispered. "Where are my babies?" Sophie almost smiled at the mention of their pets. "I wouldn't worry about them. They'll be okay. We'll get them back." Speaking of babies… Sophie pulled back, tipping up Grace's face to look at her. "Gracie, Zach's father… Why didn't you tell me?" What little colour that was in Grace's face drained out. "What did they tell you?" "You were held captive?" Sophie asked gently. "You were assaulted repeatedly with the purpose of conceiving a child? Why didn't you tell me? I love you. We're all each other have. Why did you shoulder all of that… pain on your own? Gracie…" Grace dropped her head, shaking it back and forth. "You had enough to deal with, Sophie. I didn't… I couldn't…. Oh, God, is it my fault we're here? Is that why they are after us?" Sophie pulled Grace tightly against her, her heart clenching in her chest. "Shhhh. This isn't your fault. You didn't do this." "Th-ey… they said our parents were… HYDRA and that our father he…." Grace was choking on the words. "They told me the same thing," Sophie whispered into her hair. "It's not true. Right?" Sophie didn't want it to be true. But if what they'd told her about Grace and what happened to her was correct, why would they lie about that? "I don't know. But we'll watch and listen." Sophie was worried herself about what they'd decide for their fate. Not all of them were like Ross. She thought she could trust Steve and Bucky. Bucky had been a captive of HYDRA's too. If anyone had any idea what they were going through, what their parents might have been through, it would be him. "They are also concerned about our abilities, Gracie," she admitted. "They don't feel safe having people who can… do what we do… not under their control. I think that's the biggest reason why we're here."

"Because they think we can't control our powers, Soph?" Grace asked quietly, feeling her stomach drop. She was scared that they would be detained in the Raft, like that poor family on the news had been detained. Sophie said nothing, she simply hugged her sister tightly and kissed her forehead softly. She was trying to stay strong, but she was terrified of what would happen.

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"So, you are telling me that neither of them knew the truth about their parent’s true identities?" Ross asked sceptically, Steve nodded grimly and sighed. "Neither Sophie or Grace knew about their parent’s past, or what had brought them together. Adam and Anya kept quiet about what HYDRA did to them, and just focused on raising their daughters." Bucky spoke up, not liking how Ross was acting. The man nodded grudgingly and looked at Jemma Simmons who looked at the medical files. "What about the younger one? She had a son that was conceived out of sex with Rumlow?" Ross asked suspiciously, he wasn't giving up on Sophie and Grace. "Grace was in Sokovia, Novi Grad during July the 15th. She was doing volunteer work with the Red Cross, doing deliveries and giving First Aid to civilians who'd been hurt in the bombings. She said that a man with silver hair told her that his sister was hurt, Grace followed, and she was knocked out," Natasha answered smoothly, and paused. "And it wasn't sex, Home Secretary Ross. It was rape, Rumlow violently tortured and sexually assaulted her every damn night and day. Grace said that they never let her out, and she positively identified Dr List as one of the HYDRA scientists." She said coldly, her expression cold as marble. Clint knew that this was a sensitive subject for Natasha, when they worked with SHIELD, sex trafficking hit her hard. And she always made the bastards suffer. Ross shrugged at her words, looking indifferent. "The sisters will remain here, and be trained in your custody. I don't have any jurisdiction or evidence to arrest them, even though they didn't sign the Accords. What happened to her son?" He questioned curiously, causing everyone to stare. "He was taken away by SHIELD under the orders of Deputy Director Robert Gonzalez, with the backing of Jeffrey Mace. I don't know what the names of the team are, because the files are classified." Tony answered quickly, before Natasha could speak. He knew Nat was royally pissed off, and so was he. This wasn't what he agreed to, when he signed the Sokovian Accords in Vienna. He didn't agree to support a government that snatched children from their mothers, for simply being different. "I'll speak to General Glenn Talbot, he'll give you clearance to access the files." Ross said dismissively, not bothered by what Stark was saying. "So, what happens to Sophie and Grace?" Clint asked wearily, he hoped to god that they didn't end up in the Raft. He wouldn't wish anyone there, unless it was Laura, Bobbi or Rumlow. "Sophie will be placed in Barnes's custody, and Grace will be watched by you, Barton. Let's hope at least, you can protect her." The Home Secretary said snidely, to the archer.

When Ross made his exit, Natasha quirked a brow at Steve, then looked at Bucky. "Are you up for this? Is Clint?" That got his attention along with Bucky's. "It's fine, Nat," Steve told her. "It was my idea actually. Considering what they two of them have been through, I thought they'd each fare better with a team member who understood a little of what they've been through." Clint shook his head. "I want to help her, Steve, I do but…" "Hey, if it's too much right now, I can reassign," Steve offered. "Think about it." Clint knew why Steve gave Grace's charge to him. Not only did he know what it was like being the captive of an enemy power, he'd lost his children and that pain was still raw and fresh, tearing him down any moment his mind wasn't otherwise occupied. Because of that, he didn't know if was ready for this at the moment. The room cleared with Nat lingering, studying him. "Are you going to be okay?" Clint glanced up at her, shaking his head. "I don't know, Nat. Right now, with all that's happened? I just… I don't know." "I get it. I get why Steve thought to put Grace with me. We have, uh, we have something in common," he admitted. Nat's smile was kind. "She's already been through this." "It's not over for her," Clint explained. "I don't see how it ever could be. I still think about them…" "What I meant was," Nat said slowly, "she's been dealing with this a little longer. Just maybe she can help you as much as you can help her." Clint hadn't thought of that. "Maybe." "I'll help you," Nat promised him. "I'll be here for whatever you two need. You know that." "I know." Pulling her in for a hug, he smiled. "Thank you." "So, let's get to work. We'll get them set up here in the compound, work out a training schedule," Nat said. "Does, uh, Tony know about all the felines?" Clint tried not to laugh. He just hoped that he hadn't missed Tony going berserk over this one.

"Not yet," Nat's smile widened. "I want to be there when he hears that." "Same!" Clint laughed, then he sobered. "What about their cake shop? What happens with that?"

"Tony's got that under control, officially it belongs to them and they're still working there. Tony's made sure the kitchen is stocked with things that they'll need, and all of their customers, neighbours and friends know what's going on. He may have leaked their unlawful arrest to the public." Natasha said smugly, Clint grinned at her words. "I can't imagine Ross being happy, he's still trying to save his job after what happened with Thanos," Clint said darkly, knowing a lot of people weren't happy with the man. Ross had a lot of enemies, not to mention Bruce. Natasha nodded in agreement, as they went to break the news to Sophie and Grace.

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Bucky carefully opened the door, and found Sophie sitting quietly in the room, looking quietly at him. He closed the door behind him and looked at Sophie. "You and your sister aren't going to be imprisoned in the Raft, Sophie." Bucky said carefully, trying not to frighten the young woman. Sophie looked at him with a guarded expression, she could tell that there was more that he was going to say. What was going to happen to her, and Grace. "The Home Secretary, Thaddeus Ross wants you and Grace to become members of the Avengers," He said quietly, hating that he was literally ruining this woman's life. "So, you and your team want me and my sister to join you all? I thought Ross wanted us thrown into the Raft?" Sophie questioned stunned, and silently relived. "He does, but he won't be able to. He's too busy trying to save his ass, after what happened with Thanos. Everyone's blaming him, plus there's the fact he tried to steal Vibranium." Bucky explained quietly and took in a deep breath. "They've assigned me to watch over you and keep an eye on you." He added quietly, knowing she wouldn't be happy. Sophie said nothing to that, but she didn't feel frightened of Bucky. She could feel that he wouldn't hurt her and would help her. "What about Grace?" Sophie asked worriedly, anxious for her little sister and what would happen to her. Bucky took her left hand gently.

