#would be more of tom's presence in the early chapters

[pedroscurls]

chance encounters | pt. 4

character(s): we got all the Triple Frontier boys in this chapter (obvi except Tom). Benny Miller, Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, fem!Reader summary: You've won the last four of your fights and now you're undefeated. With Benny and the rest of the guys helping you through your grief, you start to believe that things are getting better... you start to feel like you can live your life. Until one day brings you back to square one and you demand a title fight that you're not ready for.  word count: 3.1k  a/n: Grief isn't linear... I feel like every chapter is a special one to me, but this one... It hits close to home more so than the other chapters. Hope y'all enjoy. warnings: grief series masterlist | ultimate masterlist

Since Frankie and the guys surprised you at the beach, things seemed to be getting better. You feel hopeful that you’re able to move forward and continue to live your life, even with the absence of your best friend. Sure, there are still days where your grief cripples you, but you’re able to pull yourself out of it much more quickly. It helps that you’re now able to allow people in to help you. 

It’s been a couple of months since that day on the beach and you’re much lighter. You don’t feel a heaviness that sits on your chest at every waking moment of the day. Even when you go to train with Benny, you allow yourself to actually have fun, to smile and laugh. It’s been such a long time since you felt like this and you weren’t sure that you ever would. 

You and Frankie talk almost every day. If it’s not over the phone or through text, he arrives at the gym with the rest of the guys at the tail end of your training session with Benny. It’s almost like you settle into a routine with him and you would be lying to yourself if you said that his presence provided a calmness that you haven’t felt in so long and a calmness that you didn’t realize you were yearning for since losing your best friend. 

He sometimes gives you a kiss on the cheek when he greets you, hand on your lower back. Frankie will usually pull away slowly and look at you through the tops of his eyelashes, nose brushing against yours. You know there’s a mutual attraction, but you’re not there yet. You aren’t sure if you can ever get there, but he doesn’t ever pressure you. Frankie silently acknowledges it, acknowledges the fact that you aren’t ready for more than just friends, and instead, he just gives you a small smile and a single nod as if to say, I know. I’ll be here when you are ready. 

And truthfully, you’re thankful. You’re thankful for Frankie, you’re thankful for Benny, for Will, for Santiago. When you found out that your best friend died about nine months ago, you didn’t think that moving on with your life was possible. Though, part of you is still afraid. You do your best to be open, to rely on Frankie and the rest of the guys, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re afraid to get too close to any of them even though it feels like you can’t even imagine life without any of them anymore. The possibility of losing any of them sits uneasily in the pit of your stomach. You know it’s highly unlikely that anything bad would happen, but at the same time, you’ve gotten used to being on edge after losing your best friend. You never thought that you would ever lose him this early; you always imagined that he would be right there next to you as you both grow old, your own families just as close as you were with him. 

But that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were going to grow old. Without him. And it still hurts. To know that when you get married and walk down the aisle, he won’t be there. To know that when you may become a mother, he won’t be there. 

And it seems like all of those things seem so out of reach, like it isn’t what you want anymore. 

Even getting close to Frankie as you are now, it’s scary. You know that you have feelings for him and you’re aware that he has feelings for you, but you can’t bring yourself to get there… To lean in to kiss him, to have him spend the night because that means opening up your heart again and allowing him to settle into it with the possibility of losing him. 

And you aren’t sure if you can handle that kind of pain again. 

—

“Undefeated,” Benny grins proudly. “Four fights in and you’ve won every single one of them.” 

“Helps to have a good coach,” you smile, leaning back against the cage. Your training session just ended, always a dripping mess of sweat at the end of it. Benny pushes you to your limit every time you train with him, never allowing you to ease up even if it is only training. And you’re grateful because it transcends into every fight you’ve had so far. Even when you get rocked, even when you want to give up, Benny always reminds you that you’re just not wired like that. Your fighter name is The Warrior for a reason.

“You know I love compliments,” Benny winks. “Keep ‘em coming.” 

You roll your eyes and lie back on the mat, staring up at the ceiling as you continue to cool down and catch your breath. “You and the guys heading out tonight?” 

“I think they’re actually gonna bring dinner here. Wanna stay?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” 

Benny smiles. “I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “I know losing someone isn’t ever easy, but–”

“Frankie told me you guys were all former military,” you interrupt. 

“We’ve lost people,” Benny nods. “Lost someone very close to us. There used to actually be five of us.”

“Frankie mentioned that, yeah.” 

“You and Frankie talk a lot, hm?”

You look over at Benny and see him grinning in your direction. You know where his mind went and you reach over to gently slap his leg. “It’s nothing like that.”

Benny scoffs. “I have eyes. We have eyes. Plus, he talks a lot about you.”

“He does?” you ask, brow arching. “I just like being around him.”

“Well, good. He’s a good guy. Been through a lot. We all have, but him especially.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to open myself up to him,” you admit quietly. “I’m scared, Benny.” 

He sighs and hears the front door open, followed by quiet chatter and laughter from Will, Santiago, and Frankie. Then, Benny looks over at you and helps you to your feet. “Don’t force it. Frankie’s a patient man. And I know he likes you a lot.”

“What if he waits around and I just never get there? I don’t want him waiting around for me.” you whisper. 

Benny shrugs, hearing his name being called. “You’ll get there.”

“But how do you know?” 

“I just do.” He smiles, leading you out of the cage. “Just take it day by day.” 

When you get closer to the rest of the guys, Frankie’s the first one to pull you in for a hug. He doesn’t even mind that you’re sweaty; he just loves feeling your body against him, feeling your arms wrap around him. “Hey,” he whispers, pulling away and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Hi,” you look up at him, letting the corner of your lips lift slightly. “I’m all sweaty and you just hugged me.”

Frankie chuckles, putting his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You blush slightly and then turn your attention to greet Santiago and Will, who also pull you into a hug. “Okay, I’m gonna take a quick shower since being sweaty is only bothering me.”

You grab your duffle bag and head to the locker room and showers in the back of the gym, faintly hearing the rest of the guys begin to talk. It takes only fifteen minutes before you walk back out to see the rest of the guys sitting on the mats. Your hair is damp and you’re now dressed in shorts and an oversized crewneck. You move to sit next to Frankie, who leans his body closer to yours. 

“You hungry?” he asks. 

“Starving,” you grin, taking a slice of pizza and lifting it to your lips. You subconsciously lean against Frankie, head resting on his shoulder and you’re so focused on eating that you don’t realize that the rest of the guys are staring at the both of you with a grin on their faces.

You’re so calm, so at ease with Frankie next to you and the rest of the guys nearby. When you look up, you furrow a brow and finish eating your slice of pizza. “What?” you ask, grabbing a napkin and quickly wiping your lips. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Santiago chuckles. “It’s nothing.” 

“Right,” you say slowly, realizing that you were so close to Frankie that you pull away and clear your throat. “So, Benny, when’s my next fight?” 

Benny chuckles. “You’ve been pretty active these last six months. We should take it easy for a bit, at least until the end of the year.” 

“But I want to fight.”

“I know you do, but if your goal is to get the belt, you also gotta take some rest.” 

“I have good momentum. I’m undefeated. If I take a break now, I might–”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Benny sighs. 

“Okay,” you say. You trust Benny and you know that he has your best interests in mind, so you don’t push it any further. “Okay, Benny,” you repeat. “But we can still train, right?” 

Will smiles. “You’re probably the most dedicated person I know,” he says. 

“I made a commitment,” you reply. “And I promised Benny I’d work my ass off. No matter what.” 

“Maybe we should all take a break,” Santiago says with a grin. “Maybe we should take a week-long trip or something.” 

“You know, that doesn’t actually sound too bad.” Frankie says, gently nudging you with his shoulder. “What do you think, hermosa?”

“Where would we go?” you ask.

“Anywhere,” Santiago shrugs. 

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Maybe.” 

—

The following day, you take a break from training. Benny’s actually surprised, especially since he was going to give you a call that morning to tell you that he wouldn't be able to come in due to some errands he needed to run. 

You’re sitting in your car, waiting to go into the grocery store when something - no, someone - catches your eye. It’s a side profile of a stranger, but it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s such a similar walk, such a similar profile of your best friend. Even the way this man dresses reminds you of him. You’re gripping the steering wheel, unable to move as your eyes never leave this man who’s walking across the parking lot. You whisper your best friend’s name and when the man turns around, your world comes crashing down. 

For a brief moment, the reality of losing your best friend didn’t seem real. This man, this stranger, resembled your best friend so much that you were sure this was your best friend. But when he turns around and you manage to get a full view of his face, you realize that he isn’t your best friend. 

Your best friend is gone. 

Even the way this man smiles and talks animatedly to his friend reminds you of the best friend you lost. Your best friend who is no longer in this world. Your best friend who promised to always be there for you, but is no longer here. And when his eye catches yours, he gives you a nod with a furrowed brow before he climbs into his car. 

You’re back to square one. You can’t move. Your mind is filled with thoughts of your best friend. You’re reliving the moment when you found out about his death, experiencing the same dreadful feeling that settles into the pit of your stomach. And just like before, you’re filled with so much anger and so much guilt and regret. 

The last couple of months were just a distraction. It gave you a glimpse that things could get better, but you were naive in thinking that it was possible. There is just no way that you can move forward with your life, not without your best friend here. 

Your mind briefly drifts to Frankie, to Benny, Will, and Santiago. You know you should call them, know you should tell them that you’re stuck and you can’t seem to bring yourself out of it, but you don’t. It isn’t their problem. You are not their problem. 

So, instead, you send a text to Benny. Simple. Short. And straight to the point. 

Get me a title fight. I’m ready. 

Benny responds almost immediately. You’re not ready. We already talked about you taking a break. End of discussion.

Your jaw tightens. You want to scream. You want to hit something. If you’re not gonna get me a title fight, then I’m going to go to someone else that will. 

You signed a contract. What’s going on? Are you okay? Benny replies. 

I’m fine. Get me my title fight, Benny. 

Get to the gym. We can talk more about it then. 

Without replying, you peel out of the grocery store and make your way to Benny’s gym. You had plans to make dinner, to invite Frankie over, but that is no longer the priority. You’re pulling away and you realize that it’s best for everyone if you keep your distance from all of them. 

You park your car and walk into Benny’s gym, seeing Frankie, Will, and Santiago on the mats drenched in sweat. You know they had just finished their workout. They all stand to greet you, but notice the look on your face. You don’t even spare another glance in their direction before you’re walking towards Benny’s office in the back. 

You don’t even knock. You open the door and see him sitting at his desk.

“You aren’t ready,” Benny begins. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Benny. Get me my fucking title fight.” 

“You are not ready!” he yells. “What the hell has gotten into you?” 

“Nothing. I don’t want to take a break. I want to fight.”

“I know you do,” he sighs. “But you’re going to get burnt out and you’re going to be more prone to injury. Please, I’m only looking out for y–”

“No, you’re not!” you interrupt, voice raising and hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Like I said, if you can’t get me a title fight, I’ll find someone else who can. Fuck our contract.” 

Benny stands abruptly, chair screeching on the floor as he does. He can tell you’re fuming, can tell that you’re on the verge of tears and whatever happened from last night to today, he’s sure it’s the reason why you’re in his office, threatening him.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you yell. “Get me my fight, Benny.” You’re walking out of his office with your fists still clenched so tightly at your sides. Benny’s calling your name, walking after you, but you don’t listen. You ignore him and ultimately ignore the rest of the guys’ pleas to get you to stop walking. 

It isn’t until you hear Frankie’s voice that you stop to look at him. His deep, brown eyes are staring at you with concern in them. For a moment, you falter and you want to burst into tears right then and there, but you’re so angry and so hurt over the loss of your best friend that it prevents you from asking for help. 

“What’s going on?” Santiago asks. 

“She’s asking for a title fight and she’s not ready.” Benny sighs. 

“I thought you were gonna take a break?” Will says, seeing the way your body is slightly trembling. 

“No.” You respond, your eyes finally moving away from Frankie. “Benny, get me my fight or I’m breaking our contract and going to a gym and coach that will get me what I want.” 

“You’re gonna get hurt,” Benny says. “I’m not going to put you in a cage where you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

“So, you don’t believe in me?” you laugh bitterly, sarcastically. “I thought I was your little warrior.”

“You are,” Benny sighs. “Please, I’m just–”

“Hermosa,” Frankie says softly. “Just talk to us.”

“Nothing to talk about. I want my title fight.” Then, you storm out of the gym and walk back into your car. Once inside, tears begin to stroll down your face and you hit your steering wheel plenty of times that your knuckles begin to bruise. Then, you scream and when you shut your eyes, all you see is your best friend. And it’s not even the good times you see, instead, behind closed eyelids all you see is him lying in the casket during his viewing. 

Then, you hear a quiet knock on your window and you turn to see Frankie. His eyes are filled with worry and concern, but instead, you start your car and pull out of your parking spot. He doesn’t even try to rush after you. Instead, he stays in the parking lot and watches you drive away. He knows something happened, he just isn’t sure exactly what. 

Benny, Santiago, and Will join him outside and they all watch your car drive further away from the gym. 

“You’re not thinking about getting her that fight, are you?” Frankie asks. 

“I have to,” Benny sighs. 

“You said it yourself, she’ll get hurt. Why would you even entertain the idea of getting her that fight?” Santiago asks. 

Will’s the one who speaks up. “Benny can keep an eye on her during the fight. If she goes somewhere else, do you think that gym or that coach has her best interests at heart?” 

Frankie shakes her head. “She’s fucking upset. She’s hurting and you’re going to put her in a cage with someone who can hurt her? Are you insane?”

“What else am I supposed to do?! Will’s right. She will go to another gym and another coach will see her potential and overwork her, put her in fights that she isn’t ready for.” Benny yells. “Do you think I want to give her what she wants?”

“Something happened today,” Santiago sighs. “I think we should give her time to cool down. Maybe she’ll come to her senses…”

“She won’t.” Frankie says. 

Benny nods in agreement. “Frankie’s right. She won’t change her mind. You didn’t–” he sighs, “You didn’t see the look on her face, the look in her eyes. The last time I saw that look was the first day I met her.”

“What do we do?” Frankie asks quietly. 

“We can’t do anything,” Will says. “She has to want the help, Frankie. You know that.” 

“So, we just let her suffer? Let her deal with this grief by herself?”

“Hermano,” Santiago sighs. “We can’t force her to come to us. It’s just going to push her away.”

“She’s already pushing away!” 

“If anyone can get through to her, it’s you, Fish,” Benny says. “But if you want my advice? Give her space. She came to you once. She’ll do it again.”

[slytherinboysappreciation]

Moonlight - T. R. x werewolf fem!reader

A/N: this is the sixth part of this series. It’s mostly unedited so please be nice 💛 No use of Y/N. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated 🥰 In honor of my birthday you all get this chapter early

Series Masterlist

CW: Being ignored/avoided, betrayal, shitty roommate stuff, Tom being a bit of an asshole, and a shameless add-in of my man Cedric Diggory

1161 words

You don’t talk to Tom for a full week. Not because you’re avoiding him. In fact, you make more of an effort to seek him out than you ever have before. But he manages to evade you every time.

It makes your chest ache. Mattheo glares at you in the hallways. Pansy doesn’t talk to you when you’re paired together in Potions.

And worst of all, your roommate just shrugs when you ask her what happened.

“I forgot,” she says blithely. “I was busy.”

It feels like a betrayal.

Being without Tom hurts more than you thought it would. You miss his sharp humor, his intelligence. His smiles.

You miss his attention. It cuts like a knife every time he turns away to avoid you. Every time you sit down to study for a class and he’s not there.

Luna and Hermione offer you what comfort and support they can, but after a full week, you give up. You stop trying to seek Tom out.

If he doesn’t want to talk to you, you’ll respect that. You cry your eyes out almost every night, but you respect his wish for distance.

After a week and a half, you start looking for a new study partner. You have to, despite how much it hurts to do so. Your grades are dropping and you need something new to focus on.

Luna and Hermione give you a few recommendations, but all of them have something or other going on. Quidditch season has started and most of the student body is preoccupied with it in some way or another.

So when a boy comes up to you in the library and asks to be your study partner, you say yes before you even look up to see who it is.

When you do look up, your jaw almost drops. It’s Cedric Diggory, the school heartthrob. And one of the brightest wizards at school.

“Y-You wanna study with me?” You ask incredulously.

Cedric chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “If you’re not still doing it with Riddle, yeah.”