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Tagging list: @marvelfansworld​, @jtargaryen18​, @kitkatd7​, @saiyanprincessswanie​, and @sapphirescrolls​

[angelaiswriting]

Secret (1 of 2) | Bonnie Gold x fem!reader

[original picture: pexels]

✏️ Pairing: Bonnie Gold x Romani!fem!reader

✏️ Summary: As the Golds take in Michael to protect him from the men Changretta has sent after him, Y/N is unexpectedly made to joing them and Bonnie, who already fancies her, has to deal with his thoughts. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: probably not the Bonnie debut I was hoping for, but I still like this! Part two will come only God knows when bc I thought I could link this story to another request I got but it turns out my brain is wack and remembered the details wrong lmao so part two will be for those of you who are 18 or older 💛

✏️ Beta-read by @sweetvengeancee

✏️ Warnings: slight fluff I guess ? (I just hope this is not cringy lmao)

✏️ Word-count: 2,957

PART ONE: SECRET  |  >> part two: the vardo >>

Bonnie loved it, loved how quiet the night was, there in the woods, but never silent, never fully mute. It eased his mind and brought him back with his feet down on earth. And this, in particular, was exactly what he needed at that very moment.

Michael Gray had been with them for a mere two days and while everything was going according to Polly Gray’s plan, the one she had come up with with the help of his father, he hadn’t prepared himself enough. There had been talks of a trustworthy person being chosen to join the group as precautionary means, and Bonnie had simply thought of a lad. Their entire lives had become dangerous the day they had accepted to help the Shelbys with their wop problem and this ‘hide one of the most wanted men in Birmingham’ thing had pushed the bar towards greater danger. So he had never expected for that person to be a girl – and not just a girl, but fucking Y/N.

Her presence made everything that tad bit more complicated because, truth was, he fancied her and his fascination towards her pushed him to look out for her harder than he would have done had it been someone else.

He had left her by the fire when he had taken a direction and his father the other to do a quick inspection of the perimeter of the area they had chosen to camp that day. They knew they weren’t running any risk, but as the saying goes, better safe than sorry – if anybody found them, they wouldn’t only have the Shelbys and their damn Peaky Blinders on their neck, but Johnny Dogs, too, and therefore, the whole Lee camp.

And while his father had bid him goodnight with an affectionate squeeze of the shoulder before going back to the camp and sleep, Bonnie had stayed put where he was, just outside the circle of light cast by the burning campfire. He was staring at the sky, a black slate dotted with countless glimmering stars his eyes looked at but didn’t see.

He saw her, instead – saw her bright smile and too-clever eyes, saw the tiny pale scar on her right temple, saw her golden earrings and the soft Cupid’s bow of her lips. He saw her and while she was miles out of his league, he still thought that maybe – maybe – he would have a chance with her once that whole ordeal would be over.

It would be nice, he thought, to find someone now that his life was starting to go into the direction he wanted it to. The deal was signed and when Tommy Shelby would let him fight – because he was going to, one day – and he’d have his fair share of the money, he’d build himself a life with a nice woman and he’d welcome children of his own into this world.

And while he always told himself he could have any girl he wanted, it was her his eyes and brain and heart had set their aim on – stupidly brave and incredibly beautiful Y/N, whose father would never give her off to a motherfucking blood-stained Gold. He was going to win Johnny Dogs over, though, Bonnie was sure of this – he knew how to be charming, how to use his smile and his words to his own advantage and if anything else failed, God had given him two perfectly-functioning fists he knew way too well how to use.

He smiled at that thought, fully aware that if he ever used violence on the one man he was hopefully going to have as a father-in-law, he’d never win the girl. And it was right at that moment, as he thought of the luck he had been blessed with when she had entered the car, just outside Small Heath two days before, that a leaf crunched behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on their ends and while imperceptibly, the muscles in his back and shoulders tensed up.

The whole clearing went quieter than it had previously been and even the gentle night breeze seemed to slow down as it breathed against his face.

It happened quickly: when his instinct told him it was the right moment, he turned around, unsheathed his dagger with a swift movement and had the cheek of its blade pressed against the intruder’s throat.

Even at the age of nineteen, Bonnie Gold had probably as many murders behind his back as there are beads in a rosary but while he had his father’s strength, he had his mother’s temper and that meant he wasted a fraction of a second trying to take in as much as he could of the people that had snuck up behind his back. Therefore, as his dagger burned cold against the column of the throat of his presumed assailant, all his senses kicked in: her hair brushed against the skin of his neck, her breasts pressed against his arm as he used it to keep her back-to-chest against him, his thumb ready to press as hard as he could on her brachial plexus. And then, there was that sweet smell of hers, something between laundry soap and wildflowers that tickled his nostrils when he pressed his cheek against hers.

His breathing was steady and deep, but hers was much faster. Her heart was fluttering erratically in her chest, almost knocking against his arm, trying to push it away – and he could feel it loud and clear.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like this,” he warned, still too tense to let her go – or, at least, this was the excuse he used to convince himself he just didn’t want her this close for half a minute longer.

His hold on her eased, though, and his left hand came up to take the knife from his right to let it fall to the ground.

Her initial and instinctual shock slowly subsided and she snorted. “I made plenty of noise comin’ ‘ere. Didn’t know it was this easy to startle a Gold.”

Blood rushed to Bonnie’s cheeks and had they been in daylight, Y/N would have seen the pink hue tinging his cheekbones when he turned around. It was always a smack to his pride both as a Gold and as an assassin to be made fun of like that and whether he let it on or not, it didn’t matter because he felt the shame deep in his bones.

“What are you doin’ out ‘ere?” she asked, tilting her head to the side to check if anything or anyone was behind his back. “Keepin’ guard?”

“Someone has to.”

He stared at the shadows cast on the side of her face by the fire a few metres at his left as he answered and as quickly as the play of lights and shadows changed on her skin, a thought crossed his mind: oh, how he wished her loyalties didn’t lie with the Shelbys! He’d find a way to make her fall for him the same way he had fallen for her, and he’d take her away – get himself his own vardo and leave for only God knew where.

“Why don’t you come an’ sit by the fire?” She bent to pick his knife up and she turned it in her hands, stared at the clean blade and at the blood-stained handle as she turned towards the light of the camp.

“Too easy to spot.” He held his hand out – and whether he did it to hold hers or to ask her for his knife, he didn’t know, not at that moment, not as his heart still thundered against his eardrums because of the adrenaline her intrusion had forced his body to release.

“A frozen-to-death assassin is of no use to us,” she remarked, slipping his dagger back into the sheath hanging from his belt without giving him the chance to do it himself. “An’ your father is sleeping, Michael is, too. I’m not tired, so I could really use some company.”

*

It was incredible, how easily she could come off as a young man. She stood there, a blade of grass perched from her lips, and she stared down the wandering hunter they had stumbled upon as they changed location yet again. It had been Polly’s idea, Bonnie knew it – a way to protect Johnny’s daughter a little more – or to fool strangers and possible enemies a little better. He didn’t know which reason it was, all he knew was that when she changed her clothes, she became someone else.

He had always known – or, at least, he had known for a while now – how good of a shapeshifter she was and had they had a different upbringing, he was sure she would have pursued an acting career. Every aspect of her being changed: her accent, the way she drawled her words out, almost as though she were savouring them in her mouth before spitting them out one after the other. Her voice turned deeper, in a way he wouldn’t be able to imitate, and the glint in her eyes turned from playful and curious to ice-cold and as biting as frostbites on a particularly harsh winter day.

And may God curse him, for he loved it. Loved the way she shaped herself into someone else, love the effect she could have on people, the way she fooled them.

“We should slit his throat, Da,” she was saying, nodding in his father’s direction while her eyes kept their focus on the old man in front of them. One of Bonnie’s hunting knives was dancing between her fingers and the mirror-clean blade caught the light of the late-afternoon sun every time it was angled right. “Take his prey and leave him to the crows. We could also use his dog.”

Sat in the vardo and with the reins of the grey horse in his hands, Aberama looked like he was contemplating her words.

Bonnie knew exactly what he was thinking about: this witness was the last thing they needed. They weren’t the first travellers the hare hunter had seen and, most likely, they weren’t going to be the last either. And under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have cared, but these were no normal circumstances at all – there were criminals hunting them down and there were people, back in Birmingham, ready to snatch their balls if something – anything – happened to the young Gray man and to the gipsy girl.

“Cut him a nice, wide smile all through his neck,” Y/N continued, now fully turning to look at Bonnie first and Aberama second.

“Or we could cut his tongue,” the latter argued, albeit eyeing the fairly-new hunting rifle hanging from the man’s shoulder.

“He’d still have hands to write, though.” Bonnie had to step in but to do what, exactly, he did not know. Y/N had caught his eye a few days after John Shelby’s funeral: she had dashed into the betting shop, her gun still in her hand, and she had surprised him the moment she had thrown her cap onto the table. Somehow, he had never considered the difference a perfectly-positioned cap could do on a person – one moment he had almost been chest-to-chest with a young Peaky Blinder and the next, he had turned into a she and Bonnie had felt the tips of his ears turn red.

“What about I give you my prey and we go our merry ways?” The old man was squirming in his place – too old to stand a fight, too old to even have a slight chance at winning one, not when he probably had never managed to knock anybody out even in young age.

“We want the rifle, too.”

“And the knife in the boot,” Aberama added, grin growing wide on his face as the other man’s brows furrowed.

“And the dog.” Bonnie’s shirt was too large on her, but even from where he was standing, on the other side of the horse, he knew she was puffing out her chest as the words dripped like honey from her lips.

God, how he wished he could turn himself into anybody he wanted just like she did!

*

Wrapped up in a towel too big for anyone, she was sitting opposite him by the campfire and Bonnie was yet again staring at her.

The Shelby boy had smoked a cigarette, all the while complaining that this was ridiculous and that he was more than capable of looking after himself, and had then retired for the night inside the vardo. Even from here, Bonnie could hear him lightly snore – and every once in awhile, probably when he turned in his sleep, complain because of the stinging pain in his still-healing wounds.

Aberama, as diligent and as cautious as ever, had taken it upon himself to check the area around the camp and make sure no other unwelcome visitor was around. He hadn’t said ‘Italians’ nor ‘hunters,’ and yet, both Bonnie and Y/N knew who he was really making sure wasn’t around.

And had it been a normal night, Bonnie would have followed his father, cut his workload in half like they had always done both in the bloody and in the mundane aspects of their lives. But tonight was no ordinary night and he wanted to know if he would ever have a chance at stealing the girl once the mess with the Italians was over.

“How do you do it?” he asked, stoking the fire with a stick and staring at its flaming point turn coal-black once he put it out in the ground. “How do you disguise yourself like that?”

She smirked – even through the raging flames trying to eat the cold and darkness of the night away, he saw the corners of her lips tilt upward and her teeth glint in the light. “Wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, now, eh, Bon?” The tone of her voice was playful, almost making fun of him as he sat there, elbows on his knees, a fighter squirming in his seat just because a girl had caught his naughty eye.

And she always was – playful – both around him and around Michael. He was sure her father would never allow her to mingle like that with the Shelbys and their chaotic mess of problems and enemies but if he knew something for certain, it was that you can never be sure of anything until you find out the truth.

“‘Bon’?” She had never called him like that, she had probably never even said his name out loud, either. It was either ‘Gold’ or an ‘oi!’ that gave him whiplash as his head turned to look behind his shoulder at where she was. “You called me ‘gyppo’ last night.”

She shrugged, but then she let out a laughter that tugged at his abdomen and made him smile. “Yeah, and I thought you’d go an’ kill me. Stick a knife right through my throat an’ leave me there to die.”

“I never said I wouldn’t do it.”

It was silent for a minute or two – just the shadows of the night and of the woods whispering and lurking from behind the trees, too scared to step forward as both Michael and Aberama snored in their sleep. Then, she looked up at the waning moon and chuckled. The sound seemed to ring around them, light and clear, shaking the leaves on the branches and the dry grass on the ground.

“That’s because you’re always too busy starin’ a’ me, eh, Bon?”

He snorted, shook his head as if to tell her how batshit crazy she was – even if she was anything but – and looked down at the battered ground between his feet. But then, before he could stop the automatic movement, he shrugged a shoulder and lifted his chin to stare at her again.

The flames of the fire were dancing in her eyes and the shadows that had been dancing on her face that night in the clearing had left their place to the light of the fire keeping them apart. Her skin glowed, the gold of her earrings and fine necklace seemed to twinkle and wink as the light caught their shiny surface.

“Yeah, and what if I stare at you?” He only felt this defiant in the ring, when he knew, deep in his bones, that he was going to win the match. And he had always won – he had always won, never let the opponent send him to the ground, he had never let chances take the reins of his fate because his grip on them was way too tight. “What, then?”

She inhaled deeply and then exhaled loudly, and the sound the air made as it slipped out of her nostrils was as clear as a pin touching the floor in a silent room – even with the fire crackling and moaning between them, even with the snoring of the other two men sleeping not far behind her. The look she gave him – the one he saw from above the flames as the shadow of her eyelashes danced on her cheekbones when she tilted her head down for a moment – told him she wanted to play – and that she wanted to win. But then she spoke, and he felt like maybe he truly had a chance.

“Then I’d wan’ you to stare.”

“What if I wanted to touch?”

“I might decide I don’t wan’ to cut your hand, then.”

How did I and Bonnie do? Also, feel free to let me know what you think of the idea of a part two if you want :)

Feedback and PB requests are welcome! ❤️

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​ @becs-bunker

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender​ @thethyri​ @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain  @flowers-in-your-hayr @oddsnendsfanfics @medievalfangirl @inforapound

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @kellydixon01 @kind-wolf

[fuwafuwamedb]

Can You Do This? (Gudako, Romani, Rehoboam)

Romani yawned, holding his mug of coffee as he headed down the hallway.