“I’m not!” You’re too over the moon to care about the pang in your chest at the reminder. “I’d love to do it— to study with you!”

Cedric grins. “Awesome.”

You’re practically bubbling with excitement during lunchtime. All past issues are immediately forgotten the moment you sit down next to your roommate.

“Cedric Diggory asked me to study with him!” You gush, unable to contain your giddy glee any longer. “The Cedric Diggory!”

Your roommate blinks at you, then frowns. “What?”

“He asked me to study with him!” You giggle. “Just out of the blue.”

Your roommate does not look or smell as happy as expected. “Are you sure that’s what he said? Maybe he was just asking if you had a study partner already.”

You shake your head, still beaming. “Nope! He definitely asked if I wanted to study with him.”

She gives you a look you can’t decipher. Your enthusiasm wilts a little.

“I mean… it’s Cedric Diggory,” you say, more hesitantly this time. “You know, the guy I’ve liked for years? This is a good thing, right?”

Your roommate’s gaze flickers elsewhere, then she smiles. The back of your neck prickles. She suddenly smells quite strongly of glee. “Of course. This is wonderful!”

Confused, you turn around to see what she was looking at. You’re met with twin glares. Both equally vicious. One from Mattheo, which is normal.

And one from Tom.

You’re not giddy anymore.

You turn back around, silent. Your roommate eyes you. “What’s wrong?”

She sounds oddly smug. You don’t feel quite so comfortable in her presence any longer.

“Nothing…” you say softly. Your chest hurts again. “Just… a headache or something.”

You’ve never lied to her before. It feels icky. But so does the way she’s looking at you.

You swallow and stand up. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Where are you going?” Your roommate calls after you.

“The library,” you reply, a little numbly. “To study.”

She doesn’t follow after you.

Someone else does.

You can hear their hurried breath behind you, their purposeful footsteps. You don’t slow down or stop for them.

Finally… “Hey, wait up!”

You stop. Turn around. Blink.

Cedric’s there, giving you a worried look. He approaches slowly, hands tucked in his pockets. “Are you okay?”

You nod. He frowns.

“No, I mean, are you really okay? It kinda seems like something happened between—”

“Nothing happened,” you say quickly. You don’t want to think about it.

Cedric‘s frown deepens, but he nods. “Alright.”

You both stand there awkwardly for a moment. Then Cedric gives you a small smile. “If you’re headed to the library, can I join you?”

You let out a slow breath. After a moment, you nod. “Sure.”

He offers you his arm with a silly flourish. A smile curls at your lips. You take his arm with a soft sigh and let him lead you to the library.

“So,” Cedric says, glancing down at you as you walk. “Have you done the Charms homework yet?”

You’re grateful for the normal conversation.

“Almost.” You nod. “I just have the last bit of my essay to work on. Have you?”

Cedric chuckles. “Yeah. I finished my essay last night.”

As you walk, the conversation flows freely. By the time you reach the library, you’re smiling and even laughing a bit.

The two of you settle into a corner of the library and spend a good hour talking and working on homework together.

You’re so busy with Cedric that you almost miss the figure

stalking into the library. Your smile falters and drops.

“What’s wrong?” Cedric asks, following your gaze. He falls silent when he notices.

Tom is approaching the two of you. You can smell the anger reeking off him from your seat. It makes you shrink in your seat a bit.

He stops in front of you and glares at Cedric. “What—” he snarls— “do you think you’re doing?”

“Studying.” Cedric replies coolly. He lifts his chin, meeting Tom’s glare full on.

Tom’s glare intensifies. “You know what I mean.”

Cedric settles back in his seat and crosses his arms. “I thought you two were over.”

You shrink into your seat. Over. It makes your chest hurt and your eyes prickle.

Tom glances at you, his glare lessening for a moment. He looks like he’s waiting for you to say something.

“We’re just studying,” you say weakly.

Tom’s gaze flickers. He looks… almost hesitant. Then his gaze chills. “Fine.”

With one last glare at Cedric, Tom turns on his heel. As he walks away, you start to panic. This might be your only chance to talk to him about what happened.

You get to your feet, but Cedric grabs your arm. “Where are you going?”

You shake him off. “I’ve just— I gotta—”

You stumble away, unable to finish your sentence. You leave Cedric there in the library as you chase after Tom.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 22

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, allusions to attempted sexual assault, mentions of physical assault and Las Vegas' mafia past. Our flashback includes more discussion of condoms (wrap it before you tap it kids!) and some light shaft handling. Drunk sexual contact, please remember kids consent is murky at best when you're this intoxicated!

AN: Oh, and as a side note- fuck you to the rude anon in my inbox. That's all the attention I'm giving you *right now*. Posted early because fuck it, I've got my shit together this week! (I don't but I got *this* together at least)

Masterlist Kofi AO3

~~~~~<3

Tom hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss they shared. They hadn’t done anything else, just a series of searingly hot kisses that left him desperate for more but terrified to even suggest it followed by painful awkwardness that twisted at his guts.

Mia had slept most of Thursday before she had to get to work, exhaustion paired with a melatonin pill ensured she had a quick fall to dreamland. He had felt like a fool hovering nearby, fluttering in and out of the room for no reason other than to make sure she was still there. It was illogical, she couldn’t leave without walking through the living space where he was spending the time with Sally. It wasn’t like she was going to disappear into thin air. 

Never in his life was he so unsure how to say ‘good bye’ to someone when the time came though. His arms felt awkward as he wrapped her in them at the door, desperate to know if he had woken her during any of his trips into the room but terrified to ask. He wanted to kiss her goodbye as she lingered in his arms, looking up at him with a sweet smile but he didn’t. 

Coward. Yep, he was being a coward. He just needed a little more time to pull himself back together. 

Tom had texted Mia throughout the night, checking that most of his plans for Sally’s birthday were alright. He made a few calls and found a bakery that was able to make a small birthday cake in time. It cost extra to have it delivered in a cooler to keep it from melting in the desert heat but he didn’t care. The rest of his plans fell into place, one confirmation after the other, most approved in concept at least by Mia. 

Ashley had to work and wouldn’t be able to make tomorrow’s birthday party but stopped by earlier to drop off a few wrapped gifts. She had made it very clear that she still was unsure about Tom’s presence in their lives but this time went a little better. 

Sally eager to show off her new bear which helped. Ashley took her time as Tom made the child’s lunch to listen to everything she had been doing with her New Friend Tommy. They had played games together. Tom had been crowned as a certified Master of Pretend. 

Tom couldn’t fault Ashley’s weariness even after Sally’s tales. She had every reason to question him, though she did swing from hot to cold from what Mia had said. On one hand, she would scream for Mia to ‘get it’ and on the other hand, she was ready to stab Tom’s eyes out in a heartbeat if he crossed a line in her eyes. 

He could understand it though, he’d do the same for his sisters. 

~~~~~<3

Mia pulled into her parking spot at half past three in the morning. In the residential areas, the city fell into a peaceful sleep at night just as any other. Stepping out of the car, the day’s heat radiated up off the pavement, balanced by the ever so slight cool breeze the air carried. It had cooled significantly during the night but in just a few hours the sun would raise again and the sun will bring renewed heat. 

She expected to come home to a dark, silent apartment and that was alright. At least she didn’t have to pick up Sally form the sitter’s house and try to get her back to bed. At least there would be the comfort of another body in her bed. Maybe she would even indulge in cuddling up to his sleeping form for a moment before settling a respectable distance from him to go to sleep.

She had gifts wrapped and in the back of her car ready for Sally, purchased on her lunch break. The Las Vegas strip was known for a lot of things but the one thing she always thankful for was the variety of shops. It made for a convenient place to work with good food along with endless options of shops everywhere. 

She hated working these extreme late night shifts though. The tips were rarely worth it but everyone did their time on them. It was almost always the broke guests and the addicts that were on the casino floor after one in the morning. At least she didn’t need the tips to afford groceries anymore. 

Mia opened the door to a dimly lit apartment. Tom was sitting at the counter with a book in his hand. He looked up at her and smiled softly at her wide eyes. 

“You didn’t have to wait up,” Mia kept her voice low as she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“I wanted to,” Tom set his book face down and Mia cringed for it’s spine as he got up. “How was work?” 

“Shitty,” Mia answered as she pulled off her heels. She wanted to take a shower and go to bed. 

“Did something happen or was it normal shitty?” Tom wrapped her up in his arms before he had a chance to second guess it. 

She was too tired to fight him, to try to deny him in order to protect her heart. All she wanted in the world was to take shelter in the arms of a man who cared for her, to be cared for. It had been so long since she could find safety in an embrace. 

Her eyes burned and at first she thought it was just exhaustion. Then she realized it was tears, threatening to spill over. Wrapping her arms around him, she clung to him, fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt as they dug into his back. Shaking breaths shuttered through her as she tried to will herself not to cry. 

“What’s wrong, Darling?”

Pulling away, she wiped her hands down her face. Make up probably smeared but she didn’t care. She was too tired to care. All she wanted to do was wipe away the evidence of how close she had come to tears. 

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly something,” Tom insisted, holding her hand in his as she stepped away from him. Worry was etched onto his face. “You can talk to me about it.”

“Just some drunk guy,” She tried to wave it off. It didn’t matter. Occupational hazard. It was just another drunk guy in Las Vegas. “Got a little handsy. Security kicked him out, probably kicked his ass. They don’t like it when people mess with us.”

“Nothing more?” Tom asked carefully. He didn’t want to invalidate her feelings but something in his heart told him it was worse than she was letting on. “Does that happen often?”

“More often than I’d like but not so often.” Mia swayed on her feet a little. “I want to take a quick shower than I need to sleep.” 

“Have you eaten?” Tom asked as he led her toward the bedroom. Their bedroom. 

“It’s fine. I just want to sleep.” 

~~~~~<3

 The fan whirled above her. Still the steam was thick as she mechanically washed herself, washing away the feeling of hands that didn’t belong. Makeup, perfume and smoke went down the drain along with her tears. 

Hot water ran over her as she replayed the last hour of her night again and again. 

~~~~~<3 ~~~~~<3

Mia’s feet hurt and she was ready to be done with the night. The floor was mostly dead, full of duds who would not be tipping and more often than not would take a break to get their own drink from the bar than have her fetch it and have to avoid eye contact when they failed to tip. 

Still, she did her job. 

The man she approached reeked of cigarette smoke. That was her least favorite part about the job, if she was honest. She, like many of the girls, would shower at the end of her shift before going home to avoid taking the stink into their personal cars whenever they could. 

“Can I get you a drink?” She asked sweetly. Usually she’d lean into the question but she didn’t want to be any closer to him than she had to be. Something was off about him. 

“I’d like a drink of you.” The man’s words were slurred, though he had no glasses around him. Likely he was high on some other substance. That wasn’t an uncommon or unique line. 

Mia laughed politely and kept her smile fixed on her face. “That’s not on the menu.” 

She walked away, not waiting to see if he was interested in some actual drink. The last thing she wanted was some man pawing at her or giving her his best complements. His complements would never match the complement of having Tom’s eyes on her. 

Thankfully, the shift was about done. Mia’s heels made soft thumps as she made her way down the hallway toward the employee lounge. She would shower, toss her dress in the steam cleaner while she did and be done with the night.

“What about what’s on the secret menu?” The slurred words made her blood run cold. 

“We don’t have a secret menu.” Turning around, she glued the smile to her face. 

He was closer than she had expected. Looking down the hallway, she hoped for someone, anyone who could help her. There was none.

“Don’t be like that, Baby.” The man grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the wall. “This is Vegas. Everything’s on the menu in Vegas.” 

“Let go of me,” She screamed as he grabbed her breast. 

Thrashing and kicking, she tried to get away. Instead of putting distance between them, it just made the man angrier and drew him closer. His hand clamped down over her mouth, muffling her cries. 

It all happened so quickly, spanning just a few short seconds in reality before security was on him. He was ripped off of her harshly. Without his pressure against her body, she fell in a heap to the floor. 

Security had certain limitations as to what amount of force they could use during any given situation. Every single one of those limitations went out the window when one of ‘their girls’ was messed with. 

It was moments like this that anyone working on the strip could see beyond the shiny lights and legitimate face to what had once been a mafia institution. While the mafia had lost their grips on the glittering city a long time ago, some things were ingrained in the very existence of the city.

One of those things was the simple rule- if you touched one of their girls outside of their job description and without their consent you would, without hesitation, get your ass beat. 

This man learned that you could never truly take the Mafia out of Las Vegas. 

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

Knocking on the bathroom door brought her out of her head. “Mia?”

“I’m okay.” Answering like that wouldn’t do anything but raise suspicion but the words were out before she could stop them. 

“I hope I didn’t overstep but I’ve brought you some clothes to sleep in.” Tom hesitated for a moment. “I can set them just inside, on the counter with my eyes closed or if you’d rather, I can set them outside the door for you.” 

“The counter is fine.” Mia was too tired to care if he closed his eyes or not. 

The door opened slowly and she watched Tom’s long arm reach in, gripping a oversized tee shirt and a pair of soft pants from the clean laundry pile she hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet. 

“I’ve got a can of soup heating on the stove, in case you change your mind about eating.” Tom was quite for a moment before speaking up again. “I think maybe it’s a bit worse than someone grabbing your arse. You don’t have to tell me but I want yo- need you to know that you didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t right, whatever happened.”

The door clicked shut again and she was alone. “Stop doing that.” She whispered in the steamy room. “Stop making it hard not to love you.” 

That was a thought she needed to spend more time with. Right now she couldn’t bring herself to dwell on it though. 

Shutting off the water, she quickly dried and dressed. She couldn’t think about falling in love with Tom.. It was enough that he was there right now when she needed him. 

~~~~~<3

She had insisted that she wasn’t hungry but when the steaming bowl of canned soup was placed in front of her, she couldn’t deny it. Both her and Tom’s bowls were shallow, the meal being more meant as a single serving than to be shared but that was okay. 

Mia needed to eat, she couldn’t argue that but she had no desire to. Robotically, she ate the soup one bite at a time. Tom kept his hand resting high on her back, ready to catch her if she fell over but being careful to not cross any boundaries she may have put up.

Tom took the bowls and rinsed them once they were empty. Standing from her stool, she wobbled on her feet. The mental and emotional exhaustion had stolen from her all the preparation they had put in the night before. 

He was quick to her side, clearly worried that she would just fall over where she stood. “Let me carry you?” 

“I can walk.” She was so goddamn tired. 

“Yes, you can. But let me carry you.” She leaned against him rather than argue. Tom swept her up in his arms rather than argue with her anymore about it.

His heart hurt for her. It had happened quickly but he cared deeply for her already. Knowing she had gone through something that left her hurt to her core shook him. She was a strong, vibrant flower who could withstand anything. Yet tonight, she came home wilted. 

He wanted to tell her to quit her job right that night but Tom knew she wouldn’t agree to it. And if he was honest, he also knew that he wasn’t prepared to support two households single handedly. He had made a nice sum with Thor but his current contract for The Avengers was still in the final stages of negotiations. 

He had worked a lot during this year and was expecting that to continue through the following year but the idea of counting on money he hadn’t had in his pocket just yet made him nervous. 

He could do it, he could make it work. It would be tight and he’d be looking at ways to earn a little extra to ensure he wouldn’t step into debt to cover an unexpected expense or trip. Now wasn’t the right time to make the suggestion again though, he knew that. 

In this moment his wife didn’t need him to try and change her life, she needed her husband to offer her strength and support.

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

Tom groped in his nightstand for a condom. Focus was hard to come by as she caressed his member, hand soft and warm. He knew he had a condom in the nightstand somewhere, he had them just in case, though he hadn’t planned on needing them. 

“Found it.” He was reckless as he ripped it open. 

She took it from him and rolled the thin plastic sleeve down his shaft slowly. They needed to hurry, he wasn’t in a position to take his time. Stamina was never something he had really need to worry about before but with how drunk he was, he knew his ability to perform could die at any moment. 

Tom rolled over onto her swiftly, kissing her as if she had the secrets of the world hidden in her mouth. Reaching down between them, he ran his fingers up and down her slit.

She was soaking wet and ready for him. That was good, he didn’t have much reason to wait than. 

“My darling Sunflower, are you ready for me?” 

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller @alexakeyloveloki @jennyggggrrr @dangertoozmanykids101 @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom @kats72 @buttercupcookies-blog @violethaze @soulpiercing @evedia @princess-ofthe-pages

Leave me a note with your thoughts! Comments and reblogs both are loved. Pay attention to me? I'm a needy plant…

[obsidianpen]

Hi Pen!! I reactivated my tumblr account from when i was in middle school so i could stalk the tea on BG 🥰. Just wanted to add first that i think BG is the most well written fanfiction i have ever read. Literally has me gasping and having to put my phone down and go for a walk around my apartment pondering LOL

i have several theories about where BG. Im still in the camp that Lester COULD be draco malfoy… i wont go into why i think that since itd take me like 30 minutes to write it out but ill believe it when i see it 👀.

i am wondering why Hermione recognizes and interacts in a normal way with Bathilda and the mystery woman (who i think is Euphemia Selwyn based off of what she was saying), but when tom enters her “dream” she doesn't recognize him and cant sustain an actual conversation. A part of me wants to believe that maybe Dumbledore put Bathilda up to this to try and catch hermione off guard and gain more info (i think Bathilda and Dumbledore are close friends). Or, maybe Euphemia is the one entering her dreams with bathilda which would be random. I feel like their presence is more than a conjuration of hermiones mind. I also think tom is able to go into her dreams from some spell he cast on her when she woke up in his arms from the nightmare with bellatrix carving her arm up (hermione heard him murmur something as she was falling asleep and couldnt catch what he said. A part of my thinks that tom was interested in what she is dreaming about so he can figure out more about her and could tell she has whacky dreams and thinks shes a seer).

but yeah, it was very interesting how the other woman hermione didnt recognize was able to perform magic, in a way, on hermione in her dream state by surrounding her in the flowers as soon as tom tried to talk to her. Maybe thats why tom couldn’t communicate? Because when hermione was surrounded in flowers by Lesters forced dream state in the previous chapter, she couldnt communicate with Tom then either.

Im not sure what Eupehmia? meant by “hes too early”… early for what 👀. Sounds not good… i dont know what side the fate is on, if she even has a side. But it makes sense why she is able to have that type of presence in hermiones dreams and seems to know whats going to happen.

ANYWAYS love the story, its so lovely! The characters are perfectly written and the dialogue is outstanding!!

thank you for long and thought out comment anon (and for reactivating your tumblr lol, welcome back?)!!! I wish I could respond more but sadly… 🤐

[inkandincantations]

Draco Malfoy x OC

Chapter One: Ghosts of the Great Hall

───────────────────────────────────

The Great Hall glowed softly with floating candles, their light flickering against the starry illusion overhead. The long wooden tables stood bare, except for the velvet runners draped in the rich colors of each House. Even the stage was empty; no professors seated at their head table, no speaker for the podium, no sign of human life anywhere.

Juliette had planned it that way, arriving more than an hour early to the reunion. She hadn’t seen the inside of the Great Hall since the battle against Voldemort, when the school was torn apart by war. The last time she had stood here, she’d watched Snape duel McGonagall, the hall littered with sleeping bags and students trembling with fear. The entire castle was under siege, crumbling and ablaze from the numerous attacks.

And the faces. Juliette would never forget the way all the students looked. Only children like herself, some much younger, eyes filled with fear and anxiety, shaking from head to toe, tears rolling down their cheeks.

She’d braced herself for the flood of emotions returning might bring, but standing here now, the familiar warmth of the castle soothed her. Now, with every stone and tapestry in its place, Hogwarts felt like it once had—the place she had loved before it became a battleground.

Juliette could still hear her name echoing through the hall, her heart pounding as she rushed to the stool where the Sorting Hat waited. Despite the nerves, she’d smiled—overcome by the sheer wonder of magic

The elation when the Sorting Hat placed Juliette into Hufflepuff. How everyone at the table stood up and cheered for her induction, giving her pats on the back and high-fives. It felt like she really belonged here.

Twelve years had passed since Juliette first stepped into the castle, full of wonder and excitement. But those years had been anything but ordinary. She could still hear the deafening silence in the hall when Cedric Diggory’s body returned, could still feel the tension as dark magic seeped into the walls in her later years.

Her generation bore the scars of war, and while the professors said it was the worst Hogwarts had seen since the days of Tom Riddle, Juliette knew that, for many, the battle never truly ended. She had survived, yes—but others hadn’t been so lucky.

The magnificent doors creaked open, causing her to turn around. The spell of her memories broke as the creak of the doors pulled her back to the present. She turned, startled, to see who had interrupted her.

The Great Hall’s warmth faded, replaced by a chill that swept through Juliette as Draco stepped into view. Her heart raced, thumping against her ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape. Memories rushed back, uninvited, sending a shiver down her spine. The boy who once wielded words like daggers now stood before her, a specter of the past wrapped in a tailored suit and billowing robe. His face still pale and gaunt, cheekbones high and platinum hair dangling low to his brows. Hardly anything about him had changed, except maybe the manner in which he held himself.

She felt a mix of shock and discomfort, her palms growing clammy as she fought the urge to turn away. How could someone she had spent so many years resenting still manage to provoke such a visceral reaction? His presence was both familiar and foreign, a reminder of the childhood fears she thought she had outgrown.

Juliette’s face pulled into a grimace as their eyes met. All her life, she had admired the vibrance of his steely grey eyes, regardless of the things he called her. They were the one quality that shined through, that made Juliette think maybe he could change. But as the two of them stood awkwardly, clearing their throats and sharing fake grins, it was obvious that the light had left them long ago.

Once they were full of mischief and promise, sparkling like sunlight dancing on waves. Now, they appeared as dull stones, worn smooth by time and tides, lacking the brightness that had once captivated her.

Draco nodded in her direction and Juliette reciprocated. He scurried alongside the wall closest to the Slytherin table, avoiding her at all costs. Little did he know, that forced her attention even more. The lengths he was going through to not face his past was enough proof that he really hadn’t changed. He was still a boy, afraid of his own existence.

His presence was so startling she hadn’t realized he was holding a black leather notebook against his hip. The feather of his quill poked out between the pages, raven black with a tinge of indigo on the tips. It was new, pages still cream and the spine barely broken in.

Juliette finally had the wherewithal to question what on earth he was doing here. Of course, he probably felt similarly about her. Though she wasn't carrying a rucksack of shame wherever she went. It was courageous, Juliette had to admit, for him to even consider showing up.

Draco ambled up the steps and carefully laid his notebook on the very end of the table. The table for Hogwarts professors.

He straightened it out and then ran his hands down the front of his vest. There was a moment of hesitance, his body twitching to the left, trying to figure out whether he should stay staring at the wall or begin his journey towards her.

Juliette made the decision for him. “Professor, huh?”

Draco faced her, responding only with a curt nod.

“What are you teaching?”

“Dark- Dark Arts,” he replied, his voice tight, as if struggling to control it.

A mix of disbelief and anger bubbled within her. The idea of Draco teaching Dark Arts sent a jolt of vulnerability through her. It felt like a betrayal, a cruel twist of fate that the very person who had once tormented her was now entrusted with such a significant role.

“Even after all the rumors we had?” Juliette asked.

“Things are different now, I suppose,” Draco said, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. He glanced away, as if the weight of those words held more than he wanted to reveal.

“True,” she admitted. “How long have you been working here?”

“Just started.”

It was no surprise to anyone that Draco inherited Malfoy Manor. It was petty dinner talk at her flat, the kind that usually ended with eye rolls and exasperated sighs. While her friends were busy restoring Hogwarts and cleaning up the messes of war, all Draco had to do was exist. Yet here he was, choosing to forgo the comforts of the manor, willing to return to a place where judgment awaited him.

However, Juliette couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that despite it all, he might be another Severus Snape. There was no way to know for sure, and his short responses didn’t inspire confidence.

Draco’s eyes continued to wander, glancing first at the stone walls, then the four House tables before landing on the crystal chandelier overhead. He bit the inside of his lip, staring as if he were praying it would take him away, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. His shoulders seemed tense, like he was bracing for something—whether it was her judgment or something else, she couldn’t tell.

“So, how’d you manage to get this job?” Juliette finally asked, breaking the silence.

Draco let out a dry chuckle, void of any actual happiness. “Who better to teach the Dark Arts than a person who was the Dark Arts?”

Juliette’s eyes widened at this nonchalant confession. She didn't need the reminder of what he had done. Going through it once had been torturous enough.

She rubbed the back of her hand, tracing over the remnants of a scar that hadn’t ached in years. Yet, standing in front of him, the person who caused this, made it feel brand new. Like she was reopening her wound, her flesh searing with agony. Juliette would never forget nursing her hand back to health, tears streaming down her face as she saw the reminder of who she was to him. Who she was to most people in the wizarding world, etched clearly in her skin: Mudblood

In the past, this memory would have caused a fresh wave of tears, prickling as they threatened to fall. Now, it just enraged her as she glared at Draco through narrowed eyes. Her throat burned with all the things she wanted to say. All the ways that he hurt her, especially when he didn’t know it.

But she held her tongue. Today wasn’t about Draco Malfoy. Today was about Hogwarts, restored and refreshed, casting a sense of hope around everyone that suffered with it.

Juliette helped rebuild parts of the castle any chance she could get. She found that reconstructing it, stone by stone, did wonders for her soul, like her broken parts were healing alongside it. And although it wasn’t complete there was enough.

Enough cause for celebration among past students. Enough to allow future students back.

For the first time in five years, a generation of witches and wizards could once again call Hogwarts their home. They could experience what Juliette did so many years ago. Studying in the Common Room late at night. Spending every day in the shared dormitory with her friends. Using the restless staircases to try and navigate through the halls, bustling from class to class.

They could have a normal year. Something that had been ripped from her.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and the words bubbled up, dangerously close to spilling out. She had spent so many nights envisioning this—the moment she'd return to Hogwarts without the weight of the war on her shoulders, without the nightmares of what had transpired between these walls. The reunion would start soon, and people would arrive expecting to celebrate, not deal with old grudges. She wasn’t going to waste her energy on him—not when there were students arriving soon, when a new chapter of Hogwarts’ history was about to begin.

She wouldn’t let him ruin it.

Inhaling deeply, Juliette forced herself to look away from Draco’s tense figure. A familiar twinge of defiance flared within her, one she hadn’t felt in years. If he wanted to pretend the past never happened, she would let him—at least for now.

Her eyes narrowed as she took a deep breath, regaining her composure. There was work to be done.

"Oh, Professor Malfoy?" Juliette called, her voice sharp enough to slice through the tension that still hung between them.

Draco stopped, his hand pausing on the surface of the table as he turned to face her. His brow furrowed slightly, uncertain of what to expect next.

"I’ll see you tomorrow," she added, the words laced with purpose, with challenge. She straightened her posture, her chin tilted in confidence. No hesitation, no fear.

With one last glance in his direction, Juliette took powerful, measured strides up the miniature staircase, her back straight, each step intentional. She removed her coat, fitting it neatly on the wooden spires of a chair, her movements precise. She took her time, moving deliberately, letting him feel the weight of her presence—her resilience.

Then, with a calm yet unwavering tone, she spoke again. "Hogwarts deserves better from its professors this time around."

[topoeiaz]

Chapter 8: Look into Your Heart I'd Love to See Me From Your Point of View (HP) Tom Riddle x OC

18+ blog • minors dni

word count: 2.8k

hp masterlist • pov masterlist • ao3

Thirty minutes.

There was thirty minutes left until the end of breakfast and Thea had yet to show up.

This was a divergence from the usual routine in which she would have had only just finished her meal by this time and would have had headed off to start the day early. True, perhaps she had simply decided to sleep in, but Tom knew that she had double potions in the first period so it felt unlikely to him that she had done so. Though, it wasn’t as if he had been taking note of her habits, he was just… observant.

He doubted she would show up anytime soon and left the hall for the potions classroom in hopes of catching her there instead. To his favour, he found her seat occupied when he arrived, although the sight of her with her head down, resting on her crossed arms laid on the desk, had struck him with concern for her wellbeing.

Cautious as he approached his table, it was only when he gently pulled out his chair beside her that Thea took notice of his presence and lifted her head to regard him with a morning greeting. Her tone had fallen flat, however, and it was clear by the pale touch to her face and her obvious grimace that she was unwell.

“Is there anyone I should be aware of to have made you look so out of spirits?”

Thea tried a small lift to the corner of her lips. “No murders in the school, Tom. But no, there’s no one causing my demise other than my uterus at the moment.”

Tom parted his lips in understanding as he settled himself into his seat. “Would you like me to grab you something from the kitchens?”

“Thanks, but that’s alright. I’ll just seek Tally out after class and make myself some hot chocolate to relieve the cramps.” Her expression had eased up at Tom’s thoughtful offer and the comforting heat that he had ignited in her veins helped thwart her senses’ focus on the discomfort.

“Oh, your guardian, right?” Thea beamed at his recollection of her previous mention of Tally and nodded. “She’s here?”

Thea hummed. “Couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her completely alone for most of my years in Hogwarts so we had to talk to Dippet about allowing her to work in the kitchens while I’m here.”

“I see… If you’re feeling up to it, can you tell me more about her?”

Thea might as well have physically brightened up at his interest in Tally and she was touched beyond words when he paid genuine attention to her anecdotes on even the most uneventful of moments that she had shared with the elf. That had also provided her a distraction from the churning in her gut and soon, the class had filled up and lesson was about to commence.

Later, once Slughorn had signalled the students to start brewing their chosen potion for the day, Thea made to stand up so that she could go retrieve the needed ingredients but halted when Tom placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll go get them this time.”

“But it’s Monday?” They had previously agreed that potions practical on Mondays were her turn with the ingredients as Tom readied the cauldron while the ones on Thursdays would have their roles switched for fairness.

“You’re in pain, no?” When Thea couldn’t deny it, Tom gave her a slight smile. “There’s always a ruckus in the insects’ aisle and we need three things from there this time. I imagine you’d end up losing your mind if you had to deal with that right now.”

Thea grimaced at the idea as she reminisced on her past experiences with the chaos in that specific aisle.

Terrible times, everyone would agree.

She looked to Tom in gratitude and expressed as much, “thanks, love.”

“Always, darling.”

Her appreciation for Tom didn’t end there, as it turned out. Thea had ended up in the same position as Tom had found her in that morning once the pair had finished their potions while Tom worked silently on an assignment so as to not disturb Thea’s makeshift peace within the frenetic air of the class – Slughorn had an announcement at the end of class so they couldn’t leave early, much to their dismay. It was then, when the class had finally finished up and the professor could speak about the potions project for the semester, that Thea looked back up and-

Oh.

A single paper crane stood proudly on her desk.

Her heart started beating in record speed as her thoughts jumbled up into a mess of feelings. Only two people knew of her fondness for paper cranes and she knew without a doubt that Tally couldn’t just waltz into the middle of class to give her an origami. That left her with-

Oh, Tom…

She hadn’t even been sure if he had paid any mind to her impromptu lesson on folding paper cranes but as she stared dazedly at the crane in front of her, paying barely half a mind at Slughorn’s voice, that was one uncertainty waived off.

Straightening up, she took the origami carefully and surveyed its ‘imperfections’ that proved its handmade quality that would have been absent had it been made with magic. She caressed its wings lovingly and only looked to its creator when the class had been dismissed. In the rushed commotion of students packing up and leaving, starry eyes met affectionate ones and Thea found herself at a loss for words upon seeing the intensity of Tom’s sincerity. When she stayed silent even as a beat passed, he gazed upon her in understanding and offered a hand, “shall we?”

His warmth travelled through her cool nerves as she took his offer. “We shall.”

The paper crane remained in her grasp even as she sipped on her mug of hot chocolate in the kitchens later, a heat pack on her stomach that she had gotten numb to at this point.

“Is that a special one?”

“Hm?” Thea glanced at Tally who had nudged her chin towards Thea’s hands. “Oh, the paper crane?”

At Tally’s affirmative response, Thea parted her lips to reply, but paused when she questioned herself further. Is it special, indeed…

Physically, no. There was nothing out of the ordinary with the way its head was tilted slightly, proof that it had been pinched into shape, nor was there anything new with the lack of crease in its wings that had been pulled apart symmetrically. It was as normal as any other paper crane and emitted no sparkle that would have caught a crowd’s attention. But as she stared longingly at it, memories of her time spent with Tom continued to rush through her mind and gave her no intermission to defend herself against the emotions that began to fill her heart.

Definitely not special, she thought as her fingers ran its course across the span of its wings.

As typical as a paper crane could be, she patted its head lightly.

Nothing unique about it, her smile had yet to leave her face since.

Oh, damn it all- who was she fooling.

“Yeah, it’s special.”