A regular morning, a cold facility, a long night of dealing with medical supply paperwork and ornery facility interns; he was ready to climb into bed and take a long nap. Or he could just sleep the day away. That didn’t sound bad at all.

He’d enjoy snoozing the day away.

“Look at you!”

Romani paused, lowering his cup from his face as he went to take a sip. His eyes drifted over to the doorway, to where Gudako was standing in the rayshift room with a young girl.

“You’re so cute!” Gudako hoisted the girl up, marveling at her as the girl beamed.

“I am cute! I do flips too.”

“I bet you do!”

“I do!”

Gudako set her down before grinning and showing her a flip.

The young girl did one as well.

“Okay, but can you do this?”

Romani nearly spat out his coffee as Gudako did a hand stand, spreading her legs to do the splits while upside down.

Later today, he’d have a conversation with other executives about the uniforms.

Gudako didn’t need to show her panties off to the room.

The little girl followed suit, doing the same action and then proceeding with a couple more flips.

Someone must have left their child in one of the supply ships, Romani thought to himself, taking a moment to take pleasure in how the two were goofing around with their gymnastics. Gudako was getting carried away, practically strutting around the summoning chamber as he settled into a seat behind the one way mirror.

“Watch this!”

Gudako started another routine for the girl to copy when Romani found himself choking.

A small demon pillar appeared a moment before the girl ushered it back into its small summoning circle.

The girl quickly drew with mana upon the floor before standing upright and smiling to Gudako.

“That was great mo- I mean, Ah…”

Mom.

Romani felt his face pale.

Somehow, the girl seemed to almost share the same features as Gudako. Both of them had that strange half smile, even when they frowned.

“Are you alright, brat?”

“Yeah…”

“You know,” Gudako leaned forward, grinning. “I summoned you and you haven’t introduced yourself.”

“I was born in Chaldea.”

Romani paled, leaning back in his seat.

He had a child with Gudako.

His child had an arrangement with demons.

God help them all.

“What? Are you my child?”

Gudako laughed a moment before the girl nodded.

“No shit- I mean, no way!” Gudako picked the girl up, laughing. “Well shoot! I have gorgeous babies! Is your father handsome?”

Romani held his mug tightly until the girl beamed.

“Father is very handsome. He’s the wisest man too.”

“He sounds old.”

Damn it, Gudako!

The girl nodded. “He is, but you love him so I’m not allowed to say that.”

He had a mini Gudako in his future.

Dear god, how would he survive?

[silver-wields-a-pen]

Have you used picrew or anything to make your ocs? What do they look like? If you dont have photos can you describe them?

Thanks for the utterly awesome ask!! 

I’ve done a couple of picrews for Nyima since she’s my favourite (shhhh don’t tell the others) but she’s hard to get right since she’s blue and there’s not a lot of options for that. 

@tiravi made a great piece of Nyima with her bf, Tundra, that I love to pieces and is the closest representation of how she looks. She so pretty They’re both characters in @illthdar‘s book series, first one, Illthdar: Guardians of Las, is out now ^=^

Moving onto my precious derps for Brotherhood! Oh, have I got pretties for them! I’m not good with graphics and stuff. They end up looking clunky a lot of the time, but I love how this set turned out so I use them as title cards for extracts. Each one has the main couple, but they’re not the only ocs I’ve got. I’ve got sosososososo many! I have a whole file dedicated to profiles for this bunch of dorks lool

First up, Divinely Volatile!

Ryang Ji-hoon and Fen Yueliang. Ji-hoon does actually look at lot like Choi Siwon who is his face claim, so much so that he gets mistaken for him a lot of the time. It’s a running joke since he’s an assassin and being recognised in any respect is bad for business, but he’s too vain to change his face. He has black hair and warm brown eyes that always look a little regretful.Yueliang has long straight black hair and darker brown eyes than Ji-hoon. She looks sharp and definitely is, but she’s also kind and a bit of a leap before she looks person, but luckily the amount of army training she’s had saves her from most disasters.

Next book planned is Deadly Lineage.

Ambrose Fewtree and Vera Ucci. Ambrose is meant to look nondescript and forgettable because that’s how he operates best. He has reddish hair and grey/green eyes and he’s 5′11 and slender. His name is the most standout thing about him and even then most people forget it seconds after he leaves. And that includes the prosthetic left arm. Yup, he has a prosthetic because shit happens even to them. It’s super neat though with lots of hidden compartments for poisons, and he has more than one and wears them like fashion accessories. He’s a Bulgarian Romani and speaks a ton of languages - second only to Utamara Ndiaye.Vera has silver screen looks and a figure to match, which doesn’t fit in the age of instagram and contouring. She’s 5′4 with reddish brown hair that she hates because what even is that colour called? And she has hazel eyes. She’s Sardinian by blood, but grew up in Terni, Italy. (She’s also a princess, but more of that another time.)

Next up is Cold Snap.

Tan Shun & Sarnai Ramchaa. Tan Shun knows he’s handsome and well dressed and also lethal af. He’s the Brotherhood’s best assassin and never puts a foot out of line. His father was a first generation Brotherhood, meaning he was born into it. The head of the Brotherhood, Hisakawa Kagegorou actually adopted Shun as his son because he was close to his father and thought Shun would have maximum potential. He does. He’s not the only adopted child of Kagegorou’s, but he’s the one he holds up to the others as an example. He’s 5′9 and wears lifts in his shoes to make himself taller. He’s got short black hair and obsidian coloured eyes.Sarnai is Mongolian and a photojournalist. She’s tough and no nonsense, but also fun and a bit reckless. She’s not the most beautiful woman around, but she’s got a certain something that attracts people to her. She’s 5′8 with fluffy black hair and greyish eyes.

Next up, Scorched Desire.

Mohammed al Sadat & Sorcha Dunaid. Mo is from Egypt and he’s the most charming person ever. The scars on his face claim’s face are also present on his, but for different reasons, and they don’t damage his appeal one bit! He likes to say he’s the Egyptian James Bond, only better because he has a 100% success rate. He’s got neatly cropped black hair and deep brown eyes.Sorcha’s Scottish, with red hair and brown eyes, very pale skin and tall. She looks like a model - and used to be one - but she’s got so much intelligence and wicked wit that anyone who underestimates her regrets it.

Next up is Heavenly Kodachi!

Hisakawa Tadamasa & Aurora McCabb. Tada’s Japanese and at 26 the youngest son of Hisakawa Kagegorou. He wears his black hair slicked back, but often loses control over it by the end of the day - has a habit of running his hands through it without realising. He has very dark brown eyes that look almost black and he’s short at 5′8, but isn’t vain enough to wear lifts like Shun.Aurora (Rory) is Native American, has tanned skin and short black hair that she bleaches and then dyes bright pink because pink. Her eyes are grey and she’s always very cheerful and happy, even when she’s not. 

Nearly done - too many ocs, too many wips loolNext is Broken Oaths!

Hisakawa Yoshihiro & Ina Howell. Yoshi is Tada’s older brother and far more neatly presented than his mess of a brother. His short black hair never misbehaves, and his obsidian eyes are always partially concealed by black framed glasses. He looks like a teacher - technically he is. He’s 5′9 and slender, like all the Hisakawa family.Ina hails from Wales, has milky-toned skin, mid-brown shoulder-length hair and blue eyes. She’s a doctor researching genetic diseases at a teaching and research hospital in Seattle. 