The sentiment rang true, still, even hours later in the afternoon as she worked on a charms assignment in the library. Thankfully, her pain had alleviated by the end of Arithmacy class and she was able to focus on her work. Engrossed in her task, she had missed the approach of two figures and glanced up with a start when shadows loomed over her parchment. There, in front of her and separated by the table, stood the two women she had seen talking with the boys recently.

Walburga Black held her head up high, lips shaped into a tight line, and her notable grey eyes of the Black family stared strong as if daring her enemies to obstruct her path. Her midnight hair was knotted into a bun and her uniform, not a piece out of place.

Druella Rosier had a smile to her lips, her back straight and shoulders down; the perfect vision of a lady. Her friendly façade gave away none of her true intentions and Thea had to quickly ransack her brains to remember if she had somehow unintentionally offended both ladies.

Conscious of her manners, Thea made to stand up to meet the pair of ladies head on. She felt safe enough from the lack of hostility brewing up to let a careful smile slip on and spoke up, with a slight incline to her head out of respect, only once she had been addressed.

“Grace, is it?”

“Yes. Theana Grace, sixth-year Hufflepuff student of Hogwarts.”

Unlike the boys, the women made no indication of having been taken aback by her formality and reciprocated it without a blink of an eye.

“Walburga Black, of the most ancient house of Black.”

“Druella Rosier, of the most ancient house of Rosier.”

Thea met their handshakes as they each introduced themselves. “To what honour do I owe the pleasure of meeting the ladies of the most ancient houses of Black and Rosier?”

“Before that, shall we have a seat first?”

“Of course.”

Walburga and Druella took their seat across from Thea and the latter took the initiative to open up the discussion. “It’s lovely to meet you, Grace! We’ve actually heard about you from the boys and thought it’d be appropriate to get to know the one who had single-handedly gotten us into Riddle’s circle!”

Druella’s cheery attitude allayed the nerves of uncertainty in Thea and she opted to match her energy. “It’s wonderful to meet you too! I’m glad they’ve taken my advice into consideration and I hope the boys have been treating you well. It really is preposterous that they’ve excluded you thus far!”

“I know!”

Walburga gave a slight grin at the lightness in the air and entered the conversation, “we’d like to thank you for what you’ve done. With this connection to the boys, they now have access to our social circles while we have now gained the power to play the fields into our aligned favour. It is uncommon, what you’ve achieved, to convince a group of men to accept women into their ranks.”

“They have also given us the rundown of their goals and ambitions, crediting you quite a number of times for reasons they’ve hinted at but aren’t quite keen to voice out yet.” Druella shot Thea a knowing look which she could only react to similarly. “Some of them really aren’t the subtlest of people. ‘Cassandra-sent and Merlin-blessed’, they’ve dubbed you.”

A tiny hint of pink dusted Thea’s complexion at the admiration. “Only doing what I can to knock some sense into the right people.”

“Quite right of you!” A chuckle left Druella.

Before the silence could stretch, Walburga spoke again, “if it’s quite alright, there’s actually something we’d like to talk about.”

“Of course, how can I help you?”

“The boys have also mentioned the inbreeding issue and, well, we’re not exactly enthusiastic about it.” Hesitance halted the typically-unwavering girl for the briefest of moment and she placed a hand on her abdomen. “You see, I’ve always wanted to be a mother. Their sparkling little eyes and quiet mumbles of indistinguishable words; adorable little darlings, aren’t they?”

Druella placed a soothing hand atop her friend’s shoulder. “While I’ve never really had strong opinions about it, the idea that they might end up having to suffer because they were born into an inbred family – for something we’ve done… I would never wish that upon my child.”

Thea watched their downcast frowns with compassion, touched at the ladies’ rare unguarded expression of their hearts, and she knew, woman-to-woman, that they trusted her to keep their vulnerability a secret. With that in mind, Thea resolved herself to improve their future families the best she could and extended a helping hand. “If you’re open to it, would you both like some assistance with convincing your families to get you out of your betrothal arrangements?” When their doubts of success showed through, she continued, “I can whip up a presentation on the consequences of inbreeding that’s supported by scientific and magical research and walk your families through them. If I’ve managed to convince over a handful of people just by the basic facts alone, I’m positive that a fully-fledged out discourse will manage to – at least – get a start into the others similarly. As we all know, your families place a high regard in their ability to produce an heir who will make them proud. If birthing and caring for an heir is as important as they’ve claimed it to be, any dangers or risks that would hinder their desires would be sure enough to scare them out of resuming the practice of inbreeding.”

Both women were now sporting wide eyes as they heard Thea out attentively. Hope coursed through them that perhaps, Thea was right and that it wasn’t too late to rectify their future. They were now keen to agree with the description that the boys had given her and shared their reliefs that Thea had somehow ended up as an ally and not a foe. They could almost imagine the unseen disasters that would doom her enemies and unanimously decided to never cross her bad side.

“Will you really do that? For us?”

“Sure!” Thea reassured their disbeliefs. “We, women, deserve more than being wedded off into contracts that we have no say in, just as no child deserves to face the consequences of their parents’ actions.”

Walburga grabbed Thea’s hand that was on the desk with both hands and gripped it with the intensity of her gratitude. “Oh, Grace- you have no idea how much that means to us!”

For all the upright poise that Walburga Black has shown in public, Thea was glad that the woman had retained her humanity still and hoped to Magic that nothing should ever try and take that away from her.

Druella looked at Thea with much the same thankfulness and added, “please, do let us know if there’s anything we can help with. You are doing us a favour and we’d like to grant you the ability to call us for one, anytime.”

“Thank you, both, really.” Thea gave them a kind smile as they all shared an air of mutual respect. “As for help, could I run through the presentation by you once I’ve prepared it? Let’s say… this weekend? It would give me an opportunity to improve it with your critiques so that it’ll be even more solid by the time I share it with your- well, I was thinking your parents only, first? Doing it with your entire families would only bring about mayhem.”

“Of course! We’d more than love to help you with that. And, I agree. A parents-only gathering would be much more viable for starters.”

“That settles it, then!”

There, in the library, two strangers to one all became friends and the three ladies would cause havoc upon anyone who would threaten their blossoming bond.

The bell for dinnertime rang with great timing and the two Slytherins were quick to invite Thea to join them at their table.

“Are you sure? Word will definitely reach your families and I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Both women shook their heads assuredly and insisted. “You’ve been seen with the boys a couple times now and our parents already have an idea as to how valuable Riddle is for our generation. Some more sweet words regaling your magical abilities on top of the fact that Riddle is fond of you should be more than enough to endear you to them.”

Walburga’s wording of Thea’s closeness to Tom had her flustered, which only pulled out a teasing smirk from Druella. Before the merry girl could hound Thea with playfulness, however, Thea relented. “If you’re sure, then, yes! I’d love to join you for dinner.”

As they walked towards the hall, they got to know each other better. Surprised but welcoming greetings were exchanged once Thea was led to the empty spots beside the boys and she took a seat adjacent, across from Tom, who sent her sweet smile when she beamed at him – only a touch shy as memories of their enjoined hands from morning came rushing into mind. Her growing affections for him only increased that evening when a glass of hot chocolate had appeared – courtesy of Tally – out of reach from Thea, and Tom went to grab it for her, unprompted. A small act, perhaps. But she got to learn that there were things in life that reminded him of her and that he accepted those thoughts voluntarily.

He cared about her, and that was enough to keep her heart aflame.

ao3 🌱 topaz 🌱 masterlist

don’t steal my work, claim it as your own, upload it to another site, or use it to train AI

dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive & @saradika-graphics

[songbirdsanctuary]

HC Warrior cat au, Chapter 2.

Warnings: Death, mentioned animal death.

Word count: 1,475

Chapter 2 below cut:

Moon opened her eyes at the sound of her human softly calling her. She looked up at her, the human was a kind old she-human with curly short gray fur on her head, she put a can of food infrot of her and then stroked Moon’s fur before walking away. The human had taken her in seasons ago

—

She had lived as a stray for most of her life, navigating the streets with a fierce independence that both protected and isolated her. Occasionally, she would allow kind-hearted humans to offer her scraps of food, but she never stayed in one place for too long. She had learned early on that attachments only brought heartache.

One day, as she was basking in the warmth of the sun in a secluded alleyway, her friend, a ginger tom named Dom, approached her with a solemn expression on his face. His usually bright eyes were dull, and his whiskers drooped with sorrow. He told her that her brother, Sun, whom she hadn't seen in moons, was dead.

Shock and disbelief pierced her hardened exterior. Sun, her only family left, was gone. She struggled to process this information, her mind racing with questions. How had it happened? Why had she not been there for him? What could she have done to prevent this tragedy?

Desperate for answers, she turned to Dom, hoping he could provide some clarity. But he could offer her nothing more than the news he had received from another tom named Sam. All Sam had told him was that Sun had died.

Once, as a stray, she had relied on her instincts and skills as a hunter to survive. But after the ne

ws of her brother’s death, she found herself growing tired of the constant struggle for food. Instead of prowling the streets for prey, she began to frequent a bin outside a den where scraps of food were occasionally discarded.

One fateful day, the old human who lived in the den surprised her by leaving out a can of food specifically for her. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes to her weary soul. The act of kindness sparked a glimmer of trust within her, and she tentatively allowed the human to approach and gently stroke her fur. In that moment, she felt a sense of connection and warmth that she had not experienced in a long time.

As days turned into weeks, the bond between Moon and the human deepened. She would eagerly await the human's return, craving the companionship and comfort they provided. But one day, the human did not return for several sunrises, leaving Moon feeling anxious and unsettled. When the human finally reappeared, a strange scent clung to them, one that set Moon's instincts on edge.

Despite the change in the human's demeanor, Moon sensed a vulnerability within them, a fragility that tugged at her heartstrings. Without hesitation, she followed the human inside the den, determined to offer her support and presence in whatever way she could.

—

She pushed the empty can to the bin where she saw the human put the empty cans, she couldn’t put it in but she left it next to it. Making her way to the living room, Moon found the old human seated on a worn couch, a book held gently in her hands. Without hesitation, Moon leaped onto the human's lap, purring contentedly as gentle fingers stroked her fur. The rhythmic motion was soothing, a familiar comfort that transcended words.

But something was different today. The human emitted a strange scent, one that lingered in the air and made Moon's sensitive nose twitch with unease. She had noticed this odd smell more frequently in recent days, accompanied by the sound of harsh coughing that rattled the human's frail form. Despite her instincts urging her to keep her distance, Moon stayed close, offering her silent companionship and solace in the gentlest of ways.

As she settled on the human's lap, the world outside the window transformed into a winter wonderland, snowflakes drifting lazily from the darkened sky to blanket the world in a soft, white embrace. Moon watched the delicate dance of snowflakes with half-lidded eyes, her mind drifting between wakefulness and slumber.

In that moment, nestled in the warmth of the human's lap, surrounded by the quiet beauty of the falling snow, Moon felt a surge of protectiveness and empathy towards the human. She knew that something was amiss, that the fragility of life hung heavy in the air, but she also understood the power of connection and compassion. Sleep slowly enveloped her.

Moon stepped through a green medow the air was pleasently warm, she looked up at the stars, there where so many stars, and they looked like they moved. So mesmerized by the stars she almost stepped into a stream. Her eyes widened as she stared at the water, it was colorful like an arura.

“Moon” she heard the voice but she couldn’t see the cat who spoke.

“Hello?” She called into the emptyness. She took a few steps back from the stream. “Who said that.” She called out.

In the distense she saw a faint outline of a cat, she ran towrd it. But before she could reach it she suddenly stumbled awake, falling off her human’s lap. The human was coughing violently, she jumped back onto the sofa and pressed herself to the human, there wasn’t much she could do for her knowing nothing about human sicknesses. Moon felt the tremors in her human's body, each cough shaking the frail frame. Panic clawed at her chest, and she nuzzled closer, as if her presence could somehow ease the human's pain. The night stretched on, each minute feeling like an eternity, until finally, the human's coughing subsided, replaced by a heavy, labored breathing.

Morning light filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow on the room. The human's breathing was slow and shallow, and Moon sensed the life slipping away from the body that had provided her with so much love and care. She licked the human's hand, a final gesture of gratitude and affection.

As the human took her last breath, Moon let out a mournful yowl that echoed through the empty house. Her heart ached with a profound sadness, and she stayed by her human's side for hours, refusing to leave her even in death.

Eventually, as the sun began to set, Moon knew she had to move on. The world outside beckoned her back to the life she had known before. With one last look at the silent figure of her human, she leaped off the couch and made her way to the door, pushing it open with her nose.

She wandered through the familiar streets, now feeling a sense of emptiness that contrasted sharply with the bustling life around her. The city that had once been her home now felt cold and unwelcoming.

Leaving the city behind, Moon found herself on a vast moorland, the wind ruffling her fur as she walked. The scent of heather and earth filled her senses, a reminder of the freedom and independence she had always cherished. But now, it was tinged with a deep sense of loss.

As she wandered, she came across a group of cats. A calico she-cat with striking patches of color approached her first, her eyes filled with curiosity and caution.

"Who are you?" the calico asked.

"I'm Moon," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "I've lost my human."

The calico's gaze softened a bit. "I'm BrightShadow," she said. "And these are my friends, GoblinFang and SoundSight." She gestered to the other two cats with her.

GoblinFang, a small grayish-green and orange tom, stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning Moon with interest. "You've come far," he observed. “For a kittypet.”

Moon nodded. "I needed to get away," she admitted.

SoundSight, the cream and white tabby tom, came closer, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, the journey is what heals us," he said gently. "You're welcome to stay with us, if you like. We love visteters"

Moon felt a flicker of hope in her chest. She looked at the three cats. "Thank you," she said, her voice stronger now. "I think I will."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the moorland, Moon stood with her new companions, feeling the stirrings of a new beginning. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Just as she began to settle into this new reality, a distant sound caught her attention—a low, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down her spine. The other cats heard it too, their ears pricking up in alarm.

"What was that?" Moon asked, her heart pounding.

BrightShadow's eyes were wide with fear. "A fox." she said quietly.

[sliverpelt-cats]

Journey of Oak and Red || Chapter 4 || Warriors AU

AU Prompt: Oakheart and Redtail survive the Battle for Sunningrocks, and leave the forest territories for a life out of Tigerclaw's threats.

Characters: Oakheart, Firepaw, Brushstorm, Redtail, Honeyspot, Panthereye, Dawnstar

Warnings: Slight panic, fight, Redtail gets snappy

Author's Note: I did warn you guys that there would be Hamilton references, and the next chapter will be full of them.

Timeframe: About the first few chapters of Fire and Ice, about 6 to 7 moons since Redtail and Oakheart left their clans

°°°

Leafbare was getting worse. While the creek was still running, the fish from it were slowly being taken by any bird of prey that dared to touch the freezing water.

During the many other moons since he'd joined the clan, Oakheart used the shrubbery of the forest to disguise himself from the threatening birds. They were unable to detect his presence, especially during newleaf when the forest was rich with prey of all kinds.

Now Oakheart returned with a skinny vole and what was barely a rabbit. It had all the parts just fine, but what the large warrior assumed to be juicy meat was simply long fluff that no cat would prefer over a fat meal.

"Cut your losses and tuck your tail between your legs, Oakheart?" A snide comment entered the tom's ears as he dropped his hunt in the fresh-kill hole. "Dawnstar ought to hear about this."

Honeyspot hated Oakheart, and Redtail, ever since they joined the clan. Always commenting that they didn't need more mouths to feed, when in actual fact, Redtail and Oakheart had been catching twice as much prey than the ginger she-cat had in the last moon.

"Go on, tell him then. Tell him that a warrior that has been catching more than you cut his losses." Oakheart challenged, turning in the thick snow to warm himself in the comfort of the warriors den.

As he pawed his nest, Oakheart's ears strained to hear the elder speak. "I haven't seen a Leafbare like this since I was a kit. Has StarClan spoken to you?"

"Not very clearly," the clan's priest replied. "They've been incredibly vague with their messages as of late."

"Do you think they're angry with PantherClan for attacking a doctor on our land?" Silkstep's purr wondered aloud.

Crabstorm grunted. "'Dunno. Now keep still, your fur won't be any less matted if you don't stop moving."

Oakheart hadn't thought of StarClan's involvement. He licked over the scarring wound on his shoulder, reminiscing on Honeyflight's last words before a PantherClan warrior tore at her belly.

Tell Dawnstar I'm sorry.

"Hey, you're back early." The ginger point apprentice meowed from outside the den. "Brushstorm and I thought you were still out hunting. Honeyspot said you gave up."

Oakheart hummed, "the eagles are getting an ego on them, I swear on StarClan."

"No, she said you gave up in the battle." Firepaw sat in front of Oakheart, who'd moved from his nest to groom himself at the den entrance. "Did you?"

He watched as the apprentice's eyes flickered with curiosity. "Sometimes, a warrior has to pick their battles. Your mentor made me in charge of that patrol - my only motive was to get Honeyflight and Panthereye away from the intruding warriors without a thought for myself." Oakheart raised his chin. "I had fought valiantly, if I say so myself."

"I knew you would! You're so big and strong, that you wouldn't run away from a battle!" Firepaw's eyes lit up with excitement, as the tom jumped up and got into his fighting stance. "If I'll ever be as great a warrior as you, the other clans should fear me!"

Oakheart chuckled nervously, his green eyes wandering to Redtail leaving the doctor's den. Had he been injured when he took Mintpaw hunting? Did one of the eagles attack them?

"I'm going to go see Redtail, you should go play with Mintpaw and talk about your battle training. I'm sure she'd love it." Oakheart absentmindedly said his bye to the apprentice, and padded over to his friend. "Are you okay?"

Redtail hummed, as Oakheart checked over his tri-coloured pelt. "I'm fine. I was just seeing how Panthereye's doing."

"How is she?" Oakheart had been curious about the independent she-cat lately, as she'd been spending more and more of her time in her den, and less of it in the leafbare sunlight. "Is she taking care of herself?"

"She's eating and drinking just fine, but she's been spending Mousepaw to gather herbs with Finpaw. Last time she found out Mousepaw left camp on his own, she chipped his ear." Redtail blinked a few times, before looking over to Dawnstar sharing tongues with Wheateyes. "I need to check on Wheateyes for her. I'll see you later, Oakheart."

He watched his friend push his way through the snow, the cold white powder almost past Redtail's shoulders. The poor, smaller tom would have to start jumping to get around if there were more snowfall.

"Oakheart, can you take Firepaw on a border patrol?" Brushstorm asked, stopping by the large tom. "I have to stay in camp, so I can't take him out."

He nodded at the she-cat, dipping his head to the apprentice and led him out of camp. "You know, I think you'd be a pretty great warrior, Firepaw. You have the strength and drive to protect your clan."

"Thank you, Oakheart." The young tom purred happily. He walked alongside him with joy in his eyes, obviously taking the warrior's compliment in stride. "Do you think I could catch one of the eagles? I've gotten bigger."

"And while that's true, they wouldn't hesitate to snatch you off your paws." Oakheart reminded the apprentice, walking down the side of the riverbed and wading into the rushing water. The stream was much colder than the snow, but it only pooled around his knees. Plus, Oakheart had grown up in an island camp. He would be fine.

Firepaw, maybe not. "Oakheart, the water's almost at my belly." The apprentice whined, shivering.

"Can you jump to me?" The warrior asked, standing on the opposite side of the creek by now. "I promise I'll catch you."

The ginger point tom nodded, flexing his paws at the creek's edge, before taking the leap. He narrowly missed the edge, before Oakheart clutched the scruff of Firepaw's neck in his jaws and hauled him up the side of the riverbank and into the sunlit snow. "Thank you, Oakheart."

"I'm sure you could have swan that if the water wasn't rushing so quickly," Oakheart frowned, staring down at the chilling water. "It was calmer at dawn... we'll get back to camp the other way."

When he returned to camp, Oakheart sent Firepaw to take some fresh-kill and warm in the apprentice's den while he informed Brushstorm of the patrol.

"PantherClan's scent is more faint than yesterday, and there's been no pawprints that don't smell like one of our clanmates. The eagles and birds of prey seem to have been hiding in their nests, too."

Brushstorm nodded her thanks. "How was Firepaw? I hope he wasn't too much."

"There was a current that almost toppled me over. Firepaw was a little afraid to wade in, so he jumped over instead." Watching Brushstorm nod about her apprentice, Oakheart added. "He'd make a fine warrior, Brushstorm."

The she-cat purred with a curt nod. "I'll have his assessment soon then. Thank you, Oakheart."

He nodded his head, turning to take a fat rabbit from the pile and sit in the warmth of the warrior's den and away from the snow. As he started to eat, his ears caught the sound of Redtail's paws breaking the twigs underneath the snow padding covering the camp. "Where have you been?"

"Helping Panthereye and Mousepaw." Redtail murmured, stretching as he reached his nest. The smaller tom curled into the moss, tucking his tail over his paws. "What have you been doing?"

"Hunting, I took Firepaw out for a patrol. How's Mintpaw's training?"

"I sent her to clean the elder's bedding and take ticks out of Silkstep's fur."

Oakheart frowned. "Did she do something wrong?"

"Not at all, but no cat else was going to do it. And she needs to learn basic chores." Oakheart hummed, taking the excuse since Redtail clearly didn't want to argue. The tortoiseshell rested his chin on his tail and closed his eyes. "Panthereye is pretty, but I wouldn't neglect my responsibility as Mintpaw's mentor. Bluestar made me her deputy for a reason, you know."

The hissing from the tom was new as of late. It had been moons since Oakheart and Redtail had come to heads over anything, and the old hostility returned. Was Redtail still holding a grudge because of Sunningrocks in their former territories?

He hoped not; Redtail was the closest he had to family now. Oakheart's kits were, hopefully, still in RiverClan and his brother was leading that clan. With his parents long gone before he left the clan, Oakheart only thought about his only sibling and kits.

The rest of the day flowed slowly, contrary to the creek, and Oakheart readied himself in the middle of the clearing for Dawnstar's announcement.

"We won't be attending the Gathering, this moon. We lost one of our very best, and cannot afford to leave the camp unguarded. Both Crabstorm and Panthereye, as well as Mousepaw, will require a bodyguard. That leaves us down two warriors from attending the Gathering, and two less to protect each other on the journey."

Honeyspot stood to argue with her leader. "But we can't just not go. The Ancient Warriors will be furious if we're not there, not to mention StarClan."

"They will understand. StarClan allowed for one of our own to join them, and the Ancient Warriors guided her spirit to them." Dawnstar excused. "Crabstorm and Panthereye mentioned such."

Hushed murmurs blended through the camp. "Panthereye blames StarClan for Honeyflight's death?" Silkstep's raspy voice croaked in question.

"As well as the warriors who attacked, of course."

"Is she okay?"

Dawnstar was silent for a moment, glancing at the she-cat watching from the safety of her tree. "Panthereye is the greatest doctor TigerClan has ever had. We all know she is fine."

"No, she's not." Redtail muttered, his teeth blaring.

Honeyspot hissed, looking around the other warriors at him. "What did you say, rogue?"

"I said that she isn't." Redtail hissed, his hackles rising at the ginger she-cat. "I've spent the last half-moon with her and even a mouse-brain like you can tell she's in pain."

"What did you call me?"

"Redtail, Honeyspot enough."

"You heard what I said, clearer than a thrush's call." Redtail retaliated.

Panthereye's slim figure stood, her ears twisted back. "Redtail. Meet me inside." When the tortoiseshell didn't move, the silver tabico hissed, "do I have to drag you into my den like a disobedient kit? Get inside."

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't ignore her a second time. Only StarClan knew what would happen if he did.

[pomegranate-cuties]

Chapter 5, Part 2 (pp. 58-73)

I'd been wondering when a discussion of Karen's childhood would show up, but I was hoping for more. What happened between the ages of 13-15 for confident, feisty Karen Green to become so emotionally withdrawn? Does it have something to do with her claustrophobia? In Footnote 69, Celine Berezin, MD suspects that Karen's claustrophobia-induced panic attacks stem from an "early adolescent betrayal... [which increases] proportionally with the level of intimacy"

Footnote 70, contained in Footnote 69, sends us to Exhibit 6, which contain Footnote 431, which sends us to Appendix II-C, ahhh! I feel like if I had more time, I'd sift through the collages, but (1) I'd like to actually get through the book and (2) I'm sure others've done so already, in far more detail that I can muster. For now, all I'll note is this: Karen is a Leo sun, and that scraps of the Sheehan Clinician Rated Anxiety Scale are littered in the first collage, while the Marks and Mathews Phobia Scale are in the second. Oh, and the fortune cookie message in the second collage says, "You have a strong desire for a home and your family comes first. Lucky #: 17, [portion of paper covered by a photograph], 28, 33, 35."

I think the presence of the hallway and the ongoing spatial impossibilities of the house only expose the extant domestic tensions in the Navidson-Green household. If you recall from Chapter 2, "Navidson's constant assignments abroad have led to increased alienation and untold personal difficulties. After nearly eleven years of constant departures and brief returns, Karen [had] made it clear that Navidson must either give up his professional habits or lose his family." Bold emphasis mine, but that's an ultimatum if I ever saw one. The appearance of the closet, the extra ⁵⁄₁₆", and now the hallway allows Navidson to keep his cake and eat it too, but as he ventures deeper into the house, the old troubles will arise again, and judging by the existence of The Navidson Record, I don't think he'll keep his family.

Also, I wonder if Navidson realizes that his infrequent presence in his family's life perpetuates the cycle of absent parenting from his childhood. I wonder if Tom calls him out on it.

Karen's suggestion that she be the Secretary of Defense in a world where Chad is President reminds me of Zampanò's whole thing when Navidson referred to the house as an "outpost" in Chapter 3.

I love the subtlety of using echoes to determine the hallway has changed--- its initial discovery; when the children's voices echo, as Tom installs the door; when Daisy's cry "flattens and dies in the narrow corridor," and the echo of the deadbolt after the door is installed.

"key" -> "kye" and the red one specifically.

Tom seems like such a cool uncle. I'm glad Chad and Daisy have him to distract them from their parents' tension.

The lack of communication is so frustrating, and Karen's practiced indifference is not helping. I think what it comes down to, is that Navidson needs to decide whether he's more interested in satisfying his own curiosity or actually being there for his family. Right now, he's making a token effort at the latter, but he's half-assing it ("If she keeps up this cold front, you bet I'm going in there," not taking Tom's advice to move out of the house) and his resentment is building. Ultimately, we know what Navidson will choose. In fact, he even said so himself, "She hasn't even given a thought to what I care about." Considering what we know about Karen (and the little slip of fortune cookie we kept), the thing she cares about most is her family and their wellbeing. By calling Karen "selfish," Navidson has just admitted he doesn't share her priorities. I think, deep down, Karen knows it too. It's only a matter of time before she cheats on him (My guess is with Tom, seeing as how well he gets along with the kids and Navidson's twin) and/or leaves him. They're doomed, but I can't help but root for them.

I thought there'd be four keys because each of them--- Navidson, Karen, Tom, and Reston--- would hold on to one. Otherwise, what's the point?

What in God's name is the point of an academic footnote that spans more than two pages? And for it to've been complete random? The old man's trolling us.

I respect Navidson's ability to keep a level head on his shoulders and use echoes to find his way out. Of course, it would've been better if he hadn't gone in without string or something to begin with, but what matters is that he didn't panic. Like I would've.

On that note, I wonder if the house still shifts if there's something or someone occupying that immediate space. Like, if Navidson had string tracing his route through the house, and there were to be building shifts, would the shifts happen around the rooms with string running through them? Or could he possibly retrace his path, only to discover the length of string disappearing into the wall, because the space had previously been accessible?

Ohhh, and here we go... To The Whalestoe Letters. This will be its own reblog, since it encapsulates so much. The other thing I forgot to do is map Johnny's encounters with the beast to the events in The Navidson Record. I'll have to do that after Whalestoe.

Taking into account the footnotes, Johnny's asides, and the appendix entries, Chapter 5's gotta be one of the longest chapters in terms of content.

Chills. Fucking chills, the way this chapter ends. That's why it's my favorite.

As a complete aside, unrelated to any specific event in this chapter, I found this JStor article "The Digital Topography of Mark Z. Danielewski's 'House of Leaves'" that might be fun to read after I finish the book.

House of Leaves Reading Log

You know what they say, third time's the charm! And finally, I have my own copy of the book (A nice hardcover with library binding, I might add), so I can take my sweet time.

I believe the farthest I'd ever traversed is about 100 pages into the book, including footnotes, appendix entries, etc. so I anticipate the first bit of re-reading to be a familiar slog, before I start remembering the little bits and pieces I'd forgotten.

This reading log is to keep my notes, exclamations, and observations in order, and a nice way to keep myself on track without talking off the ear of anyone unfortunate enough to make eye contact with me. If it's been a few days (or weeks, or months) without an update, I probably fell off again or found a job or something, but rest assured, I will finish this book at some point, and when I start up again, the ol' reblog chain will still be here.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

#26

Short opinion: This is the best book.  Not the best Animorphs book, just the best book of all time.  Period.

Long opinion:

This is one of those books where plot and character are difficult to sort out, because the plot is so character-driven and the characters are so influential to the plot that they are irreparably wrapped up in each other—and the entire story is driven by the protagonists’ agency.  This book opens and closes on Jake’s dreams, and in that first dream sequence he’s this tiny, helpless human in the face of this ginormous cosmic power.  I love that this scene draws attention to the fact that Jake first encountered Crayak under circumstances when he was literally the most helpless he’s ever been in his life: Jake is literally paralyzed because of the dying yeerk inside his brain when he suddenly finds himself facing down this malicious all-knowing deity.  In that scene Jake describes himself as the “keeper” of his brother’s memories (Have I mentioned the Cain parallels recently?), foreshadowing both the fact that by the end of the book he’ll be the only being with Howler DNA or memories in the whole universe, and the fact that by the end of the series he’ll be the only being with Tom’s memories in the universe.

The next scene with the kids watching a production of Lion King (funny how that plot hinges on the villain killing his older brother…) in a way that makes them utterly themselves: Rachel is pretty much daring a guy to try and hit on her so she can release a little pent-up frustration on a harasser, Marco is pulling ridiculous stunts to get Jake to laugh, Cassie is totally zoned out because let’s be real she doesn’t give a crap about the fine arts, and Jake is enjoying the peace and quiet for a bit while also not giving a crap about the fine arts.  When Ax shows up he’s totally confused but goes into hyper-protective mode toward his team anyway, and when Tobias pops up he figures out in two seconds flat what it took everyone else a few minutes to catch on to: this is the Ellimist at work.  

One of my favorite subtle moments in the series is when Marco snarks at the Ellimist about the pinnacle of ketran evolution being the ability to look like a teenager with braces, and then almost immediately has a silent freak-out because he just sassed a divinity.  I really love how Marco’s quick thinking gets him in trouble almost as much as it gets him out, and how it shows that even his clever one-liners are a coping mechanism rather than a calculated attempt to appear cool.  His inability to get through a stressful situation without making dumb jokes literally almost gets the kids killed in #30 and #42, and here he has the good sense to realize that the Ellimist is the absolute last person he should be mocking—about ten seconds after he’s already gone and done it.

Also, Jake and Rachel’s relationship in this book is heartbreaking and awesome.  When the kids first learn about the conflict with the Iskoort they’re understandably reluctant to get involved in yet another cosmic war but Rachel especially argues that they shouldn’t get themselves killed needlessly in a conflict that has nothing to do with the yeerks… Until Jake admits that Crayak has been harassing him in his dreams.  Rachel does a one-eighty to “No Crayak space monster is gonna beat up on my cousin” the millisecond she finds out (#26).  Marco also jumps sides of the argument immediately with an eye to defending Jake, and before they know it they’re already off to the races.  Later on, just before the final battle, Rachel literally holds Jake in her arms in grizzly morph while he becomes a Howler for the first time, because she’s the only person Jake trusts to kill him without hesitation if he loses control of the morph.  These two share a level of trust—Jake trusts Rachel to defend his life, but also more importantly to know when to end his life when the cost of defending it would be too high, and Rachel has exactly the same level of trust in Jake—that we don’t see with any other pair on the team.  It goes way, way beyond their simple shared willingness to get their hands dirty; it’s about trusting each other with their lives but also with their deaths.  

This is also the book where (if he didn’t already have it) Jake definitely earns the title of “war-prince.”  Not only does he fight a battle against two infinitely more powerful beings and win, not only does he outmaneuver the most deadly alien species the kids ever face using the power of love, but he also plays the part of Team Mom throughout this nightmarish field trip while just as scared and lost as everyone else present.  He takes the time to check on Cassie in the middle of the night while also terrified the Howlers will attack at any moment.  He gently talks Marco down when Marco’s about to panic at the sheer foreignness of the situation.  He not-so-gently calls Erek on the fact that Erek is lying by omission for large parts of this book.  All the while he also weighs and balances everything he knows about the Howlers and the Iskoort, constantly gathering more information (frequently at risk to his own life, as with that awesome-nutso gambit with jumping off a cliff to acquire Howler DNA) until eventually he figures out the motivations of everyone else jerking him around.  He describes himself as “an ant on a chessboard,” but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn how to play.  By the end of the book he’s thinking on the same level as the Ellimist and Crayak, while also viscerally understanding the ordinary Howler or Iskoort.  As Rachel’s bulletin board says:  ’“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.’ - Sun Tzu” (#4).  

Jake also verbally embraces the title of “prince” for the first (possibly only) time in the series during this book, twice ordering Ax to defend his own life against the Howlers.  Jake doesn’t totally get andalite culture, evident in the fact that he’s not sure why Ax cares so much about having run from an unwinnable battle.  But he also knows and understands (and cares about) Ax, enough so to grasp that what Ax needs is the reassurance of his prince that he didn’t do anything wrong.  Jake has to practically step on Rachel’s toes to stop her from volunteering for the suicide mission (because of course) but he does it, aware that Ax will view this as a chance to reaffirm his place on the team and regain what “honor” he lost by running from the Howler.  Jake is never comfortable with the leadership role, and least comfortable of all when someone puts a formal title on his leadership.  However, he also understands that when Ax is literally ready to die in order to affirm his place on the team, the whole “prince” bit is not about him; it’s about helping Ax.  And so he calls himself Ax’s prince, not once but twice, in order to save Ax’s life.  Because it’s what needs doing in order to keep the team alive.  

In addition to the spot-on characterization and the mind-bogglingly huge plot, this book also has some vicious commentary on philosophy of war.   Marco actually calls Erek on the fact that, when the Animorphs are about to be slaughtered by a far more powerful enemy, Erek’s decision not to act is an action in and of itself.  Maybe Erek doesn’t have a choice about not causing harm, even at the expense of preventing a murder, but Erek also sure as hell does not have the moral high ground.  Pacifism is not a righteous course of action in the face of atrocity, and Erek standing by to watch his friends get slaughtered—knowing all the while that the entire Iskoort species also hangs in the balance—is not the moral high ground.  Jake actually feels loathing for the Pemalites as he frantically flies back toward the hopeless battle that might have cost Cassie and Rachel their lives, thinking that he’ll never forgive them if they got his friends killed with their short-sighted, obsessive nonviolence when they programmed the Chee.  

The social comment in this book isn’t a particularly comforting or comfortable one (but then when are they ever, in Animorphs books?) but it is an important message: that the world is an ugly place in which simple neutrality is the prerogative of the privileged.  One cannot call oneself moral simply by standing by and refusing to fight back while evil triumphs (X).  As Cassie points out to Jake, only slave owners and Nazis have ever had the luxury of branding entire groups of people as uniformly evil and one’s own cause as uniformly good (#26).  In order to stop a terrible wrong, the kids have to commit a terrible wrong.  The war is not won through anything as easy as standing on principle, because no lofty abstract principle ever works in 100% of cases in the real world.  Erek is no better or worse than any of the kids because he is held to a certain standard of behavior by external constraints; even an idea as pure as “do no harm” does not stand up when one has the chance to stop genocide and cannot.  

Crayak understands the idea better than the Pemalites did, when he designs the Howlers: the opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference (X).  The Chee aren’t programmed to hate—or to love—any other species.  

More specifically, this book also calls Erek out on his tendency to consider himself above the Animorphs because of his nonviolence.  Erek is every bit as vengeful (bloodthirsty, even) as Ax or Rachel throughout this whole conflict, but he also refuses to acknowledge that fact.  He conveniently forgets to mention the fact that the Howlers are innocent (relatively speaking) in their childish indifference to death and ignorance of failure until Jake also discovers that fact.  Years before the Animorphs use Erek to do their dirty work in the fight against Tom’s yeerk, Erek uses them to do his dirty work through setting up the fight with the Howlers and letting them annihilate another species without even having all of the facts about who they’re fighting.  

The motif is writ large throughout the series: war is won through sacrifice, and most of those sacrifices are not as clean or glorious as simply dying for one’s cause.  Erek stands by, choosing to give up the fight after only one battle turns too ugly for his liking (#10), and as a result the entire species of Howlers gets wiped out by Crayak.  As a result of his later actions, both Tom and Rachel get killed and the Blade ship remains free to conquer another planet (#53).  And yet this is a being who (allegedly) never hurts anyone for any reason.  Erek is self-righteous, vengeful, and morally hypocritical.  That fact gets a little lost in books like #20, #32, or #45, but here Jake makes the contrast between his friends—who are running headlong into a deadly battle for the sake of some yeerk-descendants—and the Chee—who are forced to stand by and risk nothing with nothing gained—painfully clear.  

This book offers no simple answers, and it shows that in war, there are no simple answers.  However, it also ends with Jake surrounded by his friends, taking triumph from the fact that he’s just a helpless little human facing down a malicious all-knowing deity whose ass he just kicked.  USING THE POWER OF LOVE.  Have I mentioned that this is the best book ever written?  

[justzawe]

‘I said, put me in a corset asap’: Zawe Ashton on period dramas, pregnancy and embracing silliness

After a series of harrowing roles, the former Fresh Meat star is rediscovering her ‘joyful side’, with a Bridgerton-esque romp – and a baby on the way with Tom Hiddleston

by Liv Little

It’s the day after Zawe Ashton’s 38th birthday when we speak. She’s wearing a bright red, Regency-inspired, rose-covered headdress; she’s had it on since her celebrations with friends and family the night before. “I’ve worn this all weekend. And I thought: ‘Shall I act cool and take it off for Liv? Or will she appreciate it on some level?’” she says with a laugh.

Ashton is still buzzing from the birthday love – as well as, perhaps, the early praise for her leading role in the period film drama Mr Malcolm’s List. She insists she avoids looking at reviews or engaging with what the public think, but it’s impossible to remain completely in the dark. “Obviously, you end up hearing things … That’s the thing I’m hypersensitive to, what that means for the film-makers especially,” she says earnestly.

This year marks the start of a new chapter for Ashton, both personally – she’s expecting her first child with her fiance, Tom Hiddleston – and professionally: alongside Mr Malcolm’s List, she has a villainous role in superhero blockbuster The Marvels on the horizon. Both developments will bring a level of attention she’s unused to; despite starting out in showbiz when she was just six years old (she appeared as an extra in the beloved British-Caribbean sitcom Desmond’s), Ashton has managed to avoid the chaotic life of many who find themselves in the spotlight from a young age.

I ask if she deliberately keeps what is most sacred to her private. “I’m not Gwyneth Paltrow. I don’t know how to do that thing,” she says, by which she means broadcasting the most intimate parts of her life for the world to dissect. Although, let’s be real, that is already happening without Ashton’s permission: ever since she and Hiddleston were first linked in late 2019, after they starred together in the London revival of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal, the internet has been full of feverish speculation about their relationship.