Last but not least!Smudged Iron

Calum McCabb & Glenn Oake. Calum isn’t an assassin, unlike all the other guys so far. He’s Aurora’s older brother, so he’s also Native American. His skin tone is darker than his sister’s, he has very long black hair that he plaits when he’s working, and grey eyes. He’s 5′10, broad and muscular from manual labour he does helping out on his family’s property and business or just from working out.Glenn is the only female assassin main character (there’s other minor ones). She’s got long, ginger hair, green eyes, pale skin and freckled. She’s tall and gangly looking and can pass for a boy if she makes an effort - it comes in handy.

WHEW! That’s all the main ocs from the series! It’s a lot, I know, but I love them all ^=^ and I didn’t even get round to the side characters! 

Utamara Ndiaye, Anna Orlov, Baracus van Dien, Gi Joo-won, Blane Everheart, Magnolia Everheart, Ghenha Reece, Ifana Reece, Lewys Howell, Fen Chen, Yang Yawen, Baek Hyun, Ryang Jong-su, Kim Ha-yun, Ryang Hye-jin, Cai Hao, Airdyle Boxer, Roger Oake,  Cassidy Boxer, Victor Cole, McKerrick McCabb, Quinn McCabb, Adaline Moore, Alorah McCabb, Sechen Ramchaa, Batbayar Yamaat, Altansarnai Taijuid, Khenbish Daguur, Ana Breban, Iulien Breban, Laura Fewtree, Marku Fewtree, Paul Fewtree, Ilena Fewtree, Sammie Fewtree, Grey Fewtree, Tristan Fewtree, Mara Fewtree, Nina Fewtree, Archduke Galileo Amici, Ettore Amici, Grandduchess Claudia Amici Capozzi, Vyas Noon, Maurizio Motta, Bella Motta, Alicia Belittore, Muminah al Sadat, Domhnull MacCearraich, Belias Anwielder, Go Eren, Iyawa Adamu, Akil al Sadat, Hisakawa Kagegorou, Hisakawa Sadaharu, Hisakawa Hideki, James Baker, Nacht Graben, Nahm Seojun 

and this list is still growing and I have face claims for every single person on here, and profiles. 

Yes, I’m totally insane lool

[ripleyink]

In Such Grief - John Shelby

Author’s Notes: Don’t really know what came over me, just wanted to write something angsty and emotionally brutal. Not sure if I achieved it but if I did... excellent *tents fingers*. Length: Not too long. It’s a shorty. Rating: A. For Angst. Not really, I’d call this one mature but only for the language.

John couldn't look at the body.

He could picture it, definitely; serene expression, saturated skin, dressed in the finest clothes she could afford with dirty blonde hair brushed carefully and laid precisely beside her head. He could picture her lying along the floor of the wagon with beads, fabrics and all the little things she owned decorating the inside with some of the things their children left for her. She wouldn't be wearing shoes, though. Not her. Not the one who ran the streets of Birmingham without them for so long.

John leaned close to Polly who stood solemnly on his left. "She's not wearin' shoes, is she?"

Polly glanced up at John, her features faintly masked by the black, lace veil she wore over her face. "No, John. She's not wearin' shoes," Polly answered, rubbing John's back.

John nodded his head, swallowing the lump in his throat before he bowed his head. "Good. Wouldn't be right if she wore shoes... only wore shoes when she 'ad to..."

Polly's brow deepened, the brims of her lined eyes filling with tears, "We know, John..."

A choked sob managed to escape through John's lips, exiting past the hold he was trying to keep over his emotions in the field just a little way outside of the city. Other civilians kept away from the ceremony but looked upon it with curiosity; some forcing sympathy to appear in their gazes when they came to the realization it was a funeral. The whole family and a small gathering of their closest friends stood in their best black clothing on the damp grass, having left pieces of themselves on the adorned wagon they now studied with melancholic stares.

Ada had been ill for the past week but forced herself out of bed to attend, unfortunately needing a chair to rest in during the ceremony. Arthur and Tommy remained silent, little Finn stayed with his Aunt Polly and Jeremiah stood in front of the wagon for everyone to see him. John's children, all four of them, didn't approach their father nor were they allowed to. Each of them were kept in the hold or attention of a member of the family or a family friend. It wasn't that John couldn't be near them, it was more he couldn't stand for them to be near him. He'd been in war, he'd seen men die but it didn't kill him as much as it did when they told him Martha had.

Not her, he thought at the time. Not her, please, fucking God or anyone, tell me it's not her. She's the good one, she's the good one. Not her...

John bit down hard on his lip. He was practically splitting the skin apart by now with his teeth, but his emotions overwhelmed him to the point that the pain there was more bearable than the pain inside. Hell, he could be shot, stabbed, burned or beaten at this very moment and he'd thank the person who did it. It would take away from the agony he was feeling. John had lost people before but this loss was something else.

He had left his heart in Martha's hands and he could've sworn it died with her. The sky above began to shift. Clouds were rolling further and further across the sky, mixing and blending and darkening until the threat of a storm became all too possible for the group of people standing below. 

Just as the first drum of thunder occurred, John cleared his throat in the presence of the people he trusted most.

"I got somethin' ta say before Jeremiah starts," he nodded at Jeremiah and Jeremiah nodded in return. John swallowed the lump in his throat again. "Martha... Martha would want me to say somethin'... woman would bloody come back from the dead and cut me bollocks off if I didn't... I met 'er when she was five and I was seven. I thought I 'ad it rough bein' the fuckin' middle child of four kids livin' in the shithole we did... I met Martha and I learned she was the eighth child of fourteen kids in one 'ouse. I thought I was lucky then because I didn't have thirteen other siblings like 'er, but when I got older I realized I was lucky for another reason. I met 'er.

"We got older and got closer and I was certain about one thing: I wanted only one person in my life tha' I would love the way I did. God seemed ta think so too because before we knew it Martha was up the fuckin' duff and I 'ad to get a proper job; work full time to take care o' 'er. It was okay though... we'd been takin' care of each other since we was kids so... it was a'right. Went off to war I never stopped writin' to 'er... every time she'd write back 'I'm with ya. Always with ya.' I know she always will be. She'll always be with me and the kids..."

Tommy spoke up, hoping to provide some structure to his brother's speech. "Talk about 'er. Talk about the good things. What she was like."

Arthur nodded, joining his brother in encouragement. "Yeah, John, it's a'right." John didn't turn his head to see his brothers. Instead, he glanced over to Polly, seeking her out with a pained yet desperate look in his pale blue eyes. Polly inclined her head in support.

"She's listenin', John."

Anybody else would've accepted this but no one could really say whether she was or she wasn't. Anybody else would've gone on with the speech, releasing every piece of tension that was twisting their organs and tearing their heart. Anybody would've taken this as something hollow; something one says to a grieving person when they don't know what to say at all. But this was Aunt Polly and she meant it so John believed it. His grieving mind may have clouded his lack of belief in anything but this was something he was desperate to believe and so he did. He genuinely believed Martha was listening to him.

"Martha, you were always better at words than I was. You were a good writer and brilliant at makin' things up for the kids; tellin' them all those stories jus' so they'd go to sleep. You were the most organized person I knew; I can tell ya now if I 'ad married anyone else I wouldn't 'ave been treated as well as you treated me. You were smart, bloody funny, a brilliant mum to our kids, and most of all you were the most important person ta me," John's voice cracked, tears finally falling from his eyes. "Ever since we were lit'le and even when it felt like we weren't goin' to make it, we always did. We always did because of you. Because you were so fuckin' brilliant. You were fuckin' brilliant."

No one dared to correct John or remind him that his children, all four of them, were present during his speech. No one dared to tell him not to curse in front of them or to at least try to watch his language. It was clear to everyone present at the funeral of Martha Shelby that John was somewhere else; he had already faced the reality of the situation and even while attending Martha's funeral he still seemed trapped in the moment when she was no longer in this world.

John's children were removed before the burning of the Romani wagon, and frankly, John wanted to go with them. There was not a single part of him that wanted to stay there and watch the wagon go up in flames knowing Martha was inside. The only reason he stayed was because he knew she would have - if it had been him instead. Martha would have stayed until she knew he was completely gone, watched everything turn to ash before leaving. Martha made sure he was never alone and she would have made sure he wasn't if he had died instead.

Thinking about this only made the sense of loss more prominent for John Shelby because he was facing something he didn't want to before: he just lost the only woman who went the extra mile to love him. He was going to take cues from her even if it tore him to do so.

"John..." Tommy spoke up from behind his brother, "if you want to leave early... no one's goin' to call you any less of a man."

Polly's eyes rolled in her head, biting her lip to fight back an incredulous scoff.

John shook his head and forced his eyes to stay on the wagon. "She would've stayed for me; I'm goin' to stay for 'er."

It was Tommy who lit the wagon on fire. John, Polly, Tommy and Arthur and the rest of the people attending - none of them being any of Martha's family members - stood back a safe distance watched the flames dance back and forth. In the middle of it, John's mind was carried off elswhere - deep into the recesses of his mind where he was reminded of the way Martha danced. Leaping, twirling, jumping and swinging all over the tiny living room of their home together, wearing a dress too big for her so it billowed with the movement. There was no music he could hear but then again she always did have a good imagination, he wouldn't have been surprised if she said it was all in her head where she heard it. Her thin, pale legs with the thin, near-invisible blonde hairs, the way her hair cascaded before sweeping and swinging along with her movement seemed to entrance him, the small strip of sunset shining upon her...

"Fuckin' 'ell, Martha..." he muttered, his eyes tracing the thick plumes of dark smoke reaching to touch the sky above. "Why'd ya 'ave ta leave me?"

[cometomecosette]

How I picture the characters of “Les Mis”

This meme made me decide to write out my mental images of what all the main characters look like. Most of them are vague, based on a blend of Hugo’s descriptions and stage casting traditions. None of them are based on the movie cast, which has made it feel strange in the last several years to see most fan drawings of the characters become movie-based.

I hope other people will see this and share their images of the characters too. I’d love to read them, especially if they’re very different from mine.

Jean Valjean

Medium hight, barrel chested and bulky – not overweight, but more “big-boned” than “ripped.” At most the same height as Javert, more likely shorter, but heavier and more strongly built. Straight, longish, light brown/later white hair and a beard. (Yes, the Brick implies that he gets rid of the beard after breaking parole, but the musical’s stage history makes me picture it throughout.) Eyes either hazel or blue. A roundish face with solid, homely features (not ugly in the least, just completely ordinary) and a reserved expression. If you passed him on the street you’d be struck by his bulk, and by the stark whiteness of his hair in his later years, but he’s far from a Hugh Jackman-style eye-catcher; just a big, strong, average older man.

Javert

Tall, strongly built and imposing, as per Hugo, though more slender and less powerful than Valjean. Rigid posture. Dusky skin, in keeping with his Romani heritage. Dark brown hair; short in the Brick-verse, but musical-Javert has the long, elegant ponytail of stage tradition, regardless of anachronism. Huge forest-like sideburns, as per both Hugo and stage tradition. Brown eyes. A longish, rectangular face with a big square jaw, a snub nose as per Hugo (though less cartoonishly snub than Emile Bayard drew it) and a severe, dignified expression. The rare occasions when he smiles or laughs are, as Hugo tells us, terrifying.

Fantine

Medium height and slender. Long, luxuriant, sunny blonde hair, either wavy or curly; later messily chopped and extremely short. Bright blue eyes. Strikingly beautiful, with a slender face (though I can imagine a roundish one too, at least before she gets sick and loses weight), pale skin, a small straight nose, high cheekbones, and as per Hugo, pretty white teeth. A very classical, dignified type of beauty (as opposed to cuteness or, God forbid, sexiness), influenced in my mind both by Hugo’s references to Greco-Roman goddesses when describing her and by Ruthie Henshall’s look in the TAC. Though of course by the end of her arc, it all turns to emaciated, ashy ghostliness.

Cosette

At 16/17: Medium height and slender. A soft, roundish face like Raphael’s Madonnas, as per Hugo. Medium chestnut brown hair, worn in long ringlets. (Yes, I know she would have more likely sported a curled up-do, but decades of stage tradition have left their mark on my mind.) Bright blue eyes like her mother’s. A small cute nose – probably aquiline, given Hugo’s “Parisian” description, though I don’t always picture it as such. Innocently beautiful, in a way that blends her mother’s natural dignity with girl-next-door cuteness.

As a little girl: See Bayard’s iconic illustration. Just color the hair brown. (Though I’m also open to it being blonde at first, but darkening when she hits puberty, as sometimes happens.)

Marius

Medium height and slender. Boyishly handsome with rounded facial features, as per Hugo, and of course with “wide, passionate nostrils.” Pale skin, with no freckles (sorry, Eddie). Short hair, which I almost always picture as thick, curly and jet black, as per Hugo – though sometimes when I’m thinking only of the musical, I picture it straight and brown instead, or occasionally even blond. Brown eyes are my default image, though I’m open to blue too. As per Hugo, a generally reserved, serious expression, but with a wide, adorable smile when he’s happy; since musical-Marius is warmer and more outgoing than Hugo’s, I imagine that smile appearing more often from him.

Thénardier

Short, scrawny and bony, as per Hugo, though I’m open to picturing musical-Thénardier as slightly taller and/or more solidly built. Longish, stringy brown/later gray hair. No clear idea of eye color: probably either brown, green, or pale blue. A thin, angular face with a wide mouth, a sharp nose and bad teeth; I’m prone to picturing his nose as prominent, but I know that’s a cliché for greedy characters based in hateful Jewish and Romani stereotypes, so sometimes I force myself to imagine it smaller. Brick-Thénardier grows a long, scraggly beard in poverty, as per Hugo; musical-Thénardier just has a permanent five o’ clock shadow. 

Mme. Thénardier

Huge and intimidating, as per Hugo. Obese, tall (taller than her husband in the Brick, though musical-Mme. T. might be the same height or slightly shorter), frumpy and masculine looking. Thick, wavy cascades of red/later graying hair. Blotchy skin, as per Hugo. Big, walnut-smashing, child-punching fists. A big face, either squarish or round (Hugo’s description of her as both “fat” and “angular” is hard to imagine, so my brain often defaults to the roundness of most stage actresses), with a snub nose and small, piggy blue eyes. As per Hugo, Brick-Mme. T. has a few chin hairs and a protruding lower tooth, but I don’t picture those details in the musical.