Still, she doesn’t mean to cast shade on Paltrow. “I mean, I love the Goop of it all,” she adds, referring to Paltrow’s Netflix series Sex, Love and Goop, which takes couples on a journey of sexual and spiritual awakening. “I binged it in one night,” she says. It’s an admission you could never imagine being made by the character she’s best known for – the achingly edgy Vod from Fresh Meat, the cult TV comedy set in a Manchester student flatshare. In contrast to Vod’s take-no-prisoners attitude, Ashton is all jokes and smiles, radiating warmth.

Though Ashton closely guards her private life, during the recent press tour for Mr Malcolm’s List she was unable to hide her very visible pregnancy. “That’s the hysterical thing,” she says. “No one wants to go on a press tour at the same time that they want to keep their personal life private, but that’s my ‘contractual professional obligation’,” she says, partly serious, partly making light of the situation.

Ashton landed in New York for the film’s premiere just as news broke that Roe v Wade had been overturned. “I thought: ‘Oh God, there’s nothing more tone deaf I could be doing right now than promoting a lighthearted movie.’ I was also very aware that my presence in that promotion would be as a pregnant person.” She argues that it’s more important than ever that the different journeys of child-bearing people are acknowledged. “We’re having very important conversations about the autonomy we have over our bodies. What better autonomy could I have than just doing it how I wanted to do it?” Ashton is conscious that not everyone has had the same experience. “I have so many friends who have been through real grief, with regards to pregnancy and conception. I hope I can represent anyone on this journey, in whatever way they’re on it. Cos it doesn’t get more ancient than this,” she says jokingly, nodding to the fact that she’s having her first child in her late 30s.

Ashton grew up in east London in a tight family unit with her Ugandan mother and English father, both teachers. She started acting when she was a child and has never been short of work; as well as her breakout role in Fresh Meat, she had parts in films ranging from St Trinian’s 2 to Nocturnal Animals, and more recently appeared in the fourth season of The Handmaid’s Tale. Yet before Mr Malcolm’s List, she had never starred in a period drama.

The film, set in 19th-century Britain, follows the hilarious and often devious character of Julia Thistlewaite (Ashton), who is in her fourth season of seeking a match in high society and at very real risk of being labelled past it. Her character plots revenge against the eligible bachelor Mr Malcolm (Sopé Dìrísù) after he rejects her for failing to meet all the criteria on his list of attributes for a prospective wife. She enlists the help of her cousin Selina (Freida Pinto), with whom she hopes he will fall in love, only for her to break his heart or at least massively embarrass him. It’s a role that makes the most of Ashton’s comic timing, and it’s unsurprising that her performance has been the most talked about of the film.

It wasn’t until watching Bridgerton that Ashton imagined finding a place for herself within the period genre. After falling in love with a world filled with romance, gossip and high tea, she sent her team an email saying: “‘Put me in a corset asap’ – but I didn’t think of it as on course to happening!” With the serendipity of the best romantic comedy, it wasn’t long before the call for Mr Malcolm’s List came through. The actor who had previously been cast in the lead role had dropped out, and Ashton was given just 24 hours to decide whether she wanted it. Despite being second choice, she accepted enthusiastically. “You mustn’t have any ego about this as an actor,” she says. “Film-making is intricate, it’s difficult, it’s expensive, it’s weird. And wherever you end up is wherever you end up. So I was just stoked to do it, because I had just watched Bridgerton, and I’m not going to lie, I thought: ‘The door is open!’”

That wasn’t always the case.

Ashton tells me that when she was studying acting in Manchester, teachers adopted a white-centric approach to period drama. “There was this terrible time when you had to do period pieces where the reference, or sometimes the explicit message, was that anyone of colour in the cast had to imagine themselves as white,” she recalls with dismay. “That’s actually what a director said to us as a group when we were doing a Restoration comedy. And you can imagine the comedy immediately left the bones of the seven people of colour.” Ashton, of course, is far from the first Black actor to share the traumas of being a minority within a majority-white acting class, which is why she’s now taking the time to deliver talks and connect with other students. “I’ve decided to dedicate myself to that this year,” she says.

As a self-described “creative chameleon”, it didn’t make sense to Ashton that the artistic fantasies of others didn’t stretch to seeing Black people step into worlds or characters unknown. “I couldn’t understand why the imagination I had as a reader of classic pieces was not being interpreted on screen.” She finds it absurd that it has taken almost 32 years of acting for her to be tasked with putting on a bonnet. “Sometimes there’s this undertone, like: ‘Well done for retaining enough energy to wait for this moment to happen.’ And that’s a little bit how it feels to step into period drama.”

Many of the roles Ashton played before Mr Malcolm’s List had been harrowing (with the notable exception of Fresh Meat). Earlier this year she starred as a survivor of sexual assault in Lucy Kirkwood’s urgent 25-minute BBC drama Maryland, a work filled with the collective anger of women fed up with a failing criminal justice system. In Dreams of a Life (released in 2011, the same year Fresh Meat premiered), she played the near-silent role of Joyce Carol Vincent, the north London woman whose dead body lay in front of her television for three years before anyone noticed she was gone.

The intensity of those characters’ worlds sits in stark contrast to the jubilance of Ashton’s latest part. She revelled in the chance to go light. “The process of getting into this character was like allowing myself to feel joyful, silly, tender, clumsy, goofy, soft.” These are, she suggests, states of being that Black women are often assumed not to experience. “I thought: ‘Why would anyone think that my peers and I were incapable of this joyful, tender thing?’ What’s that about?”

You’re allowed to play a fun role, I point out. “I am absolutely allowed!” she says. “I realised that for myself at some point in filming. That was a huge penny that dropped.”

She reflects on a protest she attended in east London recently, in response to the story of Child Q, the 15-year‑old schoolgirl who was strip-searched by police officers in 2020 after school staff falsely accused her of having marijuana in her possession. Child Q was menstruating at the time. Teachers and officers didn’t contact her parents before she was searched, and no other adults were present. As Ashton speaks, it is evident just how much the abuse experienced by Child Q disturbed her. ‘‘I went to the protest with a placard bearing a slogan that the writer Bonnie Greer had given me. She was like: ‘Why are people trying to take tenderness from young Black children?’ And I thought that was such a poetic way of putting it. So instead of something very boldly antagonistic, which is where your mind goes when you write a placard for any type of protest, I wrote: ‘Stop killing young Black children’s dreams’. Then I scrubbed that out, and put: ‘Let Black children dream’.”

Ashton might be starring in period dramas and Marvel movies these days, but not long ago she was on the verge of giving up acting altogether; she was worried about being typecast after five years of starring in Fresh Meat. “There are strange things that happen when you leave episodic television, and I think this applies in the UK and the US. There’s a really weird chunk of time where everyone wants you to do the same thing again.” She points to the example of Friends. “Look at the stalling Joey spin-off. Look at the subsequent difficult realigning of identities that someone like Matthew Perry, who played Chandler, went through.”

She briefly moved to the Kent seaside town of Margate in 2018 to clear her head; it helped her return to the industry refreshed. After years of navigating entertainment, she had been on the verge of burning out. “I think it’s because I started young, before any pendulum swing in the industry. I’ve seen it all at this point. The stories I could tell – I mean, that’s the reason I wrote Character Breakdown,” she says, referring to the book she published in 2019, which explores the horrors of the TV and film industry through a mix of fiction and memoir. It’s both shocking and humorous, and includes imagined scenes that reflect the power plays between film-makers, actors and agents. After her brief hiatus from the industry, the role to reel her back into the world of entertainment was, fittingly, that of a gallerist in 2019’s Velvet Buzzsaw, a horror-thriller situated in the world of fine art that asks the question: who is in control – the artist or the industry?

Reflecting on the Ashton of now versus the Ashton who rose to fame in Fresh Meat (the show turned 10 last year), she is more focused on the parts of herself that stayed the same rather than the elements that have changed. “I’m still someone who wants to create interesting characters,” she says. “I’m also someone who loves being part of a loving ensemble – that’s where I always feel most alive. I still love Manchester. I’m not that person any more, but I don’t really know in which ways I’m not – that’s so weird, isn’t it?”

It has been intriguing for Ashton to witness the ways people have seen themselves reflected in the character of Vod. “A student said to me: ‘You are the first person of colour I saw representing any sort of flavour of non-binary or punk or queerness on television.’” She recognises the huge responsibility that comes with that status.

Part of the reason Vod has chimed with so many young people who find themselves occupying a space outside the norm is Ashton’s unwavering determination to create complicated characters over likable ones. “The show’s brilliant creators Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong wanted me to play it like Vod’s really cool. I said, early on: ‘I won’t be able to create someone cool for you, but I will be able to create someone who doesn’t give a fuck.’”

There is a widespread sense that, because there has been so little representation of marginalised perspectives within the film and TV industry, each character who does make it on to the screen must represent every minority experience, which, of course, it cannot. It’s something that has long frustrated Ashton. “Reading Toni Morrison taught me from a very early age that the personal is universal. Anyone who tries to tell you it’s not has to think about that. That’s also just the way art works. You know, it doesn’t need to be liked all the time. This is what I can’t bear! I don’t care.”

Someone who instilled this mantra within Ashton is the groundbreaking Black artist Lorraine O’Grady. During a series of documentaries she recorded with the artist ahead of the Tate exhibition Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power in 2017, Ashton learned that O’Grady had been shunned by some of the Black artist networks in New York because her work extended beyond the concerns of Black struggle. Yet, at 87, O’Grady continues to create the art she wants to see. “Is she someone who goes to bed at night feeling a bit sad that she was outcast by certain communities? Yes. Has she let it take her away from her gut and her heart, and her own experience? No, she has not.”

Having taken inspiration from O’Grady, how have Ashton’s own personal struggles affected her professional life? “They say the same things you struggle with as a person are the same things you struggle with as an actor,” she says. “There was a point when I couldn’t cry on cue. I was like, ‘God I’m just a crap actor, everyone else seems to be able to act loads of stuff, and it’s just me.’ And, actually, it was me. I had a lot of unprocessed sadness and trauma that wasn’t ready to come out in my own life, let alone when someone snapped their fingers and said to cry on behalf of someone else.”

What eventually allowed Ashton to process her own trauma was her writing. In 2019, she wrote a play called For All the Women Who Thought They Were Mad, exploring how workplace dynamics affect Black women. “There is an instant feeling of writing from places that need releasing, writing about something that was traumatising me. So I’m changing the world and changing myself at the same time, and that’s still how I write now.”

And when Ashton isn’t making sense of the world’s traumas, past, present and future, what does she do for fun? She really has to think about this one, not because there isn’t joy in her life – it’s full of it – but because her life’s enjoyments are in many ways tied up in her work. “I feel attacked,” she says through a giggle, as I list some possible activities that she could do for fun outside of the classic film club she joined during lockdown, or the books she reads (she hosted last year’s Women’s prize for fiction podcast).

“I want to get back to the sea,” she says. “It changed my whole headspace. And I should take up gardening.” A day later, she sends me a follow-up email, concerned I might think she’s forgotten how to have fun. “I gave the most post-Covid answer to my free-time question. Forgetting that I love art galleries, live music, yoga and pilates, acupuncture and painting. Sometimes I’m still operating from a place of captivity!”

It’s time for Ashton to go. Hobbies or not, she has plenty on the horizon: she is a woman on the verge of everything from Marvel to motherhood. But, amid the upheaval, she appears to have found a new equilibrium. “I think over the past five years I’ve realised that the only way to do anything in this industry is to be anchored in myself,” she says. “As long as I have that, everything else will fall into place.”

Mr Malcolm’s List is released in the UK on 26 August and is out now in the US.

[wizkiddx]

Hiii I really love your work! Could you write about Tom secretly or not secretly watching yoi have a Zoom Uni class? And maybe he teases you in a way, trying to make you laugh or he sends you text messages or something? And later when you're done and he has a meeting,you tease him right back?

Hope you're having a lovely day 💞

a/n hey anon!! this was a really cute idea but I have another req for the vice versa bit, so only did the first half in this- I hope u don't mind :)

warnings: implied smut at the end but rlly just a fluffy cringe fest

////////////////////////////////////////

Early mornings where never you’re favourite and this one wasn’t an exception to the rule. The LA sun was flooding through the curtains that had been hurriedly thrown almost-closed last night as you huffed into the duvet. You needed to get up - but you definitely didn’t want to. To be fair, you’d only arrived the day before and were still acclimatising to the jet lag - though Tom’s presence certainly made everything alot easier.

Especially as you’d been without him for so long, the pandemic meaning you hadn’t been able to make the long-weekend trips you usually would’ve. So when at the beginning of may, Tom had offered for you to come out and stay with him for half the summer (while he was busy working). There was only really one answer…. free holiday with the absolute specimen of a human who you call your boyfriend? Yes please.

It did mean though, that you had flown out before the end of the semester. Only by a week and it didn’t make much difference because you only had a few zoom lectures - but they were compulsory. So even if you were living in the US, you had to follow your UK school timetable. Hence why you had to get up at 6:30, to make your UK time 14:30 lecture.

The arms around you seemed to have other ideas, huffing and only pulling you tighter when you tried to wriggle out of his embrace. You groaned in annoyance, mainly because he was making it more and more tempting to stay huddled up against him.

“Toooooommm I gotta get up” Clearly not agreeing, he just squeezed you to his chest tighter, whilst emphatically shaking his head - all with his eyes still firmly pressed shut.

“Let go! I have a lecture!” Still not letting up , he just shook his head once again - making his bed hair especially wild as it dragged against the linen pillows.

With a sigh you turned in his death grip, now being able to see his puffy morning eyes pressed firmly shut. First you arched up and pressed a soft kiss to his chin, then jaw and then nose.

“Seriously T, I need to show up to this one.” Because yes, you might’ve already had an absence from yesterday, where you had both slept through the alarm.

“-o it-’” Croaking so much so you couldn’t even puzzle out what he said, the man cleared his throat before trying again, the sound reverberating in his chest. “ uhmm do it from bed, don’t go.”

That had you pouting at his cuteness. Ever since you’d arrived he’d been unbelievable clingy to you, barely letting you out of his sight. You showered together; he sat and stared whilst you did your skin care routine; even at restaurants he insisted on sitting next to you with his hand on your knee. When you had asked him, the only reasoning you got was a shrug and a muttered ‘I missed you’. Never, ever would you complain about Tom’s attention. But…. you really needed to get to your laptop.

“I can’t babe thats not very profess-“

“-wont even be able to tell.”

As much as you tried, you couldn’t ever really deny Tom anything. Not when he cracked his eyelids open, revealing the softest warm brown eyes, coupled with a lazy smile. So yes, you ended up quickly getting changed into one of Toms old burgundy tops, running a brush through your frizzy hair and then clambering back into bed. You balanced your laptop on a tray on top of a box, so the angle was less obvious that your backdrop was a headboard. Instantly Tom had half-asleep turned over to lay his messy head on your lap. And with a half sigh half laugh, you logged on- once in the waiting room bringing a hand down to trail your nails through Tom’s hair which made him groan with delight.

It was all going so well too, up the point where breakout rooms were announced and you had to talk - your chipper voice and laughs with your course mates rousing Tom from his sleep. Every time he almost lifted his head into the view of the webcam, you were very quick to slam it back down, forcing him back onto your lap.

Eventually he got bored of the restrictions, as well as not being very into the history module you were all puzzling over- so slid out of bed into the shower. Once he was gone you did almost sigh in relief, you had thought that Tom in his friendly-idiot manner would end up getting you caught at some point. Especially as our relationship was so secretive, none of your course mates knew you weren’t single - imagine their shock if an a lister popped up in the zoom class.

But oh, the relief did not last long at all.

The issue was Harry had gone out for the day. It was just you and Tom in his fancy rented LA house. And, as mentioned, Tom was being clingy as hell. It couldn’t of been more than 20 minutes before the fluffy haired brunette was back in the room - pouting when he saw you still on the computer.

Even though you shooed him away, Tom just cocked his head to one side, a small smirk on his face. And you knew. You knew he was going to be a little shit. He slinked over the bed, perching at the foot next to where your feet lay.The warning look you shot him, metaphorical daggers coming out your eye did absolutely nothing - you watched his hand pin your right ankle down before stroking the sole of your foot. Familiar shivers shot up your leg and it took everything in you to not kick out, launching the laptop across the room as tickled you.

Soon though he stopped, you pulled yourself into a cross legged position, readjusting the laptop and trying to concentrate back on the lecturer. Seeing your disinterest, Tom hopped up off the bed and you thought he was leaving. But no. No you were wrong. He just stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips as he appeared to listen intently to the lecturer too.

Clearly Tom was an actor, he was pretty good at accents. You should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to resist the impersonating your academic staff - who happened to have a strong Somerset accent.

Pretending to ignore Tom as he hunched up and widened his stance - to imagine the physicality of your lecturer- you narrowed your eyes at the computer screen. Then though, a deep booming farmer-like voice came out your well spoken south london boy - god you were glad you’d stuck the mute button on as soon as he had entered.

“And then as your reading in chapter twel-“

“And then as yowr readinf in chapter twelve….” Tom echoed the lecturer loud and proud, making it completely impossible for you to attempt to concentrate. As much as you wanted to be furious at him- well, all it took was one look.

He was holding his face in some sort of duck pout and all the movements were extra pronounced and exaggerated. You couldn’t help it- instantly you burst out laughing, having to turn off the video for fear of anyone noticing.

Seeing he’d got a rise out of you, Tom was only spurred on, continuing the dramatic acting with a new found confidence. That was until you got yourself under control, face turning like a switch from joy to fury.

“Shut the hell up!”

And he did, for a few minutes, whilst pouting like a told-off toddler. In a strop, he sat down, shoulders slumped at the edge of the bed. Oh how wrong your were, when you thought you’d won - with a satisfied smile concentrating back on the laptop screen. Just in time to hear the lecturer FINALLY starting to rounding up the lecture.

“Alright so next session we’re-“ Before he’d even stammered his way to the end of the sentence, Tom’s face had switched up once again - into one of mischief as he started crawling up the bed either-side of your legs. One strong arm reached out to touch the back of your laptop lid and before you could protest he was pushing it down, till it landed with a small ‘clunk’.

“You did not just do that!” Yelling at him, you sat up so now he was kneeling across your lap.

“But I just did.” He mimed a mic drop which had you cringing hard, staring at him in disbelief. Okay the lecturer was beginning to round off, but that conclusion could’ve gone on for 5 minutes at least!

“Oh you are so in for it Holland.”

You’d meant it as a threat, as a sort of ‘I’m-going-to-make-your-life-a-living-hell” but the bright eyed boy before you had other plans. Wordlessly he nodded, then placed your laptop on the bedside ; then pushed you down on the bed. His legs either side of you, his arms like rockets to pin yours either side your head.

“Ah but you see my love…” he tutted, with a wide smile, hhis breath fanning down onto you as he took your breath away. “That is exactly what I want.” Immediately his lips were on yours, the both of you fighting for dominance as you arched your head up to get extra purchase on him.

“I hate… I hate you… so bloody much” It was hard to talk when his intoxicating lips were moving against yours, melting away all your resistance.

“Hmmm… well its… its a good thing… that I love you.”

He was impossible and no doubt you’d missed the prep work for tomorrows lecture. But having him there, body pressed against yours, after months apart.

Well, you wouldn’t mind failing the module for him.

~~~~ let me know what you think <333~~~~

tag list : @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove @msmimimerton @thegirlwiththeimpala

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

next

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics. 

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had. 

*

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead. 

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat. 

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke. 

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife. 

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?” 

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

*

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye. 

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed. 

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward. 

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf - Chapter 16

Word Count: 1634

Warnings: none

A/N @sillyrabbit81 and @amberangel112 - you guys are so important to getting this story finished - Thank you.

and to my beautiful readers, your encouragement, engagement, and cheeky comments fill my day with Joy :) So here is another chapter.

Chapter 16 – Jessie

The soft translucent steam wafted up from the cup of coffee warming up Jessie's hands. She had been called out in the middle of the night to a cattle ranch to help with the birthing of a cow in distress. She was grateful that Joe was still staying with them as she had been able to wake him to go with her. Together they had helped the cow deliver twins, one had been breech, and they had to help manipulate it to turn.

That had been 5 hours ago, and on returning, Joe washed up and went back to bed. But Jessie had too much adrenaline rushing through her system. Instead, she used this time, the stillness of the kitchen, the soft early bird calls outside, and the clicking clock on the mantle to help her calm down. To process what had happened over the last few days.

Yesterday had been so eventful, full of fear, anxiety, joy and then sadness. Henry had finally managed to change back to his human form and just in time mind you. Her fear that they would make her kill him had driven her to desperately call to him. When he turned the relief that flooded her body had been enormous. It was followed, however, with another kind of fear, this Henry didn’t recognise her, or where he was. In fact, she had surmised this consciousness was still that young man that fifteen years ago had come searching for her. In one way that was great, he recognised she was his mate and was not fearful in her presence. But she was left with the horrible task of reminding him that his family were all dead. That his nephew was living with another pack, and unless he remembered where the pack was, there was no way of finding him.

On top of that, she had a young man to worry about. When the trio had returned last evening after shopping for clothes for Henry, she noticed that Tom was very quiet. Joe was his bratty self, proclaiming that he had told her that Wolfy was a were all those weeks before. Dillon was accepting of this unusual event more than she thought was right to be. But Tom, he was quieter than normal. He didn’t run away or hide in his room, but his body language was closed off, he held himself aloof no longer playing with Joe. The whole evening and night Henry had slept, so the boys had not been able to question him. But she knew it would happen and wondered what the conversation between Tom and Henry would look like. They had been so close when he had been in wolf form, that she was worried that the young man would struggle now that Henry was a 31yr old man.

She heard a creak on the stairs and looked up just as the man in question walked into the kitchen. Tom’s hair stuck out at all angles, his skinny yet toned chest and arms were bare, giving him an almost manly look, if it had not been for the Pokémon PJ bottoms he was wearing. He walked to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup before he turned, leaning his bottom against the bench. He took a sip of the black brew and almost dropped the mug when he recognised Jessie sitting at the table. She chuckled at his sleepy self. “Didn’t sleep well, Tom?” He shook his head and then lowered his eyes, staring into the mug as if it held all the answers to life and the universe.

She went back to her own coffee, she wasn’t going to push the young man to talk, it wasn’t her place. The only thing she wanted to do was give him a safe place to land, and a family to belong to. Now that Boyd was dead, the ranch was safer, but his father was still an unknown part of the equation. She wasn’t really sure even of his mother who had made no contact since he had been staying with them. It broke her heart to see that the young man had not grown up in a loving home, instead one dominated with proving you were good enough for affection.

He pushed himself off the bench and placed the now empty mug in the sink. “Are you going into the clinic today?” his soft voice seemed hesitant in the stillness.

“I will yes, but not before I get some sleep. I’ve been out most of the night at the Happy Saddle’s Ranch. Helping birth twins.”

He nodded at that. “I’ll stay here with Henry when you do so you won’t have to worry.”

She smiled a small soft smile. “I would like that, thank you. I don’t think he is ready to get out of bed for too long yet. His shoulder will take longer to heal… Well, that’s what all the were books say. They take longer to heal when human. At least that’s what Joe was talking about all the way to the ranch and back again this morning. And Tom, don’t push him on his memory. Just give him what he wants ok?”

A big yawn caught Jessie by surprise. Tom walked forward and took her empty mug. “Ok, Miss Jessie. Why don’t you head back to bed? I will field any calls that might come in. You just rest.”

Standing she yawned again before handing him her phone. “Thanks, Tom, you really are amazing, don’t let anyone tell you any different.” She lent up and kissed him on the cheek, red blossomed across his face at her action and he coughed a little.

“Thanks, Miss Jessie, I’ll remember that.” She touched his arm to affirm her words, then headed upstairs for bed.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a whimper coming from her room. Inside she found Henry had tossed around claiming her side of the bed, burying his head in her pillow, and now his body was star fished on his stomach taking up the whole bed. Lack of sleep created anger in her chest. Agitated she stiffened her shoulders and wondered how the hell she was going to get into the bed. A new whimper interrupted her frustrated thoughts. Deflating, she slumped and walked over to where his head was, gently running her hand through his hair, then the tips of her fingers down his furrowed brow. His eyes slowly opened. There she saw a lost empty look before recognition and then peace. “Hey,” his deep rough voice broke out. “You were gone.”

“Sorry, I had to go to work. How about you scoot over and I’ll tell you about it.” He rolled onto his side and moved back as she wearily slid between the sheets. Just as she was about to lift her arm and invite him into a hug, she felt her body being pulled into his hard warm physique. Her face tucked into his furry chest, the familiar scent of his musk, and his thick arms wrapped around her. She didn’t want to, but in that moment all her memories of their time at the tree came flooding into her brain, causing her to begin to weep. She had missed him, missed his touch, missed his confident warmth. As she began to unravel his hands soothingly ran up and down her back. Eventually, she wore herself out, the comfort she felt lulling her into a deep sleep.

A few hours later she awoke in the same position, soft voices speaking around her. “Are you sure she has to be woken? Can’t we just cancel her work for the day?” his voice rumbled softly.