Éponine

Tallish and very thin. Light to medium chestnut brown hair (lighter and more reddish than Cosette’s), naturally straight but stringy with filth. (This is fluid, though – now and then I picture her with dirty strawberry blonde hair instead, or with thick, wild dark curls). Eyes either blue or green. Tanned skin and maybe some freckles. Bony, angular features with a fairly strong nose and wide mouth like her father’s, though musical-Éponine’s face is softer. Brick-Éponine has all the ugly marks of poverty Hugo describes: wasted figure, missing teeth, bleary eyes, etc. Musical-Éponine is prettier, but not a striking beauty either, just an average girl who’s prettiness you’d notice if you looked past the layers of dirt.

Enjolras

Tall, slender and lightly muscular. Angelically handsome, just as Hugo writes, in the vein of a Greco-Roman statue. Luxuriant blond hair; I most often picture it long, wavy and in a ponytail (since I saw that look onstage first), but I can easily picture it short and curly too, especially with Hugo’s Antinous comparison. Bright blue eyes. Pale skin with rosy overtones “like a young girl’s,” as per Hugo, yet with clear masculine strength in his build. A slender, eternally youthful yet dignified face, with a straight nose, strong chin and quietly stern, ever-determined expression. Again, see the statues of Antinous as a reference.

Gavroche

Average height for an 11- or 12-year-old, but scrawny. Tanned and maybe freckled, like his sister. Light to medium brown hair; I instinctively picture it short and straight like most boy actors’ hair onstage, but I know Hugo saw it as a thick, crazy tangle of curls, so I can imagine that too. No fixed idea of eye color: probably the same as his father’s. A thin face, plain yet bright and expressive, with a wide and loud mouth like his father’s and sister’s. I admit, I imagine him better looking than the wild, ugly little thing Hugo envisioned, but that’s probably true for most of us.

Grantaire

See above: I know my vision of Grantaire isn’t nearly as ugly as Hugo’s, and I don’t imagine him with the huge mustache Hugo sketched him with, but at least I’m not alone in that. I picture him medium height to tall and on the slender side, though I can possibly see him as heavier too. Long or at least longish hair, medium to dark brown, straight yet messy. Brown or hazel eyes. A nondescript face, either round or squarish: I don’t exactly have a clear vision of it, because I know he should be ugly, but I’ve never seen an ugly actor in the role. Based on stage tradition, I tend to picture him with a permanent 5 ‘o clock shadow.

[justjessame]

Diamonds Are A Boy’s Best Friend Chapter 7

I ate dinner in my room that night after I’d given in to temptation with Ike. Facing the dining room, or the bar, or heaven forbid Vera Evans sounded as appealing as taking a dive off my balcony. As I sat at the table, with a book in hand, idly eating through my meal and sipping from a bottle of wine that I didn’t order, I wondered where Ike was and whether he was acting the part of a perfect husband.

The morning dawned bright and hot, as every morning in Miami had been since I’d arrived. Leaving the comfort of my bed, I walked to the window with the chiffon of my nightgown trailing me. I leaned against the sill, staring as the waves crashed against the sand, thinking longingly of the beaches of home.

My last year in Europe, a large expanse to consider home yet I did, was spent in a chateau near the crashing waves in the south of France. Paris was always a highlight to visit, but to live? No, there were far quieter and relaxing places. Switzerland was remembered for school. The rest of Europe? The rest was varying degrees of home. London with the hazy of fog and a near constant chill in the air. Ireland, rolling green and wild, tempered only by the rain. Scotland where history and roughness collide. I could reminisce for days. The yearning to return, to stay where I felt the most comfortable was beyond words. In Wales, there’s a word for what I felt, a word I’d learned during a short visit. Hiraeth. It meant a homesickness for where you cannot return. And that was how I felt in a nutshell.

I couldn’t go back. Not without my father’s blessing and funding. I was at his mercy quite literally. I had, during one desperate moment, as one of my many caretakers had planted a seed in my young mind, gone to a lawyer that I could find no trace of knowing who my father was and had him search for proof of my inheritance. I had been told, once upon a time, that my mother had left me her wealth. That while my father had built his from blood and horror, it was my mother who’d had the connections of wealth and breeding. I’d sold a few smaller pieces of jewelry to pay the lawyer, that became two, then three, because each one hadn’t dug deep enough, I felt. Nothing. At least nothing left for me in my own name.

I was nothing without Benjamin Diamond. I had nothing without him. And for that reason, I couldn’t return home, not without his blessing and financial assistance. And my heart felt heavy at the reality.

I let my mind wander, thinking about my time in London, learning about the Victorian unsolved mystery of Jack the Ripper. I could almost hear my guardian admonishing me for such a morbid interest, but I wanted to know about this shadow monster. I thought, perhaps, if I could face the disgusting acts of an unknown beast, it would help me understand the man whose blood flowed through my own veins.

Ike’s arms wrapped around me from behind again, and I sighed. It was barely morning, yet here he was. I wondered where Vera was? Still in bed? Having breakfast alone? “Taking in the view?” I felt his lips touch the top of my head and nodded. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Thoughts of you kept running through my head.”

“That must have been troublesome,” I offered, pulling out of his arms and sitting down at the table I’d eaten at. “What with your wife in bed beside you and all.”

He stayed at the window, his back to me. Yet I heard his sigh, and could see when he scrubbed a hand down his face. I took in his suit, his broad shoulders, his dark hair. I knew he was irritated with my reminder, and I hoped that it stuck this time. One of us needed to have more willpower, and I was obviously not equipped.

“I don’t know what to say, Liz.” Still facing the window. “What do you want me to say?”

“Goodbye.” Even as I said it, every part of me rebelled against the thought. “It’s what you should say.”

That caused him to turn, to stride to me, to kneel before me. “Do you really want that?” His eyes were searching mine, looking for the telltale signs that I was sure he’d find of the war within me. “Do you want me to leave, Liz?”

His hands, almost as though we were magnets, had taken mine. The feel of his hands, his fingers long and tapered, against my skin forced my eyes closed. Torture, pure and simple, and tearing down the carefully replaced barriers I was attempting to construct against him.

“My wants shouldn’t play a part in this, Ike.” I forced my eyes open. Forced myself to meet his stare. “How can you not see how absolutely ridiculous this is? How dangerous? How wrong?” I shook my head and tried to pull away, but his hands held firm. “Let me go, Ike.”

It was his turn to shake his head. “No.” His stare held me captive along with his grip. “You’re talking yourself out of this by trying to ONLY see the bad.” Of course I was, since the bad was immoral AND would no doubt get him killed. “Why can’t you just let us FEEL, Liz?” I knew he had to see the madness in such an idea. He must. “Tell me this feels wrong.” And then his lips met mine and I knew I was lost again. At least until he left the room, to go back to her.

Our clothes were off faster than the first time. Perhaps it was the need to feel one another’s skin, or perhaps it was simply that once our mouths touched, nothing could stop us. Not buttons, not zippers, and as his hands tore my flimsy gown from my body, most certainly NOT chiffon.

I was pressed against the wall this time. One leg wrapped around his waist, while he pounded into me, his hands so tight at my hips that I was certain I’d wear the imprint of his fingerprints. His mouth was conflicted, wanting the taste of my own and the moans that came from nipping at my neck equally, but the choice was made when the first scream was ripped from me. He devoured my noises as though they were his breakfast, and fed me his own as we crashed together for what seemed like days.

Lying together on my sleep mussed bed, his fingers dancing across my bare skin, I could almost forget. Almost. I knew, however, once he got up and dressed, when he kissed me before straightening his tie, and as he shot me one last lingering look as he crossed the threshold to go, that it would all come rushing back.

I forced myself out of my room for lunch. It was supposed to be a vacation, so I donned a black and white striped dress and heels, forgoing the stockings since I planned on eating al fresco, and put the matching hat on my head before tossing it onto the bed. Instead, sunglasses, my purse, and a book would be my accessories.

I smiled as the waiter showed me to a shaded table. Ordering my meal and drink, I was about to open my book when I felt the presence of someone hovering over me. One glance and I felt sure I’d gone pale.

“Vera.” I smiled, manners coming easily. “You look lovely today.” And she did. She was tall and slim, clearly the height of sophistication by Miami standards.

“Hello, Liz.” Her smile seemed genuine, and for that I was thankful. “Ike told me you were staying the week with us.” Like a house guest, that the husband services daily, I thought with an internal rush of shame.

“May I?” She gestured to the unoccupied seat and I nodded with a smile. “I feel like every time we speak it’s in a rush.” Truer words, I thought. “I didn’t even know that Ben had a daughter.”

I laughed at that and she blushed. “I apologize, Vera.” I shook my head. “My father intended for no one to know about me, for obvious reasons, I imagine.” I let the reminder dangle and she gave a rueful smile in return. “You are correct, however, we do always seem to be in a dash when we meet.”

She studied me, and I fought the urge to fidget as I once had under the scrutiny of the headmistress. “You’re so different-” She didn’t have to fill in the blanks, from my father or from the majority of Miami, both were apt. “I’d hoped that I could get to know you, when we first met, I mean. You seemed so-”

“Awkward?” I offered, thinking that it was the description I’d used for Ike’s night in his marital bed and felt embarrassed. She took it as retroactive mortification at the memory of our first meeting, since she waved it off. “I haven’t met many people that seem interesting enough to get to know here.” I meant Miami, or America, and I hoped she took it as such.

“You don’t really get out very much,” she offered, and I wondered how she knew. “Ike mentioned that you seem to lock yourself away.” Great, Ike the sharer. “I’m sure if you-” She stopped, thinking she overstepped. And I felt the urge to calm her fears of impropriety.

“You’re probably right.” Shaking my head, I tried to put it into words. “It’s just so different here.”

Vera tilted her head in interest. “In Miami?” Perhaps Ike didn’t share everything? Or maybe even he hadn’t been clued in.

“In America, honestly.” I gave a small laugh. “I’m not sure how much you know of my upbringing.”

“Nothing.” I nodded. “Your accent is different,” she squinted as though trying to place mine, just as I puzzled hers out.

“Being reared in Europe does that for a person.” I smirked. “Switzerland for school. France, England, and pretty much anywhere you can think of on the continent for ‘home’.”

“We consider America ‘the continent’,” a return smirk. “I was born and raised in Holland.” Ah, the accent, with a hint of- “My mother was Romany.” I raised an interested eyebrow. “You’re not going to spit ‘gypsy’ at me like a profanity?”

I shook my head. “I prefer the exotic, remember?” And with that, we laughed, bonding.

Lunch wasn’t as strange as I had feared. Vera and I ate, because she joined me and felt like keeping me company for the entirety, and shared stories of our childhood. A shared experience, even if she was there and I was somewhere else. She told me of her dancing. And I regaled her with tales of my travels.

“This was fun,” she offered, as we were standing to leave. “We should do it again, and soon.”

I smiled with a nod. “It was. Thank you for keeping me company, Vera.”

We said goodbye, and I walked slowly back to my room, thinking about how surreal the situation was becoming.

Ike didn’t come to my room again that day. Not that I expected him to. He had plenty of other responsibilities.

I dressed for dinner. Repeating the makeup tricks that I’d watched Lily perform. I worked a brush through my hair, hoping to make it fall in the loose waves that seemed so stylish. Another black patterned dress, silk stockings, heels, clutch. I hadn’t packed any jewelry, Father had mentioned there’d been a few burglaries in the hotel, and I didn’t want to chance it. A final glance in the mirror and I was convinced I looked as good as I was going to get without help.

I was escorted to a table away from the crowd upon my request. I’d brought my book, wanting to have a distraction while eating. As I waited for my food, I lost myself in the pages. I was so engrossed, that the waiter laughed as he put down my drink and again when he served me.

“Good story?” He asked, as I blinked in surprise at the appearance of my food.

Smiling up at him, I nodded. “One of my favorites.” He seemed to want to ask for more information, but I realized that the room was packed. “Clearly compelling since I didn’t notice that I’m surrounded.” He laughed and went back to work.

Eating while reading was a skill I’d mastered during my school years. Studying or pleasure, I knew how to work everything so my book remained pristine and my food ended up in my mouth, and not on my lap. The story pulled me back, and I read until I heard a throat clear above me.

It wasn’t Ike. It wasn’t Vera. It was Stevie. “Hello.” I smiled, taking a drink from my wine glass. “Are you on hosting duties?”

He smirked and I wondered if he understood the warning I’d given his father about playing with fire. Lily was far more flammable than me. And I had a feeling that he was stroking that flame.

“Something like that.” He gestured to the empty seat at my table and I nodded assent. Once he was seated my suspicions were confirmed. “How is she?”

“She?” Feigning ignorance seemed the best course of action in the situation and I hoped that he took the opening I gave him to escape from this line of thought.

“Lily.” Ah, just as tempted by my young step mother as his father seemed to be by me. I sighed.

Carefully marking my spot, pushing my near empty plate away, I met his eyes across the table. “You do know how dangerous your interest is, don’t you?” He looked at me as though he didn’t care, a chip off the old block. “She’s fine. Or she will be, once she convinces him that she wants ONLY him.” I wouldn’t say ‘father’ not with so many ears close by. A consideration that Stevie should think about. “Let her go. For both of your safety.”

“We-” I snorted before he could say it. They’re in love? Love, in this instance, and in my own, was a child’s whim.

“Don’t finish that sentence.” A warning, clear as a bell. “Love is a child’s ideal, Stevie.” He was fighting a glare. “Where the people you’re talking about are concerned, it is.” My father, what did he know of love? “He watched two wives DIE. His hands are stained with more blood than your life will ever know. Don’t, under any circumstance, fool yourself into believing that ‘love’ conquers anything.”

“I could give you thousands of examples,” he began.

I rolled my eyes. “I need only one to remind you of the idiocy. ‘Romeo and Juliet’.” I sat upright, realizing that I’d leaned toward him during our tense exchange. “Let. Her. Go.” I reiterated.

“Suicide?” He scoffed, like a child would. “I’m not going to kill myself.”

“Thinking about her is a death sentence. Suicide, no matter who pulls the trigger.” Drinking the final sip of my wine, I stood, forcing him to his own feet. “Goodnight, Stevie. Thank you for your company.”

I turned away before he could reply and walked through the dining room, ignoring any stares I may have courted with my exit.