Before anyone had the option to answer she spoke up, “I’m up, it’s ok.” She tried to push out of his arms, but he held fast growling at her movement. “Henry, Love, you have to let me go. Tom will stay with you while I’m at work, it will only be for two hours then I will be back again.” She felt the hesitation at first until Tom’s name was mentioned.

“You mean the tall boy?” she stifled a laugh by burying her head in his chest.

She made a move out of his arms. Looking at his face, irritation laced across his brow. “Yes Henry, the tall boy. When I get home, I will cook you up some nice large pieces of steak, ok?”

That bought a smile to his face. “OK.” Chuckling at the now boyish look on his face she climbed out of bed, grabbing some clothes then left to shower.

Joe was in the car ready to leave. Dillon had left to get more clothes from their house as it seemed Joe was unwilling to miss out on any werewolf interaction. Tom stood at the front door, Henry leaning gingerly against the door frame holding his head high even though she could see the strain on his face. “You two be good, ok? Why don’t you watch a movie? By the time it finishes, I will be home.”

Tom smiled and reached an arm around Henry, helping to prop him up, his tall lean body towering over the shorter, well-built man. “Don’t worry Miss Jessie, I’ll take good care of him.” An odd look crossed Tom’s face as he spoke, and Jessie felt a niggle in the back of her head. But she had to leave, and until now Tom had been trustworthy, he had put his body on the line for Jessie and Wolfy. Dismissing the thought, she smiled back waved at Henry and jumped in the truck. Only a few hours she mused as she looked in the revision mirror at the two men waving at her as they drove away.

Chapter 17

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Summary: The reader has left the burrow trying to hide from Molly’s harsh comments. Bill’s mom doesn’t want his son near you cause she thinks you’ll hurt him judging you for your family reputation. Arthur thinks differenly so he’ll try to make amends between you two

Word count: 3.4 k. Too long I’M SORRY

Warnings: none

English not my mother language so pleeeeese tell me if something’s wrong

A/N: Hey! Another chapter for you’all. Thanks for keep reading this. The next part will be updated soon and yeah, hope you like it! If you want to be tagged just tell me and i’ll do so :D

Chapter 3: Expectations

It was bitterly cold outside the burrow, and you wondered if winter had come early. Your icy hands clenched your sides, refusing to go back inside even if your knuckles burned and your bare feet began to crack from the hardness of the grass on your soles.

You walked on the grass feeling the dew wetting your fingertips. On the other side of the garden the gnomes were burying one of Molly's ornaments with what, you guessed, the woman would be very angry when she found out, but no more than she already was. Molly's words were harsh. Even if her intention was not to make you feel bad, she had managed to put a huge weight on your stomach after the fight.

You didn't blame her, it was almost certain that Molly would react that way, however, you hoped that within her there was a bit of empathy for the situation you were experiencing with your family. It wasn’t easy for anyone to go through a war that could have been avoided in one way or another, however, for the Grants it was an even more difficult challenge knowing that the trigger for such a war was grandpa Tim Grant's half brother.

You walked around the house, crossing the barnyard, watching the chickens peck at a rubber boot on a very rusty cauldron. The cornfield grasses moved with the wind at the same rate. From right to left, right to left, right to left and then they changed the rhythm from left to right, left to right, left to right ...

The barn was just behind the thick grass rising into an old stone sty, which had several crooked stories attached to it. Four or five chimneys dotted the roof of the cellar, and most likely the entire building was held up by magic due to its crazy bolt-on construction. You took a look back at the main entrance of the house where you could hear the voices of Bill's brothers next to Molly's, deciding to get away from the Weasleys before starting a new fight.

You crossed the cornfield finding a pond full of frogs that you dodged with a little scream and a ballerina jump. Then you came across an old broom shed that was half stowed and a pervasive smell. You headed there, thinking of helping out with the cleaning and wasting some time in the process until William came home from the ministry in the early afternoon.

The brooms were on top of each other in a corner of the shed where the garden gnomes used them to play with each other. One of the gnomes had gotten a match with which he had managed to light a couple of strands of the broom of one of the twins -You knew it because each of the brooms had the initials of Molly's children painted on the base. That one had a huge G in the center - which soon expanded into the rest of the broom's dark fibers. You immediately turned it off earning yourself a tiny kick from the gnome.

The smoke from the fire mixed with dust, and the foul smell of expired wax made your eyes water . You wondered vaguely when was the last time that place had been cleaned up, however, the density of the raised dust and the rottenness of the broom wax on the floor told you about the nonexistence maintenance of the shed. The orchard was contained within a paddock, so you assumed there would be no problem cleaning it up later.

You collected each thing by hand placing them where you thought they should go. You finished cleaning the shed earlier than expected, securing the door when exiting to prevent the gnomes from entering and destroying everything again.

You continued your way in a straight line until you reached the barn where a thick layer of dust hid the doorknob. You opened the warehouse with your wand finding the worst scenario ever imagined. The walls were hidden in ghastly cobwebs, the shelves were clothed in huge mountains of dust, and Muggle stuff were strewn everywhere. Mr. Weasley's old Ford Anglia was on the left side of the barn,  storing certain flying objects that you couldn't recognize from the cloud of dust that rose and entered to your eyes.

Well, that seemed like an even bigger challenge than the shed on the other side of the garden. You started by washing the car using your wand to launch several aguamentis causing a waterfall of mud falling from the roof to the fender. Then the car doors flapped open like a pair of wings, letting out the flying objects. You raised your wand by closing the barn door blockig them the exit and initiating a chase that lasted a couple of hours to catch each object, throw it inside the Ford Anglia and finish polishing the hood before the flying, spoiled car got upset.

You forgot the last time you helped your household servants clean a simple fireplace ornament. Years before, when you were little and your brothers liked to spend time together, you helped the butler to clean some objects in the house because it was more fun when you formed competitions between you, Anthon and Margaret to know which of you cleaned the house ¿faster . You had fun and old Alfred got less tired. But that was a long time ago and in the present you didn’t remember what was the proper order of cleaning.

You were lugging box after box for several hours getting a terrible allergy in the process. The last box was made of recyclable paper where you put Mr. Weasley's old newspapers and Molly's worn recipes. You carried them to the fourth shelf from the right, previously cleaned, raising it with both hands. A speck of dust flew across the room, stopping on your nose causing you to sneeze so hard you fell backwards with the box on your face. The papers flew around the corners causing a disaster worse than the initial one.

“Shit”

You stayed lying on the floor taking the box off your face staring at the ceiling. Undoubtedly that would be a difficult life without anyone to help you doing the things more than yourself, however you were willing to try ‘cause you didn’t want to return home where things were simple but with a high cost. You weren't sure you wanted to trade your freedom for a few extra comforts. You let out a sigh ready to stand up when a singular sheet of a recent newspaper flew towards you, stopping on your chest. You caught a glimpse of a fairly familiar photograph in the ink, so you took the paper and read:

"Dark Mark sparks panic." Muggle family murdered.  Death Eaters numbers grow”  Your hands trembled over the paper, caressing each of the words, reading them over and over again. The weight on your stomach grew and grew, as if it were suddenly going to explode. A huge picture of uncle Tom stood in the middle, with that toothless grin and throbbing nostrils “Merlin’s beard”

Your fingers tingled, and you couldn't help but run your touch over your uncle's face trying to think how he got to that point. Grandpa Tim never talked so much about his half brother and you never had the courage to ask him even if the curiosity was eating your insides. There were few times where Tom Riddle's presence was in the family conversations and if that happened, then your father changed the topic from one second to another. It was annoying living in the shadows, but it was even more to be tied to a cause that no one sympathized with, not even his own brother. But Tim Grant was reserved, perhaps too reserved. Maybe that was the reason why he allowed the actions of his little brother to escalate to those levels and allowed too that his only son had choose the wrong side. However, you didn’t understand - or support - Voldemort's ambitions, neither did your grandpa and that cost you to be rejected by the rest of your family.

Your eyes watered and you didn't know if it was because of guilt or if the damn dirt had entered your eyelids. You looked at the ceiling in the haze. You searched your mind and realized that the situation affected you too much. You weren't welcome with the Weasleys, nor with the Grants. You felt desolate, as if the barn walls were closing in on you.

Molly's reaction was valid, you repeated yourself as many times as you could, because anyone who had lost a large part of it’s family to a member of another's would have done the same thing or something so much worse. You shook your head, once again feeling the rejection you were used to.

The barn door opened suddenly, letting in a gust of wind hitting your body directly on the ground. Your skin prickled from the cold causing the newcomer to laugh.

You looked up to find yourself face to face with the distorted figure of Arthur Weasley who was holding a couple of drinks along with a weird smile that made you laugh. The man sat on the floor next to you leaving the glass next to your face.

"I'm sorry I scared you. it’s freezing cold out there and in my defense, nobody comes to this place”

“It’s okay, I wasn't expecting visitors”

"Fine, then" Arthur took a sip of his drink licking his chapped lips, but still showing you that smile so much like Bill's. You folded the newspaper on your lap, nervous. "So ... what are you doing lying in my barn?"

"I ... I was trying to clean this place up”

"Is that so? ‘cuz It seemed like you were about to take a nap."

“Yeah, i had a little mishap here”

"I see, do you want to get up?"

"Yes, thank you." Arthur held out his hand, slowly pulling you up to leave you sitting in front of him. He offered you the drink and you clinked glasses before drinking. It was hot chocolate, you guessed, made by Molly. Your stomach churned.

Mr. Weasley glanced around the barn, surprised to see more than half perfectly arranged

“This place hasn't been so clean since Bill was born”

“Sorry?

"No, no, it's okay," he mentioned, waving to play it off, "Molly had been asking me for a long time to do it, so I think you just made my job easier."

"It's nothing, Mr. Weasley

"Did you see something you liked?"

"Uh, yeah," you answered wiping your lips. "Ignoring the fact that your car almost killed me, I noticed that you have a lot of muggle stuff."

“Ah, yes. They are fascinating, don't you think?”

"Certainly, but I also realized that most of them are useless, why do you still have them here?"

"I like to collect them," he replied, taking another sip of his drink. You mimicked his action “to be honest, I don't even have a clue how these things works, but I suppose I'll find out in time. Muggle devices are not as advanced as ours, much less functional, however, I find them entertaining and special somehow, did you know that they use a subway to transport themselves underground? And they must leave coins in a machine so that they give them a little ticket. A ticket! The first time I used one I was deadly excited!

You smiled, imagining how it would to see Mr. Weasley that happy

"I could help you understand how they work." You winced when Arthur looked at you with wide eyes. "My ... my grandfather lived with Muggles for a while and knows a lot about this artifacts. Several times he spoke of his usefulness to my brothers and me”

“Fantastic!” He replied cheerfully. You smiled “It's wonderful (Y/N), thank you”

“No problem”

Then a silence settled between you, being cut off only by the babble of the gnomes outside the barn kicking the timbers trying to get inside. Arthur cleared his throat as he ran his little blue eyes over each of the walls of his newly renovated barn. He smiled again placing one of his hands on your shoulder

"I found out what happened with Molly in the morning," he mentioned. You nodded “My children told me what you said to each other and ...”

"I'm sorry I spoke badly to your wife, Mr. Weasley" you interrupted, sipping your glass all at once, leaving it on the floor. "I know after this I'll have to talk to William and find another place to stay."

“She is not like that. She rarely has such behavior with the people and I can only think that my Molly has a lot of mixed feelings. The war has us all nervous and the fact that the memories of the past have arisen again ... they make her have reactions that are not very usual in Molly.”

"I'm not blaming her. I think she's right”

“Why?”

"What I did to my family ... running away, betray them..." You started playing with your fingers on your lap, embarrassed. "It's not something a trustworthy person would do."

“What are you talking about?”

“For the Grants, it’s very important to support the family in their endeavors without stopping to think if that could be harmful to the others. With uncle Tom becoming the most dangerous dark wizard of all times ... people would think that his relatives would follow his steps and they did “Mr. Weasley listened attentively, ignoring the screams of his wife announcing that the food was ready “At least most of them. Now all of us are tied to the He-who-must-not-be-named, whether we want it or not. It ruined our lives and I couldn't stay in that place forever

"Why aren't you on his side?"

"Because I can't see my brothers make a wrong decision" You crumpled the newspaper with your hands looking at how the pic of Lord Voldemort turned into a streaked stain "I have my own convictions, even if you don’t believe so”

"I don't believe anything of you, (Y/N)" Arthur's voice turned stoic as he stared at you harshly. "Neither the good nor the bad. I am a believer that you should judge someone by what demonstrates, not by what it’s said about them. Right now you aren’t showing me anything but that there is something in your family that you don’t like and that the dirt in my barn is intolerable to you”

You smiled

"We're all here waiting to see what are you capable of. Good or bad, you get to decide who (Y/N) Grant is from now on. Starting over. Forget that the Grants' actions make you worthy of the consequences”

Warmth attacked your chest. It was comforting to feel for the first time the acceptance of someone who wasn't doing it out of mere compassion or that it was Bill. That Arthur gave you the benefit of the doubt encouraged you to continue as before: trying, trying, trying.

"I think his wife doesn't think the same."

Arthur Weasley patted your shoulder.

"I'll talk to her, she'll understand. Meanwhile let's go home, it's time for lunch”

"Did Bill come back?"

"Yes, my son and I came back from the ministry a while ago.He wanted to find you, but I asked him to let me do it. You know, because sometimes it's good to have the daughters-in-law on your side”

Your cheeks heated up and then the rest of your face turned completely red. Arthur studied your reaction, smiling as he realized you were just a kid looking for approval. He patted your shoulder again, inviting you to leave the rest of the mess and accompany him to the burrow.

"These aren’t a good times to trust the Daily Prophet," Arthur mentioned, noticing the crumpled newspaper in your hands. You skipped the pond and skirted the cornfield until you reached the garden entrance where Bill's brothers and Bill himself had set up a long table near Molly's apple tree where they planned to spend the afternoon. One of the twins raised his wand putting the cuterly across the table, one set for each of the family members. You wondered if there would be a place for you at the table “Honestly, these are not good times to trust anything or anyone, so if you accept my advice, don't worry too much about reading the newspapers, they will leave you more questions than answers, Hey, you will break that!

Arthur scolded his twins when they fiddled with forks in a battle to find out which of them would wash the dishes after eating. Arthur ran towards them while Bill approached you greeting you with a kiss on the cheek. He frowned, watching you closely and then removed his coat, draping it over your shoulders.

"What the hell were you doing outside without a sweater?" It's freezing!”

"You worry way too much," you told him, pressing the faux fur against your shivering body. The truth was that, after the exchange of words with Bill's mother, you didn’t have the time to get a sweater before leaving and of course your wounded pride wouldn’t let you get dressed again before going to hide in the barn. Bill clicked his tongue rubbing your arms. "I'm fine, I just lost track of the time cleaning your father's barn and I didn't feel the cold until now”

"You're bad at lying, did you know that?"

"You should stop asking so many questions." You smiled at the grimace on the older Weasley's face. "Nothing happened."

"That's not what the twins told me," he suddenly mentioned. You felt the tension in Bill's body when Molly passed by him giving you a dangerous look, however you decided to ignore it for the good of both of you “ What my mom said ...”

"It’s okay, it doesn't matter I discussed it with your father and we worked it out”

“Are you sure?” You nodded “I hope so. Not because she’s my mother I will let her offend you in any way”

Your smile widened. You couldn't possibly love that man more than you already did. You approached his body, throwing your arms around Bill's neck, having to stand on your tiptoes to reach only to kiss his chin. He lowered his head, managing to bring his lips together.

“Help your brothers set the table, I'll go take a bath”

"Don't you prefer i help you instead?" You laughed

"I can do it by myself, thanks”

"Hmm ... you sure?”

"William ...”

"Okay, okay, okay," he urged you leaving a couple of kisses on the corner of your lips. "Don't be gone too long. i’ll miss you, love."

“I will not. Wait for me just here, yeah?”

You went upstairs to the room you shared with Bill and jumped into the shower enjoying the warmth of the water above your head. You leaned against the tiles thinking that your first day in the burrow had turned out very bad, but better than you had thought. Even if Molly didn't believe your words, you would do your best to fullfil the expectations of the others members of the Order. You would be loyal to them, to the Aurors, and you would fight whoever you had to to prove that your actions were worth more than the rumors surrounding the Grants did.

You were going to prove how wrong they were with you and, incidentally, you would forge a reputation of your own, one of which you would proud of

Tag:

@purple-vodka-99​